Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mister Stark had told him, all those years ago when they first met, that Peter couldn’t do it alone. Tony had said that being Spider-Man is a big responsibility; that it's dangerous. At the time Peter agreed with him, that yes, being a hero is dangerous; but that doesn’t mean he had to tell anyone. Peter thought he was being plenty careful. Really, the only reason Tony figured him out was because he’s Tony Stark. Regardless, Peter realized that he didn’t want to do it alone. With Tony and Ned in his corner, Spider-Man wasn’t just another responsibility, it was fun too. Then, May and MJ found out and it was really good for a little while—except for the part where Tony sacrificed himself to save the universe—but he always knew that if it came down to it and he had to be Spider-Man alone, to protect his family, then he could. He’d have to. Sadly, circumstances demanded just that.

Now, half of those people are dead, and the other half don’t remember him. It’s only been a month and Peter has finally realized he can’t do it alone. Mister Stark was right; and shouldn’t he have realized Tony was always right? Being alone is hard.

This brings him to where he is now, right outside the Avengers compound. He just wanted to make sure. It’s not crazy, is it? To think that Tony’s tech might be impervious to a little magic. Sure, Karen didn’t recognize him but that doesn’t really mean anything. Tony’s personal servers are probably a lot more robust. It’s not out of this world at all. So, desperate and scared, Peter breaks into the Avenger’s compound. He is only marginally surprised to find that no alarms go off, but he knows mister Stark well enough to avoid some of his security. Or rather, Peter has read enough of mister Stark’s files on Friday and Stark Industries security hardware to avoid detection.

He can’t use the suit Tony made him, so he’s had to make a new one. It doesn’t have any of the tech or protections the old one did, but it is still recognizable. You know, in case he gets caught. Peter figures the Avengers are less likely to shoot a friendly.

Once Peter has made his way into the main building it’s easy to slink around stray guards and janitorial staff. He makes his way towards the lab, where the highest level of security is awarded and where there are very few limitations on Friday’s operations. It is idiotic really; in the best-case scenario Peter sets off the alarm and the Avengers show up and arrest him. Maybe he wants that to happen? He hasn’t seen all of them since the spell, maybe part of him wants to erase the last bit of hope he has that someone will remember him. Instead of analyzing that little part of him that knows better, he hammers in Pepper’s security code. Using Pepper’s code will signal his break-in immediately, Rhodes is likely on his way to the compound already, and the opaque glass door slides open anyway.

He’s only been here a couple of times to upgrade his own suit but the lab is nearly identical to how it looked months ago. Peter removes the spider-man mask—stupidly—and makes his way into the lab. Might as well get it over with. “Friday?” He speaks to thin air. There is no immediate reply. “Do you know who I am?” He asks.

She answers him this time, “You are Spider-Man. A Queens-based vigilante.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought you’d say.” He walks towards the back of the room, there is no point in trying to leave now, and just takes a look around. Most of the projects laying around aren’t recognizable. In Tony’s old lab there would always be spare arrows or suits half done. There doesn’t even appear to be a space for doctor Banner’s work. He sits on the stoop of a raised white platform. Tilting his head upwards he says, “Is Rhodes on his way?” He takes her silence as the affirmative that it is. The platform he’s sitting on has overarching white pillars. Resigned, he leans his head on one of them while he waits.

The thunk of his head on the metal must have initiated something; because a low humming sound emits from the base of the platform. Friday’s Irish lilt distracts him for a fraction of a second, “I would suggest stepping away from the machine.” Uh, yeah, Peter is thinking the same when the sound builds. His stomach suddenly drops.

He doesn’t pass out; he can feel every twist and turn. Even when he seems to land on solid ground his stomach still flips, and his eyes can’t focus. When he gains his bearings, he’s standing in a clothing rack; thick dark coats surround him. There’s some old pop song playing on the overhead speakers. Slowly, so incredibly slowly because his legs feel a little funny, he removes himself from the rack. He’s in the middle of a department store. On all sides there are clothing racks with different types of jackets; there is a red sign above each rack that marks them as twenty percent off. Everything is really big.

This is bad. This is really bad. If that machine had anything to do with Ant-Man then Peter could be really messed up right now. Terrified to look down Peter bites his lip, he can’t be more than four feet tall. What if he looks down and his limbs are all wonky? Biting the bullet Peter looks at his body before promptly closing his eyes and fidgeting up and down. He’s a little kid! Which is honestly a lot better than he thought it would be. At least all his limbs are proportional and they’re where they’re supposed to be. He’s got a blue shirt on, printed on the front are beakers and graduated cylinders with cartoonish eyes. He looks back down, he’s wearing a silly dinosaur fanny pack and he’s got on Ninja Turtles sneakers. Stomping his feet in frustration the soles light up.

Okay, he’s a little kid. He’s been in weirder situations. Maybe. If he can make his way back to the compound the lab scientists working on the machine could probably help him out. And then Rhodey can arrest him for breaking into their facility. He sighs and makes his way through some of the clothing racks, trying to find the exit. Making a right he sees a couple digging through a rack with tiny jackets. From the back, they kind of remind him of his aunt and uncle. The thought makes him smile.

The brunette lady holds up a tiny red puffer jacket and shows it to the man. “His favorite color is blue honey,” the man says. Peter stops smiling. He would recognize that voice anywhere. It doesn’t matter if it’s been years since he’s heard it. Doesn’t matter that it can’t be real. That man with gray hair is uncle Ben. He looks back at the woman and it’s definitely a younger version of his aunt may.

Peter can’t think. He can’t breathe. He runs.

Peter—running down two escalators and pushing past adults twice his height—makes his way out of the store before turning the next corner and collapsing against the brick wall. This is so much worse than being deformed by Ant-Man tech. What the hell was that? Is he hallucinating? He’s probably hallucinating. It’s probably the stress. Realistically, a lot of people go crazy from stress. Maybe this is just what grieving is like for him now. He tries to catch his breath and fails. Oh, wow he really can’t breathe. He slides down the wall until his bottom is flat on the concrete. He must be hyperventilating.

A random passerby stops in front of Peter. The older gentleman crouches. “You okay kiddo?” Peter shakes his head no; it feels like he’s having an asthma attack, but he hasn’t had one of those in years. Not since the spider bite. Oh no. He looks down at the fanny pack he’s wearing. He quickly unzips it and shuffles through the contents. He used to wear them all the time to carry his inhaler and glasses; when he didn’t need them. He only stopped when he reached middle school and got bullied so badly for it. He pulls out his inhaler and takes two puffs. He coughs after, right into the older man’s face. The gentleman doesn’t even flinch. “Better now,” he asks. Peter nods his head and the man leaves. Doesn’t even ask if Peter is safe or where his parents are. Peter rolls his eyes.

Still sitting down, he leans around the corner and sees uncle Ben rushing out of the department store, frantically looking left and right. Peter has only just lost his aunt and even though Ben died years ago it still feels like a fresh wound. He can’t confront them yet; he has to figure out what’s going on. Peter runs in the opposite direction.

Doing the math is simple really. He’s in his kid body, his aunt and uncle are alive, and everything looks out of date; and it’s a little wild to realize technology has changed so much in a decade. Peter has somehow managed to time travel, but he didn’t do it the right way. The Avengers time traveled, and they kept their adult bodies and were only able to travel to different timelines. Considering the data, it would seem Peter has jumped into his own past.

Blocks away he finally stops to catch his breath. With his hands on his knees, he peeps into the newspaper box to catch the date. It says May 4^th, 2008. Which would make him six years old. The headline reads: Tony Stark was rescued after three-month-long kidnapping. The newspaper is days old, but Peter doesn’t realize this.

Mister stark! Tony is alive in this time! He may not be Iron Man yet but he’s still a genius. If there’s anyone that can help Peter figure out what to do it would be Tony. So, Peter’s decision is made. Step one: Ask Tony Stark for help. Peter skims the front page of the paper for any helpful information. He reads the lines of text aloud, “Tony Stark recuperating in his Malibu home.” Shit. New step one: Get to Malibu. There are plenty of train-hopping vagabond movies. They even make it look fun. It should be easy.

Chapter Text

It was all a lot easier in theory. Which is as gentle as Peter can describe the whole ordeal. He managed the trip from Queens to Malibu in just about five days. There were a lot of looks from well-meaning and extremely concerned individuals, mostly older women or people with children. He also got a lot of side eyes from older men that he doesn’t like thinking about.

It has been hard getting used to being so little. Peter attributes most of the difficulty to a lack of enhancement but also to other people’s perception of him; no one really trusts a six-year-old enough to let him buy a bus ticket. But Peter is nothing if not intelligent and he managed the trip regardless.

The walk from the bus station to Tony’s home is, simply put, hell. It’s not hot, not really, but walking miles in the sun is still extremely rough. Especially when the body you’re working with is only three and a half feet tall and asthmatic. But he does, eventually, make it to Tony’s mansion. The driveway is long. Unbelievably and irritatingly long. It curves around to the front door; a tall and wide thing made a sleek material.

Peter thinks that if his trip wasn’t so arduous, he’d be a little too nervous to knock right away. But seeing as he is sweaty and hungry and his feet hurt, he really can’t wait to see mister Stark.

So, he knocks. He can’t reach the doorbell anyway. He probably should’ve thought about what he should say when Tony answers the door. I mean, how do you convince a notably paranoid, eccentric genius billionaire that you’re his friend—Peter cannot think of a better word to describe their relationship—in the future. How do you even convince him to talk to you long enough to attempt such a thing? Peter is feeling extremely unprepared. What if Tony doesn’t even answer the door? He’s probably used to solicitors and fans coming by all the time.

Tony does answer the door; he’s clearly just gotten off of a lab binge. He is covered in grease, he smells of sweat and oil, and his eyes are somehow both tired and crazed. It’s the best thing Peter has seen in months. Tony looks so young. There is no gray in his hair and he is less wrinkled. Even with the dark circles under his eyes and the too-thin frame he is still standing in front of Peter. Alive. Peter wants to hug him. He has the strongest urge to wrap his arms around the man’s waist regardless of how crazy he’d look. His body sways forward.

“Shit,” is all Tony says before the door slams in Peters's face. Peter barely has time to process the dismissal before the door quickly opens again. Tony looks down into Peters's wide—pleading—brown eyes. Tony’s eyes are equally wide but for a different reason entirely.

Peter thinks this is the moment Tony sends him away. Peter doesn’t look to be the most trustworthy of little boys at the moment; his hair is slightly matted, and his clothes are really dirty. If Tony were in his right mind, he’d call CPS or the police or probably Pepper. Definitely Pepper.

Tony doesn’t do any of these things. Their stare-off ends quickly. “Do you want to come in?” Tony asks.

The reaction should surprise Peter, but it doesn’t. Of course, Tony would let him in. Peter looks six years old. And this may be a Tony from before he met Peter, before he became Iron Man, but Peter can’t imagine a Tony Stark that doesn’t always want to help people. Peter is definitely going to cry; his bottom lip begins to wobble. He doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods his head instead. Tony makes room for him to enter and Peter does so quickly. Walking through the wide door Peter feels a rush of cold air, it feels nice after being in the heat for so long.

There is an awkward silence where Peter just looks at his surroundings. It’s a really nice entryway. Everything is modern and sleek and clean. There’s even a waterfall by the stairs, which seems like a bit much even for Peter who is relatively used to mister Starks wealth. To his left, there is a cropping of couches, on his right, there is a piano. Peter didn’t even know Tony could play the piano.

His thoughts are interrupted by Tony, “What’s your name?”

Peter quickly turns on his feet to face Tony but can only drag his eyes up to the man’s chest. He thinks he might cry if he makes contact with Tony’s goatee. He nearly forgets to reply but eventually introduces himself. “Peter,” he says with a soft voice. He digs the toe of his little sneaker into the floor and fiddles with his fingers.

The movement draws Tony's gaze to Peters's shoes. They’re red and blue and are clearly too big for Peters's feet. His gaze moves upward, cataloging the dinosaur shirt that is rumpled and dirty, and the torn jeans. The man frowns and asks, “How’d you get here?”

“Bus,” Peter answers quickly. His original plan hadn’t worked, which resulted in Peter having to bum some cash for a bus ticket. People were very generous. In hindsight he’s glad it worked out that way, trains can be really dangerous.

Tony walks across the room to sit on the white couch. Peter grimaces when a streak of grease is left behind on the upholstery. The man is nodding his head. “Does your mom know you’re here?”

“She’s dead,” Peter says. She died when he was really young so it’s not hard to talk about.

Tony places his head in his hands. “Of course, she is.” He says it so quietly Peter is surprised to have heard the words at all. The man looks back to the kid's dirtied clothes. He stands abruptly.

Tony doesn’t say anything before he walks away. Peter contemplates following but instead decides to stand around awkwardly in the living room. If mister Stark wanted him to follow, he would have said something; or, he’d come back to collect Peter when he notices the boy isn’t behind him. When tony does come back, he was away no more than two minutes, he’s carrying a pair of boxers and a sweatshirt. He motions for Peter to follow him but doesn’t actually look at the boy. Peter is surprised when Tony leads him to a guest bedroom without any more questions.

Tony bypasses the bed and walks straight into what can only be a bathroom. Peter continues to follow. “Bath or shower?” Tony asks.

Peter jumps at the words. “Bath?” His legs hurt. He doesn’t know if he can stand long enough for a shower.

Tony nods his head again before kneeling by the tub. He turns on the faucet and waits to check the temperature before placing the clean clothes on the vanity.

He still isn’t looking at Peter. “I’m more of a briefs guy so you can keep them,” gesturing to the boxers and sweatshirt.

“Thank you, mister Stark.” And Peter can see Tony wince at the words. He did always hate when people called him that. The man leaves the room without saying anything else. Peter watches him go.

Peter removes his old clothes; they cling to his skin uncomfortably. He places his glass on the counter next to his new clothes. He sinks into the still running bath water. The water is a little too warm, it makes his skin pink and sweat accumulates on his brow. But it’s nice too, makes his muscles loosen and his eyes droop. The interaction with Tony was strange, to say the least, but it certainly went better than expected. This at least allows Peter the time to rest and clean up before having any real discussions.

Peter turns off the water when it reaches his chest, rich people always have really nice bathtubs and it was probably his favorite thing about spending the night at the tower. Second to lab time.

He looks himself over, pokes at the bruises on his legs and arms—they’re worse than they were five days ago when he stupidly tried to jump onto a moving train—and catalogs the dirt under his nails and between his toes. Looking around the tub Peter notices brown glass bottles filled with things that look like shampoo and conditioner. It seems unsafe to have glass near a bath but Peter doubts very many people use this room for it to be a concern. Moving closer to the bottles, the water sloshing around him, he can see that the labels do in fact say shampoo and conditioner. Using the shampoo, he cleans his body and his hair. He pays close attention to his nails, armpits, and feet.

Cleaning his hair is much harder, he doesn’t have a brush, so he tries to make do with his fingers. The hair doesn’t detangle, it only pulls at his scalp uncomfortably. Rinsing his hair is hard, the water is too high and when he tips his body backward, he keeps slipping under. He doesn’t notice he’s crying until he gets shampoo in his eye and it makes him whine. Frustrated with his stupid emotions and his stupid body and stupid time travel Peter drains the tub and climbs out. Still wet, because he doesn’t know where the towels are, Peter puts on clean clothes. He stands on his tippytoes to look at himself in the vanity mirror, hands holding onto the edge of the counter for balance, and pouts at what he sees. His cheeks and eyes are all red, there are still suds in his hair, and he has a big bruise on his jaw.

Leaning away from the counter Peter looks down at his dirty clothes. He looks around for a trashcan or hamper of some kind but finds none. He leaves them there on the bathroom floor and ambles out of the bathroom and towards the bed.  The bed is very tall he has to climb to enter it. He ends up dragging himself under the covers. It barely takes him any time at all to pass out, exhausted as he is.

Chapter Text

Peter wakes sometime in the early morning, hours before the sun starts to rise. He had a nightmare that had him unable to fall back asleep. He spent the next hour tossing and turning on the too-big mattress. Peter would wait for the sun to rise before seeking out mister Stark, but his stomach really hurts.

It is a struggle to remove himself from the heavy comforter and squishy bed, but he manages eventually. The floor is cold against his bare feet. He makes his way halfway out of the bedroom before he remembers to grab his glasses from the bathroom. Afterward, he leaves the bedroom and makes his way back to the living room—Peter has no idea where the kitchen is— and hopes to find his way from there.

Wherever he goes the lights turn on automatically. Leave it to mister Stark to have movement sensors in his home. Reaching the living room Peter sees a group of boxes sitting by the door, Tony must have received a delivery sometime in the night. To his left, there is a staircase leading upstairs and one leading downstairs. Between the two there is a hall leading deeper into the mansion. Peter walks down the hallway until he reaches what can only be a kitchen. The kitchen doesn’t look like a kitchen at all. There are no exposed appliances and even the sinks blend into the countertops. In the center of the room, there’s an island with a dark countertop and along each wall, there are floor-length wooden cabinets

Peter checks every cabinet he can reach. He mostly finds cooking equipment and food storage devices. One cabinet exposes the refrigerator. The door to the fridge is nearly too heavy for Peter to pull open.

Peter frowns when he sees the contents, mostly just a bunch of fancy water bottles and fruit juices Peter has never heard of. Someone really needs to talk to mister Stark about overconsumption and waste management. He grabs two of the water bottles, they’re heavy and too wide to fit in his hands comfortably so he carries them in his arms back towards an island seat. He drops the bottles on the ground at the base of the chair. His lack of delicacy is a direct result of his diminished dexterity. He makes his way back to the fridge to see if there is any actual food hidden away in its drawers, or behind the pomegranate juice. He has to lean up on his tiptoes—holding onto his boxers as he does so—to reach a lone avocado. Peter thinks it weird that a singular avocado is all the food mister Stark has in his fridge. He obviously doesn’t stock it himself but it’s surprising whoever does would put it in there.

Peter just barely manages to grab the pear-shaped fruit, when he does, he walks it over to his collection of water bottles and takes a seat next to them. He folds his legs under himself. The chairs on the island are too tall and don’t appear sturdy enough for Peter to even attempt climbing them. His hands can’t even properly hold rich people's water he should maybe avoid free climbing. He twists open one of the waters, an embarrassingly difficult task, and downs nearly half of it before placing it gently onto the ground with both hands. His tummy continues to grumble, and he looks toward his lone avocado. He obviously doesn’t know where the knives are and even if he did, he would never trust himself to use one in his current state. Thankfully people have probably been eating avocados without knives for centuries. Peter grips the fruit with both hands and bites off a bit of the peel before eating bits of the exposed center. He continues with this method until the meat of the avocado is nonexistent and he has a pile of peel next to him. He washes his meal down with the rest of his water.

Standing up Peter goes in search of a trash can. At the Tower the kitchen trash can was built into the island, Peter opens up cabinet after cabinet to find the same is true for this kitchen. Peter leaves the cabinet open and pulls out the trashcan before he collects his scraps and deposits them inside. He makes a second trip to collect his empty water bottle. After pushing the trashcan back into the cabinet and closing the door Peter grabs his second water bottle before he starts wandering the rest of the house.

He decides to head downstairs first. He takes the steps one at a time, one foot landing on a step before his second foot lands on the same step, his hand is firmly attached to the railing. It takes him longer than it should to reach the bottom. At the bottom of the stairs, there’s a wall of glass, the other side clearly houses Tony’s lab.

Peter walks up to the glass door, looking through the glass walls Peter can see mister Stark sleeping at one of his worktables. He’s slumped over, his back curved at a strange angle. There are pictures projected above the workspace. When Peter cranes his head to get a better look, they disappear. Deeper into the lab Peter can see the Iron Man armor, its silver, Peters's mouth drops open in awe. This must be Tony’s first suit. There’s a nearly invisible seam where the door is. Peter attempts to open the door himself, both pushing and pulling, but it doesn’t budge. He knocks instead.

Tony jumps awake, arming bumping against some tool and making it drop to the ground. He looks around in confusion before his eyes make contact with Peter’s. Peter waves and Tony’s face breaks out in understanding. Tony waves his hand in the air and the doors open. Peter is quick to enter as if Tony would suddenly revoke the invitation. Peter raises the water bottle with both hands in an offering to mister Stark.

“Oh,” and Tony seems surprised by being gifted his own water, “thanks, buddy.” He takes it anyway and places it on the table

Peter keeps side-eyeing the suit. Tony takes notice but doesn’t say anything about it. They have another stare-off before mister stark breaks the silence. Tony's eyes flash down to where Peter keeps pulling up his boxers. “Clothes!” The man jumps up from his seat. “I ordered some clothes for you.” He starts tidying his desk before quickly deciding it’s unimportant. “Well, Jarvis ordered them, but I told him to, so it was basically me.” Tony hesitantly offers Peter his hand, which Peter instantly grabs onto with both of his own. Tony begins leading the boy back upstairs and towards the living room.

“Jarvis?” Peter asks.

“Oh, uh.” Tony makes the face of a man who clearly doesn’t know how to explain advanced artificial intelligence to someone who hasn’t reached the second grade. “Like an electronic butler?”

“An AI?” Peter's face holds all the excitement of a nerd that just realized Tony had created fully functional AI in 2008. 2008! That was like forever ago. His toe catches on one of the steps but Tony’s hand in his own prevents him from falling. Peter ignores his own misstep. “Has it passed the Turing test?”

“What? How do you know about that?”

Peter frowns. How would a six-year-old know about that? A good question indeed. “I can read.” Tony just has to take Peter at his words, it’s not like he has any other elementary schoolers in his social circle he can compare Peter too. “Can you introduce me?” To JARVIS, the boy means. They reach the top of the staircase.

“Hello, young sir. It is nice to make your acquaintance.” Peter does not jerk at the voice originating from the ceiling.

“Wow! Hello mister Jarvis!” His excitement just makes him pull on Tony’s arm as he jumps up and down. Tony leads him deeper into the living room. “That’s so cool! When did you make him? Did you code him using C++?”

“A long time ago,” Tony answers Peter's first question. He releases Peter's hands and makes his way over to one of the boxes. He stutters in his next step. He turns around to look at Peter with a furrowed brow. “And, yeah, how did you know that?” Referring to Peter's second question.

“I saw the holograms in your lab. I wasn’t snooping I swear!” Peter feels the need to justify the way his eyes wander. “But if you program holograms you probably use CUDA and if you use CUDA you know C++.”  Not that Peter thinks there is a coding language Tony doesn’t know. Knowing that the boxes by the front door are apparently for Peter. He steps over to the largest box and attempts to peel off the tape. “People always assume python is the superior language for AI coding, but C++ is much better for graphics creation. So, if Jarvis interacts with your holograms at all it would be easiest to use the same language for both.”

Tony crouches down next to Peter, he helps Peter tear open the box's lid. “Huh,” Tony huffs. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” he says to himself. He does not address Peter's rambling in any other way. “How about we look through these boxes for something you can wear?”

Peter just nods his head; his sweater keeps slipping off his shoulder and the boxers keep slipping off his waist. Tony pulls out t-shirts and jeans and sweatpants, building blocks and puzzles, and a few stuffed animals. And all of that is just from one box. Peter is starting to get a really bad feeling about all of this.

“It’s not that I’m not thankful but why did you buy me all this stuff?” Peter is now sitting on his knees so he’s more comfortable.

Mister Starks reply is stilted, “I didn’t know what you liked so I got a bit of everything.”

“But why,” Peter says in obvious confusion.

Tony’s hands play with the fabric of a black shirt. The graphic on the front is one of Tony’s favorite bands, ACDC. “If you wanted to stay here, you’d need some stuff.”

Peter's eyes watch as Tony thumbs at the shirt's hem. “Stay here?” The boy asks.

Toneless Tony replies, “Yeah, if you wanted to.” And Tony tosses the shirt back into the box.

“You want me here?”

Tony turns to Peter then. “Kid,” he says. He sounds pained. His eyes are a little sad. He grabs Peter gently by his upper arms, the hold still makes Peter wince at the pressure placed on his bruises. Always watchful, Tony grabs his hands instead. “Of course, I want you here.” His thumbs rub over the boy's knuckles and he holds solid eye contact. “I know I wasn’t around before, but I will be from now on.”

It’s exactly what Peter wants to hear from any version of Tony but it’s such a dubious thing for this Tony to say. This Tony doesn’t know Peter at all, should have zero reasons to buy him nice things and want him in his home. Peter had thought Tony let him into his home because he looked a little too much like a soaking wet kitten. It’s what any decent person would do when they come across a kid in need; right? When Tony didn’t call the cops or ask him any serious questions Peter was confused but judged the weird behavior as a result of Tony’s usual habit of becoming manic or mute after days in the lab. When no further questions came the next morning? Peter pushed his suspicions to the side because mister Stark was being so nice. But now, suddenly everything makes a whole lot of sense for Peter. The toys, the clothes, the gentle words, and soft hands. Tony thinks Peter’s here because he’s his son.

Peter should correct the assumption. He should tell Tony outright that they’re not related, and Peter is just from the future. Peter should definitely tell him that the only reason he came to visit Tony is that he needs Tony’s big brain so he can get back to his time. He doesn’t. Maybe it was the shock. Maybe it was the warm feeling that manifested in his rib cage. Instead, Peter does what his six-year-old heart wants him to do and throws his arms around Tony’s neck. The man hugs him back, no questions asked. It feels right even. Peter was Tony’s son. That’s what Pepper had said anyway, that Tony loved Peter like he was his own. Peter digs his nose into Tony’s neck, wetness accumulates on the man’s shirt collar.

Tony pulls away first. He brings his hands up to cup Peter's face and wipes away a few stray tears with his thumbs.

The gesture makes Peter think. What would happen if Peter doesn’t tell Tony he’s from the future? At least not right away! He could stay here for a little while, recuperate, find his center; or whatever Doctor Strange is always going on about. And then, when he’s feeling a bit more like himself, he can head home with a few more fresh memories with the people he loves. What harm could that really do to the timeline? Realistically, the Avengers will probably fish him out of the past at some point anyway—no way they’re just going to let him have so much free reign—he might as well get some value from the unfortunate events.

Peter thinks that when Pepper finds out about him—because she will find out—she will probably force Tony to send him back to New York, which is for the best if he wants to have time with his aunt and uncle, but if he plays his cards right Tony might stick around for a couple of days; before his common sense finally shows itself. It can’t be too hard to pretend to be Tony’s son. He has nearly two years of experience—from the time between the Avengers civil war and the dusting—give or take a few months after Tony’s death; if he’s allowed to count that time. The hard part would be acting as though that’s the reason he went on his little cross-country road trip. Peter has had bigger secrets though and mister Stark was always unable to see past his puppy dog eyes in the past. Future? Whatever.

He can totally do that. Ham it up a bit. Act like a sad fatherless child who is just seeking some form of connection. With Peter’s past, it should be a cakewalk. So, starting now? maybe? No better time than the present. Peter pulls further away, wipes his eyes with the palm of his hand, and diverts his attention to the box of his things. He grabs the ACDC tee—because he knows it would make Tony happy—and some sweatpants; because the jeans he was wearing yesterday rubbed against his bruises uncomfortably. He also grabs some briefs and a pair of socks. His collection of clothing held tightly in his arms. “Can I change?” He asks sweetly.

“Yeah, do you remember where the bedroom is?”

Peter nods his head and runs in that direction.

Tony follows at a more sedate pace. The man waits outside the bedroom while Peter changes. When Peter opens the door and Tony notices what shirt he picked out he seems unreasonably proud.

“You have a favorite song from them?” Tony pokes at the boy’s chest where the graphic sits on his shirt. Peter raises his little finger to his lips in thought. He doesn’t actually like ACDC, he thinks it’s too old and too loud/. But Tony has played enough of it in the labs for Peter to know more than a couple of songs. “Shoot to thrill!” He says with a wide grin.

Tony grabs Peter's hand again, he swings their joined hands forward and back as he leads Peter back to the living room. “Oh, that is a good one buddy. You’ve got good taste.” When they reach the couch, Tony asks JARVIS about the time.

“It is 6:30 am Sir.”

Tony looks down at Peter who is already looking up at him. “Are you hungry? You’re probably hungry.”

“I ate,” Peter says simply.

Tony's face scrunches up. “What did you eat? There’s no food here.” Which is an absurd thing to say about a billionaire’s home. Peter would roll his eyes if he wasn’t being watched.

“An avocado.” He draws out the word ‘avocado.’

“You ate Peppers avocado?”

Now it’s Peter’s turn to make a funny face. “Huh?”

“Nothing.” Tony pokes at Peter's nose with his free hand. “Never mind. We’ll get something to eat anyway.” Peter wipes at his nose with their joined hands. “Jay? We’re headed out.”

Chapter Text

They went to Burger King. Tony was surprised to find that they don’t sell whoppers during breakfast hours. Peter was equally surprised because he is nearly ninety-five percent sure that isn’t true in the future. They ordered pancakes instead and ate in the parking lot despite Peter's complaints about making a mess of the interior. They arrived back at the mansion an hour later.

Entering the mansion through the garage—slash lab—JARVIS informs them that they have a guest waiting upstairs. Tony hums as he walks across the lab's floor, holding Peter's hand, they stop at the lab door. Tony squints down at the boy—who squints back—before he seems to make a decision of some kind. “Do you want to meet a friend of mine?” The man asks.

“Sure!” Peter says with excitement.

“Okay, okay. She not cooler than me so don’t get any ideas alright?” Tony brings his hand up to the boy’s face to wipe away syrup from Peter’s chin.

They make their way upstairs the same as they did earlier in the day, hand in hand. The woman in the living room is immediately recognizable to Peter. She’s wearing a brown matching skirt and jacket, holding a clipboard, and her light red hair is done up in a bun. She is as she always is, perfectly manicured.

“Hey, Pep! What brings you here?” Pepper is at the mansion every morning just after sunrise.

She seems confused by the question until she spots Peter. “Who’s this?”

“Peter. He’s my, uh, Peter.” A pause. “Wait that sounded wrong.” Peter giggles. He’s been doing that a lot, every time he feels like laughing only kiddy noise passes his lips. “He's my son,” Tony amends.

“Oh? How did that happen?” She seems unimpressed.

Tony adopts a ‘you wouldn’t believe’ tone when he says, “Craziest thing, stork dropped him off yesterday.”

“Uh-huh. Does this stork have a name?”

“Well, it’s not a literal stork. More figurative, more uh, poetic.”

Pepper has a puzzled look on her face. “Now I’m lost. If you had another paternity allegation why didn’t you call me? Or better yet, why didn’t you call your legal team?”

“Because this one is the real deal.” Tony’s eyes are wide and only a wee bit guilty.

“Oh.” Her eyes widen a smidgen before her gaze becomes pacifying. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you but why do you think ‘it’s the real deal.’” She does in fact use air quotes.

Always quick to defend himself Tony says, “Well, after he showed up yesterday, I had Jarvis do some facial analysis. Eighty-five percent chance of genetic similarity. And we both know how good Jarvis is. Right, Peter?”

“Right!” Peter’s voice is bright and confident.

Tony continues with a self-satisfied tone, “Then, today he proved himself a bonafide genius. Which, not to toot my own horn, but any kid of mine would be incredibly intelligent.”

“Yeah. That’s perfect Tony, really. I don’t think I’m getting the full picture. Peter here,” she gestures to Peter, “shows up at the mansion yesterday, no stork, and what, says your his dad? And you believe him?” Dry and unsympathetic Pepper tries to get the real story.

“He didn’t have to Pep! I could tell. We’ve got the same eyes.”

Peppers smile says she thinks he’s lost it. Really went off the rails after returning from Afghanistan. She slowly makes her way over to the couches, glances at and avoids the grease mark on the furniture before stiffly sitting down. She pats the seat next to her for Peter to join her, he does so willingly. Tony makes his way so he is standing in front of them, occasionally he will start pacing before he eventually stops himself. He’s jumpy, his eyes refuse to stay focused on one thing for longer than a couple of seconds.

“Hi, Peter I’m Pepper.” Her smile is forced.

“I know,” Peter says. She’d be surprised to know how much Peter knows about her. Wow, that’s a creepy thought.

“Can you tell me about yourself? Where you come from maybe, what you’re doing here.” She is possibly hoping Peter will say he lives down the road and got lost in the hills, or something equally benign. Maybe she thinks Tony grabbed him off the street and is having some elaborate delusion. No such luck.

Pepper is a reasonable individual and can spot a lie a mile away. If he discloses too much, she’ll be able to spot the lie quickly. If he doesn’t say enough of the right things Pepper—and more importantly mister Stark—will not believe him earnest. Peter is smart enough to know he got lucky being let into Tony’s home. Normal Tony—a Tony who is slightly more well-adjusted—would never assume a random boy on his doorstep was his flesh and blood. Lucky for Peter this Tony just got back from a three-month surprise vacation. That being said, keeping in contact with mister Stark is going to be a lot harder now that Pepper is involved in the mix. Peter has to be very specific about what he does and doesn’t say. His brain seems unable to process complex thoughts at the moment though. He has no idea what a good answer would be. Peter ends up resorting to short answers, “I’m Peter,” she already knows that, “from New York.” He’s playing with his fingers. Can barely maintain eye contact. “I came to see him.” He points to Tony. His reply has Tony putting his hands on his hips and smirking in Pepper's direction.

She ignores her boss. “And how did you get here?”

“I took the bus.” Great Peter, really fantastic, the bigger questions are: how did you take the bus? You’re six genius, she wants to know who gave you the bus ticket, who gave you directions to the mansion, and probably so much more.

Pepper closes her eyes, she looks pained. “Okay, wonderful.” She rises from her seat, apparently giving up on the conversation. Pepper gently asks: “Do you know your mom's phone number? We can call her and figure this all out.”

Tony winces, then, coughs, “ouch, faux pas.” As if he hadn’t done the same thing the night prior.

It makes Peter's lip twitch. “She died,” Peter says. Pepper's pretty face blanches and her cheeks get a little pink. When she sees both Tony and Peter hiding smiles she huffs in exasperation, realizing she isn’t going to get anything out of the boy.

Tony jumps in. “Oh! I can help,” and Tony has a happy grin on his face like he just knows he’ll get the response he wants, “he’s tiny Pep, you have to be direct.” Pepper just rolls her eyes, discreetly, behind her hand like a lady; because 2008 Tony Stark is the best guy to get childrearing advice from. Tony steps closer to the couch, he very obviously contemplates sitting on Peter's other side before crouching at the boy’s knees. Peter can imagine Tony—the night prior—asking his AI: what are the best ways to gain a kid’s trust? Make yourself tiny like them, it makes them feel like equals. Blah. Blah. Blah. Peter is just sad to find it works. Tony corrals his facial expression into something mockingly serious. “Are you my kid?” He asks, completely deadpan.

Acting and subtlety are not Peter’s specialty at all, but this really doesn’t feel like acting. In the future Tony and he would play jokes on Pepper all the time. Well, Tony would joke around and drag Peter into it. Peter mimics Tony’s face and tone of voice before answering. “Yes,” he says, making eye contact with Tony. His heart doesn’t skip a beat. He doesn’t feel guilty.

Tony actually seems happy at the confirmation; he even turns to Pepper with a look in his eyes that just says: “See? I’m not crazy.” The man directs his grin at Peter. Peter’s socked foot brushes against Tony’s knee, the man wraps his fingers around the boy’s ankle. He’s got really deep crinkles by his eyes, even now.

“Oh god,” Pepper whispers. She looks like she’s going to be sick. Both Peter and Tony turn their gaze to her. Matching brown eyes and similarly tilted heads. She looks horrified. Peter tries to shimmy his body deeper into the couch cushions at Pepper's hard gaze. He’s only ever been victim to it when lab experiments go awry. Something on his face must be sympathetic at the very least because she sighs. “Tony can I speak to you.” He just continues to look at her. “Privately.” Her smile is very stiff. She drags Tony away from the couches—and Peter—but does not leave the room.

Steps away she drops her smile entirely. “Look, I am willing to entertain,” Tony pumps his fist in the air in a completely dignified manner, “the idea that the two of you may be related.”

“It’s the eyes, right?” Tony says with a slanted grin.

She ignores him and continues her train of thought. “But that’s hardly the biggest worry right now Tony. A kid Peter’s age doesn’t just up and leave home without a sound. Someone has to be missing him.” It’s not something Tony had given much thought to. He had assumed the boy didn’t have anyone else. Why else would he seek Tony out? “And,” she whispers this next part, “has he said anything about the bruises?” There’s something like fear and disgust on her face. An emotion Tony isn’t familiar enough with to interpret.

He’s equally dumbfounded by the question. “The bruises?” He asks.

She looks at him like he’s crazy. How could he have possibly missed the purple and yellow marks on peters jaw, along his forearms, down his shins? “Yes, Tony the bruises. He’s covered in them.”

Tony looks over to Peter who is still seated on the couch, he’s swinging his feet. His gaze starts on Peter's profile, only now noticing the bruise on his jaw. He looks further down and notices similarly colored patches of skin on the boy’s elbows. “I—I didn’t notice.” Kids have bruises. Tony always had bruises when he was Peter's age. Maybe Peter fell or was playing too roughly with one of his friends. It’s not all that weird for someone to have bruises. Is it? He looks back to Pepper, pleading with his eyes for her to deny its abnormality.

She can’t and he knows it. “Tony. If he’s telling the truth he took a bus from New York to California, alone, just to see a man he’s never met who may or may not be his father.” Her face clearly illustrates her opinion on that matter. “What could possess a five-year-old to do such a thing?”

“Six,” Tony corrects mindlessly. Tony looks back to Peter who has started bouncing in his seat. Peter is very tiny. No one would think of hurting him, would they? Have they? “You don’t, you don’t think anything bad happened, do you?”

She doesn’t answer him. It isn’t her job to theorize. That has never helped anyone. “I’ll contact CPS and the legal team,” she pauses, “and PR just in case any of this gets out.”

“Would that be best? For him.”

"Yes, Tony. It’s what you should’ve done yesterday.” Lost in thought she whispers, “The poor boy probably needs to see a doctor too.”

“Right. Do that then,” he says stiffly.

“Tony. I can see how much you want this to be true,” he avoids her gaze, “but he isn’t yours to take care of,” and Pepper sounds sad when she says it. Even if he is Peter’s father, and that’s a big if, Peter is likely to have family out there he is already familiar with; who love him dearly.

The genius bows his head, his silence is telling. Looking at Tony as he currently is it’s not hard to see where Pepper is coming from. It doesn’t even look as though Tony can take care of himself. He’s wearing days old clothes and he’s not showered. After everything that’s happened recently in Tony’s life, it would be best to just let this snafu blow over.

When the pair return to Peter Tony does seem properly disciplined, but Pepper is still holding herself rather stiffly. She hadn’t acted entirely surprised by the events, Peter is well aware that Tony has received paternity claims before, but it is probably strange for Tony to make the claim himself. Even if she were shocked Pepper’s poker face is far too good for Peter to ever get a proper read of.

Tony picks Peter up and places him on his hip. It surprises Peter so much all he can do is grab onto the man’s shoulders. Tony directs his voice toward his PA, “can we still do the paternity test?” Peter thinks Tony seems dejected.

“We’ll need consent from his legal guardian,” Pepper says professionally.

“Oh, come on Pep. He won’t tell anyone.” Peter places his head on Tony’s shoulder. “And we can do everything in the lab. No hassle. Five minutes tops.” Pepper can never deny Tony when he sounds the way he does.

She waves him away. “I’ll stay here. Plausible deniability.”

On their way downstairs Peter speaks, “There’s no way you can do RLFP analysis in your basement.”

Tony laughs. Big and loud and just like the mister Stark Peter used to know. “I am in awe that you know what that is but no I cannot.” They enter the lab. “This just happens to be where I keep my cotton swabs.” He sits Peter down on a tabletop so Peter's eye level with the man’s chest. He can see the outline of the arch reactor. His Tony never had one in his chest, but Peter always knew, academically, that his Tony used to. It’s strange seeing it now, even if the light is hidden away under two layers of clothing. “I’ll send off the sample to a friend of mine who can analyze it.”

Peter can’t help himself. “Will you be mad if I’m not?”

Tony moves to a cabinet against the wall and pulls out the top drawer. “No, of course not Peter.” The engineer walks back toward the boy.

“You’ll still come to visit me?”

Tony smiles but it's defeated. “You really are smart, aren’t you?” Tony’s eyes keep flicking to the bruise on Peter’s jaw like he really wants to ask. Peter sure as hell isn’t opening that can of worms if he can avoid it. “It might be hard to if we aren’t related. No court would give me visitation.”

“I’ll tell my aunt you’re really cool. She’ll have to let me see you if I ask her nicely enough.”

“Yeah, buddy? Well, I’d hold you to that, but I won’t need to. This,” he holds up a cotton swap, “is going to come back as a match.”

Peter wishes Tony were right. The cotton swap is situated inside a tube, when Tony twists the cap off the swab is attached to it. “Do you know anything about time travel?” Peter asks apropos of nothing.

Tony is smiling when he says, “What’s with the sudden interested in relativity?”

“I watched Back to the Future.” Not a lie. He had, at one point, watched the movie.

“Well, everything I know about time travel is theoretical.” Tony hands Peter the swab but keeps a hold of its storage tube. “Just run that over your cheeks really good.”

“Can I ask a question first?”

“Duh.”

“What would the implications be if someone’s consciousness were to time travel backward into their own body?”

“Hm, let’s see.” While Peter is collecting DNA from his own mouth Tony draws a line in the air and JARVIS captures the drawing through a hologram. “Let’s say this line is the original timeline.” He draws a dot on the right side of that line to signify where the time traveler begins their journey. “If someone’s consciousness travels backward on the same line,” Tony draws a line that starts from that initial point and arches to the left to create a new point, “then everything that had happened in the future becomes poof. Smoke. No longer happens.” Tony crosses out the entirety of the right side of the line.

That technically means in the future—the future for this order of events—Peter doesn’t time travel at all. His interaction with mister Stark has changed their first meeting completely and likely has changed so much more. Does that mean the future Avengers don’t even know he’s here? The Avengers that were signaled when he broke into the lab would cease to exist in the way that Peter remembers them. Does that mean Peter is stuck here? He had been banking on their arrival so he could head home. Even if he doesn't actually want to go home it was always expected. “Would that be bad?” Peter is done swabbing his cheeks and is now just holding onto his sample.

“It could definitely not be great. I guess it would depend on what events their intervention causes or doesn’t cause.” Peter hands Tony his cotton swab. “I would definitely not recommend it. Unless,” Tony laughs as if the idea is ridiculous, “let’s say, the world was going to end, and you were humanity's last hope. Then, maybe, give it a go.”

Peter is still reeling from the discovery that he’s stuck in the past but Tony’s last sentence catches Peter's attention. The blip did cause irreparable damage to Earth’s socio-economic security. If Peter is bound to see history unfold in front of his eyes is he not obligated to do something? Granted his attempt to change things for the better didn’t work out the first time but could they really get any worse? And if Peter gets to save Ben, May, and Tony while he’s at it? Who could possibly call him out on it? There is one thing he needs to be sure of in any case. “Would the person end up forgetting what happened in the original series of events? Because the past, or rather the future would be a different one.”

Tony secures the cap, and swab, back onto the bottle. “Well, no. Not likely. Once consciousness has traveled through time it becomes separate from the timeline in a way.” Peter releases a breath in relief. “Or they could, I’m no Albert Einstein.” Damn. It’s up in the air at the moment. “And, anyway, it’s not a probable form of time travel. What’s more likely is time travel through parallel universes. Now that is cool.” If only Tony knew he played a major role in inventing that exact form of time travel.

“It does sound a lot less complicated.”

“Absolutely.” Tony walks back over to that same cabinet to grab a small envelope. He puts the sample in the envelope before placing it in his back pocket. “Want to head back upstairs? Pepper probably has some stuff she wants to tell us.”

Peter raises his arms to be picked up. Tony acquiesces to his demands and exits the lab. Time to face the music.

Chapter Text

Back upstairs Pepper is on the phone. Tony signals for Peter to be quiet with a finger to his own lips. “That’s great. Thank you so much. We’ll be there.” She hangs up the phone and places it in her blazer's inner pocket. Turning to the wannabe father and son Pepper releases her breath. She doesn’t seem angry or disappointed. She just looks like a woman who’s dealt with too much before noon. “Jarvis searched for missing kids matching Peter’s description. Peter Parker from Queens New York. In the care of May and Ben Parker. Is that correct Peter?”

“Yep,” the boy replies. Peter curls closer to Tony. His head is tucked under Tony’s jaw and his arms are wrapped tight around the man’s shoulders as if someone would try to tear him from the billionaire’s hold.

Peter can feel the rumble of mister Stark's voice when he speaks, “Parker?” The man readjusts Peter on his hip.

“Yeah. Why?” Pepper makes two steps to the left before moving to sit on the couch, crossing her legs primly as she does so. She is no longer facing Tony and Peter as she flips through papers on her clipboard.

Tony tales a couple of slow ambling steps towards Pepper. “Oh, nothing,” he says, “I just knew a couple of Parkers.” He hugs Peter tighter. “Nice people,” Peter and Pepper cannot see the mirth in Tony’s eyes as he says this. The man finishes walking Peter over to the couch and places the boy’s feet on the ground next to his PA.

The redhead does not look up from her clipboard but is clearly addressing mister Stark when she says, “Get showered and get dressed, we’re headed to New York.” In response to Pepper’s words, Peter turns his nose up at the man, miming a reaction to something particularly smelly.

Tony pushes the boy's head away before drawing it back towards himself. Tony doesn’t sound interested in Pepper’s answer when he asks, “We’re meeting the aunt and uncle?” He tries to run his fingers through Peter's hair, the boy adamantly pushing away the man’s hand, but they get caught in the numerous knots in Peter’s curls. Tony makes a disgusted face.

Pepper finally raises her head from her papers to see Peter escape Tony’s hold and climb onto the couch. He’s sitting extremely close to the woman and trying to peak at the papers in her hands. “I’ll brief you on the way. We have to be at the strip in fifty.” Peter notices that Pepper is watching him snoop, she raises her brow at him, and the boy tilts his head down abashedly.

“Got it,” Tony confirms Pepper’s demand, he gives his PA a thumbs up. “You two get along while I’m gone,” he says as he walks back around the couch and towards his room.

Pepper doesn’t think that should be too hard. The boy is definitely adorable. She takes a second to look at his upturned nose and rosy cheeks, the glasses that seem too big on his face, and his little pout from being caught snooping. From the few moments, she’s spent in the same room with the kid he has also been reserved and well-behaved. “Dress nice!” Pepper yells at Tony as he runs off. Tony sucks on his teeth in reply. Yeah, the kid is definitely not related to her boss.

Peter readjusts on the couch, so his feet are curled under him, Pepper notices his lack of shoes. She wonders where his shoes are. She should tell him to go grab them. Her thoughts are interrupted by the boy. “You’re pretty,” he says. He looks up at her from under his lashes and his cheeks are pink. Playing the little cherub is extremely embarrassing but the boy really needs to be on Pepper's good side.

His words form a genuine smile on the woman’s face. “You’re very sweet,” and too cute for her heart to manage. “Do you have shoes you can put on? We’re about to leave,” she says before she can start growing attached to the way the boy’s fingers fiddle with his shirt collar.

“Uh-huh!” Peter confirms with an exaggerated nod of his head. He unfolds his legs to hop off the couch and runs over to the cardboard boxes by the door. He unfolds the lid of the only box that has been previously opened. He bends over the edge of the box and digs around at its contents.

Pepper makes her way over to the boxes with a crinkle on her brow. “Did Tony order this for you?” There are at least four large boxes sitting in the entryway. As Tony’s PA, she had assumed he ordered something for the lab. Buying things for Peter doesn’t bode well. She hopes this doesn’t mean the man is already attached.

At the expense of sounding like a broken record, Peter replies, “uh huh,” again. Peter removes himself from the box and in his hands are a pair of red shoes with yellow lightning bolts on the sides. He seems really excited about his find. He sits down on the floor to put them on, removes the tissue paper from inside the shoes, and unties the laces before sliding them up his feet.

Wanting to help Pepper asks, “Do you need me to tie them?”

“Nope! I got it,” and the boy does have it. He doesn’t even use the bunny rabbit technique.

The redhead feels proud of him even though it’s a perfectly normal milestone for someone Peter’s age. “That’s awesome! Good job,” she says sweetly. He just smiles at her like she’s being silly instead of supportive. “Do you want to show me some of your other stuff?”

Peter shrugs but stands to begin digging through the box. Pepper kneels to help him look through the various items. The way she’s talking to him reminds him of Morgan. Makes him think about how much Tony and Pepper loved their daughter and how sweet the little girl is. Was. The thought makes his breath catch before he forces air into his lungs. Pepper gains his attention when she starts waving around a stuffed animal.

When Tony makes his way back to the living room showered and dressed—in a suit, matching belt and shoes, and wearing a crisp white button-up shirt sans tie—Pepper and Peter are laughing over a stuffed bunny rabbit. It’s a pink fluffy thing with a silver ribbon around its neck and Pepper seems to be giving it a funny voice.

Feeling jealous, but never one to admit to his own feelings, Tony interrupts their merrymaking. “Having fun without me?” Okay, maybe his words expose his feelings a bit too much; but his tone was playful enough that no one noticed. Probably.

Peter's head twists around as the man enters the room. “Tony!” Peter grabs the bunny from Pepper's hands before running across the room to grab at the man’s pant legs, ultimately wrinkling the material under his little fists, like Tony was gone for days rather than fifteen minutes.

Tony adopts a wide and confident media smile. “Miss me?” He asks.

“I always miss you,” Peter says as if the man’s ego needed stroking. Tony notices the way Pepper's lips shape in a soundless ‘aww.’ The boy raises the bunny in Tony’s direction. “Thank you for the rabbit,” he says, cheesing.

“You’re welcome kiddo,” Tony nods before raising his eyes to Pepper. Peter mopes at the lack of attention. What’s the point of acting cute if no one is looking?

Pepper stands, wiping off her skirt as she does so. “Happy is outside,” she says. Peter’s face morphs into excitement, that no one catches.

“Perfect,” Tony claps his hands, “let’s get this show on the road.”

Peter runs ahead of them out the front door. Pepper and Tony follow side by side. “You’d think he was happy to get away from me,” Tony says with a mock pout.

Pepper slaps him on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “It’s the Lightning McQueen shoes. He can’t wear those and be as slow as us dinosaurs,” she comforts.

“Guess you’re right,” Tony affirms seriously. “Might have to buy him tortoise shoes so he’s forced to walk with me.”

Pepper shakes her head at Tony’s antics.

When they make it out the front door, not long after Peter left them in the dust, they see Peter shaking hands with Tony’s driver. It’s a funny sight, Happy is a large man and Peter is small even for kids his own age. The imagery makes Pepper think of David and Goliath. She hopes there is less animosity between the two.

Happy addresses Tony gruffly, “Who’s the kid?”

Peter pouts up at Happy, his head tilted back so his face is nearly parallel to the sky. “Peter,” the boy huffs, “I just told you.”

The driver ignores the boy. “Boss?”

“Oh, that’s Peter, didn’t you hear him?” Tony’s shit-eating grin would be infuriating if it were not expected.

Hogan just sighs, defeated, and opens the back door for his passengers.

“Can I sit up front with mister Happy?” Peter asks Tony as he grabs onto Hogan’s sleeve.

“What? No,” the driver cuts in, appalled at the idea. The man tries to extricate himself from Peter's grip with little success.

“Sure kiddo, I have to talk with Pep anyway,” Tony says flippantly. He slides into the back seat after Pepper.

“What? Tony,” Tony pulls the door shut, “I don’t do kids,” Happy half-yells.

“I sure hope not Hogan,” Tony broadcasts back before turning around to talk to Pepper.

Happy turns to find Peter grinning at him. “Don’t worry mister Happy! I am an excellent copilot,” the boy says confidently and tacks on a salute as an afterthought. The man takes a deep breath to calm himself before circling around to the driver’s side, leaving Peter to open his own door. Happy beats Peter to his seat; the boy has trouble climbing into the SUV, he gently places his bunny in the seat before his own body can follow. He has an even harder time closing the door once he’s seated. It’s swung open too wide, he has to lean halfway out of the SUV to reach the handle, and it’s nearly too heavy for the forty-five pounds of his body weight to manipulate. He perseveres, the door nearly slamming in his face.  He looks irritated before he catches Happy staring, then, he quickly adopts his childish grin again.

“Seat belt,” the driver says brusquely. Peter clips his seatbelt happily—adjusting the pink rabbit to sit upright in his lab—and turns back to watch as Happy pulls out of the driveway. Much like Tony Happy appears a lot younger than he does in the future. It isn’t surprising, Peter comes from over a decade in the future, anyone is sure to show signs of aging in that length of time. This Happy is slimmer and lacking a goatee. The hairless face forces Peter to hold in a laugh, did Happy grow one because of Tony? Future Tony probably gave the man so much flack for copying his signature look. The man’s hair is the same though, if less gray, and he’s just as grumpy as the day Peter met him the first time around. There is comfort found in the similarities.

In the backseat, the adults talk business. Peter has half of his attention on the conversation and the other half on the way Happy keeps readjusting his shoulders. Peter thinks the man might be uncomfortable with the extra pair of eyes on him. The boy hears Tony ask, “What are the lawyers saying?”

“Let’s just say that test better come back as a match,” Pepper answers, aggrieved. There are the sounds of papers rustling, pen on paper.

“Why?” For being so adamant about Peter's parentage the man sounds affronted.

In the driver’s seat, Happy knocks the kid’s feet off the dashboard. Peter hadn’t noticed he’d put them there. Feeling embarrassed about his lack of manners Peter apologizes meekly.

Ignoring the battle of wills upfront Pepper continues lecturing Tony. “Peter went missing in Queens New York approximately six days ago. New York is twenty-five hundred miles away by plane,” she says as though the problem is obvious.

Equally confused as Peter as to what the problem is with that, Tony asks, “And?”

Pepper continues slowly, “If you aren’t related to Peter, then you just happen to be a grown man in possession of a small child who went missing on the other side of the country.”

Tony takes a second to think about that. “Looks bad?”

“It couldn’t look worse, Pepper slaps a stack of papers into Tony’s lap before continuing, “however, if you are related,” she shakes her head, “it can be argued that Peter planned to see you and made the trip alone.”

“That’s what happened,” Peter intrudes, exposing the fact that he’d been listening in on their conversation. He leans his body over the console until Happy pushes him back into his seat. The movement forces him to readjust his glasses, something he does not miss about the future.

“Sorry, sweetie but no one believes that,” Pepper says kindly. She makes the effort to talk in his direction.

Tony raises his hand, “uh, I do.” It’s a wonder people consider the man a genius.

“After that stunt, you pulled at the press conference no one is going to trust your word either,” she says with disinterest. Pepper pulls out her blackberry, mister Stark assumes she’s in contact with one of his lawyers, but their conversation does not stop there.

Regally, Tony says, “I am of sound mind and body!” Pepper gives him a look. “I have definitely been of less sound mind,” he corrects more delicately. He begins writing on the papers Pepper handed him.

“It doesn’t matter Tony. The press is tearing you and Stark Industries apart right now. This has to be dealt with quickly and quietly.” She means Peter has to be dealt with in that way. His attention is caught out of the window. He has decided to ignore the rest of the conversation, so he doesn’t get his feelings hurt. He knows, logically, that this Pepper doesn’t dislike him; but it’s hard to conceptualize this Pepper’s apathy when his Pepper seemed nearly motherly towards the boy.

Happy’s right-hand bumps against the boy’s shoulder to gain his attention. He asks lowly, “you really Tony’s?” It appears Happy was paying attention as well. It doesn’t surprise Peter how watchful Happy is, I mean, he is Tony’s bodyguard. Sheesh, the things this man has probably seen and heard.

“Yup,” the boy says just as lowly.

“Could’ve seen that one coming,” the man’s tone of voice gives away nothing about how he is feeling on the matter.

When they reach the tarmac Happy opens the back door for Pepper—Tony opens his own door—before helping Peter out of his seat. A squeaking noise escapes the boy’s lips as Happy lifts him out of the seat by his armpits and places him safely on the ground. Peter coughs, “thank you,” he says with a blush on his cheeks. His fingers wrap around the hem of his shirt.

“Whatever kid,” the man says, not unkindly. “Get on the plane.”

Peter swivels his head around to find Pepper and Tony halfway to the jet’s stairs. He doesn’t try to catch up to them. They appear to be having an important talk. Instead, he keeps by Happy’s side as the man walks toward the plane.

Once on the jet, Peter grabs the window seat across from Pepper. Happy takes his seat next to the boy and across from Tony. There’s a table placed between both duos. Happy is looking at a menu, it still seems crazy to Peter that Tony's private jet has a menu, when he asks, “Ever been on a plane before.”

Peter takes longer than would be considered normal to answer. “No,” he says. Happy just hums. Peter is looking at the menu over the man’s shoulder.

Across from Happy Peter can hear Tony ask Pepper, “What’s the schedule?”

Pepper is still on her Blackberry when she replies, “We should land in about five hours. Once we land CPS will be there to collect Peter.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Pepper's gaze is heated and not at all disbelieving of Tony’s disagreement.

“No CPS. I don’t want Peter in some cell.”

Pepper huffs, “It’s not jail Tony!” Peter leans closer to Happy at Pep’s tone. It takes a lot to get her angry but if anyone could do it it’s Mister Stark. “He’ll be with a case worker the entire time.”

“I don’t like it,” Tony says. Peter doesn’t think the man is ignorant of her tone. “He can stay with me.”

Pepper raises her hands before quickly dropping them. “Out of the question,” she states firmly. “It’s just until they can confirm the quality of his home life,” she commiserates.

“Peter?” Tony raises his voice to gain the boy's undivided attention, “Are your aunt and uncle mean to you?”

Peter does not jump at the direct question. “Nope! They’re super cool and nice!” On second thought, “You should meet them.” It would ease Pepper and Tony’s worry about where he comes from and what type of people he is in the care of.

“That’s a great idea, Pete.” He turns to Pepper with a smile, “I think we should deliver him to his family personally, the kid said he was safe.”

The PA just blinks at the man. “I don’t think his answer would change even if his aunt and uncle were Mickey and Mallory Knox.”

“Hey!” Tony exclaims happily. “I’m supposed to be the one making pop culture references.” The man fidgets in his seat.

She raises her voice again to interrupt his impertinence, “And we aren’t an overnight delivery service. CPS will take him and deal with everything from there.”

“Okay, alright,” Tony says resigned. “Then what?”

She shrugs, “Then we meet with your lawyers, in person.” After handing Peter off everything should follow the usual series of events when someone claims paternity. The lawyers will demand a test—which Tony already has expedited but the demand will need to go through proper channels regardless—and depending on the results the lawyers will move from there.

“Ugh, boring. I hate Ben,” Tony says petulantly. A waitress comes by and asks the man for his order, he waves her away. Pepper has more manners and smiles at the stewardess when she shakes her head no.

“Ben hates you. What matters is that he’s good at his job,” Pepper says simply. Happy orders a coffee, black, and a danish of some kind. Peter points at the orange juice and fruit on the menu. Happy adds those to his order.

Peter can hear Tony ranting, “He’s such a rule follower.”

“Maybe ask him for some pointers?” Tony can be an intimidating man. Most people don’t think to deny him anything, even when he’s acting like a little kid. Peter thinks Pepper was probably the first person to tell him no. “You’ll tell them everything that has happened since Peter showed up yesterday evening and they’ll conduct damage control from there.” She definitely showed up—her first day on the job—grabbed him by his ear and got him to attend all his board meetings; on time.

“Of course,” Tony wouldn’t think to deny her. “Will I be arrested for child endangerment and kidnapping?”

The mere idea makes Pepper laugh in an unattractive manner, except when Peter looks towards Tony the man has a smirk on his face. “You’re the richest man in North America,” she says. “You could go on national television confessing to selling government secrets and Ben would find a way to brush it under the rug.”

 “How horrible,” the man’s smile shows his teeth, “our judicial system is failing.”

“I believe it is working as it is supposed to,” she says without a hint of jest. The stewardess makes her way back around to drop off their orders. Happy slides Peter’s orange juice and fruit over to him.

“Even worse.” Tony pauses, he leans his head closer to Pepper’s ear. “Will I get to see Peter again?” The juice is in a short glass and the fruit is in a wide bowl. Peter uses both hands to bring the juice to his lips. He sets the glass down gently and uses his bare hands to grab at the fruit.

Pepper doesn’t notice the look in Tony’s eye, clicking away at her Blackberry again. “If he’s yours? Absolutely. Hell, a good lawyer could manage full custody and you happen to have a whole team of those.” She notices Peter using his hands to bring watermelon to his mouth, she licks her teeth.

Tony shakes his head, “I don’t want to take him away from his family.” Peter knew Tony wouldn’t, but the confirmation loosens something in his chest.

Pepper continues as though the man hadn’t spoken at all, “If you’re not his father, which is a reality I think you should prepare yourself for, then no you won’t get to see him again.” Peter knows it would be a reasonable course of action if he really were a child and didn’t have years of knowledge surrounding mister Stark.

“Fingers crossed,” and he crosses his own fingers and pushes them in front of Pepper’s face. She pushes them away.

Tony stands and gestures for Happy to switch their seats, which Happy does happily. The move makes Peter light up. The boy would be hard pressed to admit that he was feeling a little left out ever since Pepper convinced the man he needed to return Peter to May and Ben. Happy isn’t the biggest talker. It’s to be expected, though, considering his newly acquired body, people don’t think he should have input into adult conversations. And Tony and Pepper need to have a lot of those conversations after the mess Peter created.

Happy grabs his half-eaten danish and his mug and takes the seat next to Pepper, Tony sits down in the seat he left. Peter offers mister Stark the fruit already in his hand, the boy's palm is covered in fruit juice. “I’m good kiddo,” Tony waves away the offered fruit. The man’s head is tilted down so he can be closer to the boy. His gaze is unwavering as Peter shoves the next piece of watermelon in his mouth and moves to grab his orange juice. Tony’s lips tilt upwards at the way Peter has to tilt his whole head back to drink. When he sets the cup back on the table there are sticky marks on the glass. Tony watches and watches until Peter is done with his fruit and juice, then, he signals the stewardess for a wet towelette and she takes away the boy’s dishes. Mister Stark wipes away the sugar on Peter's fingers despite the boy offering to do it himself.

It is likely not an hour later when Peter settles his head on Tony’s shoulder. Despite his nearly fully developed consciousness Peter’s young body seems to easily fall asleep anywhere and at any time. Tony takes notice of drool collecting onto his Armani blazer but doesn’t seem to mind. Pepper and Happy watch on as Tony lowers his shoulder to make the boy more comfortable. They share a look after the genius closes his own eyes and settles his head back against the headrest.

Chapter Text

“Come on Peter, wakey wakey,” says a low masculine voice right above Peter's head. Peter digs his face deeper into his make-shift pillow. The boy’s nose is pushed against soft expensive fabric. He takes a breath; savors the moment. Mister Stark smells like bergamot and cedar—though Peter would describe these two things as citrussy and woody—and basil? Peter puts on his thinking face. Definitely some kind of garden herb. It is both an expensive and subtle aroma, something he would never expect from mister Stark if he didn’t know the man so well. Despite this, he can’t help but be surprised. This Tony smells exactly like his Tony; it reminds him of long lab days where that scent would underlie the smell of metal and oil.

It’s a gentler voice this time, “Peter? Sweetheart? It’s time to go.” Peter whines but retreats from the man’s chest. He is still sleepy enough to sway on the spot and he can feel the mark of Tony’s suit on his cheek. When Peter opens his eyes mister Stark's face is right in front of him. His expression says he is as equally unhappy about being woken up. His hair is only mildly disorganized. Peter looks around the rest of the jet to see that Pepper is standing over Tony’s shoulder and Happy is nowhere to be found.

The driver is likely waiting outside by the car, but Peter has to ask, “Where’s Happy?” His glasses must have fallen off his face at some point because things are a bit fuzzy. Before Peter can begin searching for them, starting by checking under his butt, Tony promptly places them on his nose. The boy scrunches up his face to adjust them.

Tony stands from his seat, buttoning his blazer as he does so. “He’s in the little boy’s room,” Tony says jokingly.

“Oh,” Peter was hoping the man would see him off; especially if he isn’t going to see Happy—Tony or Pepper—for a long while. At Peter’s lack of smile, the man fidgets on his feet next to his assistant.

Pepper looks at her watch. Peter has never known her to be impatient. Her eyes jump to the boy and she asks, “Ready?”

A big sigh from such a small frame, “I guess so.” He hops off of his seat.

All three of them make their way off the jet together, Pepper leading the pack and Tony drawing up the rear. Tony at no point attempts to hold his hand or carry him off the plane. For as big as Peter feels mentally, he cannot say he isn’t disappointed. There are two dark sedans parked at the edge of the tarmac, one is noticeably more expensive; probably Tony’s. The other is accompanied by a man and woman, both middle-aged and both dressed in wrinkled office wear. When they—Peter, Pepper, and Tony—get close enough to the, presumed, CPS social workers, Pepper shakes hands with them both. “Virginia Potts?” The older woman asks.

“Yes, and you must be Miss Thompson and mister Stephens.” Not a question, her shake is firm and her voice professional. Tony just nods his head at the two frumpy social workers.

“Yes,” the woman confirms before switching her gaze downward, “and you must be Peter.” She has a nice smile; her front tooth is a little crooked, but the quirk only adds to its sweetness. The boy only nods his head in reply

Pepper talks to the social workers a little more but Peter is surprised at how quickly the meeting ends. He supposes it shouldn’t be shocking, Pepper’s time management is immaculate, and she has likely dealt with everything over the phone hours ago. When all is said and done it is the man who directs his voice towards Peter, “say bye to mister Stark and miss Potts.” It is said in that tone of voice. The one all adults give to little kids they think need a bit of hand holding.

As irritating as it is Peter takes the direction given. He hugs Pepper first because she’s closest and he’s scared she’ll run away if she smells PDA incoming. He wraps his arms around both of her legs and says, “thank you miss Pepper.”

She jolts at the contact but corrects her posture quickly. She pats him on the head like a dog and says, “you’re welcome sweetie.”

He quickly retreats because he used to feel awkward hugging his Pepper—not because they weren’t close, they were, she is just so cool he felt unworthy half the time—it is ten times worse with this Pepper. Then, he scrambles over to mister Stark. The man crouches down to Peter’s level and opens his arms. Peter capitalizes on the invitation, throwing himself around the man. He stands in between Tony’s knees and has his arms nearly choking the genius around the shoulders. Tony doesn’t seem to be deterred by the firm hold, only making his own grip tighter. “Bye mister Tony,” Peter whispers into the man’s shoulder.

Mister Stark sighs against the crown of the boy’s head. Too low for anyone but Peter to hear—right by his ear—Tony says, “see ya soon bud.” It gives Peter hope. Mister Stark, in all those two years of knowing him, has never once lied. Tony releases Peter too soon. He stands, looks to Pepper, smiles, and pats Peter on the head exactly as she had. Tony pulls a pair of colored sunglasses out of his blazer pocket and slides them onto his face.

Peter is then corralled towards the backseat of the social workers' dark sedan. Before he can enter the car, the door is held open by the male social worker, there are the sounds of jogging behind him. He turns to see Hogan quickly making his way towards the small group. When he stops feet away from the boy he is not out of breath. “Kid almost forgot his toy,” he huffs and waves the aforementioned toy around. Everyone looks toward the pink bunny hanging from Happy’s hand.

Peter walks up to the man and grabs his stuffed animal. He shocks the driver when hugs his leg. “Thank you, mister Happy,” the boy says lowly. Peter refuses to get choked up over the small act of kindness.

Happy reply is stiff, “sure kid.” The large man pats him on the top of his head, making Pepper cover her mouth over a choked laugh.

Later, after the CPS people drive him to their workplace and lead him to a room with a really comfy bean bag chair, he is actually given some information. His case worker is really nice. He lucks out and it happens to be the lady with the crooked tooth. She has a round face and a motherly demeanor. She asks him a bunch of questions about his home life that he thinks he answers correctly. She doesn’t make any funny faces at the very least, though, she probably has a lot of experience controlling her reactions. She doesn’t ask any questions about Tony or his experience with the man, which he thinks is strange, but he isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He is held for no more than two hours before he is told his aunt and uncle are on their way to pick him up. When they arrive and enter the room, he is swiftly lifted off the ground and crushed by heavy arms. Ben, whole and solid and alive. The feeling is enough to make anyone cry. Another pair of arms circles around them. “Next time you want to go to California just tell us, baby,” May's voice makes him sob. The hurt is all too recent.

The reunion ends up being a sad affair, no matter how much Ben and May try to hide their tears. His aunt and uncle both show signs of prolonged emotional distress. If it wasn’t the red eyes or sniffling Peter could tell by the shape of their clothes and the sound of their voice just how much his absence has hurt. Peter’s reaction is no better.

The drive home is not awkward, no matter how much it may seem that way. Peter is quiet, every answer he may have to the questions his aunt and uncle ask are interrupted by other questions. Their curiosity is not what he had expected. This isn’t to say he is surprised by the interrogation he just expected a different line of questioning.

“Are you hungry? We can pick up food on the way home if you want,” May asks from the driver’s seat. Ben is sitting in the back, buckled in next to him.

“I’m not hungry,” he replies. He is actually sick to his stomach from nerves. He worries about what assumptions his aunt and uncle may make about him now that he is home. He hopes that his physical state won’t make Tony look bad, he hopes they won’t be able to pick up on his near-adult consciousness, and he really hopes his obvious signs of distress—at seeing his dead relatives—won’t demand extra concern from his aunt and uncle.

They don’t ask about Tony, they don’t ask where he has been, what has happened to him, or any of the things he was concerned they would ask about. They wonder at the absence of his inhaler, he informs them he ran out, they fret and worry about whether he had an attack without his medication and tell him they have a spare at home. They worry about how much he has eaten, how often he’s bathed, and if he feels sick or tired or cold. Ben messes with his hair, tells him he needs a shower, and May cannot stop sniffling. It is exactly as he imagined and nothing as he imagined.

An hour or so later, after they arrive at their Queens apartment and May and Ben have nearly suffocated him with love, they expect him to be tired. He is and he is not. The parts of him that are six years old are exhausted. Every other part of him, the parts that were headed to college and helped the Avengers, can’t help but think and think and think.

“I have to make some calls,” Ben says as he takes a seat on the couch. He is talking to May, something in his eyes says that this is more than what it sounds like.

“Thank you,” May leans over the back of the couch to drop a kiss on the man’s cheek. She turns to Peter, “Let’s get you cleaned up.” It is an idea Peter can quickly get behind. He heads to the bathroom ahead of his aunt. She quickly follows behind him, leaving the bathroom door open.

Peter can hear the sounds of Ben talking quietly from the living room, feel the cold tile under his bare feet, and smell lavender air freshener. After he got bit by that spider, he couldn’t stomach the smell of lavender. He doesn’t know why he still hates it now.

May pushes away the shower curtain and lowers herself to the edge of the tub. The boy's stomach drops at the implication. “I can shower,” he whispers.

She looks over at him, they’re nearly eye-level. Even when he was seventeen being around his aunt made him feel little, the feeling is only stronger now. Her voice is soothing and sweet when she says, “I know you can shower baby, but your hair is a mess; we have to take care of it.” Peter can recognize that this is an act meant more for her than for himself. She has spent over five days worried about his safety; in that time, she has probably wanted for nothing more than to have Peter close enough so that she can care for him. He can see it in her eyes, in the firm line of her lips.

“Okay,” Peter doesn’t attempt to argue. What is a bit of mortification as long as it makes May happy? He doesn’t look at her as he undresses but can hear her choked gasp after he removes his top. His bottoms quickly follow, and he climbs into the tub without her assistance. He slouches as much as possible and brings his knees to his chest to preserve his modesty; as if she hadn’t, at one point, changed his diapers. The water temperature is perfect, not too hot to pinken his skin but not too cold to make him shiver. He avoids her gaze for as long as he is able but when she doesn’t say anything, he is forced to peak at her from under his lashes.

Her eyes are wide and wet, cheeks and chin red, and she’s biting her bottom lip. Her next breath is through her mouth, it's wet and shaky. “Oh baby, what happened to you?” She brushes her hand across the bruise on his arm. The movement makes him draw his shoulders inward.

He had avoided having this conversation with mister Stark for many reasons. The truth is embarrassing, and he hates lying—isn’t any good at it either—but this is May. If anyone deserves the truth, it’s her. “I fell off a train,” it’s a half-truth. He never made it on the train. That seems worse somehow, so he doesn’t say that.

“What were you doing on a train,” she asks with poorly concealed horror. It’s exactly the type of question he had expected earlier in the day; by the social worker and his aunt and uncle.

He doesn’t know what to say. Rather, he doesn’t know what someone in his situation would say. “All the cowboys do it,” is what he comes up with.

She asks gently, “What cowboys?” She brushes away the hair on the boy’s forehead.

“The ones from the TV shows,” like Cheyenne or John Wayne.

Understanding seems to cross her face. “The ones you watch with Ben?” He nods his head, only feeling slightly guilty at throwing his uncle under the bus on this one. “No more TV for you,” she laughs but it is a half-broken thing. He can deal with that.

She rubs shampoo into his hair, manages to remove every knot without causing Peter a lick of pain, and rinses it out without getting any in his eyes. She does the same with the conditioner but lets it sit for a couple of minutes. While the conditioner sits, she lathers up a rag with watermelon-scented body wash. He allows her to wash his face—her hands are softer than they were after the Blip—but steals the rag away from her to finish washing the rest of his body. He can only reign in his embarrassment for so long. When he is done, she brushes his hair while it is still lathered in conditioner before tilting his head back to rinse it out. When he is all clean—his hair detangled and soft—she kisses his forehead, each cheek, and then his nose. His bottom lip wobbles as she wipes away the tears, he didn’t even know he had. She is never not gentle with him.

When they get out of the bath it is just before nine. He is snuggled up in a fluffy blue towel and May has pulled out a gray and blue matching set of pajamas for Peter to put on. Ben comes in soon after Peter has gotten dressed and crawled into bed. They tuck him in together and give him goodnight kisses. Plural. They head across the hall to their shared bedroom.

The door to Peter's room is cracked open. He can hear their hushed voices across the hall. He can hear the crack in his uncle’s voice as he whispers to May, “How is he?”

“He’s gonna be alright,” there is the rustle of fabric, “he’s very brave,” May whispers right back.

Chapter Text

They have to meet with Tony’s lawyers two days later. They were told, over the phone, that their appointment is scheduled for the afternoon. May and Ben would typically be at work during this time—and Peter at school—but they had taken the day off so they could spend time with their nephew. Peter’s attendance at school has been waved for the rest of the year seeing as there were only two weeks left in the grading period; Peter is endlessly grateful for this. He has been avoiding the idea of school since he acquired his new body.

Despite this, the two days leading up to the event have seemed stressful for May and Ben. They don’t fight, Peter isn’t sure he remembers them ever fighting, but voices are raised. Mostly at night, when Peter is supposed to be sleeping. He can’t ever seem to catch what they talk about. Everything seems to happen over his head, behind his back, like his little ears cannot pick up on the whispers.

The two days have also been stressful for Peter.

He has missed them, and he loves them, but he doesn’t feel like they really see him. He is left out of a lot of conversations—as mentioned—and he is not trusted with basic tasks. He isn’t allowed to shower with the door shut or make his own food or watch scary movies. Even worse, every interaction with the couple feels like putting on a show. Which is to be expected, he isn’t the Peter they know. But it didn’t feel this bad with Tony and Pepper. Likely because they don’t understand what is normal for six-year-old Peter, but it is still an aggravating adjustment.

The boy also worries about what will happen during the meeting, what will be decided, and how people will react. He imagines that he will be forced to sit by while the “adults talk.” Maybe he won’t even be let into the room. Pushed off onto some poor receptionist. Maybe Tony won’t even be there. He knows he’s brooding, stabbing at his fruity pebbles, and quiet as a mouse at the kitchen table.

May and Ben are nearby, standing behind the couch, waiting for the car mister Stark is apparently sending to pick them up. “Hold still, you’re worse than Peter,” May says to Ben as she adjusts the man’s collar. Her hands swipe down the front of his crisp white shirt to remove stray lint. Peter is dressed just as smart in a blue argyle sweater, laid over a white button-up, and a pair of khakis. The look is completed with a red fanny pack and thick-rimmed glasses that make him look like a dork. He had not given May an ounce of trouble when she decided what he would wear for the day.

Ben says, while she attempts to fix his perfectly laid hair, “I look fine honey. Who cares what a bunch of yuppies think about my clothes anyway?” Ben has a strong Queens accent; he speaks from the back of his throat and every other word makes an aw sound around the vowels.

“More of a fat cat than a yuppie sweetie,” she replies matter of fact. She licks her thumb and swipes down the man’s eyebrow, he doesn’t even flinch. “And I care, we don’t want them forming any bad opinions.”

“I’ll let you do all the talking then,” Ben says honeyed, “you’re a lot better with words than I am.” He grabs her waist to push her away, and kisses her on the cheek as he does so. The man moves across the room towards Peter and grabs the boy’s empty bowl and lays it in the sink. “How are you feeling sport?” Ben asks Peter as he moves about.

“Good,” the boy replies shortly. Nervous, and excited, it’s hard to decipher the ball of feeling in his stomach. He crosses his arms in front of him on the table. Lays his chin on top.

May joins Ben by the sink. Peter is still sitting at the table. “What do you think they want?” She asks quietly.

“Probably nothing. Just want to make sure we don’t lawyer up, ask him for money, or something,” he soothes. He shrugs, leaning his back against the counter.

“Hopefully,” May says. She looks to Peter who has his head down, swinging his feet.

“No way a guy like Stark wants anything else,” Ben assures.

“If he’s as smart as they say he’d want a lot more,” May counters.

With a sly look on his face Ben defuses, “Nah, he’s probably too uppity to think straight.”

She smacks at his chest. “Oh, hush. You don’t know that.” They’ve never met the man.

“I dare to hope,” he whispers. Peter hears none of this. Would think nothing of it even if he did.

May receives a message on her little brick of a Nokia. Her face drops. “They’re here,” she moves away from Ben and grabs her keys from the coffee table, “Do we have everything?”

“I’d say so,” Ben replies. He pushes himself away from the counter and over to Peter’s hunched frame. He lays his index finger over his lips and furrows his brow. “Oh wait,” he says.

“What?” May looks around herself, looking for whatever Ben may have lost.

“Never mind,” he says, “I found it.” He fake prowls behind the boy's back. He throws Peter over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Now we’ve got everything.” May laughs despite the newly formed wrinkles in Ben and Peter's clothes. Peter giggles despite his poor mood. “No more moping little man,” uncle Ben says with a smile.

They make their way out of the apartment together, Ben places Peter back on his feet while May locks the door. Peter leads the trio down the stairs and out the complex’s front door. The door is pretty heavy and has a habit of sticking but the boy manages.

Waiting by the car is a wide-shouldered man with a large forehead. Peter runs up to the man with a wide grin. “Happy!” The boy yells excitedly. His small fists grab onto the man's tailored slacks. His mood doing a complete one-eighty.

May follows quickly behind, just in case she has to pull Peter off of the man. “Do you know him?” She asks the boy. Hesitation is clear in her voice.

Peter turns to look at his aunt and uncle, still firmly held onto the suited man. “This is Happy! He’s mister Stark’s friend,” the boy says. Happy cringes at the description.

Happy moves to shake both their hands. “Harold Hogan, I’ll be your driver for today,” he corrects. He is not attempting severity, but Peter thinks Happy’s face always looks like that.

“Oh! Well, it’s nice to meet you,” May says kindly.

Ben still seems confused. “Happy?” He asks out of the side of his mouth. He stands with his hands on his hips.

“A nickname,” the driver says shortly, “A gift from mister Stark.” He opens the back door for the small family to enter. Never one for polite conversation, They follow the silent command, Ben shooing Peter in after May. In the car, the partition is raised between them and the driver. Peter does not pout.

“He must be a good driver,” Ben says, “For the boss to be so friendly with him.” He adjusts in the seat and places his arm behind Peter's head on the headrest.

“Tony’s friendly with everyone,” Peter defends. Tony is very nice, though, many would not agree with this statement. His corporate opponents for one. Evil doers for another. Actually, those might be the same people. But Tony is friendly, even if he is also abrasive.

May plays with his loose curls. She definitely put too much gel in his hair, but Peter refuses to complain. “Is that right sweetie? I’m sure he’s a very nice man,” her tone of voice says otherwise. Ben huffs at her words.

Peter doesn’t try to say anything else. May and Ben talk over his head the whole drive.

When they arrive, it is at some Stark industries corporate building. Not as tall or as gleaming as Stark Tower will be. Happy takes them through a private parking garage and them off at a private elevator where they meet a kindly assistant. They’re brought—upstairs twenty floors and down several corridors—to a secluded lobby. There is a small and empty receptionist desk situated against one wall. Down the hall, towards what Peter can only assume is their meeting room, Peter can see Pepper talking with a young man. She is dressed wonderfully in a baby blue skirt. The man is in an expensive suit, a gold watch peeking out of his sleeve. He is leaned slightly against the wall in a flirtatious manner that Pepper clearly does not reciprocate. There is no mister Stark in sight.

Ben and May are discretely watching the pair too. “I thought you said no yuppies?” Ben mutters. May just shushes the man and Peter pulls where he is holding onto the man's hand.

Pepper takes a second to lock eyes with Peter, her smile is tense before she moves her gaze over to his aunt and uncle. She smiles more professionally at them and raises her index finger as if to say: one second. After she ends whatever conversation she was having with the blond she strides over to their small group.

“Hi, I’m Virginia Potts. We spoke on the phone,” she introduces herself. She has on her war face, but Peter doesn’t think anyone else in the room knows that. She is very blatantly trying to appear friendly, firmly planted smile and a voice that hitches upwards at the end. This can’t be good. She shakes their hands, “You must be May and Ben Parker, wonderful to meet you. We should only be a few more minutes until the meeting starts.”

Ben waves his hand. May says, “We’re in no hurry.” May’s posture says she would actually rather be anywhere else in the world. Ben doesn’t seem as equally affected by the environment. There is an awkward length of silence where Pepper keeps looking down at Peter. Peter waves up at her, uncomfortable at the inspection. She only forces a smile back.

“Red bottoms,” Ben points at Pepper's shoes.

“I’m sorry,” she says. Leaning towards the couple.

“Your shoes, Louboutin’s,” Ben corrects.

“Oh yes, they were a birthday present.”

“Phew,” he makes a showy gesture, “a very generous gift giver.”

“He is very thoughtful,” Pepper blushes. She shifts on her feet, Peter doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so thrown. “How was your commute?”

May is the one to answer, “Oh! Your driver was very pleasant.” As if Pepper employed Happy herself.

“What was his name? I’ll be sure to put in a good word with mister Stark.” Pepper must know the answer already. There isn’t anything involving Tony that she doesn’t know about. She must be stalling or avoiding something else.

“Where is Tony?” Peter interjects at the same time that May replies.

“Hogan, I think his name was?”

“He’s a wonderful driver. He’s been with Stark industries for many years.” She looks down at Peter, “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you?” She most certainly did.

Peter has to crane his neck terribly to make eye contact with Pepper. “Where’s Tony, is he here?”

“Don’t you worry. He wouldn’t miss this meeting for the world,” she says without a hint of doubt.

There is ruckus down the hall. The sound of an altercation, bodies colliding, before they all turn at the sound of shoes on the carpet. Mister Stark appears around some corner; he is sweaty, out of breath, his hair is tousled, and he’s holding a soft serve ice cream cone. He walks to them without a hint of embarrassment. A wide, authentic, grin is plastered across the man’s face. Peter can hear Pepper talking to May behind him, “And that would be Tony Stark.”

Tony heads straight to Peter. He has a laser-like focus on the boy in particular. When he reaches Peter, he crouches down in front of him. “Hey Petey, good to see you again.”

Peter bounces on his front toes, hands behind his back to avoid grabbing the man. “It’s good to see you too! I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Peter says timidly.

The man’s smile only drops a little. “I’ll always be there if it’s for you, kiddo.” The lines around Tony’s mouth are very deep. “Before I embarrass myself, you’re not lactose intolerant, are you?”

“The correct description would be lactase nonpersistent but no I am not.”

“Perfect.” Tony brings the ice cream to Peter’s face. “There’s a guy selling them just around the corner,” Tony starts, “Saw him on the way in and thought you might like something.” He offers Peter the cone. There are only a few drops that have melted downward. Behind him May and Ben exchange glances.

Peter was worried that Tony might not be as excited about seeing Peter as Peter is about seeing Tony. The scientist in the boy is happy to be proven wrong. “Thank you,” the boy says. He happily takes the offered treat. Digging in as quickly as possible.

Tony breathes in deeply, obviously trying to catch his breath before he stands with a grunt and introduces himself to May and Ben. Peter happily eats his ice cream while they do introductions. Before Tony can attempt light conversation the blond man from earlier signals the beginning of their meeting.

Everyone enters the meeting room through glass doors. There is a large oval-shaped table placed front and center. May sits across from the blond man, he appears to be leading the discussions, and Ben sits to May's right with Peter sitting to his right. On the other side of the Tony across from Ben, Pepper across from Peter, and a team of lawyers on the blond man’s other side.

The head lawyer introduces himself as Ben Higgins. The line of lawyers also introduces themselves, too many for Peter to remember. He casually licks at his ice cream cone while the adults talk shop. May and Ben are required to sign an NDA before discussions begin. They also go over some other legal business that Peter is not involved in but is a witness to. He introduces some “medical professional” with a pair of nitrile gloves waiting on the outs. The woman is not seated at the table, but she does seem attentive.

After all, is said and done Tony’s lawyers seem to get down to the meat of it. Peter finishes his ice cream at this time but avoids touching anything because his hands are sticky. He looks around for a napkin but there are none. Pepper is watching him and is clear mirth in her eyes.

The blond lawyer starts the discussion, “As we all know, Peter here was found in Tony’s care three days ago after having been missing for some time. During his time in mister Stark's care, Peter made the claim that mister Stark is his biological father.” Lawyer Ben flips through a stack of papers in front of him but continues speaking, “Now, I, nor my team, want to waste anyone’s time with hearsay. That being said, conducting a paternity test will find results in as early as two days.”

Peter’s leg, which he did not know he was shaking, pauses. Mister Stark took Peter's DNA over two days ago. It is possible he has already received the results. Peter’s heart rate picks up. He looks over to Tony to see the man already looking at him. There is a smile in the corner of the man’s eyes. Okay, that’s good. At least mister Stark isn’t mad at the negative results. Crisis mostly averted.

But, with that being the case this all seems rather unnecessary. May and Ben don’t appear interested in pressing charges. Which was the initial reason Pepper called for a meeting, to assuage whatever concerns his aunt and uncle may have had. May and Ben had even thanked Tony for getting Peter home safely at one point. Further, Pepper has already stated that if the results do not come back as a match it would look worse for Tony. Peter is unsure what they’re trying to do here, it is unlikely Tony kept the results from Pepper at the very least. Peter can’t imagine she wouldn’t inform the lawyers as well.

“I’m not sure that’s necessary,” May looks toward Ben. There is hesitation clear in her eyes.

The lawyer immediately replies, “We think it plenty necessary to either confirm or deny Peter's accusation.” He’s a fast talker. The type to run all over your words if you gave him half the chance.

“And if they came back positive, or negative, what would you ask of us?” She questions. “If you want us to sign another NDA we’ll do so happily.”

“Well,” lawyer Ben does one of those smug half-laughs, “typically in situations like these it would actually be what you ask of mister Stark.” He seems to think the discussion is funny.

“We aren’t asking for anything!” May is already irritated, the lawyer has one of those faces that bring out the worst in people. Plus, Peter is starting to think he might be keeping all his cards close to his chest with the way he’s acting. “We don’t want your money or your time,” she affirms.

“Excuse me,” he says as though she had interrupted him, “that would be under normal circumstances.” He slides a stack of papers that appear to be consent forms. “However, mister Stark is rather fond of Peter and is convinced of his paternity. Now, if the results were to come back as a genetic match mister Stark would like to open discussions regarding a custody agreement.” He taps his index finger on top of the packet.

“Custody?” May slides the packet to Ben without looking at it. Ben flips through the pages. “Surely you wouldn’t take Peter from us.”

Peter jumps in, “Tony would never!” Though, he doesn’t know why May is entertaining such a discussion. Doesn’t know why Pepper, Tony, or the lawyers are even wasting their time. Everyone knows Peter and Tony aren’t related.

Ben interjects, words overlapping Peter's own. “You want to be in Peter's life?” He’s looking at Tony who only nods his head genuinely.

“This really is not going how I imagined this going,” lawyer Ben huffs.

“I could say the same. We were under the impression you would want nothing to do with Peter,” May says incredulously.

“Wait,” Peter mutters. Pieces starting to connect.

The furrow in the blond lawyer’s brow unfurls slowly. “I think I see,” lawyer Ben nods his head and he looks like he’s struck gold. A shark smelling blood in the water. He looks over to his team of lawyers who nod their heads similarly. “I am going to ask a clarifying question because we,” and he waves a pen around to gesture to his team, “were under the impression that you and your husband did not know of Peter and mister Stark's relation. Are you in dispute of said relation?”

“No, of course not,” May says. They’re such simple words too but Peter feels them in his stomach.

“I can’t breathe,” Peter says. It comes out as a whisper and with the attention of the room on May, no one hears him.

It is Ben speaking this time, his voice is harsh but not raised. “If you wanted to be in Peter's life, why ask for the test? We would have allowed visitation.”

“Again, we were not aware you knew of Peter’s parentage. Following that assumption, we could not have asked for anything if you assumed mister Stark unrelated.” Which is a whole load of bullshit! Peter knows that everyone in this room, bar Tony and apparently Ben and May, thought tony was having some PSTD-induced psychosis. Unless they’ve known this whole time? He knew Tony must’ve received the test results by now. Knew that pepper and the lawyers would’ve been privy to this information. He just guessed wrong. “How long have you had this knowledge?”

“Since before Peter was born,” she shakes her head. Since before he was born? Peter chokes. How is that possible? Did his mom cheat? “I’m sorry I’m really confused.”

If Peter were in his right mind, he would understand how this looks to lawyer Ben. Rather, how easily Starks team could paint this in their favor. This could look really bad for May and Ben. If it comes down to it, if Tony asks them to, they’ll argue Peter was being purposely withheld from Tony. No court would deny Tony Stark custody after hearing that.

“I see,” the lawyer states.

“I don’t—,” May starts.

“Miss Parker, stop talking,” Tony says. He stands. “I think we should take a break and reconvene in thirty?” Tony quite literally drags lawyer Ben out of his seat and across the room. Tony doesn’t look happy and the blond looks scared.

Peter slips out of his chair and makes his way out the meeting room door. His hands leave residue on the pristine glass, but he doesn’t notice. Out in the hall, he can hear the wheeze in his chest. He really is having a hard time breathing and his sticky finger fumble with the zipper on his fanny pack.

“Baby, are you having an attack?” She crouches down to reach his fanny pack. Peter pushes her hands away.

“Get away from me!”

Ben's deep voice breaks through the haze, he feels like he’s having an anxiety attack too. Just great. “You need to calm down Pete, you’ll only make it worse.”

Peter manages to open his pack and fumbles with his inhaler. He takes two pumps before his breathing starts to slow. “Feeling better,” May asks. She is still crouched in front of him.

He says the first thing he can think of, though, he probably isn’t thinking much right now. “You knew?” He demands in anger. Angry at this May and Ben for not telling him. But he’s angrier at his aunt and uncle, the ones from his future. They had known too and didn’t tell him, not even after he met Tony; his dad. Did mister Stark know too? He thinks he’s going to be sick. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell him?” He points to the meeting room.

“It was what was best for you at the time. Tony Stark isn’t known for living a life suitable to children.”

“You didn’t think that maybe he deserved to make that choice himself?” He could’ve known Tony years earlier than he had. He could’ve had a father. All that time. Lost.

“We love you, baby. We only wanted the best for you.”

“Not your choice!” And Peter isn’t guilty of that is he? He is forced to think about MJ and Ned in a moment like this. He pushes the thoughts away and tries to center himself. How is he letting himself be angry at the dead?

“I wouldn’t have trusted the me of six years ago with a kid either,” Tony defends May and Ben. Peter didn’t notice when he entered the hall. He moves to stand next to Peter.

“I don’t believe that. I know you’d be a great dad.” The best dad actually. Peter hasn’t met a man more patient and loving.

“While I appreciate your completely unfounded support I think, just maybe, things have worked out how they’re supposed to.” He brings the boy into a standing hug.

Peter sobs into the man’s pant leg, his glasses scrunch against his face uncomfortably. “I don’t like it! It isn’t fair, I could’ve had more time.”

“We have plenty of time bambino, don’t you worry.” He pets down the back of the boy’s head.

Chapter Text

There is a bit more sniffling before Peter manages to gather himself. The boy asks the crowd of three, “Can I talk to mister Stark alone, please?” And he is starting to feel like he shouldn’t call the man that anymore. It feels too impersonal. May and Ben don’t attempt to argue. Tony merely nods them off toward the meeting room. They leave the two alone and head back inside.

Tony bites his lip. The man steps towards the nearest wall, opposite the meeting room doors, and takes a seat on the carpeted floors. His legs are crossed and his dress pants bunch at his hips. He pats the space next to him.

The boy plops down inelegantly beside his father’s suited form. And isn’t that a strange thought? His short legs stretched out ahead himself. “I have to do something right?” The boy wonders aloud.

“Do what?” Tony asks. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he affirms. Tony’s eyes never leave Peter's profile.

“That’s not true,” Peter shakes his head. “Responsibilities don’t just disappear because I’m having a bad day; or because I don’t feel like dealing with them.”

“You’re a kid Pete,” Tony laughs. “You shouldn’t have to worry about anything. Let someone else figure it out.” If only the man knew. “What is it you’re so worried about anyway?”

“Would you?” Peter ignores Tony’s questioning.

“Would I what?”

“Would you make it better?”

“Not sure what it is, but anything you need, I’m your man.”

The boy twists his ankles. Knocks his shoes together. “It’ll make you look like the bad guy.”

“I’m intrigued,” the man says with a sly grin, “but don’t worry about that kid, I’m very good at playing the part.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Peter frowns up at the man, “It probably doesn’t feel good to have people think of you like that.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” Tony says flatly. Peter looks as though he is going to interrupt. “I would happily be the bad guy if it would help you in any way. Don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t help but worry. So much could go wrong.”

“I really don’t know what we’re talking about here,” Tony rubs at his left wrist, “but the world isn’t going to end tomorrow. No matter what happens today. Now, what do you need?”

“Anything I want?”

“Anything. You name it.”

Peter chews on his cheek, his eyes go all big, and he scratches at his pant leg. “Can I go back to Malibu with you?”

Tony releases his next breath from his mouth. “That is the million-dollar question isn’t it?” Tony adjusts the lapels of his jacket. “All day I’ve been contemplating the same thing, you know?” He bunches up his nose. “But you already have a family.”

“I’d rather live with you,” Pete sniffles.

“Wow,” Tony exclaims. “I really hate being the adult. I’d love nothing more than to say yes but if you’re just saying this because you’re mad at your aunt and uncle? I can’t have you regret something like that.”

“I’m not mad at them. I just need space.” Peter is being completely honest. He doesn’t plan on letting his feelings lose him more time with the people he loves. He just got aunt May and uncle Ben back. He isn’t going to be the one who pushes them away over something that has not, and will never again, happen. He just worries they won’t forgive him if they knew it was his idea.

“And what? You’ll want to move back to New York in a couple of days? A week?”

He can see that Tony is still not convinced. The man probably feels that Peter will get bored of him and leave.

“I want to live with my dad,” Peter says with his chest. “Is that so bad?”

Peter can hear Tony inhale. Can see the way his chest expands and rapidly condenses.

“Okay kiddo,” he nods, “I’ll get it done.”

“Can you not mention that it was my idea? I don’t want to hurt their feelings.”

“I’m great at keeping secrets, Petey. Don’t you worry about a thing.” He ruffles the boy’s hair.

“I can still see them whenever I want right?” He has to be sure.

“What kind of dad would I be if I kept you away from them?” Tony gently settles every one of Peter's fears.

Peter bumps his face against Tony’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he says. He wiggles his head deeper into the man’s jacket.

Tony shoulder bobs up and down in good humor. “Aren’t you a little cuddle bug?”

Peter blows a raspberry. “I’m wiping my boogers off,” he sniffles.

Tony laughs loudly. Head thumping back and against the wall.

Tony leaves soon after to continue with the meeting. Peter notices dust marks on the back of his thighs and calves from his leather shoes. Peter thinks this would be an intimidating moment even for his Tony. And he really should stop thinking of either Tony in this way. This Tony is likely more his than the other Tony ever was.

This brings Peter to his rather impromptu plan.

Peter always felt like he cared about future Tony too much. More than an intern, a lab partner, or a friend should. When he came back after the snap and found that Tony cared about him just the same? It wasn’t a good feeling. It felt like Tony cared about him more once he was gone. Peter couldn’t stand to see that happen again. He won’t give this Tony the chance to love the idea of Peter more than the real thing.

But if he doesn’t stick by the man, he might not see Tony for months on end. Years even. The man is soon to be Iron Man and he has a bad habit of becoming addicted to his work. Peter remembers what happened with Ultron, wasn’t around when it happened but heard about its circumstances afterward. Tony is a genius, that’s true, but he’s overconfident, reckless, and absentminded. He’s a man who often flies too close to the sun and has burned himself time and time again.

May and Ben have unknowingly given Peter the chance he’s needed from the start, to stay close enough to Tony to make a difference. That isn’t to say he isn’t emotionally compromised. He is just in no position to put his reactions first. He has a mission and he is going to do it right. Peter has some knowledge of the future. Being Tony’s son will only make it easier to keep the man’s focus. It’s manipulative and selfish but, as Tony had said, he is six years old and is allowed the selfishness.

Not long after Tony left Peter to sit and think by himself Pepper leaves the meeting room. He watches as her heeled feet approach his slumped form. Tony must have sent Pepper out to the hall to keep Peter company.

“Come on honey, the floor is dirty,” Pepper says kindly. Which is markedly untrue. No SI location could be classified as dirty, not even the waste treatment plants. Regardless, he stands and lets her take him back toward the small waiting area. She sits him down in one of the cushioned chairs. She sits next to him and doesn’t attempt to gauge Peter's reaction to recent events. Which is very much appreciated. “Have you eaten?” She asks simply.

“I had cereal for breakfast and the ice cream Tony gave me,” he answers.

“Are you hungry? We could head down to the café and get something.”

“I’m not hungry,” Peter says. His stomach still feels like its flip-flopping.  

She looks toward the ceiling and fiddles with her manicure. She opens and closes her mouth a couple of times. She seems unsure. “You’ll be okay,” she settles on. “Tony is the type of man to move the stars for the people he loves.” Peter already knows this.

“I’m fine, really.” Peter is, in fact, not fine. But he has plans. It isn’t that hard to conceptualize, that he’s Tony’s son, not really. It’s the other part. The years of lies stump him. He can’t think about it right now though. Can’t let himself fumble this opportunity. No, he can use this. He lets himself breathe. In and out.

May and Ben know their chances in court. Tony has the backing of a dozen lawyers and billions of dollars. There’s no question about how this day will end. It is only a matter of waiting. Of holding himself together so Tony doesn’t change his mind.

They do end up heading down to the café, which is some version of a fancy Starbucks. Pepper gets a caramel macchiato, decaf, and Peter gets a sweet bread he doesn’t eat. They sit at a low, two-person table.

Pepper is easy to talk to, she’s less intimidating like this; in comparison to her future self. He can tell that she doesn’t really know how to talk to him. She attempts to simplify her conversation style, which he quickly dissuades her of, and overall has very little experience with children his age. It does not stop her from trying, which is sweet. She asks, “So, how is school?” Her nails tap against the table and her ankles are crossed beneath it.

“I’m out for the summer,” he says simply. Her lips pucker. “But I like school,” he amends. “Particularly science. It’s pretty easy.” Which is true and is truer than ever. God, he starts second grade come August. What do they teach in second grade? Earth science? Is he supposed to play dumb or skip ten grades? Maybe he can convince Tony to homeschool him.

Pepper interrupts his thoughts, “That’s very cute. You must have gotten that from Tony.” At Peter's perceived look of confusion, she amends, “Your love of science I mean.”

Richard and Mary were also scientists, he thinks but doesn’t say. “He’s been my hero for as long as I can remember.”

“Don’t tell him that. He’ll get a big head.” Peter laughs but doesn’t say anything in reply. “Have you thought about colleges?”

He had, obviously. NYU or Empire State. Something close to home. Then, those dreams were taken from him. Home no longer feels like home and he has no idea what the next ten years have to offer. But if he had the chance again? “MIT,” the boy says.

“A great school. Their programs in engineering and computer science are world-renowned.” Peter nods with her. “You know,” she smiles, “Tony went to MIT.”

“I know,” he replies.

He and Pepper continue to discuss his aspirations and interests: biochemistry and bioengineering. Until this moment he didn’t realize he had a second chance of ever going to college. Or working for SI. It is a nice reminder. He asks her what she wants to be when she grows up. “I am grown up,” she says. He continues to make a joke about her becoming a CEO. She thinks it’s funny.

The meeting doesn’t end for at least another three hours.

Despite a tentative agreement being made, where Tony has acquired full custody, Peter is still sent home with his aunt and uncle. He is not given an explanation as to why, but he can assume there is a lot of paperwork involved in situations like these. He hugs Pepper before he leaves. Another assistant leads them toward the same elevator they entered through. They are driven back to their apartment by Happy. Peter merely waves at him before getting in the back seat between May and Ben.

May is angry, seething really, and Ben keeps wiping at his nose.

Peter has to remind himself that it’s easier this way. It’s the only way he can actually change anything. Plus, May and Ben remind him of everything that once was and what can never be again. They make him feel little in all the worst ways. Which is a horrible thought; that he may be happier away from them. That the decision that feels the most wrong might be what is best for him. For everyone.

Back at the apartment May and Ben settle Peter on the couch, in front of the television with some food, before they seclude themselves in the bedroom to talk without prying ears. Peter doesn’t mean to listen in. Not at first. It’s a cheap apartment and the walls and doors are thin. When either of them raises their voices, he can catch bits and pieces of the conversation. He hears mention of Richard and Mary and despite his lack of emotional connection to his mom and dad, he’s always craved more information about them.

Peter slinks off the couch, leaves his untouched plate on the coffee table, and makes his way over to their closed bedroom door. He stands just next to it. Leans against the wall.

“I’m not happy about this either, but he seems like a decent man,” Ben's rough voice states. The words muffled by the door.

May, not half as reserved, yells, “Mary didn’t want him involved for a reason!” She pauses.  “She must have had a reason,” she says quietly.

There is a bit of movement on the other side of the door. “I’m sure she did but it is not something we can ever know.”

“It’s not our place to question her decisions,” May defends. Peter can hear the choked note in her words.

“I know. I know,” Ben says. “And she would’ve been really proud of you for taking care of him as well as you have.” He always knows exactly what to say.

“I only ever wanted to do right by her.”

“She’s gone, honey. They both are. But I think this might be what’s best for Peter.”

“How can you know that?” She questions.

“I don’t. But have you seen them together? Two peas in a pod.” He can hear the subtle markings of May's laugh; a slap to Ben's chest and a breathy exhale.

Peter decides not to test his luck any longer and makes his way back toward the couch. He doesn’t collect his food but pretends to focus on whatever show is on the TV. He decides that when Ben and May come back to the living room, he is going to cuddle up with them while he still has the chance.

Chapter Text

Despite Tony having received full custody it isn’t until a month later that Peter is allowed to move in with the man. Peter and Tony do not see or speak to each other once during this time. He isn’t allowed a phone call or even a message sent through his aunt or uncle. What Peter doesn’t know is that Tony had to prove that he is of sound mind—solely because of his recent trauma—and has to have a safe and steady home for Peter to move into. His lawyers were adamant that they could grant Tony custody without the confirmation of these things, but Tony wanted to do things right.

The month is spent with his overly affectionate aunt and uncle. They pick up his favorite Thai food, watch his—six-year-old self’s—favorite movies, and visit some really cool museums. The movies were better than he remembers if he’s being honest, say what you want about nostalgia, but it does wonders for perception. They act like he’s being sent off to the executioner’s block. In all fairness, for them, it has been more than two years since they’ve spent over a day’s time away from Peter. This is a big change for them.

May and Ben are rather closed-lipped about the proceedings; even if they have agreed to handing Peter’s care over to Tony. He isn’t given much warning before he is due to fly to Malibu, just two days. May thinks that is enough time, it certainly doesn’t feel like it. He wonders when he will next see his aunt and uncle, he wonders what it will be like to live with Tony, and he is scared.

They had seen Peter off at Tony’s private landing strip. It was a very emotional affair. Many hugs, many kisses, and a bit of a not-so-subtle threat from May if anything were to happen to Peter. Tony kept his back straight and avoided any inappropriate jokes or comments. Peter was both surprised and proud. Tony isn’t a mean man; he just hates feeling uncomfortable and tends to say things he regrets. Peter can understand that.

Which brings them to where they are now. On Tony’s private jet. Again. Peter takes the closest window seat to the exit, quick to sit down and get comfortable. He all but collapses into the squishy material, and feels his weight disappear into the fabric. Finally, away from his aunt and uncle’s watchful gaze, he feels like he can relax a little. Breath. And he does, heaving a sigh too big for his body.

Tony unbuttons his blazer and slides into the seat next to him. He sets his phone on the table with a click. “The seats aren’t that comfortable kid.”

“Wrong. They’re super comfy,” and Peter punctuates his statement by wriggling deeper into the cushioning, “See?” He smiles towards Tony but it falls a little flat.

Tony makes a suitably convinced face and then mimics Peter as he settles deeper into his own seat, “Oh wow, I’m convinced, you’ve convinced me.” Peter can only huff out an amused puff in reply. His eyes darted out the window. “So, how’ve you been short-stack? Long time, no see.” Peter shrugs without making eye contact. “That good huh?” Tony taps at the armrest.

Taking note of the man fidgeting Peter corrects, “I’m okay. Just overwhelmed and tired.” Tony just nods and continues tapping on his armrest.

“That’s good. I mean, not good but understandable. I understand, I mean.” The cabin of the jet filters into silence except for the whirring of its engines. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Tony asks abruptly.

Peter isn’t. “Could I have some orange juice?” He can see that Tony needs to be useful. That he’s uncomfortable. Or something.

“Your wish is my command!” Tony vacates his seat and heads for the front of the plane. Peter leans into the aisle and watches Tony as he walks away, hand running through his hair anxiously. Peter watches until he exits the cabin, shutting the door behind him. Leaning back into his seat he sighs and rubs at his face. It’s never been weird or awkward with Mister Stark, but now Mister Stark is just Tony and Tony just so happens to be his dad who is not really his dad. Peter wishes he could google 10 small talk tips or How to connect with your family. He just really wants to take a nap.

Eventually Tony comes back with the orange juice, though, he takes much longer than one would expect. The juice is in a sippy cup. It's blue with textured handles on two sides and a rubber base. So I can’t knock it over, Peter thinks. The drink is handed to him before Tony takes his seat again. He takes a sip, its good, extremely good. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome bud.” Tony looks at him expectantly, Peter flicks his eyes away and kicks his feet. Mister Stark clears his throat and reaches for his phone lying flat on the table. Soon after the jet takes off, Tony is immersed in his phone and Peter dissecting the little whales on his cup.

It isn’t until hours later that Peter breaks the silence, “Uhm, Tony?” He hesitates to question.

The man quickly directs his attention to the boy, “What? You need to pee?” He’s halfway out of his seat before Peter grabs his arm. He settles.

The boy is shaking his head with humor in his eyes. “I wanted to ask what we’re gonna do when we land.”

“Happy will be waiting for us with a car and then we’ll head to the mansion and get you unpacked. Why, did you have something in mind? I’m flexible.”

“No, that sounds good. It’ll let me ground myself.” Ground yourself, Peter? Really? You take one yoga class with MJ and this is what you think to say.

Tony points at his little face. “My thoughts exactly kid. Let yourself get comfortable with the new surroundings. Recognize the mansion as a place of stability.” Tony nods his head.

Peter twists his face. Weird. Anyway. “Will we see Miss Pepper today?”

Tony shakes his head, “She has a lot of work to do today. Fires to put out, I’m sure you know how it is.” Peter nods solemnly. “But, she might visit later tonight if she has the time.” Tony quickly picks up his phone, probably telling Pepper to make time. The boy kicks his feet as they talk, occasionally his shoes will bump against the table.

He finds himself watching the man’s profile as he texts; transfixed by the slope of his nose and the jut of Tony’s chin. How did he not notice it before? How similar they really are. They have the same coloring, sure, same eyes and hair but Tony is tanner—this Tony in particular has rather bronzed skin—and has softer bone structure. When Tony places his phone back on the table and turns his full attention back to Peter the boy tries to appear as if he wasn’t just staring.

It doesn’t work, his blushing giving him away. He turns his face quickly toward the window, a move that is in no way suspicious. Peter misses the way Tony’s eyes crinkle and the lines in his cheeks bunch up. The man bumps their shoulders, “What?” Peter ignores him, “Come on, what?” He laughs.

Peter sighs exaggeratively. Turns towards Tony with an eye roll and an embarrassed grin. “It’s stupid.” Tony shakes his head and urges him to go on. “I just, I can’t believe I used to watch you on TV and never knew. Never thought: wow! He looks like me!”

Tony’s eyes crinkle so much. “You used to watch me on TV?”

“Ugh,” Peter drags out and turns away from the man.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Tony leans on the table to get a look at Peters' face, “Are you a fan?” The boy blushes and Tony’s grin broadens. “That’s so precious!” Tony says excitedly. “Pepper is never going to hear the end of this.”

When they land Tony carries Peter off the plane; Peter would object but the stairs are very high, and it would be more embarrassing if he fell. Happy is waiting for them with a sleek black car just as Tony said. His frown is still in place since he last saw the curly-haired man. Tony is still carrying him when they make it to the car, Happy opens the back door for them. “Mister Happy! It’s good to see you!”

“Good to see you too kid,” the man replies without a change in his expression, “now get in the car we have places to be.”

Peter pouts melodramatically, “You’re not gonna give me a hug? I was gone for forever.”

The big man’s face becomes even more impassive, “Starting to wish you were gone longer.” The boy's lip starts to wobble.

Tony intervenes, “Petey Pie stop harassing the help. He doesn’t get paid enough to babysit.”

Peter drops the act. “Then pay him more,” Peter replies and wiggles from Tony’s grip. Dropping to the ground Peter takes the open door as the invitation it is and slides into the back seat, the conversation continuing outside.

“Is it too late to return him?”

“Hey! He’s half me so I take offense to that,” Tony defends.

Hogan just looks at Tony, “That might be the problem, sir.” Tony gasps theatrically, hand to his chest.

Tony begins sliding into the back seat as well. “I’ll be expecting your two week’s in the morning.”

“Of course, sir, whatever you say, sir.” The conversation ends there, Happy closing the door in Tony’s face and taking his place in the driver’s seat. The drive is smooth and uneventful. The partition is open and Tony and Happy bicker the entire drive. That is, until, Peter says Happy is a better driver than Tony, which causes some problems. The partition is closed and Happy is eventually denied access to the mansion for a week.

Upon entering the mansion, the pair are welcomed by J.A.R.V.I.S. “Welcome home sir and tiny sir.”

“Hi, Jarvis!” Peter exclaims. He waves towards the ceiling. Though he knows J.A.R.V.I.S. is not in the ceiling.

“Good afternoon young sir. How was your flight?”

“Good! There was only a little turbulence and I got this cool cup!”

“That is a very wonderful cup indeed.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “Don’t let him toot his own horn. Jarvis picked it out.” Peter is under the impression J.A.R.V.I.S. does most of the shopping. Per Tony’s request of course.

That doesn’t deter Peter, “Thank you, Jarvis! What made you pick it?”

            Quick to respond, “From what I was able to gather on the habits and interests of boys in your age group dinosaurs, sea life, and space are among the most favorited. As well as the color blue.”

“The cup is blue and has whales on it,” Peter smartly points out.

“That is indeed the case,” J.A.R.V.I.S. responds. The little boy gives the ceiling a thumbs up.

Bored of standing in the entryway Tony breaks into the conversation, “Aw, sibling bonding.” Tony places his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Adorable, really, and I am glad you two are getting along, but I have something I want to show you, Pete.”

The boy gasps. No way! Already?  “Is it a robot?” He asks excitedly.

“Sorry to disappoint but no.”

Disappointed Peter harrumphs, “Well, what is it then.”

Reaching for the boy’s hand Tony says, “It’s more of a show than a tell.” Peter freely grabs the man’s hand and they make their way towards the room he slept in the last time he was at the mansion. Everything, from the hall to the living room looks exactly the same. Peter thinks it’s strange for a home to feel so unlived in. “I had your room set up for you. Happy helped a little bit but don’t let him take all the credit.” Tony opens the door to a large fully personalized bedroom. Peter expected a standard guest bed, but Tony really went all out. Gone are the white walls and sleek furniture and in their places are blue paint, colorful rugs, and a kiddy-sized bed. The only sign that this is a Stark mansion is the completely glass wall facing the ocean.

“Wow.” Peter had his own room at the tower, then the compound, and even at the lake house—which he really hates thinking about because he was all but dead when it was put together—but this is something else. Peter walks into the room, he pushes on the comforter and mattress, soft and at a reasonable height. There are little dinosaurs on the bed sheets.

The prolonged silence must be getting to Tony because he hastily adds, “If there’s anything you want to be added or changed, we can make it happen.” His right hand grips his left wrist, unnoticed by Peter. “Happy thought cartoonish dinosaurs would have been a better option. Said: little kids like cute things Tony.” Tony mocks in a bad impersonation of his driver. “I thought maybe you’d appreciate a more scientifically accurate depiction.”

Peter can’t help but shake his head and giggle at Tony’s ranting. It's genetic, he thinks to himself. He turns to see Tony smoothing his expression, ready to be flayed alive for his choice of bedspread. Peter has never considered himself a materialistic person. He didn’t grow up particularly wealthy and only really got new things on holidays but that never mattered that much to him; he was very good at dumpster diving after all. And this is a little kid’s room, very much catered to a young boy from to late 2000s. Yet, he is reminded every day just how thoughtful Tony is. He hides it behind a veneer of casual indifference, but Peter has never been disappointed in the man’s efforts. “It’s perfect,” is all he can think to say, “Thank you.” It is hardly enough but Tony seems happy.

“Perfect, I did good?” Tony asks with a smile and a thumbs up. Peter nods, his grin infectious. “Can I get a hug, maybe, if you wanted to?”

Peter doesn’t reply, merely walks the few feet it takes to wraps his arms around Tony’s waist. Tony burrows his fingers into Peter's hair, untangled as it is.

Chapter Text

Later, Peter is sat at the kitchen island, all cold marble and clean lines. Tony is making lunch, a PB&J because Peter was craving peanut butter. Tony is still in his dress shirt and slacks, but his suit jacket has been discarded to somewhere unknown. There is a jar of peanut butter and another jar of strawberry jelly and two pieces of white bread sitting atop a lone white plate. Tony, butter knife in hand, reaches for the peanut butter first. He slathers a healthy portion onto one piece of bread before setting the peanut butter down. Peter watched with avid attention, head settled on his arms. Tony reaches for the jelly and before he can put the dirty knife into the uncontaminated jar Peter stops him, “You need a clean knife.”

Tony looks at his peanut-covered knife and then at Peter, “Why?”

“You’re gonna get the jelly dirty.”

“It’s peanut butter, it’s not dirty,” Tony defends. His face says: It’s my jelly I can get it dirty if I want to.

Irritated, Peter explains, “But the jelly will have peanut butter in it. The jelly isn’t supposed to have peanut butter in it.” At Tony’s unimpressed face Peter continues, “What if someone has an allergy!”

“Then they can eat somewhere else,” Tony says, again reaching for the jelly. Before the man’s hand can touch the glass container Peter whines and fidgets in his seat, the chair shaking with the barely contained movement. Tony looks up to see the pout taking over the boy’s face. He pauses before releasing an exaggerated sigh and placing the dirty knife in the sink. He grabs a clean one. Peter grins playfully and leans further onto the counter. “Yeah, yeah, kid, you won. Rub it in,” Tony says before he slathers the strawberry jelly onto the second piece of bread. “Crust or no crust?” Tony asks after assembling the childish delicacy.

Peter reaches across the countertop for his plate. “Crust please,” he says with a drawn-out please.

Tony slides the boy his sandwich. “Weirdo. When I was your age, I hated crust.” He leans on the island to watch as Peter munches on his meal. His eyes are inquisitive and thoughtful.

Peter digs into his sandwich quickly and messily. He takes three full bites before he replies, “Aunt May says that’s where all the nutrients are.” Tony hums in acknowledgment. “Can I have some water please?” He would get the drink himself, but he doesn’t know where the cups are, and he can’t get down from the chair without Tony’s help. Tony steps away from the counter and fills a sippy cup without acknowledging the question. He places the cup in front of the boy, who immediately downs half of the water.

“Good?” Tony asks. Peter just hums and nods his head. At some point, he began rocking in his seat happily.

Done with his sandwich in record time the boy looks around the countertop before asking, “Where’s your food?”

“I wasn’t very hungry,” Tony states. From what the man can see there are smudges of peanut butter and jelly marking the boy’s cheeks and chin. There is even a dusting of crumbs on Peter's shirt. No doubt there are more crumbs on the boy’s lap. “Maybe we should get you cleaned up?” Peter’s face is pinched and unhappy, but he doesn’t say anything in opposition. “Unless you’re still hungry?” Tony asks, concerned. Peter just shakes his head no.

Tony wets a cotton rag in the sink before walking around the counter. He attempts to wipe the boy’s face, but Peter takes the rag from the man’s hand quickly. “I got it,” the boy says sheepishly.

“Okay, you got it little man.”

Peter swipes messily at his face, focusing on his mouth and chin. Tony watches with his hands in his pockets. Peter slows down his swiping, “Uhm,” he starts, “did I get it all?”

“Every last bit.”

“Cool,” Peter whispers.

Tony looks at his watch. He helps the boy to the ground. “Pepper should be here soon, said she’d drop by on her lunch and say hi.”

“Really?” Peter asks excitedly.

“Yep, so you should probably change. You don’t want her knowing you’re a messy eater.”

“I am not!” Tony just looks towards the boy’s chest, covered in crumbs. Peter looks down, for the first time noticing the detritus of his meal. He gasps. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he whines. Not waiting for a reply Peter runs off to his new room. Tony laughs at his receding form.

After changing into new clothes Peter makes his way down the hall and towards the living room. Before he turns the last corner, he hears the shuffling movement of two sets of footsteps, one heeled. It is joined by the sound of someone sitting down on a sofa. “How’s everything at SI?” That’s Tony.

“Nothing’s changed since yesterday,” Pepper states easily. There is a zipping sound followed by the crunch of deli paper. Recognizing this as a private conversation between Ms. Potts and Tony, Peter presses his back against the wall and listens more closely.

“Oh, still a shit show then?” Tony clarifies.

There is a pause where the deli paper makes more noise. Peter imagines Pepper taking a bite of her lunch. Chewing before giving Tony a response. “You have to wait things out Tony,” she states. “It could be worse, all things considered.”

“They’re trying to fuck me out of my company. My father’s company. How could it get any worse?” Tony’s angry. Loud even. Peter isn’t sure he’s ever heard Tony like this. Not during their first battle at that German airport. Not even on Titan.

There is a long silence where Peter is unsure if anyone is willing to speak. Pepper, always the mediator, switches tactics. “How’s Peter doing?” She sounds annoyed but equally understanding.

Tony sighs loud enough for Peter to hear him. There is the sound of steps before Tony also takes a seat on the sofa. “He seems okay. He was a little quiet on the plane and had a fit while I made his sandwich. But Jay says that’s all normal. I was expecting tears, so, yeah, he seems fine.”

“That’s good. If he does cry, if, that’s normal too. It’s a big change. For the both of you.” Her reply is stilted but no less genuine.

“Yeah, I know, been reading those books you dropped off.”

“Good. He deserves your full attention.”

There is a pause. Tony sounds proud when he begins speaking again, “Jay says he’s smart, like really smart.” More crunching of Pepper’s lunch. “He looked into his report cards.”

“Is that even legal Tony?”

Speaking over Pepper Tony continues louder, “Jay also says that Pete shows advanced social awareness and empathy.”

“Must have gotten that from his mother,” Pepper huffs and takes another bite of her lunch.

Continuing to ignore Pepper Tony hesitantly acknowledges, “But he’s behind in the more physical milestones.”

“Such as?”

“Height, weight, motor skills. Probably more.”

“Okay, so he won’t be playing for the Lakers anytime soon.” Her tone is blasé, Peter imagines her statement paired with a shrug. Though, Pepper would never shrug.

“Pep! This is serious.”

Another bite is taken of her lunch. “Jarvis is this serious?”

J.A.R.V.I.S. interjects smoothly. “Likely not. Some children are just slower to progress in these ways. If you are concerned, Sir, there are options for intervention that may assist in physical learning.”

Thinking that he may have been gone for too long Peter rounds the corner into the living room. He makes sure to act surprised when he sees Pepper. “Miss Pepper!” Peter exclaims. She seems surprised by his entrance and covers her chewing mouth. She swallows her bite before saying hi to the boy.

Tony is seated on the couch opposite her. When he sees Peter he states, “You were gone long little man.”

Thinking quickly for an excuse Peter states, “I put my shirt on inside out.” Could’ve just said you had to use the restroom, idiot.

“Oh,” Tony looks across the coffee table to Pepper, her meal—a sandwich with a healthy amount of greens—sitting snuggly in her lap, “well if you ever need help just tell Jarvis and he’ll notify me.”

“I didn’t need help,” Peter defends quickly.

“Right, duh, of course not.” Tony shrugs, “But if you ever did.”

Feeling awkward Peter takes a seat on the couch next to Pepper. Without much else to distract the adults from staring at him—and wanting to dig a little deeper—he asks Tony, “Do you go to work tomorrow?”

“Don’t worry about all that,” Tony waves the question away, “I’m supposed to lay low right now. Keep my nose out of the company until the stocks settle.” Peter loves that Tony never watches the language he uses. Would a six-year-old know what stocks are? Regardless, Peter nods along because he isn’t comfortable pretending not to understand.

“So, you won’t be headed to the office?” Peter continues to ask.

“Not for a little while at least. I’ll probably have to do some work in the lab but feel free to drag me away from that.” Invasion of the body snatchers anyone? When has Tony ever uttered such a phrase? Even Pepper looks uncomfortable as she chews on her sandwich.

Seeing a shot at learning more about Iron Man Peter questions, “Can I watch you work in the lab.”

The man’s eyes light up, Pepper shakes her head subtly, and Tony quickly smothers the immediate reaction. “Uhm, I would love that, I really would.” His fingers tap on his thighs. “Let me phone a friend on that. Jarvis, labs are safe for children, yes or no?”

J.A.R.V.I.S. is quick to respond. “With the proper precautions, adult supervision, and safety measures present, yes.”

“Hell yeah! I mean, definitely,” he corrects.

Pepper, again, shakes her head. “Where are you going to find adult supervision?” Pepper quips.

Without missing a beat Tony responds, “You can leave now Pep, we have science business to attend to.” He stands from the couch and reaches for Peter's hand. The boy quickly hopped off his own couch and accepted the offer to join Tony.

“I think I’ll stay and finish my lunch. Thank you.” Pepper says flippantly.

“Wait! We shouldn’t leave Miss Pepper if she came to visit us,” Peter says sweetly. On the inside, he is hoping she’ll tell them to stop bothering her. He is this close to seeing the early renditions of Tony’s armor.

She does wave them off, sparing Peter a gentle smile. “That’s alright Peter. I’ll come by another time. You go have fun.”

The boy releases Tony’s hand before rushing over to Pepper and giving her a quick hug. He runs back to Tony, grabbing his hand and attempting to drag him off to the lab.

Chapter Text

It’s mid-June—2008—and Peter, not for the first time, is stepping foot into Tony’s workshop. The workshop where the first Iron Man suit was fabricated and designed. He couldn’t appreciate it the first time around, so worried about what Tony would do with him, but now he lets himself soak in the experience and examine the room. There are high tables scattered about, covered in a messily organized array of materials; from circuit boards to exposed wiring to lithium grease. It is horribly cluttered and Peter wonders how Tony manages to find anything in the chaos. To the left, there is a sitting area: a dingy couch, the cushions appearing soft and the material stained, and a low coffee table. This is where Tony has placed Peter while the man goes about “baby-proofing” the lab. He pushes Peter to sit on the couch and hands him a couple of magnetic stir bars to fiddle with. The room itself, not even counting the square footage provided by the massive garage, is likely three times larger than the little matchbox apartment Peter has been living in—in the future—these last few months. Yet, it feels so small, so cozy. Perfectly juxtaposed to the rest of Tony’s home. Peter can tell this is where the man spends all his time. Can even imagine Tony sprawled across this couch after a particularly complicated manufacturing binge.

Tony is pacing, picking up sharp objects and heavy tools, muttering to himself, and asking Jarvis question after question while Peter waits. The boy continues his perusal of the space, knees on the squishy cushion and peaking over the back of the couch; beyond the lab and to the garage. There is an impressive array of collector cars but that’s not what draws his attention. There’s a slightly raised platform that takes up a good section of the space and above it, mechanical arms are holding the silver suit of armor Peter saw last time he was here. Everything in him is urging him to get up and get a closer look. So, he does.

He quietly removes himself from the couch and enters the garage. Approaching, what he believes to be, the Mark I he can see how different this suit is from any of the ones he seen Mr. Stark in. Really, it is an outdated piece of machinery in comparison to the technical marvels Peter is familiar with, a Nokia next to a Stark phone if you will, but there is a beauty to it, nonetheless. It’s bulkier than future iterations, there’s no color and none of the flash he expects from Iron Man but if he looks closer, he can see fingerprints of grease along some of the seams, and imperfections in the body’s paneling. Proof that Tony built this with his hands, his mind, and his heart.

His investigation is interrupted by Tony. “Pretty cool, huh?”

The boy looks over his shoulder quickly, not hearing Tony’s approach. The man is already looking at him with his hands on his hips and a question in his eyes. Peter has to swallow back the emotion he can feel building in his throat. When he speaks, he tries to keep the reverence from his voice. “What is it?” He has to ask back because he isn’t supposed to know.

“It’s a pilot-able suit of armor,” Tony starts, “equipped with plasma thruster technology and a verbal user interface.”

A VUI, already? “Jarvis is in the suit?” Not only had the man built a functional AI and a streamlined suit of armor but he’s incorporated them seamlessly together in 2008. 2008! If this doesn’t amaze you let’s keep in mind this is the same year HD television was invented.

“Sure is. Jarvis doesn’t like being left out of the fun. Isn’t that right Jay?”

Quick to reply, J.A.R.V.I.S.’s accented voice filters through the lab speakers. “Are you ever wrong sir?”

Tony’s response is immediate and his smile blinding. “And that is why you’re my favorite,” he tells his AI. Looking down at Peter he amends, “Well, second to Peter of course.”

“However, shall I recover from this loss?”

Recognizing the banter for what it is, the familiarity it has with being in the lab with Mr. Stark and F.R.I.D.A.Y. Peter can’t help but join in. “Don’t feel bad Mr. Jarvis. You’re still my favorite.” With this betrayal being voiced Tony grasps at his chest, hand hovering over his heart like he’s been mortally wounded. Peter is comforted by the theatrics; it is so very Tony.

The man looks down at Peter with a look of mock anger. “I’m revoking your lab privileges. People who gang up on me with my A.I. don’t get to have lab privileges.”

Before Peter can reply with something equally pseudo offended J.A.R.V.I.S. butts in. “Does Miss Potts not have access to the lab, sir?”

Tony points at the ceiling. “Don’t make me threaten you with the shoe box Jay.”

“I would hardly fit in something that size.”

Their bickering has Peter giggling, drawing Tony’s attention back to the boy. “You didn’t answer me. It’s cool right?” The man jerks his head toward the suit.

Peter hums and shakes his head back and forth as though he’s in intense thought. “I don’t know. I’ve seen cooler.”

“Cooler!” The man exclaims. “Where could you have possibly seen anything cooler than this? This is a modern marvel, a breakthrough in engineering.” He makes a flummoxed noise. “The Thruster technology alone—.”

Peter just smiles up at his father—so weird—and enjoys the stark offense in the man’s tone. Tony continues to ramble about the skill and intellect involved in the suit’s creation even going so far as to step onto the platform to point out the smoothness of the joints of the suit.

When the billionaire turns back to the boy, he notices the look on Peters’ face. “You're messing with me.” Peter nods, his smile never dropping. “That’s cruel.”

“It’s funny,” Peter shrugs. Tony squints his eyes at the boy and Peter looks back to the suit. Back to the topic at hand. Peter asks, “What’s it for? The suit.” He doesn’t look at Tony, is scared of what his face might say. He already knows what the suit is for; has seen it take down a Titan.

This is where Tony looks away from Peter and towards the suit as well. “I’m not sure yet.” There is a too-long pause where Peter isn’t sure the man will go on. When the boy looks back to Tony he’s caught on his eyes. There is a look in the man’s eyes that he is intimately familiar with. It’s a look that says: I’m lost. It says: I know I have to do something, but I don’t know what. It says: I have the power to change the world but don’t have a clue where to start. It says: I’m scared.

In an attempt to help Tony parse his motivations and feelings, Peter asks a different question, “Well, what did you build it for?”

That doesn’t appear to garner a better response. “Yeah, I don’t want to talk about this.” Tony claps his hands together to signal an end to the conversation. Peter isn’t going to force the issue. He doesn’t need to know everything about the origins of Iron Man to help Tony or stop Ultron or the Chitauri or the Mad Titan. But he does want to know more about Tony for much more selfish reasons.

From there Tony shows him the rest of the lab and even begins giving him a full tour of the garage. Peter eventually finds himself sitting behind the wheel of a 1932 Ford Flathead roadster twisting the wheel this way and that. There are flames on the hood and sides and it has white-walled tires. It’s cool in that very antique-y sort of way. “Custom paint job,” Tony says leaning on the driver’s side door, “did it myself.” It’s not bragging but it’s a very near thing and all it does is bring a smile to Peter’s face. Before the boy can say something smart in response Tony’s phone rings. He looks at the caller ID and his face shifts to something irritated and professional before he answers the call with a click. “Hey Obi, kinda busy right now. Could I call you back later?”

There’s a gap of silence where Peter can only assume this “Obi” is speaking. Whatever this person says has Tony furrowing his brows and turning away from the roadster and Peter.

“I understand Obi but I have something going on right now. No, of course, I’m listening. I know, I know, okay.” Tony sighs. “Look, I’ll work on it. Okay? Just give me a couple of days.” Obi must agree to Tony’s terms because soon after the man clicks to end the call and turns back around to face Peter. “Now, where was I?”

“Who was that?” Peter asks.

“That was Obadiah. He’s my COO,” Tony says simply. No doubt he wants to avoid questions about his work life.

Peter, however, is not feeling generous. The boy’s brow furrows, “You called him Obi, are you close?”

Tony just sighs, conceding the loss. “Well, I guess he’s like my Uncle Ben. He was friends with my father before he died and has looked after me ever since.”

Peter thinks he can remember something about Obadiah Stane but he doesn’t know the specifics. Something big enough that it made the news and 2008 Peter had heard about it. Something about a plane crash, maybe. Yes! That was it. Engine failure. Peter remembers. Starks Industries COO and head of board dead at sixty-four. If he wasn’t such a huge Iron Man fanboy, he wouldn’t have remembered something like this. And thank Thor for that. Either way, what he does remember is that by the end of this year, Tony’s Uncle Ben will be taken from him nearly as unfairly as his Uncle Ben. Thankfully, it seems an easy enough death to prevent.

“I mean, our relationship is tense right now, but I don’t take it personally. I have made a bit of a mess of things,” Tony replies as he fiddles with the side mirror.

Peter shifts to lean on the door, attempting something appropriately casual. “What was the call about?” The boy asks.

“Oh, nothing important. Just work.” Peter’s look urges him to go on. “Obi wants me to create something to hold the board over while SI deals with the current PR situations. I’ve shut down weapons manufacturing, which has made everyone a little unhappy.” Understatement, Peter thinks. “Handing them a conciliatory gift might go a long way.”

“They’ll come around,” Peter says. He thinks they actually might not, but Tony can always get a new board, right? He has no idea how these things work. What he does know is that everything works out in this regard.

“Yeah, well, even if they never change their mind, I know it was the right thing to do,” Tony mutters resolutely.

“What are you going to give them?”

“Not sure. It’d have to be something for our military contractors; which limits my options,” the man leans on the roadster again. His head tilted to the ceiling in thought.

Without much thought, Peter posits: “Body armor?”

Tony’s face slowly forms a smirk. “That could work,” he directs to Peter, “what do you think about helping me brainstorm? To which Peter smiles brightly.

Tony leads Peter to one of the worktables and J.A.R.V.I.S. pulls up a fresh work folder without being asked. Tony bounces ideas off of Peter and the boy throws out a few of his own. He may, possibly, use some of his future knowledge to impress Tony. He doesn’t think of it as theft, he thinks of it as jumpstarting Tony’s creative process. It’s not like he’s going to be listed on the patent. Plus, he doesn’t go crazy, nano technology would be a pipe dream to anyone in 2008, even Tony Stark.

They land on an updated version of Twaron fiber. Developing the material into something that can withstand slashing and slicing. One of the main drawbacks to aramid fibers is that they’re very susceptible to knives; despite being bulletproof. Before they can develop the project further, Peter’s head is filled with ideas on how to counter the compression issue, J.A.R.V.I.S. interrupts their lab session to let Tony know that they’ve been working for nearly two hours and that it is time for dinner.

They have dinner together. Tony orders pizza and breadsticks and macaroni and cheese. J.A.R.V.I.S. questions the health of the meal. Talking about appropriate servings of vegetables and healthy fats. Tony argues that anything in moderation is healthy. After, it is deemed to be Peter’s bedtime and the time-traveler would be offended by the word if he weren’t so tired.

He’s put to bed gently, very similarly to how May and Ben put him to bed. Tony makes sure Peters brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas before turning out the light. When Peter is situated under the covers and wiggling into the mattress Tony takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Peter expects the man to say something, but he doesn’t. He just looks at the boy wrapped up tight under dinosaur sheets.

Tony’s hand twitches in his lap like he wants to reach out. He doesn’t. “Good night Pete,” he says softly before exiting the room and shutting the door behind him. Peter doesn’t have a hard time falling asleep after he leaves.

Chapter Text

Peter feels comfortable here, in this house and with this Tony, in this room and in this bed. He should know better than to be this comfortable. He should know better than to expect peace of mind.

He wakes gasping for air. Sitting up as though he’s half ready to jump off the mattress. There’s wetness on his brow and just under his eyes and a chill racing down his back. Peter doesn’t know where he is, not right away, not until he hears the British voice of Tony’s artificial butler asking, “Are you alright young sir?”

Peter doesn’t reply. He’s too caught up in catching his breath. He has to silently tell himself he’s safe. He’s in 2008 and he’s six years old and he’s safe. Tony is safe too; he’s either just down the hall or in his lab. Aunt May and Uncle Ben are safe and alive in Queens. Everyone and everything are okay. Nothing bad has happened yet.

J.A.R.V.I.S.’s voice breaks through the haze once again, “Are you alright young Sir, should I alert Sir?”

“No!” Peter responds, just this side of too loud. His nerves are frayed, and he knows he won’t be able to get anymore sleep tonight. He looks to the floor length window and notes that the sun
hasn’t even begun to rise. “No, Jarvis I’m okay. I just had a bad dream.”

The A.I. doesn’t respond right away. Peter think’s J.A.R.V.I.S. is processing the correct course of action based on his existing protocols. There is every reason for the butler to tell Tony about this event. Peter knows Tony would want to know, which means J.A.R.V.I.S. knows this as well. “If you’re very sure,” is the response the boy eventually receives.

“Yes,” Peter nods his head, “Yes, I’m sure.”

Without being prompted Jay raises the lights. “Is there anything I can do for you young sir? Your heart rate is abnormally high, and your breathing is labored, perhaps you should locate your rescue inhaler.”

“Right. Inhaler.” Peter slips out of bed and toward the bathroom to grab his inhaler. It’s resting on the sink. He puffs it once and sets it back on the counter before making his way back to bed.

He feels embarrassed, for no apparent reason, possibly at being seen so vulnerable. “I’m sorry Jarvis,” he tells the A.I.

“Whatever would you be sorry for young Sir?”

“I don’t mean to bother you,” and he means it. He doesn’t want to make Jay’s job any harder than it already is. Picking up after Tony and making sure the man doesn’t kill himself working.

“It is my purpose to be, as you say, bothered,” J.A.R.V.I.S. says all prim and proper and in no way annoyed.

Peter just hums. “What time is it.” He’s looking out the window again. Laying down in sweat-soaked sheets.

“It is 4:30 AM. The current temperature is 60-degrees Fahrenheit and there are five miles per hour winds coming from the west.”

“What’s the forecast for the day,” Peter continues to ask.

“You can expect sunny skies young sir.” The A.I. goes on to outline the temperature highs and lows and any events that might be going on in the city.

When there is a lull, after Peter appears to have suitably calmed down, the boy says, “You’re good at that.” Distracting. Comforting. Even if he lacks a body Jay is gentle.

“I’ve had plenty of practice as of late.”

This goes on for three more days. During the day Peter will sit in the lab with Tony in the evening, then Tony will make dinner and put Peter to bed. Peter will wake sometime in the night, shaking and attempting to hold himself together because he’s scared he’ll fall apart. J.A.R.V.I.S. will turn up the light without prompting and relay the date, time, and weather forecast for the day while peter stares out the window. On this night, or rather very early morning, after J.A.R.V.I.S. has gone through the typical paces he says, “I am beginning to grow concerned.” Peter continues to lay there, staring out the window and unsure of how to assuage the A.I.’s concerns.

“You have nothing to be worried about Jarvis,” the boy attempts to be convincing, “it’s probably just the unfamiliar environment. I’ve heard—.”

The A.I. interrupts whatever terrible lie Peter was trying to form, “You talk in your sleep,” he says it like it is evidence enough of some crime. As if he’s found Peter guilty of something. If it were possible Peter grows more still. He feels caught out and scared. What has he said, what secrets has he revealed? “You call out for your aunt more often than not.” This is normal, Peter is sure, he’s never meant to have been away from her so long. The circumstances would stress any child. “But you also mention a Toomes. There aren’t many Toomes in the U.S. let alone New York. How might you know Adrian Toomes; the CEO of Bestman Salvage?”

“I don’t.”

“Your heart skipped a beat Peter. You must remember it is impossible to lie to me.” Peter is really starting to understand all the sci-fi horror surrounding A.I. gone mad. “But most concerning of all,” and this is where Peter can hear his own voice broadcasted to him through an audio of his night terrors, “Mr. Stark,” his little voice says—so scared—“I don’t wanna go Mr. Stark. I don’t wanna—.”

“Turn it off.” The recording cuts out immediately. Just hearing himself say those words again takes him back there.

“You can see why I might have concerns.”

“This is cruel,” the boy says wetly.

“Sir is my highest priority,” J.A.R.V.I.S. says matter of fact.

“You’ve been collecting data these past three nights. Watching me sleep. Recording all of it.” J.A.R.V.I.S. doesn’t say anything because nothing needs to be said, Peter knows. “Have you drawn a conclusion?”

“Regretfully, no,” Peter doesn’t know if this is a good thing. He doesn’t know what response he was hoping for. No, he does. He wishes J.A.R.V.I.S. would say: I know you’re a time traveler. But that is outlandish.

“Why haven’t you told Tony about my nightmares?” Why hasn’t the A.I. voiced his concerns to the man in charge.

“I’m not sure that is what they are. Even when you aren’t sleeping you behave strangely, you talk strangely. I have eyes and ears anywhere I would like to have eyes and ears and I have never seen a child like you. You behave differently when no one is watching,” but Jarvis is always watching, isn’t he? “You’re extremely intelligent but beyond that you have knowledge people Sir’s age do not possess. You assist in the leap in body armor technology overnight.”

“It was three days’ worth of work really,” Peter whispers to himself.

“But most distressing, you traveled across the country to see a man you’ve never met,” the A.I. pauses, “unless you have met Sir before. Perhaps that is the answer.”

“What are you trying to say?” Peter asks, because he’s concerned what conclusions J.A.R.V.I.S. might jump to if he lets him.

“I don’t believe you’re who you say you are. I think you’re an anomaly and I’d like to determine if you’re a threat.”

“Tony isn’t normal either.”

“Sir is predictable.”

He is comfortable here. He feels like he can be himself—like he doesn’t have to hide his intellect or simplify his thoughts—but he knows better, he should have known better. He can’t let his guard down, not fully, never fully, not when he is masquerading as a man in a little boy’s body and the smartest man alive is not five feet away from him. Especially, not when there is an A.I. built into the framework of this home. If Tony finds out about this, if J.A.R.V.I.S. tells him, he won’t be able to keep his secret any longer; put a problem in front of Tony Stark and he’ll solve world hunger. Show him a boy—his son—is having trouble sleeping and he’ll want to know why. He’ll want to make the nightmares stop. He can’t. No one can. And if that happens, if he finds out, he’ll lose the man’s trust forever.

“Can you keep a secret Jarvis?”

“My highest priority is Sir.”

“Yeah,” Peter sighs, “you’ve said that.” Peter gets out of bed and makes his way toward the window. If he looks down, he can see the waves crashing against the cliffs. If he looks forward, he can see the sun peaking over the horizon. “Just, please hear me out before you make a decision.” When Jay doesn’t say anything in the affirmative Peter must go on with the hope that J.A.R.V.I.S. will listen. “The first time I met Tony Stark I was eight years old and he was holding the very first Stark expo in decades.” He remembers how excited he was, it was the first time he had been on a plane and he was on his way to see his hero. He cannot recall a time where he was not obsessed with Tony Stark. “I went with my uncle, plane tickets were expensive, and my aunt couldn’t get the day off work, to see the ‘newest innovations in technology.’” He can still hear Mr. Starks voice on that commercial: Bring the whole family to witness the newest innovations in technology. He wished so badly for a day when he could submit his own invention. “I was always a nerd, even back then. That day, a man named Ivan Vanko tried to kill Mr. Stark. I don’t know why. It wasn’t something that became public knowledge after the fact. But what I do know is that Vanko turned Mr. Starks suits against him. Vanko could’ve hurt a lot of people, he nearly killed me, but Mr. Stark stopped him. He saved me that day and I don’t think he ever stopped.” Peter feels so glad to have met Tony and, “I just want to be someone like that for him.”

“A time traveler?” Is J.A.R.V.I.S. response. It is half asked in clarification and half in denial. Peter just nods. It is all he can really do. He is only given a moment to sit and worry. “I am glad you are not a terrorist spy manufactured with stolen Stark DNA.”

Peter can’t help but laugh. Only an A.I. created by Tony Stark. Truly, magnificent. “That was your most likely conclusion? That’s really sci-fi of you.”

“You’re the time traveler.”

“Psh,” Peter deflects, “not on purpose.” The boy wipes at his eyes. He’s relieved J.A.R.V.I.S. isn’t mad at him. That he isn’t, metaphorically, running to Tony to tell him about the deceiver in their midst. “I am surprised you’re taking this so well.” The sun has fully crested over the horizon. Its light reflecting off the Pacific.

“You don’t behave normally. There must have been some explanation.” J.A.R.V.I.S. is posh even now. Even while discussing the most unbelievable of excuses.

“Time travel is apparently a plausible one,” Peter says with humor. He makes his way back towards his bed. Allowing himself to feel some comfort in this room once again.

“It was the more favorable option,” the A.I. utters. “Which begs the question, when are you from?”

“2025,” Peter says blasé as he pulls himself under his blanket.

“That must be troubling,” there is kindness to the tone of Jay’s voice. “To be twenty-two-years-old man in the body of a child?”

“Uhm, not exactly, I’m seventeen.” Still troubling, just less so. “It’s honestly not so bad besides I can’t really see without the glasses and everything is too big for my hands.”

Ignoring the second part of Peter’s response Jay deadpans, “I was under the impression you would be good at math.”

Peter laughs before he thinks to be offended. “Wow, the attitude. For your information I was put into death limbo for five years and didn’t age a day.” (Dermatologists hate him.)

A pause. “We shall come back to that at a later date.”

Peter hums, “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

“Though, I would like to know, how is it that you’ve found yourself here; in this time?” J.A.R.V.I.S. asks.

“It really was an accident,” and Peter gets himself in a lot of those, “I touched some machine without thinking and poof.” He makes a poof motion with his hands. “Time travel.”

“Would it not be best to inform Sir of the situation so he might be able to reunite you with the Sir of your timeline.” Ah, the ever reasonable A.I.

“Tony said it wasn’t possible. That my being here has erased the timeline I lived through.”

“I am aware of Sir’s opinion on the matter of relativity,” J.A.R.V.I.S. says with all the attitude any respectable butler would allow themselves. “However, he is not a man who would not try.”

“Mr. Stark died almost two years ago, or, two years in my past. I don’t have anyone else to go back to.” J.A.R.V.I.S. is smart but he is also kind. He does not ask about Ben or May and for that Peter is grateful.

“This is a weighty secret to hold and I am of the opinion that you should share your troubles with Sir. That being said, I will not utter a word of this to anyone,” something about the way the A.I. says this tells Peter there is more to what’s being said. Like J.A.R.V.I.S. is being careful about the words he uses.

“Thank you, Jarvis.” The boy sighs and collapses back on the mattress, “it’s such a relief to get that off my chest.” He lays there for a moment, soaking in the silence and the smell of his comforter. This too smells like Tony.

J.A.R.V.I.S. breaks the quiet. “Peter?” He asks.

“Yeah, Jay?” Peter does not open his eyes.

“How does Sir die?”

His throat immediately feels tight with emotion. He swallows. “He saved the universe and sacrificed himself to do it.”

“It is in character I think,” the A.I. says. Despite what the tabloids or the man’s own father had to say about him, J.A.R.V.I.S. has always known that Tony is a selfless and kind man. “I would like to assist in any way I am able to prevent such a thing from happening again.”

Peter sits up ramrod straight. “Really! Oh, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that.” This is when Peter starts to ramble, the ideas flowing like avalanche. One thought provoking a flurry of movement. “I’m actually worried I might start to forget things, but you’d never be able to forget! I’m also so tiny people don’t take me seriously at all. I mean, I think it could have its uses but trying to get adults to talk about emotions is like pulling teeth! And don’t get me started—.”

“I think the best course of action would be for you to rest a little until Sir comes to wake you. We can worry about the future tomorrow.” Peter lays down and pulls his comforter over his small body. The pillow is cool against his cheek and the sheets smooth against his skin. J.A.R.V.I.S. lowers the lights again.

Despite the feeling of peace and comfort and exhaustion that has washed over him Peter finds himself unable to sleep. The longer he lays there the more the darkness of the room creeps in. J.A.R.V.I.S is watching over him and Tony is just down the hall; but his room is dark and far too quiet. There is an underlying fear that something may jump out from behind his closet door or from under his bed. Something cruel and evil put there to ruin this moment for him. Another symptom of childhood, he supposes. Being small and helpless makes you scared of the dark, it is only reasonable. In a small voice Peter questions, “Jarvis?”

“Yes Peter?” J.A.R.V.I.S. says in what can only be considered a whisper.

“Can you tell me a story?”

“Gladly.” Peter burrows further into his blankets. “There was once a young knight,” J.A.R.V.I.S. begins, “who was brave and selfless.” Peter thinks, as he is lulled to sleep by the sound of the A.I.’s voice, that this is day one. He can only find himself excited for what is to come.

Chapter Text

For Tony, the past two months have been almost like a dream. Two perfect months with Peter: lab time, bedtime, lunch time. Two months of nothing but Peter and designing and escaping reality, but now, now there is no more hiding. When reality comes knocking, you have to answer the door.

The sound of Tony's heavy boots echoed through the silent mansion as he hurried down the hall. He tried to ignore the pain in his lungs—restrictive ventilatory defect—and the sharp ache in his side—foreign body—a reminder of his time in Afghanistan. JARVIS had to say: Obadiah is here. And Tony had found himself running out of the lab and upstairs. He needed to find Peter. Peter, who just wanted to get a snack. Peter, who should be walking back to the lab to finish up their new project.

He burst onto the landing, skidding to a halt at the sight. The grand, two-story living room, usually a testament to modern art and sleek, impersonal wealth, felt like a stage. Obadiah Stane stood in the center, a monumental figure who was always there at his worst, had his broad shoulders squared, his hands clasped behind his back. He wasn’t looking at Tony. He was looking at the tiny six-year-old boy; 45th percentile in height, 48th in weight.

Peter was dwarfed by the sheer scale of the room and the man standing before him. His little hand was outstretched, a gesture of pure, guileless politeness. Did he get that from May, or is that all Ben? Tony thinks. "I'm Peter," the boy chirped, his voice a bright, innocent note in the tense air.

Obadiah's unimpressed gaze swept over the child; an appraisal that made the hair on Tony's arms stand up. Tony knows that look, has seen it in business deals and board meetings. His eyes, the color of cold slate, seemed to miss the bright curiosity in Peter's face, the innocent trust in his smile. Obadiah turned his head at the sound of Tony's labored breathing. His lips thin. "Anthony. Care to explain?" He gestured dismissively toward Peter.

Tony forced a confident smirk onto his face. It felt unnatural; they always do, but he needed the protection it provided. "Oh, didn't you hear? Stark Industries is branching out. Child labor is the new trend in industrial manufacturing. You should see the Apple warehouses; they're basically daycare centers."

Obadiah didn't even crack a smile. "Not that I hate the idea, but why is he in your home?"

"That is a great question." Tony kept up the smirk, but his eyes darted around the room, searching for a way out, something to break the tension, a plausible excuse. Where’s Pepper when you need her? He crossed his arms, trying to look relaxed, but he was only stalling, and Obadiah could tell.

A flicker of something observant and weighty passed through Peter's bright, brown eyes. He must have felt the tension, the unspoken something between the two men. For a moment, the cheerful, polite boy vanished, replaced by silent determination. His chin lifted. "I'm Happy's nephew!" he declared, stepping forward.

The words hung in the air, a small, innocent lie. Tony's eyes went wide. The breath he had been holding escaped in a sharp, final snap of his fingers. "Right! Happy's nephew!"

Obadiah’s brow furrowed. "Happy? I don’t recognize the name."

"Hogan," Tony clarified, his voice too loud, too casual. "My driver.”

“Ah, yes,” Obadiah nods, “The big bald man."

"Thinning," Tony corrected instantly.

"Good for him. Jenny Craig?" Obadiah’s tone was dry, mocking.

"Ha, Atkins, actually," Tony shot back, the habitual banter something of a safety net. A comfort.

The shield was no match for the predatory focus in Obadiah’s gaze as it returned to the boy. "Be honest with me, Anthony."

Tony's shoulders slumped. He felt the weight of his guilt, of his secrets, a crushing pressure. He was just a man. He turned to Peter, his voice softening into a low, private register. "Hey, Pete, can you head to your room for a moment?"

Peter, a smart, perceptive kid, sensed the shift instantly. Smart, Tony thinks, Tesla is he smart. Smart like him, and that makes him worry all the same. Peter didn’t question him; he just nodded and scurried out of the room, his small frame seeming to shrink as he disappeared around the corner.

Obadiah’s voice dropped, becoming a low, conspiratorial whisper. "My boy, I don’t care what you're doing, but just make sure your PA knows about it, alright? We don’t need a scandal right now."

Tony’s jaw tightened. "What does that even mean?” Tony shakes his head and waves his hand. “No, I'm going to ignore the connotations of that sentence because I value our relationship.” He takes as big a breath as he is able. “But speaking of scandals, you brought pizza?" He gestured toward a box from his favorite New York spot, sitting on the cool, black surface of the grand piano. The smell of pepperoni filled the air, a comforting scent in a now-hostile room. It was from a place he’d introduced to Obadiah years ago. A gesture of friendship, of affection.

Obadiah shook his head, a wry smirk on his lips. "I'm just here to pick up the file. You said you had something for me."

“You could've emailed me. You always email me.” Obadiah merely looks at him. “And if I think about it, I haven’t seen you since the press conference. So, what’s this really about, Obi?” They aren’t like that, emotional. Obi, he’s an uncle, a friend, but he’s not Rhodey. They don't call each other up to talk about girls, have drinks, and share life advice.

The mask of false concern slid onto Obadiah’s face. "I've been fending off the board because of that silly press conference, if you remember. They want to remove you as CEO, and it's awfully hard to defend you when I've been informed that you're holding secret meetings at SI.”

"It's not stupid, Obi,” Tony breathes. “It's important. If you saw what I saw, you'd understand. Our weapons—”

Obi interrupts, “and running down the street chasing ice cream vendors. I mean, really, what the hell is that about?” He scoffs like this is all some grand joke.

Tony ignored him and kept going. "And they can't remove me as CEO. It's my company. It's my father's company. I've said it a hundred times, and I'll say it again.  We all know what they want. Even TMZ knows—and all anyone cares about right now is Angelina and Brad's twins, but—" Tony often sounded bratty when he was worried, using attitude to cover up his real fear of losing his father's legacy, the fear of never being able to amount to it.

“Except, they can.” Obadiah's voice was gentle, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “But look, I’m doing everything I can to change their minds. I just need you to lay low, stay out of the news, and keep designing things to fill our contracts. So, just tell me, Tony. What was that meeting about?" he added, a cold, final note entering his voice. His voice was leading, quietly demanding more information.

"What, you don’t trust me?" Tony joked, but the words felt like a punch. He knew Obi didn't. No one ever had, and they had every reason not to, because he's built his life around drugs and alcohol and being late and laughing in people's faces.

Obadiah’s face was humorless. He moved his hands to his hips, becoming an even more imposing figure. “If I took you at your word, SI would be in reduced circumstances, to say the least. Not to mention, you're a terrible liar.” That’s categorically untrue. Tony is a very good liar.

Tony bit the bullet. This was it. The moment of truth. He looked at the floor, then back at Obadiah's face, a trusted friend. One of the only people he can trust, he thinks. The words were a quiet exhale of a secret he'd been holding for weeks. He was done hiding. “He’s my son. Biological. Did the test and everything. The meeting at SI, it was a custody agreement."

There was a long, heavy pause. Obadiah’s face was unreadable, a mask of stone. "The mother?"

Tony shook his head. "She passed away. He's got some family out in Queens, but—"

Obadiah’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He cut in, his voice low and firm. "This complicates things. With the board,” Obi argues. “I can talk with the family. Transfer custody. Have them claim him. If they argue—"

Tony's eyes flashed with a sudden fear. "Whoa, no, that's not what I meant.”

“Don't worry, my boy, I'll have this figured out by the day's end. Just—”

“Stop, Obi,” Tony defends. “He’s mine, I’m keeping him.”

Obadiah's eyes narrowed, his expression turning calculating. He let out a quiet laugh. "You're serious, aren't you? Do you realize how consequential this is? This isn’t some dog you’ve picked off the street. Hell, Tony, the board already thinks you're unstable. That your marbles are scattered in some cave in Afghanistan. And now, Tony, I'm starting to agree with them."

Hearing this hurt Tony more than he wanted to admit. "I’m not going to run away from my responsibilities anymore." The words were an ironclad promise to himself as much as to the man in front of him. To the boy down the hall. A promise to be better, to be more.

Obadiah scoffed, a genuine, condescending sound this time. "Six months ago, I witnessed you snort a line of cocaine off of a prostitute’s ass. This isn’t a responsibility you can handle."

"If I remember right, you did a line right after me.” A hesitation. “And I’ve been clean for over five months.” A pause, “And she wasn’t even a prostitute. Technically."

“Ah, yes, technicalities. Truly, the measure of a man, but hardly a test of your will. If there were martinis in that cave, you wouldn’t be able to say the same.”

"I drink when I’m stressed," Tony whispered, the truth of it tasting like ash in his mouth.

“Stressed? Tony, you’re a Stark.” He booms. “What is there possibly to be stressed about? If you’re stressed, fly to Mykonos or Barbados or Aspen. Relax,” the man draws out. “No, you drink because you can't stop yourself.” Obadiah paused, a fatherly, patronizing smile on his face. “No shame in it, my boy. Some men just aren’t meant to be fathers. Why do you think I stay unmarried?” He clapped Tony on the shoulder, the gesture meant to be comforting but felt more like a blow. The weight jostled him, a physical reminder of Obadiah’s power. “Just email me the files and behave. We’ll talk about the boy later.”

With that, he turned and left, the soft, expensive sound of his shoes on the stone floor a final, damning judgment. He left Tony standing alone in the vast, cold living room. The sickening smell of pepperoni filled the air. Tony's stomach rolled.

Something hot and nervous settled over Tony. Every word Obadiah had said, every thinly veiled jab at his worth as a father, resonated with the deep-seated fears he'd harbored his entire life—the fear of becoming his father, of not becoming his father, being a failure, of never being good enough. He looked at the pizza on the piano, a small, forgotten gesture of a friendship now poisoned by doubt.

Tony leaned his head against the cool, unforgiving surface of the piano. His palms left streaks of warmth in their wake.

"Sir?" JARVIS’s voice was a welcome relief from the suffocating silence. "Little sir was wondering if the coast was clear."

Peter. Tony’s head snapped up. Peter. The boy was the reason he was fighting this. He wasn't like his father. He was going to be better. He had to be. He took a deep, shuddering breath and stood up. The pizza box remained untouched.

“Jay, get someone to clear out the liquor cabinet, will you?” he said, his voice raw but firm.

“And your private stash, sir?”

Tony’s gaze was fixed on the hall, where he knew his son was waiting. His son, such a strange word. How foreign, even after two months. The boy's trust was a precious, fragile thing. He wouldn't fail him. "Yes," he said, the word an ironclad promise. "Do that.”

Peter flopped onto his bed, a thick expanse of Egyptian cotton and down, which he was still convinced was stuffed with goose feathers or something equally ridiculous and unethical. He nearly sank into it.

“Okay, this guy sucks. What the heck?” Peter muttered to the ceiling. "I thought this was Tony's uncle. Why is he such a, well, you know."

“Obadiah Stane was a business associate and a friend of Sir’s father,” JARVIS explained, his voice even and precise. “Sir argues that Mr. Stane is merely doing what he believes is best for the company at any given moment.”

Peter kicked his feet, wiggling deeper into the mattress. "Sounds like you disagree."

“I am not programmed to have an opinion, Little Sir,” JARVIS replied. “However, I have overheard the concerns of Miss Potts and Mr. Hogan regarding Mr. Stane’s treatment of Sir. The consensus among the human staff is that Mr. Stane is something of a snake, looking to ultimately take over Stark Industries.”

Peter was silent for a long moment, processing that heavy concept. “I say we let him die.”

A beat of silence from the AI.

“I’m joking,” Peter rushed to add, sitting up. “But that guy really does suck.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Okay, ask Tony if the coast is clear. I think he needs some cheering up. And I’m craving a pizza that isn’t infested with evil lies and betrayal.”