Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“No!” Peter shouted. His face contorted into one of pure anguish as his hands flew to his face. He squeezed the curls falling over his forehead, giving them a strong tug before raking the tips of his fingers down his cheeks. “You don’t understand!”

“I do understand.” The social worker looked at him with an amount of sadness that Peter couldn’t stomach. He abruptly turned his gaze to his lap. 

“I understand that you're struggling right now. But you can’t stay here, Peter. You can’t stay here and you can’t go home alone. I’m giving you a choice-”

“No! No, you’re not!” Despite his distress, Peter knew he was being rude. He could practically hear his Aunt May chastising him about his lack of manners. But she wasn’t there to correct him. She was gone. The doctor had told him, in no uncertain terms, that she was gone. She would never be there again. His chest tightened and his breath hitched at the vehemently unwanted reminder.

“Peter. Listen to me.” The social worker grabbed his hands. He instantly jerked them away, causing her to sigh. “We can arrange for you to stay with someone you know.  Or I can find you an emergency foster care placement. Those are your options right now. Do you have someone you can call?”

Immediately, Mr. Stark crossed Peter's mind. The problem was his phone had been left behind in his haste to get into the ambulance with May. Frustration had his eyes watering all over again. “I don’t have my phone. I can’t- I don’t know his number.”

The social worker’s eyebrows rose. She pulled out a tablet and readied a stylus. “Do you have a name and address? Perhaps I can look it up?”

Peter's throat burned. Fresh hot tears still streamed down his cheeks and past his chin. “Mr. Stark. I could- I should call him. But his number- It's in my phone. You won’t be able to find it. He gave it to me.” He’d never felt so helpless in all his life. He looked up through his damp eyelashes and brought this lip between his teeth. “I could just go there. To the tower. I do it all the time.”

“Peter,” The social worker said softly. He followed her gaze to the other two adults in the room. A child advocate and the hospital employee who had been tasked with keeping him there until Family Services had arrived. He didn't even know why she was sitting in the room. He squeezed his eyes closed, determined not to make eye contact with any of them.

“I know this is difficult, but making things up isn’t going to help the situation get any better. Who can you call? This is your last chance before I have to start making plans for you.”

A flash of anger sparked and ignited in an instant. He wanted to argue that he wasn’t lying. He wasn’t so messed up and delusional that he wasn’t making up connections that didn’t exist. He wasn’t trying to get away. He just wanted to go home; to his second home where he could lay down in his own room with Mr. Stark just across the hall. But without his phone, he had no way of proving his case. He choked on an unexpected sob as he mentally ran through his other options. There was really only one. “Ned. My best friend. I could call him.”

The social worker beamed. She outstretched her hand to place it on Peter’s shoulder but drew it back before making contact. “That’s great, Peter. You give him a call, and if things are agreeable with his parents or guardians, we’ll drive over to talk to them. Okay?”

Peter placed his hand on the receiver of the hospital phone. As much as he wanted to go straight to the Tower, the Leeds’ were his next best choice. He wouldn’t have his own space, but he knew them, and they cared about him. He could stay there until he figured out a way to get in touch with Mr. Stark. “Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he agreed, then dialed Ned’s number.

By the time they arrived at the Leeds’ tiny Queen’s apartment Peter was all cried out. His body was tingling with anxiety, and the deep, mournful hole in his chest felt like it might consume him. Outside of that, he was completely numb and exhausted to the bone. 

The social worker didn’t have to knock. Mr. and Mrs. Leeds had been waiting by the door for their arrival. They all stepped inside. The adults spoke quietly while Peter leaned heavily against the wall. He looked around, but Ned was nowhere to be seen. He assumed he was asleep, or his parents had told him to wait in his room until the logistics were worked out. He released a quivering breath. His eyes stung, dry from all the excessive crying.  

He reached up to run them when he was suddenly engulfed in a bone-crushing hug.  He allowed Mrs. Leeds to hold him close but didn’t reciprocate. He just stood there like a ragdoll as she swayed him side to side.

“Peter, anak. I'm so sorry for your loss.” She touched her cheek to his, then held him at arm’s length. She looked him over, her forehead creased with concern. A few beats passed. “Have you eaten? Are you hungry?” When Peter shook his head, she squeezed his hands and used her chin to point down the hall. “Ned is in his room waiting for you. It’s late. We already have the air mattress set up for you.”

He pulled away slowly, a half-hearted smile crossing his lips. He knew the temporary bed took up the majority of the floor space in Ned’s bedroom. The sheet never stayed on, and it squeaked every time he rolled over. He knew because he’d slept on it countless times. But never under such painful circumstances. He could feel his throat tighten, but he didn’t cry. He wondered if he’d finally hit the limit for the amount of tears he could generate in one day. “Thanks.”

As he turned, Mrs. Leeds hesitated. She caught him by the shoulder and tilted her head to the side. “If you need to stay up and talk, we can do that.”

Peter did not want to talk. He’d talked to the paramedics after May collapsed. He’d talked to the nurse at the hospital. He’d talked to the doctor, the advocate and the social worker. There was nothing left to talk about. And even if there was, he didn’t want to. He shook his head and made an excuse. “I’m tired.”

“Then you should sleep,” Mrs. Leeds said gently. “I'll be here when you wake up.”

Peter nodded again and walked into Ned’s room. As he pushed through, the door brushed past the air mattress. He looked to the side to find his best friend lying diagonally across the bed on his stomach. 

“Peter, I’m-”

“I just want to go to sleep, okay?” Peter cut in. If one more person offered him their condolences, he was going to lose his mind. He dropped down onto the mattress without bothering to remove his jeans “I can’t- I’m tired. I’m really tired.”

He buried his face in the pillow. A few seconds later, he heard Ned sigh. “Yeah, sure. I mean- yeah, okay. G’night.”

Peter hadn’t been lying when he said he was tired. He was, both physically and mentally exhausted. Yet he couldn’t sleep. Instead, he lay as still as possible while afternoon events played in his head on repeat. Walking into the apartment after school to find May on the floor, watching paramedics start CPR, and the frenzied ride to hospital. The sound of the doctor's voice when he came into the waiting room to talk to him penetrated his brain. ‘I’m sorry, son. There was nothing else we could do.’ He’d asked a million questions but hadn't gotten any answers until the advocate had arrived to represent him. Sudden cardiac arrest.   

The tears he thought he was no longer capable of producing soaked into the pillow. He shifted to find a new position. The mattress whined with the movement. He hoped it didn’t alert Ned that he was still awake. He held his breath to stop the urge to cry and listened closely. His friend's breathing was slow and steady, indicating that he was undoubtedly asleep. He didn’t hear Mr. or Mrs. Leeds moving about either. He assumed they were asleep as well. 

There was an odd amount of relief that came with the semblance of solitude. He abruptly realized he hadn’t been alone for the entirety of the day. Even when he was allowed to go into the room to see May, a nurse and a hospital representative followed him. He released a shaky breath and gently rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He loved Ned. He loved Mrs. Leeds, and he was super comfortable being in their small apartment. But he wanted Mr. Stark. Subconsciously, he reached for his phone. When his hand came up empty, he broke into yet another round of quiet sobs. 

Eventually, he fell asleep. Although it didn’t seem to last for long. When he awoke the sky was just barely starting to take on an edge of light. Ned was still sound asleep but he could hear noise coming from the kitchen. He took that as a sign that it wouldn’t be completely outrageous for him to be up and about. 

He meandered down the short hallway, dragging his fingers along the wall. When he turned the corner into the kitchen, he could see Ned’s mom holding a spatula by the stove. Quietly, he announced his presence, raising a hand and whispering, “Hey.”

Mrs. Leeds turned around, smiled, and gestured to the table. ‘Morning, Peter. I made rice and eggs. If you give me a minute, I can slice a few tomatoes to go with it.”

Peter nodded his head and forced a smile. His body was so filled with grief and anxiety that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to eat again. “Thanks, Mrs. Leeds, but I’m not really hungry.” To avoid any looks of disappointment, he dropped his gaze to the floor. He shifted on his feet and chewed the inside of his cheek. “Can I take a shower?”

“Of course, Peter. Take a shower.” She plopped some eggs on a serving dish and looked over her shoulders. “But you’re not going to school today, okay?” she said, as if Peter might actually try to attend. “Your social worker will be coming by to take you to your apartment to pack some things.”

A flood of ice water washed through Peter’s veins. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to stay at Leeds' home for long. They didn’t have the income or the space to really accommodate him. However, he’d imagined himself staying there until he could talk to Mr. Stark. That way, he could go from one familiar placement to another without any actual foster homes in between. “Do I- Do I have to leave today?”

Mrs. Leeds abandoned her previous task in favor of joining him at the kitchen's wide entrance. She rested her hands on his cheeks and pressed her forehead to his. “I told her you were welcome to stay for as many nights as needed.” She pulled back, looking forlorn and apologetic. “I wish we could keep you here forever. I don’t think-”

Peter shook his head and took a half step backward. “It’s okay, Mrs. Leeds. I understand.” tears pricked his eyes as he spoke. He roughly wiped them away, annoyed that he couldn’t make a full hour into the day without crying again. He gathered a breath in an attempt to smother down melancholy and gave her a reassuring smile. “I think- I think I know where I can go. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I will always worry about you, anak,” Mrs. Leeds replied. Then she nudged him into the hall. “Go. Shower. I’ll make sure to save you some breakfast.”

As Peter stepped under the spray of the shower, relaxed into the warmth and complete privacy. He leaned his head against the sage green tiles and gathered a deep breath. “May?” he whispered, mostly to himself. “I’m so sorry, May. I should have-” Should have what? God, he didn’t know. He should have been there? He should have come home from school earlier?  He was convinced there was something he should have done. But he couldn’t figure it out and it was frustrating. He balled his fists up until they hurt and gritted his teeth. He’d been absolutely useless. And worse? He hadn’t even gotten to say good-bye. “Fuck!”

Tears broke free, sliding down his cheeks one after the other. He held his breath and leaned into the steamy spray to wash them away. When he could no longer fight his body’s demands to breathe, he gasped for air, sinking to the floor and burying his face in his knees. 

He sat there for a while, water pelting against the back of his head and running down his nose. He thought about his parents, Ben and May; how they were all gone and he was alone. A combination of grief, anger, and dread swelled in his gut and seized his chest. He loved the Leeds family. He felt welcome, safe and cared for with them. But at the moment, the only person he really wanted was Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark would know what to do. 

A knock at the door could be heard over the shower’s spray. “Peter?”

Peter’s head shot up, realizing he must have lost track of time. “Yeah?”

“You've been in there a while.” She sighed audibly. Peter could hear it even through the door. “I just wanted to check on you.”

Peter bit his lip. The social expectation would be for him to reply with a simple, ‘I’m good’ or ‘I’m okay.’ However, he was neither one of those things. He was a mess, a disaster, an emotional volcano ready to erupt. He slowed his breathing and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had to say something. “I’m-” He stood up and turned off the faucets. “Sorry. I'm getting out.”

He lingered for a moment after she left, staring at the floor as if it might tell him what to do next. His limbs felt heavy and slow, like moving through water. Eventually, he forced himself to his feet, tugging on the same jeans from the day before. His hoodie was damp from earlier, so he grabbed a t-shirt and fresh socks from his friend’s dresser. The shirt hung loose, the sleeves nearly swallowing his arms. He crossed them tightly over his chest, trying to feel smaller.

By the time he shuffled into the kitchen, the apartment felt quieter. He must’ve been in the shower longer than he thought. Mrs. Leeds stood by the stove, focused on whatever she was cooking. No one else was around. Peter didn’t bother checking the clock. It didn’t matter.

He slid into a chair at the dining table, hands folded in lap.

“There you are.” Mrs. Leeds set a steaming bowl of rice and freshly cooked eggs in front of him. “Warm food to nourish your body and your spirit.”

Peter smiled politely and accepted the spoon being held out to him. He dipped it into the food and slowly brought it up to his mouth. Mrs. Leeds was a good cook. The rice was the correct texture and the egg was just the right amount of runny. He was sure it was perfectly seasoned as well. Yet, it had no flavor on his tongue. HIs stomach was in knots and the back of his throat was still burning with withheld emotion. He only managed to eat half the portion. When he shook his head and slid the bowl away, Mrs. Leeds didn’t push him. She simply removed the dish, briefly pressing her cheek to the top of his head in the process.   

 “Your social worker should be here soon.”

It was a new social worker who arrived at the door, introducing herself as Ms. Mosley. She was a lot younger than the one who had picked him up from the hospital, but carried the same air of controlled confidence. After a brief greeting, she pulled Mrs. Leeds aside, engaging her in a hushed conversation. Peter kept his eyes on the floor, trying not to listen, but stray words inevitably reached him. Much of it echoed what had been said the previous night–his placement in the Leeds’ home remained unquestionably temporary.

Eventually, Ms. Mosley turned her attention to him. “I know this feels abrupt and overwhelming, but we need to head to your apartment and gather your belongings.”

Peter shifted his weight, his fingers twitching at his sides. “How much am I allowed to keep?” His voice was quieter than he intended.

Her expression softened with sympathy as she exhaled. “I wish I could say everything, but that’s just not possible. You can only carry so much, and most of it should be clothing.”

His throat tightened, and he pressed his lips together, staring at a loose thread on his sleeve. He could already picture the shelves in his room, full of things he wasn’t ready to leave behind. How was he supposed to choose?

Ms. Mosley hesitated before adding gently, “Anything of value will be held for you until you exit the system.”

Peter gave a stiff nod, jaw clenched. He supposed that was better than nothing.

No words were exchanged during the short ride to the apartment. Ms. Mosley navigated her clunky, four-door sedan through the crowded New York City streets while Peter sat in the back, staring out the window. He could see his building coming up in the distance. A complex mix of anguish and uncertainty swirled in his gut. His shoulders tensed, and his jaw tightened as the car came to a stop at the back of the building.

The elevator wasn’t working. It never was, thus offering Peter seven flights of stairs to think about what he wanted to pack. He needed his school bag and the laptop Mr. Stark had given him. Clothes were a given and he wanted to grab at least a few pictures from around the apartment. Although, more than anything, he desperately wanted to get his hands on his phone. 

The moment they entered the apartment, Peter set to work, looking for the elusive device. He scoured his backpack, inspected the kitchen table, and even checked the bathroom counter. Each search yielded nothing. Frustration mounting, he turned to the social worker. “Can you call it?”

Ms. Mosley obliged, but the effort proved futile. Wherever the device lay, it was dormant, the battery long dead.

Peter grunted with frustration and hurried into his bedroom, Ms. Mosley trailing behind. Ignoring her presence, he plunged his hands beneath the bed, yanked at tangled sheets, and rifled through the blankets with increasing urgency.

“We don’t have much time here,” she reminded him gently. “I need you to focus on packing—clothes, essentials, a few personal items.”

“But I need my phone numbers!” His hands flew to his hair, tugging at it until his scalp protested. “ I have to call someone.”

A flicker of concern crossed Ms. Mosley’s face. “Most kids in foster care don’t have a personal phone, at least not with active service. If there’s someone you need to reach, I can facilitate that. Just tell me who you–”

“No, you don’t get it! Only I— I just—” His pulse quickened. “Give me five more minutes. Please?”

“Five minutes.” Ms. Mosley signed, glancing at her watch. “Then you pack. If you don’t, I’ll have to do it for you, and neither of us wants that.”

With renewed desperation, Peter upended couch cushions and crawled along the edge of the furniture, scouring every conceivable hiding place. Nothing. A sudden thought struck– he could use the Spider-Suit to contact Mr. Stark. Except the suit wasn’t here. It was in the lab where Mr. Stark was repairing a tear and reinforcing the material with a specialized Kevlar blend. Pickup had been scheduled for Wednesday, his next lab day. He swallowed hard. At the moment, he wasn’t even sure he’d be allowed to go.

He shook his head, refocusing himself on the task at hand. The phone had to be somewhere. He yanked open a kitchen drawer, rummaging through its contents with reckless force. The phone wouldn’t be there– he knew that– but logic had long since ceded ground to sheer desperation.

“It’s time to pack, Peter.” Ms. Mosley’s voice, calm but firm, cut through his spiraling thoughts. “I know this is overwhelming, but we have to focus on getting your things together.”

Peter hesitated, then forced himself to move. The hall closet yielded Uncle Ben’s old leather suitcase. He pulled it down and ran his hand over its worn brown exterior before dragging it down the hall. He flung open his dresser and began piling clothes inside. His hands moved on autopilot, but his mind remained fixated on the missing phone.

It could be anywhere. The sheer number of times he had lost or shattered his phone was, frankly, embarrassing. The way Aunt May continued replacing them was a small miracle. He dreaded telling her that–

The thought broke off, severed by an aching emptiness. A painful lump lodged in his throat, rendering him unable to think any further. He stumbled to his bed and sat at the edge, burying his face in his hands. May was gone, he couldn’t stay with the Leeds’ forever and he had no way to reach out to Mr. Stark. “What am I supposed to do?” he whispered to himself. “How am I supposed to– how can I– Oh, God…”

Packing didn’t matter anymore. His hands had frozen at his sides, lungs locking up so tight it felt like his ribs were caving inward, crushing everything inside. His chest ached, a hollow, gaping wound cracked open at the sternum– deep, endless, impossible to fill.

“Peter? Are you about ready?”

“No!” His own voice hit the air sharp and jagged. “I can’t leave! I can’t– I can’t breathe!”

Ms. Mosley moved toward him, hand lifting like she meant to offer comfort. Her touch would be nothing but kind– Peter knew that– but the sight of her outstretched hand sent something sharp and defensive tearing through his panic. He recoiled, shoving himself backward before she could make contact.

“Don’t touch me!”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t frown. Didn’t even step back. Her voice stayed even, calm. “Okay. No touching. I need you to take a few breaths, though. What can I do to help?”

Peter’s throat burned with the words he couldn’t say. ‘ Take me to Stark Tower. Take me to Mr. Stark. He’ll know what to do. He’l hold me until it doesn't hurt so much.’ He held his tongue. There was no way to explain the request without sounding completely crazy.

His hands curled into fists. “You can’t do anything! I just– Please!”

A second later, something soft and familiar settled over his shoulders. His fingers found the hem automatically, twisting into the microplush fabric, dragging it up to his face. The Star Wars blanket from the foot of his bed. The one May and Ben had gotten him after his parents– after his parents died.

Ms. Mosley was saying something, but her words turned to fluff inside his ears. The blanket smelled like home– like safety. He pulled it more tightly around himself, pretending, if only for a moment, that May and Ben were holding him. His breaths slowed. His eyes burned, heavy-lidded with exhaustion.

“Can I touch you now?” Ms. Mosley quietly inquired. 

Peter’s mouth pressed into a tight, thin line. Normally, he craved physical contact. He leaned into hugs and sought casual touches without thinking. But at the moment, the thought of being touched made his skin prickle. Maybe because the only people he wanted were the ones who couldn't be there.

He thought of May. She would’ve pulled him in without asking, smoothing his hair, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. Ben would’ve squeezed his shoulder, firm and grounding. And Mr. Stark– he wouldn’t push, but he’d be there– close enough to lean into whenever he was ready. 

Even with Ms. Mosley right there beside him. He felt completely and utterly alone.

His breath hitched. He pulled the blanket tighter and swayed his head. “Don’t.”

“Okay.” Ms. Mosley sighed. She looked around the room and took a step back towards the door. “I hate to rush you, Peter. I don’t want to rush you, but we really need to get wrapped up here.”

Peter nodded, feeling numb as he dragged himself over to his desk. He picked up his laptop on autopilot, then grabbed a couple of old action figures and a LEGO Palatine. Once those had been shoved into the crevices of his bag, he moved down the hall to May’s room. 

Hesitantly, he paused outside the closed bedroom door. He’d been in there millions of times, but never without permission. He lifted his hand, his stomach clenching as he tapped his knuckles against the frame before entering. 

The air inside smelled like May– her lotion, her perfume, and the incense she liked to burn while reading in bed. His knees tried to buckle, but he pushed through, swallowing hard and stepped forward. 

At the back of the closet, a handful of Ben’s old flannels hung in a neat row. He grabbed one, the fabric rough and familiar beneath his fingers, then reached for May’s favorite sweater draped over her chair.

The photo album on the dresser caught his eye, and his breath hitched. His fingers trembled as he picked it up, guilt curling tight in his chest. It was hers. Not his. But she wasn’t here to keep it anymore.

Peter zipped up the suitcase, the sharp hiss echoing in the quiet room. His eyes flickered over the remainder of his belongings. He’d grabbed everything that felt worth taking, but that didn’t make leaving things behind any easier. He gathered a breath, assuring himself he had everything that mattered.

At the last second, his eyes fell on the blanket lumped at the edge of his bed. He’d never been overly attached to it, but the sentimental value was undeniable. It wasn’t about his parents. It wasn’t about Ben or May either. It was about all of them, and suddenly, he couldn’t imagine leaving it behind. His hand shot out before he could stop it, rolling it up and tucking it under his arm.

With a heavy heart, he met Ms. Mosley in the living room. 

“Is that everything? Are you ready?”

Silently, Peter nodded his head. Although the agreement was nothing short of a bold-faced lie. He wasn’t ready. He would never be ready. 

Ms. Mosley gave her tablet once last glance, then exited into the quiet hallway.

Chapter Text

Despite Mrs. Leeds’ kindness, Peter holed up in Ned’s room for the rest of the day, cocooned in the Star Wars blanket. The air mattress shifted beneath him whenever he moved, but mostly, he stayed on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling. Exhaustion penetrated him to the bone, yet sleep refused to come. His mind buzzed with thoughts he didn’t want and memories he couldn’t stop.

The front door opened and then slammed shut. Peter flinched at the noise.

“Is he still here?” Ned asked, his voice carrying a thread of anxiety.

“Of course.” Mrs. Leeds softly responded. “He’s in your room, asleep.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. Then Ned asked, “Is he okay?”

“No, iho,” Mrs. Leeds murmured, deepening the ache in Peter’s heart. “But he will be. Give him time.”

Footsteps padded toward the room. Peter considered squeezing his eyes shut and rolling toward the wall, but even that felt like too much effort. So, he stayed still, barely blinking, as the door creaked open.

Ned set his bag down and crept across the room, his eyebrows lifting slightly when he noticed Peter was awake. “Oh, hey.” He blinked, like he was unsure of what to say. “Ma thinks you’re sleeping.”

A small half-shrug was all Peter could manage. He certainly wished he was asleep. Sleeping sounded less painful than facing his new reality– whatever that may be. 

 Ned inched past and sat crisscrossed on his bed. “MJ asked about you today.”

That got Peter's attention. He turned his head, his brows raised in question. 

Ned shrugged. “I said you weren’t feeling well.”

“Oh,” Peter murmured. Relief and disappointment tangled in his chest. He didn’t want the whole school talking about his life, but MJ– she was different. She was more like a friend. Tiredly, he scrubbed his hands over his face. “You can tell her.”

“You don’t want to do it yourself? I mean, you don’t have to today, but–”

The reminder felt like a punch to the stomach. His phone and the contacts within it were gone. The numbness he’d been floating in fell away. Anger was quick to rush in, filling the space. “My phone is gone, Ned!” he snapped. “I can’t tell anyone anything!”

“I—” Ned flinched but didn't look upset. Just– startled. His mouth opened, then closed like he had something to say, but all that came out was “Yeah. I’ll tell her.”

There were no follow-up questions or pitying looks. 

Ned pulled out his homework. The sound of rustling papers filled the silence as Peter curled onto his side. It hadn’t been a full twenty four hours and he already missed having his own room.  

Sometime later, the front door opened again, Ned’s dad returning home from work. There were a few murmured words and some clunking around as he shifted from work to home. Then came a gentle knock at the door. “Wash up, boys. Dinner’s ready.”

Ned hopped up easily. Peter was in no rush, joints stiff from lying in place for so long. He wasn’t hungry. He would have happily laid back down and closed his eyes until morning, but he knew skipping dinner wasn’t an option. Enhanced metabolism aside, Mrs. Leeds would want him to eat. Even if it was only a little.

The second he sat at the table, a bowl of stew appeared in front of him. He mumbled a quiet thank you and waited through grace before picking up his spoon. The broth was warm and thick, filled with tender meat and an abundance of vegetables. He broke the chunks into smaller pieces, making it easier to force himself to eat.

Throughout the meal, the conversation flowed continuously around the table. Everyone took their turns asking questions and talking about their day. All the while, he kept his head low, content to blend into the background. 

“Tomorrow’s Wednesday,” Mr. Leeds said. He ladled more stew into his bowl. “I have a meeting after work. I’ll be home late.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Leeds glanced up, switching seamlessly from English to Tagalog and back again as she asked for details. Typically, Peter enjoyed listening to the way she wove the two languages together. However, his brain had latched onto one singular word. 

Wednesday.

There was no set limit on when Peter was and wasn’t allowed to go to the Tower, but Wednesday and Friday afternoons were always reserved for lab time. His internship.

Maybe– just maybe, he could convince Mrs. Leeds to let him go. If he could make it to the lab, he could finally talk to Mr. Stark. His throat tightened. He swallowed past it and looked between the adults. “I have my internship tomorrow.”

All eyes turned to him. He could feel heat creeping up the back of his neck.

“Ha?” Mrs. Leeds frowned. “Peter, I don’t think–”

“I have to go!” The words rushed out of his mouth, fueled by a sudden, desperate urgency. “I don’t want to miss it.”

Mrs. Leeds’ expression softened, but her eyes were filled with worry. “Peter, anak, it’s too soon.” She glanced at her husband, who gave a slow nod. “You’re not going to school tomorrow, let alone an internship. You’re tired, you have a lot to process. You need time to grieve.”

He understood her concern. His body ached, and his chest felt hollow, unrelenting grief pressing down on him like a giant, unmoving stone. He could only assume he looked as bad as he felt– one wrong word away from a complete breakdown. But none of that mattered.  He needed to see Mr. Stark– the one person who would know how to put him back together. “But–” he attempted to argue, his voice raw with emotion. 

Mrs. Leeds waved a hand, shushing him gently. “Is there a number I can call– or I could write a note? Surely, your boss will understand.”

Peter dropped his spoon into his half-empty bowl and ran his hands through his hair. Ned knew all about his relationship with Mr. Stark. So had May, but Mr and Mrs. Leeds had never been fully informed of the full nature of his ‘internship.’ He didn’t know how to explain that not only was his boss Tony Stark, but there were way more than just– co-workers. Mr. Stark was his– well, he was kind of like a bonus parent. They were close and– he needed him. “I just wanna go,” he managed, voice cracking at the end. “It’s– It’s complicated, but I–”

Ned, catching on, jumped in to help. “Peter really likes his job! He and his boss are like– super tight.”

Grateful for the backup but unsure of how much good it had done, Peter let out a shaky breath. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, partly to hide the moisture stinging at the corners of his eyes.

Mrs. Leeds exhaled, clearly confused. Her lips pressed together as she looked between Ned and her husband before settling on Peter. “I hear you, Peter,” shesaid, her voice laced with sympathy. “But let’s wait and see how you feel in the morning.”

A restless night left Peter tangled in his blankets. Every time he closed his eyes, his last moments with May played on a loop. His chest tightened, his throat burned, and the more he thought about it, the more impossible everything felt. He’d survived the loss of his parents and his Uncle Ben. But how was he supposed to survive without her? It felt impossible– like someone was dragging him below the water, and he couldn't break free.

He tried focusing on lab day instead, but that too brought on a deep sense of anxiety. He still didn’t know if Mrs. Leeds would let him go. Once the house settled, he’d try to explain. Unlike the social workers, she’d believe him, right?  The uncertainty sent a shiver up his spine. He pulled the blanket more tightly around himself and waited for the first hint of daylight.

Ned’s alarm blared, too loud, too early. Exhaustion pressed against Peter’s skull. He’d drifted in and out a few times, but there was no actual sleep– just moments of blurry nothingness before he blinked awake again. Ned barely spared a glance in his direction before grabbing his clothes and heading for the bathroom. 

Peter stayed where he was, practicing in his head everything he would say when he and Mrs. Leeds were alone. He wasn’t prepared to tell her about Spider-Man. The internship story would be enough, with some truths sprinkled in for good measure. Mr. Stark noticed his skills and invited him into his private lab. They’d connected instantly, on a level that went beyond tech, and had only grown closer since.

If Mrs. Leeds took that well, maybe he’d add the rest. May trusted Mr. Stark, and with time, they’d practically co-parented him.

A flicker of defiance ignited in his chest. Did it actually matter if she took it well or not? Since when did he need permission to see Mr. Stark? He’d always been free to come and go as he pleased. Nothing should have changed. All he had to do was walk out the front door and use his metrocard to get to Manhattan. His fingers curled around the blanket, a lump forming in his throat. The Leeds were good people, he hoped it didn’t come to that.

A soft knock made him flinch. He barely had time to react before the door cracked open and Mr. Leeds peered inside. “You need to eat, Peter. Food’s on the table.”

He returned his head to the pillow and wiped his hands over his damp cheeks. “Not hungry.” 

“I know.” Mr. Leeds sighed. “But you still need to eat, okay?”

Peter gave a tight nod. Mr. Leeds hesitated, then slipped out and down the hall. A moment later, he heard the front door creak open, and Mrs. Leeds bidding Ned and his father good-bye.

The air mattress let out a sharp squeak as he rolled off it. His legs felt weak, unsteady, but he made his way to the kitchen anyway. As promised, food waited on the table—a plate of spam and eggs with toast, a bowl of whole fruit nearby. He dropped into a chair, wood scraping against tile, and poked the eggs with his fork. His stomach twisted, prompting him to grab an orange instead. 

Mrs. Leeds approached and took up the chair beside him. “You look tired, Peter.”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug, his eyes trained on the orange. He dug his nails into the thick rind, pulling away pieces in uneven chunks.

“Do you have a phone number for this internship?”

Peter froze mid-motion, his thumb piercing the fruit. He shook his head, a lump forming in his throat. “I wanna go.”

Mrs. Leeds sighed, not frustrated– just concerned. “Why? Why do you want to push yourself to do this right now? Help me understand.”

The orange split apart in his hands, sticky juice clinging to his fingers. His mouth twisted to the side as he lined up the segments neatly along the edge of his plate– buying himself a little more time to think.  “I want to see Mr. Stark,” he admitted, voice quiet but certain. “He’s my– well, technically, I’m his personal intern.” He hesitated before glancing up, gauging her face for a reaction. Her eyes lit up with surprise, but her posture exuded nothing but patience.

“It’s kind of a long story but, uh– he– he’s– we’re close.” Another quick look. Still no disbelief or dismissal. 

She nodded her head, encouraging him to continue. “I’m listening.” 

Peter swallowed, his throat tight. So far, so good. Mrs. Leeds didn’t look freaked out, and she hadn’t cut him off to tell him he was delusional. That was enough to keep going. “He wanted to mentor me because he was impressed by my skills. I–I wasn’t sure at first, but once I started going to his lab, we just– we clicked. May too.” His breath hitched. His vision blurred. “She got to know him, and they became friends. At some point, they started, like–co-parenting me. It was horrifying and hilarious and–” His voice cracked. “I just really need to see him.”

Tears spilled over, hot and unrelenting. He didn’t bother wiping them away. More would only take their place. “He’ll know how to fix everything.”

Silence stretched between them. Peter held his breath, bracing himself for the disbelief– the inevitable ' that’s not possible.'

Instead, arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. Mrs. Leeds rocked him gently, side to side, holding on for several long seconds before easing back.

“Peter,” she whispered. “If seeing Mr. Stark is this important to you, then I don’t want to stop you. But I don’t know him, anak. I don’t know that he will be good to you, and that scares me.”

A hitched breath was followed by a choking sound Peter couldn’t stop. “He’s always good to me,” he pressed, forcing the words past the knot in his throat. Panic flared, certain she was going to prevent him from going. “You can’t stop me from seeing him forever! I’ll go anyway. I’ll sneak out. I’ll--” 

“Look at me, Peter.”

The firm prompt cut through his spiraling thoughts. He forced himself to meet her gaze, vision swimming.

“You can go.” She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his. “But I’m coming too. For my peace of mind, I need to make sure you’re in good hands.”

A sob broke free, relief crashing into him. He threw himself back into her arms, clinging tightly. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you…” 

She held on, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades, waiting until he finally pulled away. His face burned, sticky with tears. He used the hem of his t-shirt to wipe them off, sniffing hard.

“What time does your internship start?”

“After school, but I can go anytime– he and May–” His breath caught on jagged grief. He coughed, drew in a breath and forced himself to push through. “He–I’m allowed to go over whenever.”

“Why don’t you eat and take a nap, hmm?” Her fingers brushed through his bangs, her palm landing firmly on his forehead. “We can go after.”

The thought of rest seemed impossible. He still felt lost, a hollow ache penetrating his heart where May should be. The thought of seeing Mr. Stark alleviated some of the crushing stress.

His stomach growled, his enhanced metabolism no longer willing to put off food. He picked up his fork and ate every bite. Then he cleared his plate, trudged back to Ned’s room, and curled up under the covers. He knew sleep wouldn’t come– not really- not until he was in his own bed, in Mr. Stark’s penthouse.

When Peter woke up, his limbs felt heavy and uncooperative. He squinted at his watch. It was nearly noon. That couldn't be right. He tried to remember falling asleep, but all he could recall was staring blankly at the ceiling. At some point, exhaustion must have stealthily taken over. He rubbed his face and pushed himself up, his movements sluggish as he stepped into the hallway.

The apartment smelled like lemon-scented cleaner, and music could be heard thumping quietly in the living room. Mrs. Leeds dusted the shelves, humming along to the beat. He lingered in the doorway before clearing his throat. 

Mrs. Leeds turned around, her smile brightening. “Did you sleep?”

Peter lifted a shoulder but nodded, a noncommittal motion. A lot of time had disappeared into a haze. He wasn’t entirely sure how much sleep he’d actually gotten. He was still tired. 

“That’s good,” she said, setting down her dusting supplies and crossing into the kitchen. She approached the sink, sudding her hands all the way up to her elbows.

Peter trailed after her, his lip tucked between his teeth. “Can we go to the Tower now?”

Mrs. Leeds dried her hands with a towel, pausing to take in his appearance “Do you need to shower or change first?”

Peter glanced down at the oversized T-shirt hanging loose on his frame. It had been borrowed the day before and the jeans were the same ones he’d worn to the hospital. His fingers curled into the hem of the shirt. A suitcase full of his own clothes waited in the corner of Ned’s room. Although, changing felt like too much of a delay. He breathed a nearly silent huff. 

“Why don’t you clean up a little? I’ll make you a sandwich.”

Impatience sparked. “I can eat when I get there,” he said, his voice a little too sharp. He bit the inside of his cheek and swayed his head. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just– Mr. Stark always makes me eat when I’m there. So– it’s fine.”

Unfazed, Mrs. Leeds tilted her head. “Then I’ll make myself a sandwich.” She jutted her chin down the hall. “Go. Change clothes.”

Peter’s feet stuck to the floor a second longer before he finally turned away. He grabbed a clean shirt and jeans from his bag, carried them to the hall bathroom, and turned on the faucet. Cool water collected in his palms and ran through his fingers. He splashed it onto his face, blinking away the droplets that clung to his lashes. Damp fingers combed through his hair, a failed attempt to smooth out the knots. He examined himself in the mirror, his arms dropping heavily to his sides. He looked slightly less disheveled but in no way put together.  It didn’t matter. He just wanted to get to Mr. Stark.

His shoes were on his feet, but his laces were dragging as he made it back to the kitchen. Despite his protests, Mrs. Leeds had already prepared two sandwiches, each wrapped neatly in a paper towel.

“I know you said you didn’t want anything,” she said, pulling two bottles of juice from the fridge. “But I made two, in case you changed your mind.”

He thought for sure she was going to insist they sit down and eat before leaving. However, that didn’t seem to be the plan. She dropped the sandwiches into a paper bag and grabbed her keys.

“We can eat in the car, just this once,” she said, her lips quirking into a small smile. “Don’t tell Ned.”

The drive from Queens to Manhattan crawled. Couriers wove their bikes through traffic to the sound of a million honking horns. It took half an hour to get to the Queensboro Bridge and another ten to cross it. Things didn’t ease up from there. It did, however, give them plenty of time to eat their lunch. 

After nearly an hour they finally pulled into the public parking. As Mrs. Leeds slipped her card into the payment system. His fingers curled against his thigh. He needed to remember to ask Mr. Stark to reimburse her.

“Do you know which way?” 

Peter nodded and led them inside.

The metal detectors beeped as they walked through, the sound routine and familiar. Peter clipped his badge to his jeans while Mrs. Leeds accepted a visitor sticker, peeling it from its backing and smoothing it onto her sweater. As they crossed the lobby and passed the front desk, he braced for someone to stop them before they reached the private elevator– the only one that went to every single floor. But no one even looked twice. He wasn’t about to question it.

He stepped inside, turning his face to the mirrored ceiling. “Hey, FRIDAY? Where’s Mr. Stark?”

The answer came instantly. “The boss is in his office, along with Ms. Potts and several representatives from the marketing department.” 

“Oh.” Peter’s mouth pressed into a tight, thin line. He’d been to Mr. Stark's office a few times. There was a couch right outside the door. He and Mrs. Leeds could wait there until the meeting was over. He gathered a deep breath through his nose. "Can you take us up there?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Peter.”

His chest tightened. Brows drew tightly together. “What? Why?”

“The boss’s office is situated on the fifty-ninth floor. Access is restricted to individuals with executive clearance. Your guest does not possess the necessary authorization.”

Peter’s pulse ticked up. Wide eyes flicked toward Mrs. Leeds, panic creeping in. “But—”

“I have informed the boss of your arrival,” FRIDAY interjected smoothly. “He will meet you on level eight, the highest floor accessible to the public.”

He nodded his head, releasing a shaky breath. He wasn’t convinced he was prepared to explain– everything in such a public setting but he'd figure it out. He just needed to see Mr. Stark.  “Yeah. Yeah, okay. That’s good.”

The elevator moved, numbers ticking higher.

When the doors slid open, floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the room in warm, golden light. A seating area stretched ahead, plush chairs and low tables breaking up the space. Potted plants sat in the corners, and minimalist art dotted the walls.

Beyond that, a wide opening led into a cafeteria. Savory smells wafted through, coupled with the sound of conversation and clinking dishes. 

Peter’s focus remained locked on the elevator doors– waiting for them to open– waiting for Mr. Stark to appear.

“Peter, sit.” Mrs. Leeds lowered herself in one of the many chairs, her purse tucked in her lap. “He’ll be here soon.”

Soon wasn’t good enough. Anticipation crawled beneath his skin. After some hesitation, he sat anyway, dropping into the chair beside Mrs. Leeds. His knee bounced and his fingers tapped the armrest, his eyes never leaving the entrance.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the private elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.

Mr. Stark stood inside, dressed in a four-piece suit and a worried expression.

“Hey, kiddo. Shouldn’t you still be in school?”

Chapter Text

The moment Tony stepped into the seating area, his eyes locked onto Peter. Something was wrong. That was obvious. Tears pooled at the corners of the kid’s eyes as he stood up, his legs mechanically pulling him forward.

“Kid?” he questioned, his brows furrowing more deeply. He peeked at the woman who’d accompanied Peter into the building. She remained seated, her head tilted and her brows furrowed as she watched them. “Buddy, what’s wrong?”

Rather than answer, Peter shook his head and picked up his pace. Tony stepped forward on instinct, arms opening just in time to catch him. The impact jolted his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He’d barely adjusted to the new position when a choked sob tore from Peter’s throat.

Tony’s hand came up, pressing firmly between the kid’s shoulder blades, his gaze flicking back to the woman, who was still staring at them like a puzzle she couldn't solve. She looked familiar, even if her face wasn’t immediately recognizable. Dark hair, bronze skin. Suddenly it clicked– She was the kid’s best friend’s mother. The realization raised more questions than it answered. Why was she there? Where was May?

His jaw tensed. The longer they stood there, the more heads turned. People weren’t just noticing him; they were noticing Peter. Whatever was happening, the kid didn’t need an audience for the aftermath. He needed to get them somewhere private. “Pete, I know you’re upset, but we need to move, okay?”

A small nod against his chest, then Peter pulled back.is face was blotchy and his hair was a mess.  Sniffling, he wiped a shaky hand down his face and turned toward Ned’s mother. “She– that’s–” His breath hitched, turning his words into muffled sobs.

The woman stepped forward, smiling sadly– gently. “Hello. My name is Dolores Leeds. I’m–”

“Ned’s mother,” Tony finished, mind racing ahead of the conversation.

“Yes, I–”

Tony nodded, his suspicions confirmed. However, the remainder of his concerns were far from alleviated. “Where’s May?”

“That’s what–” Ned’s mother began, her words halting when Peter sucked in a sharp breath, his face crumpling all over again. 

A sharp pang cut through Tony’s chest, telling him the answer was one that shouldn't be discussed in the open, public space. He held up one hand while the other guided Peter forward. “It can wait. Let’s get outta here.”

No one disagreed. The three of them stepped into the elevator, and without prompting, FRIDAY initiated the ascent. Peter sniffed quietly, his shoulder trembling beneath Tony’s palm. Ned’s mother, Dolores, stood across from them, watching with an expression that hovered between cautious and protective. It was easy enough to piece together the basics– something happened to May, and Peter had ended up under her care.

As soon as the elevator doors slid open, Tony guided Peter to the couch. He started to step away, planning to get everyone water, but a wrapped tightly around his wrist. Peter looked up with a devastated frown and glossy eyes.

“It’s okay, Bud.” Tony gave the kid’s shoulder a squeeze and offered a weak, reassuring smile. “I’m gonna get us some water. You need water, okay? I’ll be right back.”

The grip loosened, and Tony took that as permission. He moved toward the kitchen, pausing just long enough to meet Dolores’ gaze. His brows lifted slightly, the question silent, yet clear: How bad is it?

She exhaled slowly, swaying her head as her fingers brushed beneath her eyes.

That answered enough. Tony swallowed hard against the knot in his throat and crossed into the kitchen. “FRIDAY,” he whispered, voice low. “Do what you need to do. Search all the local databases. Find out what’s going on with May Reilly Parker?”

Seconds later, FRIDAY responded at a matching volume. “According to the Queens Memorial Hospital Records, a death certificate was issued for–”

Tony’s heart slammed against his ribs, and his lungs ceased to function, like he’d taken a punch directly to the sternum. “Stop, stop–” He didn’t want to hear the rest. A palm swiped harshly down his face, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth could crack. It was no wonder his kid was so beside himself. May was his last living relative– his only anchor to the Parker family. It didn’t feel real. He didn’t want it to be right.

“Are you sure?” he quietly pressed. “FRIDAY, are you absolutely sure it’s not another May Reilly Parker? Check the birthdate and compare social security numbers– see if there’s a dental record or–”

“Boss,” FRIDAY gently interjected. “There is only one Mary Reilly Parker within the state of New York. A death certificate was issued at twenty-three fourteen on Monday, February the sixth. Cause of death has not been determined.”

Tony squeezed his eyes closed, denial no longer an option. “Shit. Okay.” He blew out a breath and yanked the refrigerator door open. He’d kept the kid waiting long enough. 

With three water bottles in hand, he hurried back. Peter had folded in on himself, arms wrapped tightly around his shins. His shoulders no longer wracked with sobs, but misery was apparent. 

Tony blew out a tremulous breath, handing a bottle to Dolores before taking a seat beside the kid. He breathed slowly–evenly as he pressed a warm, grounding hand against the kid’s back.

“I’m so sorry, Pete.” Tony let his hand rest on the back of Peter’s neck, fingers lightly squeezing. The kid barely reacted, lost in his own grieThe silence stretched, thick and heavy. He hesitated, but the question slipped out anyway. “I don’t understand, Buddy. Why didn’t you call me?”

Peter remained in his collapsed position, talking into his knees. “Lost my phone. Wanted to come straight here.” His breath hitched. “Social worker didn’t believe me.”

Tony’s teeth ground together, frustration flaring hot. He forced it down. As much as he wanted to be furious at whoever blocked Peter from coming to him, he could imagine how absurd it must have sounded—a kid, grieving and distraught, insisting he needed to go to Iron Man’s house. 

“You’re here, now.” He exhaled slowly through his nose, shifting his hand to Peter’s shoulder to encourage him to sit up. “I've got you.”

Tears welled up again, spilling down Peter’s pinkened cheeks. “May died.”

“I know, bud.” Tony swallowed hard, his own eyes burning. 

“She’s gone, Mr. Stark. She’s gone and I’m still here, and I don’t—I don’t know what to do. I don’t—” Peter’s lip trembled, his eyes falling closed. “I don’t know what’s happening and–”

“Come here, kiddo.” Tony pulled him in, wrapping an arm securely around his back. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

Peter nodded, dragging his wrist beneath his nose. “Sorry. Sorry, I just—” He huffed in frustration as more tears broke free. “I’m so tired of crying.”

Dolores crossed the room, pulling a small pack of tissues from her purse. She handed several to Peter before passing the rest to Tony.

“Peter, anak ,” she murmured, her voice gentle as she placed a hand over Peter’s. “Tears are good. They lighten the heart.”

Tony watched Peter clutch the tissues in his lap, shoulders curling inward, like he was too exhausted to bother using them. His chest tightened , his mind restless with dozens of unanswered questions. What happened to May? What was happening next? Was anyone handling the funeral plans? And, most importantly, who was going to take care of Peter?

He lifted his gaze to Dolores. “Is he staying with you?”

She sighed, her eyes glossing over. “Peter is my boy’s best friend. I’ve known him since he was eight. I would love nothing more than to take him into my home for good, but our arrangement is temporary.”

“So, where does he go next? Is foster care the plan?” His stomach twisted, his arms automatically– protectively tightening around Peter at the thought.

“For now, he stays with us. He grieves and adjusts. When the timing is right and new plans are made, we will stay in touch– we make sure he’s safe and cared for.” She met his eyes, her voice honest and firm. “No matter where he goes, we will watch over him. Mahalaga ang pamilya– family is important.”

Those words dug their claws into Tony’s heart, sinking deep, heavy, and unrelenting. Family. That wasn’t just some abstract concept anymore. May had been family. Peter was family. Yet, it sounded like the kid’s fate had already been decided—like he wasn’t right there, ready to fight for him.

His fingers splayed across Peter’s back, warmth radiating beneath his palm. Resources weren’t an issue—he had enough to secure the kid’s future ten, twenty times over—but providing wasn’t the same as parenting.

He knew that firsthand. Howard Stark had given him everything he could have possibly wanted—except the things that mattered. Stability, emotional support, a sense of belonging that wasn’t tied to expectations or achievements. To the world, his father had been a great man. At home, the story had been different. Distant. Calculating. Creating a cycle of guilt and unspoken disappointments.

A nearly indiscernible movement pulled him from his thoughts. Peter shifted against him. Tony lowered his head, resting his cheek atop the kid’s curls and inhaled deeply. Cheap shampoo mixed with something unmistakably Peter.

The kid had already inched his way into every part of his life—his routines, his habits, his whole damn heart. Letting go wasn’t an option. Not to foster care. Not to strangers. His kid had lost everything, and even though he was safe and comfortable with friends, he’d still come here. He’d latched onto Tony and cried in his arms. That meant something. Trust. Familiarity. Care.

The penthouse had been Peter’s home for months. Maybe even longer, because home wasn’t always a physical place. It was surrounding yourself with the people who made you feel safe and wanted. Something his own father had never managed to do.

But he could be different. Better. He could make this work.

Priorities would need shifting, that was certain. He could scale back his role at Stark Industries. Delegate more, keep semi-reasonable office hours– the kind that were conducive to raising a teenager. Then there were the Avengers… They didn’t need him in the field every single time the world caught fire. Not really. They were fully capable and, honestly, he had nothing left to prove.

Peter– his kid– needed him. And he refused to fail him the way his own father had.

It wasn’t about his ego or an off sense of obligation. It was about doing what his father never had– showing up. Choosing Peter over everything else. Proving to him, day after day, that he mattered. Not for his intelligence. Not for his potential. Not for his heroism. Just simply for being Peter.

He gave the kid one more tight squeeze and sat up a little taller. There was an immediate readjustment, Peter ensuring he remained pressed into his side. Tony chuckled lightly, ruffling the kid’s hair as his focus shifted to Dolores. 

“What if he stayed here?” he asked, casual but determined. “What if I became his guardian?”

Dolores’ eyes narrowed. Her lips pursed, her expression unreadable for a beat too long. “That boy thinks highly of you. He threatened to run away if I tried to keep him from coming here.” She raised a finger and pointed it straight at his chest. “Do not taunt him with ‘what if.’ If you have doubts, discuss them away from his ears. Do not hint at promises you are not certain you will keep.”

Tony smirked, though it wasn’t out of amusement. He liked her. She was sharp. Protective. Unshakable. And, most importantly, she wasn’t afraid to call him out.

Don’t taunt him with what if.

She was right. His words had been careless, spoken out of instinct rather than intention– testing the waters, weighing the reactions. Except this wasn’t a boardroom negotiation, and it sure as hell wasn’t a press conference. This was Peter’s life, his future.

Dolores didn’t look away. She was waiting.

He looked down. Peter’s brows were drawn together, his lashes still wet, his lips parted like he was trying to form a response but didn’t quite know how.

“What do you think, buddy?” Tony asked, keeping his voice gentle.”How would you feel about me pursuing guardianship over you?”

Peter’s bottom lip wobbled. His breath hitched, and fresh tears spilled over. He shoved a tissue against his eyes, nodding desperately. “Yeah. If I can’t have–” His words broke off with a distressed crack. He swallowed, scrubbing the tissue roughly against his cheeks. “Then I want you. I want my own bed and– and–”

His voice cracked, and that was enough. Tony pulled him close, allowing the kid to bury his face in his chest. “I hear you, Pete,” he murmured, his own throat tight.

Dolores watched them for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she tilted her head. “You are close, then. Yes?” 

Tony lifted his head slightly. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

“And with May?”

A lump formed in Tony’s throat. He swallowed it down and nodded. “Yeah. At first, it was just about Peter– checking in, keeping her updated on how the internship was going. Making sure she knew she could call me if she had any questions. That kind of stuff.” He huffed out a soft, breathless chuckle. “Then, somewhere along the way, we started talking about other things too. Work. Life. Anything. Everything. We’d sit down with a cup of coffee or a glass of wine and just– talk.” His eyes burned, thinking of all the conversations they’d never get to have. “I’m gonna miss that.”

Dolores let out a breath, her hands smoothing over the fabric of her skirt. She hesitated, as though weighing her words before she spoke. “Kinship placements are considered first.”

Tony raised a brow. “Kinship Placement?” 

She elaborated. “The social worker said to us, when a child loses their guardian, they look first for relatives or close family friends before foster care. They prefer a child to go to people who already know and love them. That’s how he ended up with us… at least for the time being.” She looked to Peter, still curled into Tony’s side, breathing slowly, like he could very well fall asleep where he was. “There are safeguards and criteria to be met, of course. But you care for him. You should qualify.”

Tony swallowed. “What do I need to do to make it happen?”

Dolores pressed her lips together, exhaling through her nose. “I don’t know for sure.” She folded her hands in her lap, fingers tightening like she was bracing for something painful. “At first, we were called for emergency placement. It was the middle of the night, and they asked Peter where he could go. There was a background check, some paperwork– nothing complicated.” Her voice wavered, and she blinked rapidly, moisture gathering in her eyes. “They asked if we wanted more. If we would consider guardianship.”

A deep breath shuddered through her chest before she continued. “Of course, I wanted to say yes, but we don’t have the resources. The size of our apartment is too small, and our income is not adequate.” She shook her head, shoulders curving inward like the weight of it all physically pressed down on her. “I wish we could provide more than a short stay…”

A sniff broke the silence. Peter shifted, sitting up, arms wrapping around his stomach like he was trying to hold himself together. “It’s okay, Mrs. Leeds. I told you,” he lifted his head, gesturing weakly towards Tony. “I told you I had somewhere to go–that Mr. Stark would know what to do.”

Tony’s heart swelled, filling his chest with warmth.

The kid believed in him. Not Iron Man. Not the billionaire genius. Just him . ‘Mr. Stark would know what to do.’ The words had been spoken so simply, so certain, like there had never been a single doubt in the kid’s mind– Mr. Stark was going to take care of everything. 

Lordy. Tony barely trusted himself half the time, and yet, this kid– his kid had absolute faith in him. He released a breath, knowing he’d go through hell and back to prove that faith wasn’t misplaced. 

He’d figure it out. He had to. The kid deserved stability, and realistically, he already thought of Peter as his. The kid had a room, right across from his in the penthouse. He knew his favorite foods, his best friends, and his class schedule. He was the first person the school called in an emergency. Taming his schedule might be difficult, but taking care of Peter? That would be the most natural thing in the world. 

His fist came up to his mouth. He cleared his throat and wiped his thumb and forefinger below his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve got you, kiddo. You did good.”

Peter leaned forward, elbows resting on his shaking knees, face buried in his palms. The sight sent a fresh wave of worry through Tony’s gut.

The position was worrisome, one Tony had seen before. Usually, when Peter had a headache or wasn’t feeling well. Out of pure instinct, he placed his hand on the back of the kid’s neck. “You feeling okay, Pete?” 

The moment the words left his mouth, he winced. Stupid question. Of course, Peter wasn’t okay. His aunt, the woman who raised him, was gone . His whole world had just been ripped apart.

He pressed his lips together, biting the inside of his cheek. “I mean, I know–” He winced, backpedaling, feeling impossible as he searched for the right words. “What I meant was– are you physically okay? Do you need some water?” He hesitated, then added, “When’s the last time you ate?”

Peter swayed slightly, his head still buried in his hands. “My head hurts.”

Tony frowned. “You’re probably dehydrated.”

“I want to go to my room,” Peter all but whined, and Tony wanted to sympathise. At the same time, he was well aware of how many calories the kid actually needed to function, and how hard it was to eat when your stomach was constricted with grief.

“You didn’t answer my question, bud,” he said softly. “When did you eat last?”

Dolores straightened, her lips pursed. “He ate breakfast, and I gave him a sandwich and juice on the way here.”

That was more than Tony had expected, but still not nearly enough—especially for a kid with an enhanced metabolism. Not that Dolores could have known that. He grabbed an unopened water bottle, pressing it lightly against Peter’s arm until he took it. “How about a snack? Ice cream? Trail mix? I could make you grilled cheese.”

Peter twisted the cap off, taking several long gulps. “Nothing. I’m not hungry.” The words came hollow and distant. He looked over his shoulder, knee bouncing. “I just want to go to my room. Please.”

Dolores glanced at her watch. “Peter, anak. We have to go soon. Ned will be waiting.”

“What?” Peter’s entire body stiffened. His head snapped up, eyes wide with panic. “I thought– I thought I was staying here!” He looked wildly between Tony and Dolores, his breathing quickening. “You said I could stay here! You said– you said–”

Tony’s stomach clenched as Peter’s voice cracked.

“Peter.” Dolores crossed the room and took up the space on Peter’s other side, sandwiching him between them. “You are right. Mr. Stark said he wants you to stay.” She lay a gentle hand on Peter’s arm. “But today, we only came to visit. Mr. Stark will need to take the correct steps to gain guardianship. It may take time. Until then, you stay with us. Yes?”

Tears slipped free, first from Peter, then from Dolores. Tony’s throat burned as he tightened his grip around the kid’s shoulders. 

It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Things needed to happen, and they needed to happen quickly.

He’d get the social worker’s card from Dolores and call his lawyers to start the process. He already knew the kid didn’t have any relatives to speak of. Maybe a few distant cousins he was unaware of, but May had always made it sound like it had been just them. If that was the case, he alone was the closest thing the kid had to kin.

The social worker might see it differently. They’d only known each other for a little over a year.

Peter’s word would help. The principal at Midtown knew their relationship. That would help too. And the sheer number of pictures, especially the ones with May, would paint the rest of the picture.

He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting shut for half a second as he centered himself.

It would have to be enough. He’d make sure it was enough. Because Peter was his kid, and he wanted him home.

Chapter Text

Peter left the penthouse still in shambles. Dolores linked her elbow with his as she guided him to the elevator. Tony trailed behind them, shoulders tense, jaw tight. Every instinct screamed for him to stop them, to make a call– no, a dozen calls– to pull strings, grease wheels, do whatever it took to cut through the thick, red tape. He had influence in nearly every sector imaginable. Except, apparently, child welfare. Because why the hell would he?

“Can I come back tomorrow?” Peter’s voice was small, hopeful, cutting straight through Tony’s frustration.

Desperation was evident in the kid’s wide, pleading gaze. Tony had to fight the urge to blurt out ‘ Yes, absolutely. You’ll be back here tomorrow and every day after that until I fix this mess.’ He held his tongue, knowing wasn’t in charge yet. The decision wasn’t his to make. Not officially. He turned to Dolores, lifting his brows and nodded slightly– a small gesture to confirm he was all in. He had time. He’d make time.

Dolores looked torn, her mouth pressed thin and her shoulders squared. A moment or two later, she relaxed and nodded. “I will allow it, because I think it will be good for you to be here. You’ll need to check in with me throughout the day.” 

Peter flinched. “I don’t have a phone! I still– it’s still gone and–”

“I’ll get him a new one.” Tony cut in without hesitation. “First thing tomorrow. Done deal. He’ll be able to check in with you all day long.”

Dolores gave him a thoughtful look, something shifting in her expression. “That would be helpful. Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“Of course.”

“I will want him home for dinner,” she continued, offering Peter a small smile. Then, she looked at Tony again, something warm in her gaze. “You can stay too.” She paused, giving him a careful once-over, like she was still sizing him up. “If you would like.”

“Yes.” His head bobbed, hands folding in front of himself as he forced himself into a more natural smile. Sharing a meal with the Leeds, seeing where Peter was spending his time would be– good . “To all of those things. I would love to stay for dinner.”

The elevator doors opened into the lobby. Before Peter could step away, Tony pulled him into a tight hug, one that took all his strength, and didn’t let go. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” On a whim, he pressed a quick kiss to Peter’s temple, right where his curls swept back over his ear. “Eat. Sleep. Be good for Ma–” The name caught in his throat. A quick cough covered the mistake. “Be good for Mrs. Leeds.”

“I’m always good,” Peter mumbled into his shoulder, 

Tony huffed, giving him one last, firm squeeze before letting go. “Sure, you are.”

Peter’s lips twitched upward, his eyes glinting with just a touch of his usual. Bubbly spirit. “I am. That’s why everyone loves me.”

A dozen snarky responses came rushing to the tip of Tony’s tongue. Everything from ‘I guess everyone loves a nuisance’ to ‘I suppose ‘good’ is subjective terminology.’   In the end, he went with the truth. “Yeah, Kiddo. Everyone loves you.”

Dolores chuckled quietly. Peter, on the other hand, blushed deep red, the color rising from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears.

Numbers were exchanged. Dolores pulled the social workers business card from her wallet, watching as Tony snapped a picture.

“Thank you for caring for him,” she said, her voice carrying more weight than before. “I’ll have him here before one.”

Tony’s answer was immediate. “I’ll be here,” he said, and he meant it– in every capacity of the word.

She gave him one final nod before guiding Peter toward the exit. He watched them go, standing there until the doors swung closed behind them. Then, turning on his heel, he stepped back into the elevator. “FRIDAY, to my office. I’ve got work to do.”

The elevator shot upward and Tony leaned against the wall. His suit was a mess– wrinkled on top of wrinkles after having a distraught teenager clinging to him. The doors slid open on the executive floor. It was quieter there, the usual bustle dialed down. Probably for the best. Fewer people to see the mess he’d become.

He entered the familiar reception area and veered right. His office was there, his name gleaming in bronze across the door. As he scanned his hand against the panel, ready to step inside, a movement caught his eye.

“Tony?”

Pepper stood just outside her own office, head tilted, brows drawing together in concern. He sighed, recognizing that she had every right to look that way. He’d bailed on a meeting and ignored every one of her texts since.

“Is everything okay?” she asked. “Did something happen?”

A long sigh pushed past his lips as his hands went down his dress shirt– a half-hearted attempt to smooth it out. Something had definitely happened. A lot, actually. In a very short amount of time. It was difficult to pinpoint where to even start.

His gaze drifted to the secretary sitting at a nearby desk. They were filing their nails and talking to someone on the phone, not paying him an ounce of attention. Still, he didn’t want to discuss Peter’s loss or his pending parental status in their presence.

He jerked his head toward his office, waving Pepper inside before sinking into his chair. Leather creaked beneath him as he leaned forward, reaching for the nearest pen.

“May– Pete’s aunt May. She…” The words felt wrong. Stiff and uncomfortable. He kept his eyes on the pen in his fingers, tapping it against the desk. “She died.”

Silence stretched between them. He glanced up. Pepper’s eyes shined with sympathy.

“Oh,” she nearly whispered. “Does he have family to stay with or—”

“No.” Tony licked his lips, shifting from tapping the pen to twirling it between his fingers. “He’s with his best friend’s family for now. That’s a temporary solution, though.” The pen clattered to the desk as his right hand wrapped around his left wrist, fingers flexing. “I’m seeking guardianship– a kinship placement as a close family friend.”

When he looked up, Pepper didn’t appear all that surprised. She swiped her bangs off of her forehead and nodded slowly. “You have a lot on your plate…”

“I know, Pep.” Both hands lifted, palms forward, cutting her off before she could launch into all the reasons his plan was insane. “I’ll have to step back from a lot of things, but I need to do this. Peter wants to be with me, and– I think May would want that too.” He laughed, sharp and uneven. Not because anything he’d just said had been particularly funny. The emotions pressing down on him simply needed an outlet– appropriate or not. “If I let her kid go into foster care, she’d haunt me for the rest of my life.”

Pepper’s lips quirked just slightly. “Well, we can’t have that. You don’t sleep enough as it is.”

Rather than respond, he leaned back, the chair rocking slightly as his foot pushed against the floor. His fingers twitched, itching to grab his phone– to call the lawyer, to do something . The sooner he got things rolling, the sooner his kid could come home.

“Seriously, Tony—”

His gaze lifted.

“You have your hands in so many things– Stark Industries, Iron Man, philanthropy, travel– you’re all over the place all the time. Are you sure you can slow down enough to… parent?”

“I don’t have to slow down.” The words came out firm, no hesitation. “I just have to shift my orbit.” He leaned forward, his hands steepled together on the desk. “All of those other things will still be on my radar. The only thing that’s gonna change is that the kid– my kid will be the center of my universe. Everything I do will revolve around him.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“Not in the slightest,” he admitted with a chuckle. “But I’ll get there.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’ll be a great dad.” She stood, smoothing out her skirt as she moved toward the door. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“There is one thing…” His arms folded on the desk, shoulders slumping slightly. “When the kid moves in– when he comes home – I’m going to need some time to–”

Pepper nodded, knowing exactly where his request was heading. Sometimes he wondered if she could read his mind. “I’ll clear your schedule as much as possible while you two adjust.”

“Thanks,” he breathed, one less thing to worry about moving forward. He and the kid could settle in– create a new normal without the interruptions of corporate demands.

“Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

A grin broke across his face. “Yes, Ms. Potts. That’ll be all.”

The moment the door clicked shut, the office grew quiet. Tony sighed, drumming his fingers against the desk before finally snatching up his phone. The law firm he kept on retainer was one click away and, thankfully, quick to answer.

Two transfers later, he was being connected with the right person. There was no need for his usual business attorneys. He required someone fluent in family law. After a few minutes of low-quality smooth jazz, hold music, a new voice greeted him, unfamiliar but professional enough. Tony leaned back in his chair, heel tapping the floor as introductions were made.

The man seemed competent. Polite. Didn’t laugh or scoff, and he didn’t hit him with an ‘are you insane?’ tone when he explained that he wanted guardianship of his recently deceased friend’s teenage nephew– full adoption, if possible.

It all went well until the lawyer decided to spend the next half hour harping about legalities, inheritance, and estate planning. 

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut as the lawyer’s voice droned on. “Right. I get it. Adoption is permanent, and the children have the same rights as birth children.” His hand dragged down his face. Admittedly, he’d not taken the time to consider any of those things, but he didn’t actually care. He had one goal, and it was to get Peter home.

The lawyer continued, prattling on about the process and potential court involvement. It blurred together, all background noise to the gnawing frustration building up in Tony’s mind.

He exhaled sharply, cutting the guy off before he could launch into another round of things to consider. “Lordy. I’m trying to live for the kid, not die for him. What happens to the company and my fortune when I’m gone is literally the least of my concerns at the moment.” He sat forward, elbows propped on his desk. “His aunt– she was one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met, and this kid means the world to me. I just want him home.”

That got things moving. Calls went out, messages piling up with Peter’s social worker and the Department of Children and Family Services. Tony paced the office, suit jacket tossed over the back of a chair, and his shoes forgotten somewhere near the couch. He waited and waited and waited for a response, but there was nothing. No return calls or messages from anyone involved.

Hours bled together in a blur of anxious anticipation. Eventually, a change in venue was necessary. He went upstairs, swapping the dress clothes for something more comfortabl,e and headed into the lab.

Time passed faster there. He kept himself busy, tinkering, hammering, recalibrating– letting his frustration work itself out through his hands. The restlessness didn’t fade completely, but it had a direction and that helped. By eight, it became clear that no return call was coming. A quick text to the lawyer confirmed the same. No communication had taken place.

He growled, grabbed the nearest wrench and hurled it across the lab. It clattered against the far wall, skidding across the floor before coming to a stop near one of the workbenches. He stared at him, his chest heaving, nostrils flared.  Great. Super Productive.

He braced his hands against the table, head tipping forward. If they’d just listened to Peter from the start, he’d already be there instead of with the Leeds’. They wouldn’t be stuck in some kind of hell-ish limbo while bureaucrats shuffled papers and took their sweet time deciding where he belonged. 

He gathered a deep breath, fingers flexing. Losing his temper wasn’t going to fix anything. This process would take time. It shouldn’t, but it would. His thoughts shifted to Dolores, then Ned, reminding him that Peter wasn’t alone. He was somewhere familiar, with people who would care of him for however long this– in-between period lasted. That had to be enough.

Sitting back in his chair, checking his watch. Logic said he should eat something, shower, and go to bed at a reasonable hour. His brain and body had other plans.

He ran both hands through his hair. He needed to do something. Something productive. Something useful. The phone popped into his head. He’d promised Dolores he’d get Peter a phone. That was something he could handle.

He dug around until he found a new StarkPhone– not quite the newest model, but it would do. He took his time updating the systems, installing some popular apps and adding a few contacts to the list. He had the whole thing all-but-set-up before the kid could even touch it. 

Then he got to work on a more technical level. A tracker was embedded in the hardware. Not to spy on the kid, but to ensure he didn’t lose it– again. Once that was working he started designing a custom reinforced case. Shatter-proof, water-proof– Peter proof. Spidey-proof.

A feat of engineering at that caliber would keep his hands busy for a while. Hopefully, long enough for exhaustion to outweigh– everything else. 

Then maybe, just maybe, he’d think about sleep.

A sharp gasp jerked Peter out of sleep, his chest rising and falling too fast like he’d been drowning in something dark and cold. He closed his eyes, the dream already slipping away, dissolving into shadowy remnants of fear and pain. May was in it. She was dying– he knew that for sure. But that wasn’t really a nightmare, was it? That was real. It was his life. 

His stomach twisted in on itself as he turned onto his back, the mattress creaking beneath him. Sweat clung to the back of his neck, his lungs shuddering around each breath. Outside the window, the city lights cut through the sky. The deep navy bled into indigo, telling him morning wasn’t far off.

His watch read just past four. Too early to be awake, too late to get any more real sleep. Beside him, Ned slept soundly, completely unaware that Peter was unraveling at the edges.

He swallowed hard, rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes before slowly, carefully rolling off the mattress. He didn’t want to chance waking anyone up just because he couldn’t get his head to shut up.

The door creaked faintly as he slipped into the hallway, holding his breath until it clicked shut behind him. The bathroom was just across the hall. He crossed it in two long strides. His fingers curled around the doorknob, twisting it slowly before pushing inside.

He didn’t bother turning on the light. Didn’t need it, and honestly, the darkness felt better– less overwhelming

A heavy sigh escaped him as he sank down onto the rug in front of the sink. He pulled his knees up, rested his arms loosely over them, and tipped his head back against the cabinet doors.

Mr. Stark had said he would try to gain guardianship. Peter wondered if he had actually managed to get the social worker on the phone. He wondered if she’d believed the Tony Stark was calling about someone as mundane as Peter Parker. She certainly hadn't believed him .

A memory surfaced, pulling a faint smile across his lips. He thought of May standing at the school’s front office, confidently adding Mr. Stark’s name to his emergency contact list. No one had believed it then, either. Not until Stark waltzed in himself, making it very clear that the name and number on the stupid yellow card were very real. And yes, if anything happened, he would be the one picking Peter up. The look on Mr. Mortia's face had been priceless.

No one had ever questioned it again until– Well, until May died.

His smile slipped away.

He hoped Child Services could be convinced just as easily. Because as much as he loved Ned, Ned’s family, and their warm little apartment, he desperately wanted to the Tower with Mr. Stark.

He pulled his knees tighter to his chest, breath shaking as he exhaled. Was that selfish? He had a safe place with people who cared about him, and a plethora of other feelings he couldn’t begin to name. 

Maybe because what he really wanted was something he undoubtedly couldn't have.

He wanted to go back in time– back to Queens, back to May, back to normal. Back to visiting Mr. Stark at the Tower. Back to spending weekends at Ned’s apartment, eating popcorn and arguing about Star Wars theories. He wanted to go back to a world where May was still alive .

But that world didn’t exist anymore. And no matter how hard he wished, no matter how much his entire body longed for it–he knew it was impossible, but that didn’t make him want it any less.

His thoughts spun in endless circles, looping between denial, reluctant acceptance, and back again before he could stop them.

A lazy knock at the door cut through the spiral. “You gonna be done soon?” Ned’s voice called through the door.

Peter sucked in a quick breath, pressing his palms over his eyes before his voice cracked out, “Yeah! Yeah, I’ll be right out.”

Joints popped as he uncurled himself, pushing to his feet. He turned the faucet on and splashed cold water over his face. He leaned forward on the sink, looking himself over. He didn’t look amazing, but his face was clean, leaving no trace of his middle of the night breakdown. He exhaled once more, then slipped back into the bedroom as Ned shuffled into the bathroom.

Mrs. Leeds met him in the doorway, tapping lightly on the frame before stepping inside. “Peter,” she said softly. “You should join us for breakfast today. There are sweet rolls and bacon. I know you like those things.”

Peter hesitated for half a second before nodding, slow at first, then firmer.

He stood up and followed her to the kitchen, where the air was thick with the scent of bacon. Ned entered a moment later, pausing mid-step when he spotted Peter already at the table. Surprise flashed across his face, but quickly settled into his usual smile. He slid into his seat, reached for a strip of bacon, and tore it in half with a quiet crunch.

They ate and talked– Peter less than everyone else, but he listened. 

Time ticked forward. Ned’s dad finished first. He slid his chair back and grabbed his keys with a quick, “See you later.” Ned followed soon after, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, tossing a casual, “See ya later, dude,” as he headed out the door.

The apartment fell quiet again, save for the soft clatter of dishes.

Mrs. Leeds stacked the plates, glancing toward him. “I’m going to the store soon,” she said. “When I get home, we’ll go to the Tower. You should be ready, yes?”

“I’ll be ready,” Peter replied. He collected his own plate and followed Mrs. Leeds to the sink. “I can help.”

“That would be helpful, Peter,” she smiled softly, handing him a rag for drying. “Thank you.”

Not long after, the last dish clicked into place. Mrs. Leeds barely paused before grabbing her purse. She hesitated for half a second, eyes landing on Peter, like she wasn’t sure about leaving him alone. In the end, she gave a quick nod and slipped out the door, leaving him in the apartment by himself.

Emptiness settled in, still and quiet. 

He couldn't think of a time he’d ever been left completely alone in the Leeds’ home. Someone had always been around. Usually, Ned. Lately,  Mrs. Leeds. More often than not, the whole family was present. Especially on the weekends. Without them, the apartment felt different– strange but not entirely uncomfortable.

He shifted his weight, fingers reaching for his phone before remembering he no longer had one. Not for the time being, anyway. He itched to mindlessly scroll through social media, to distract himself and kill some time. The television remote was nearby. He eyed it before pushing the idea away.

If he was going to do something, it might as well be useful .

His school bag was by the door. He hauled it onto the table, grabbed his school-issued Chromebook, and powered it on. Even if he wasn’t officially back in school yet, he couldn't afford to fall behind. Three AP classes weren’t going to pass themselves.

The E-Class Portal loaded, and his heart dropped down into his stomach. A ridiculously long list of missing assignments glared back at him from the screen.

His fingers drummed restlessly against the keyboard as his throat tightened. There was way too much to catch up on.

Swallowing hard, he pulled up a math worksheet. The problems weren’t hard. He understood everything fine, but his brain refused to focus. His hand tapped against the mouse, eyes roaming over the numbers while his mind wandered.

How long would it take for Mr. Stark to be awarded guardianship? Surely it wouldn’t take long. He had money, lawyers, and influence. He could probably bend the whole system if he really wanted to. Still, he wondered how many more nights would pass before he could sleep in a real bed– his own bed. 

He stared blankly at the equation in front of him. What if Mr. Stark couldn’t get guardianship? Would he go into foster care? Move in with strangers? Adopt a whole new life he didn’t choose? What would that mean for Spider-Man? Would he be forced to give up half of his identity?

His heart beat a little faster behind his ribs.

He tried not to think about it, buckling down and focusing solely on the numbers. He only managed to get through one problem before the questions started creeping back in.

If Mr. Stark did take him in, how long would it take for the world to find out? The media already hounded Mr. Stark on a regular basis. If word got out that he’d taken in some random kid, it would be everywhere . Would reporters suddenly want to talk to him too? Would he have to change schools? The thought was unnerving but not nearly as terrifying as moving into a strange house with people he’d never met. The possibility made his skin crawl.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it,” he hissed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. His fingers curled into the strands, gripping tightly. “Stop worrying! You don’t even know what’s happening yet!”

The chair scraped loudly against the floor as he pushed back from the table. His chest felt tight, and his shoulders stiff. He slammed the Chromebook shut as he shot to his feet and took off toward the bedroom. He threw himself onto the mattress, dragging his blanket past his shoulders and over his head.

He thought about May.

He thought about her voice, her laugh, and her stupid thrift shop coffee mug that had a chip on the rim. The one she refused to replace because it felt good in her hands and was the perfect Aureolin hue. 

Yellow. It was yellow. She could call it whatever she wanted, but it was still yellow. 

Eventually, the memories blurred together, creating a dreamy highlights reel in his head. He smiled past the burn in his throat, not fighting it when sleep began tugging him under. He allowed it to happen, sinking into blissful unconsciousness. 

He had no idea how long he was out until a light pressure on his shin stirred him.“Peter?” Mrs. Leeds’ voice drifted into his awareness. “I know you’re tired, but it’s almost time to go. If you still want to?”

The fog of sleep cleared instantly. He sat up, head swimming as he nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m ready to go.”

Mrs. Leeds studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable, then nodded. “Change clothes. I’ll make you a sandwich for the car.”

When she stepped out, Peter took a moment to reorient himself before crawling over to his bag and grabbing a clean shirt. 

He met her by the door twenty minutes later, anxious to get going– eager to hear what Mr. Stark had said to the social worker. Mrs. Leeds placed a sandwich in his hands and walked out the door.

Same as the day before, they ate on the way to the tower. They parked in the tall deck and entered the building through the lobby. The only difference was that the elevator took them straight to the penthouse without any stops in the middle, as when the door slid open, Mr. Stark was already waiting for them. 

“Dolores,” he greeted with a nod, then turned his full attention to Peter. “Hey, Bud.” He held out his arms in invitation, and Peter instantly fell into them. Thankfully, without crying.

They stayed in that position for a while, until Peter finally felt like he could let go without falling apart. Mr. Stark smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

“I have the phone I promised you,” he said, turning around to pull a box off the counter. “I didn’t have access to the information needed to port your old number when I added you to my cell plan. So, you have a new one.” He sighed, tired and apologetic. “I wasn’t really in a position to transfer any of your contacts or photos, either. But I can try to help you recover them, if you’d like.”

Peter turned the box over in his hands. A StarkPhone– an older model, but still top-of-the-line. Across the lid, a phone number was scrawled in Mr. Stark’s messy handwriting. Peter traced a finger over the ink, feeling the shallow indentations where the pen had pressed a little too hard against the cardboard.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark. I– yeah.” He paused. Looked to the side and swallowed. He had so many memories packed into his old phone. He was nearly certain he’d backed them up. That would make recovering them a bit easier. Still, he appreciated the help. It meant he didn’t struggle through the process alone. “Getting my pictures back would be awesome and– thanks for, uh– yeah. Just… thanks.”

“No problem, Pete. We’ll work on that whenever you’re ready.”

Peter nodded, handing the box to Mrs. Leeds so she could jot down the new number. Once she was done, he lifted the lid and pulled out the phone, his lips twitching upward at the sight of the reinforced case. It definitely wasn't a standard issue and had been painted a rich shade of deep blue. His favorite color.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Mrs. Leeds said with a small smile. “Dinner is at seven-thirty.”

“We’ll be there,” Mr. Stark promised, giving Peter’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Thanks for letting him stay.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Leeds headed toward the elevator, glancing back briefly. “Anything for Peter– as long as it’s good for him.”

She hesitated for half a second, then added, “Call me if you hear anything. I’ll do the same.”

“Absolutely,” Mr. Stark said without hesitation. Then the doors slid shut behind her.

Chapter Text

“I wanna go to my room,” Peter murmured, his gaze locked onto the floor. His arms wrapped loosely around his middle, not defensive, but definitely closed off. As if he were physically holding himself together.

Tony hesitated, caught off guard. Just yesterday, the kid had clung to him, sticking to his side like glue. Now, Peter stood there, his head bowed and his shoulders curved inward.

“You sure?” he asked, head tipping to the side as he tried to read Peter’s posture.

A small, almost imperceptible shift– Peter rocked back on his heels, then nodded. “I want my bed.”

Tony sighed. The answer wasn’t surprising. Of course, the kid wanted his own bed. It was comfortable and familiar. He glanced at his watch. It was a little after one, because of course it was… That was the time he and Dolores had agreed on. After a short night's sleep, he’d attended exactly one meeting, barely paid attention, then metaphorically clocked out. He’d spent the rest of his morning counting the minutes until his kid arrived.

“Buddy–” He hesitated, debating how much to push. “Did you eat?”

Peter gave a quick nod.

“Enough?” Tony pressed, already knowing the answer. 

There was a shrug and another shift in weight. The smallest trace of irritation flashed across Peter’s face– mild, but clear. He wasn’t in the mood to be interrogated. 

“I’m not hungry. I just want–”

Tony exhaled, forcing himself to let go of the desire to fix everything right then. If Peter wanted to be alone, then maybe that’s what he needed? And as much as he hated the idea of letting the kid shut himself away, he didn’t want to push.

“Alright,” he relented, lifting both hands in surrender. “You can go, but I’m checking in on you later, okay?”

Peter nodded, hesitated for just a second, then leaned in for a quick, tight hug. Tony barely had time to return it before Peter pulled away, retreating toward his room without another word. 

Tony stayed where he was, hands on his hips, staring at the empty hallway.

He hated this.

Every fiber of his being told him to do something– to fix it– to make sure Peter was okay. The instinct to follow was strong, but he resisted, dragging a hand over his face, then through his hair. Maybe he should’ve done some research on grief in teenagers? There had to be a ton of articles on the subject. He sank onto the couch, leaned forward on his knees, and pulled up a search window on his phone.

As expected, there was plenty of information. He started at the top, reading about the stages of grief. Apparently, they could go in order, out of order, stack up, or flip around at random. Calling them stages seemed asinine when there was no real format. He sighed, wondering where Peter was in the process. 

He opened a few more links, clicking on websites that sounded helpful. Coping mechanisms. What to Say. What not to say. The lists went on and on. 

Give him time. Give him space, but not too much space. Expect behavior changes. Let him cry. 

Let him cry.

He swallowed hard and closed the browser. No more scrolling. Instead, he asked FRIDAY to order some actual books, the kind he could hold in his hands, flip through, highlight, and scribble notes in the margins. He needed something to use as a quick reference as he helped Peter navigate his loss, as he navigated his own.

After that, he drifted, unsure of what to do with himself. Restlessness tugged at him, the kind that usually sent him straight to the lab, but he didn’t want to disappear downstairs. If Peter woke up to an empty penthouse, it wouldn't exactly scream a safe, stable home environment . The kid was already struggling– he didn’t need to feel abandoned on top of everything else.

Instead, he grabbed his tablet from the bedside table, swiping it on with a practiced flick of his thumb. If nothing else, he could mess with some schematics, maybe start a new design– something to keep his brain occupied while his nerves settled.

He sat at the kitchen table, a holographic blueprint casting a cool glow over his fingers as he manipulated the design. His coffee sat beside him, steam wafting into the air. He paused to take a sip, his phone catching his eye.

A new desire took over. He scrolled through his messages, thumb tapping out a quick text to his lawyer. ‘Anything new in Peter’s case?’

The response came faster than expected. ‘ Nothing yet. I’ll follow up first thing in the morning.’

He exhaled sharply through his nose and set the phone down long enough to rub at his temples. Then he switched over to his call log and, without hesitation, redialed the social worker. His fingers tapped impatiently against the table as it rang and rang before going straight to voicemail. Again. He left another message, sharper than the last. He left another for good measure. It was pushing into late afternoon, she was probably occupied with wrapping things up for the day. He didn’t care. What was the saying? The squeaky wheel gets the oil? He could work with that. 

His attention drifted back to the schematic, but his focus had already unraveled. The numbers and figures blurred at the edges, exhaustion clouding his thought process. He ran some mental calculations– he’d had three hours of sleep, give or take. Not great, but he’d operated on less.

Dragging a hand down his face, he exhaled through his fingers. He needed to move, do something other than sit there pretending to be productive. Maybe it was time to check on the kid?

Moving quietly down the hall, he tapped lightly on the bedroom door, waiting for any sign that Peter might be awake. When none came, he carefully pushed the door open, just enough to peek inside.

Peter lay curled in the center of the bed, covers bunched near his chest. One arm tucked under his pillow, the other stretched limply across the mattress. His breaths came steady and even, but he didn’t look peaceful. His brows knit together, his shoulders stiff even in sleep, like his body refused to let go of the weight of his situation.

Tony’s chest ached at the sight.

How many nights had Peter slept like that? Worn down, running on empty, carrying more than any kid should? The thought gnawed at him. Another followed close behind– had he been sleeping at all?

The words, ‘I want my bed’ circled around, hitting differently than before. Maybe exhaustion wasn’t crushing grief alone– maybe he wasn’t sleeping well, either.

For a second, Tony considered waking him up, just to offer some reassurance. At the same time, the kid clearly needed rest. Hell, they both did.

A deep sigh left him, turning into a yawn halfway through. A hasty decision was made. He toed off his shoes and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed beside Peter, hands tucked behind his head. His gaze found the ceiling, but his thoughts drifted elsewhere– to May, to what she’d think about all of this, about Peter becoming a permanent part of his life. 

He could picture her so clearly, hand on her hips, giving him a quiet nod of approval. It made the edges of his lips turn upward, and his throat tightened. 

Beside him, Peter stirred, a breath shuddering before he settled again.

Tony turned his head slightly, watching the way the kid’s lashes rested against his cheek, and his chest expanded with each soft breath. A quiet sigh left him as he turned his gaze back to the ceiling. His blinks grew slower, heavier, his thoughts fading as exhaustion finally won.

At some point, Peter’s eyelids fluttered open, the weight of sleep lifting slowly as he became aware of his surroundings. It took a few moments for his vision to clear. He shifted slightly, blinking into the late afternoon light spilling through the curtains. Another shift, he found Mr. Stark lying beside him, eyes closed, one hand behind his head, the other lying on his chest.

A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told him it was after three. There were only a few more hours before they had to head back to Queens. The thought came with a sharp pang of guilt. He’s only been allotted a short amount of time with Mr. Stark, and he’d selfishly spent the majority of it sleeping. He reached up, running his hands through his hair. They could’ve gone to the lab, watched a movie– talked– or said nothing at all. Instead, he’d hidden away, separating himself from the one person he legitimately wanted to be with. Stupid.

Still, he could admit he felt more rested than he had in days. He was still tense and anxious, and the deep, dark hole left behind when May passed was still aching and wide, but for the moment, he could pretend it wasn’t.

He blew a breath through his nose. He didn’t think he could– or should go back to sleep. He also didn’t particularly want to be awake. Being awake meant facing reality. May was gone; he couldn’t go home to her. He couldn’t stay with Mr. Stark, either. He pulled the blanket up to his face, eyes watering. Spending the night at the Leeds’ apartment was supposed to be fun. Under the circumstances, it was anything but. He didn't want to go back. 

He turned back to Mr. Stark, hand hovering above his shoulder, torn between waking him up and letting him rest. Before he could decide, Mr Stark stirred and shifted, blinking at Peter with a sleepy smile.

“Hey, bud.” His voice was rough with sleep, but there was warmth in it, making Peter feel safe. “Have a nice nap?”

Peter hesitated for a moment, then nodded, “Yeah. I– I guess,” he whispered, not quite meeting Mr. Stark’s eyes. Guilt, grief, and frustration suddenly piled on, heavy against his chest. He forced a smile, not entirely convincing. “I have to go back to Ned’s apartment soon–” He swallowed. “Right?”

Mr. Stark sat up, sighing softly. “Yeah, buddy. You do.” He reached over, his hand falling onto Peter’s slumped shoulders. “We’ve still got a little bit of time to spend here. How about we do something before we have to go? What are you feeling up to?”

A small shrug was the only response Peter could muster. No particular activity stood out. Knowing he would have to leave the tower dulled his preferences. It didn’t matter what they did, he’d still have to go back to Queens.

Silence stretched between them before Mr. Stark offered, “Movie? I think we have time for that.”

Peter nodded, relieved at the suggestion. A movie sounded good because it didn’t require any effort. He could sit on the couch, let the sound fill the space in his head, and if he was lucky, get lost in it for a little while. Maybe they could watch Star Wars or Tron– something he’d seen before.

Mr. Stark stood up and stretched, his spine cracking as he arched back. He inhaled through his nose, slow and deep, then let out a long yawn.  “I’m gonna grab some snacks. Meet me in the living room?”

Again, Peter nodded, feeling guilty for not speaking aloud. However, felt out of reach, tangled somewhere in his throat. If they broke free, he’d probably cry, and he was so tired of crying. 

Mr. Stark hesitated, looking him over like he wanted to say something, then didn’t. Instead, he gave a small nod of his own, grabbed his shoes, and walked out.

The mattress dipped as Peter rolled over the edge, his legs dangling for a few seconds before he stood. He looked at the disheveled comforter, sighing as he tugged it back into place and smoothed out wrinkles. There was no telling when he’d sleep there again. For all he knew, it could be another three days or weeks. His teeth sank into his bottom lip. 

Mrs. Leeds wouldn’t prevent him from visiting . She understood how much Mr. Stark meant to him. Still, uncertainty coiled in the back of his mind, a quiet, nagging that wouldn’t let go.

Forcing himself into motion, he dragged his feet toward the ensuite. He stared at himself in the mirror for a second, eyes red-rimmed, hair sticking up wildly. Not his best look. Not that it mattered.

A few short minutes later, he stepped into the living room. Mr. Stark had already set up camp on the couch. The coffee table was covered in snacks– several cans of soda, a couple of water bottles, and an overflowing bowl of popcorn. It had to have been at least three bags' worth. Maybe four.

“Hey, buddy.” Mr. Stark looked up, gesturing towards the television. “Know what you want to watch?”

Peter licked his lips. The urge to shrug was strong. However, he forced himself to speak, the single word coming out quieter than he meant. “Sci-fi.”

Mr. Stark lifted a brow and smiled knowingly.  “Star Wars?”

A wobbly smile crossed Peter’s lips. It wasn’t a difficult guess– his love for the franchise was pretty obvious– but there was something nice about not needing to say it out loud. Like Mr. Stark could simply read his mind.

“Great.” Mr. Stark patted the cushion beside him. “Take a seat. The show’s about to begin.”

Sinking onto the couch, Peter curled his legs beneath him, accepting a handful of popcorn without thinking. The sound of familiar orchestral music filled the room, easing his mind as he focused on the screen. He ate more than expected, popping pieces of popcorn into his mouth, the crunching drowned out by the abundance of blasters and fleets of starships.

Somewhere in the second half, exhaustion crept back in, pressing against his limbs, making them feel heavy. Without overthinking it, he leaned into Mr. Stark’s side, the warmth solid and reassuring.

An arm draped over his shoulders, pulling him in without hesitation. The contact settled something deep in his chest. He sighed, melting into the embrace while echoing the movie’s most iconic lines under his breath. 

Eventually, the credits rolled, sending music swelling in the background. Mr. Stark shifted, glancing at his watch. “We need to head out in the next fifteen.”

Peter frowned, his stomach twisting into a knot. “Do we have to?” The whine in his voice was unmistakable, but he didn’t care enough to hide it.

Mr. Stark didn’t look any happier about it, lips pressing into a thin line as he bobbed his head. “Yeah, bud. We do.”

Together they cleaned up, clearing the coffee table of trash and dishes. Once everything was back in place, they made their way down to the private garage, where rows of luxury cars gleamed under the bright overhead lighting.

Mr. Stark strode toward the lockbox mounted on the wall and flipped it open. He scanned the rows of keys, finger tracing the numerical labels until he found what he was searching for. He plucked the keyring from the peg and turned on his heel, already heading toward the designated parking spot. A top-of-the-line Audi waited for them– pricey enough to meet Mr. Stark’s standards, but understated enough to avoid sticking out in the Leeds’ neighborhood. 

The drive stretched long, evening traffic crawling, horns blaring as cars wedged themselves into impossible spaces. A sea brake lights could be seen for miles, and every so often, Mr. Stark tapped his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel.

The congestion thinned as they entered the more residential streets of Queens. Peter leaned against the door, eyes tracking familiar landmarks. A few quick directions guided them through the final turns, then Mr. Stark parked, parallel to the Leeds apartment. 

“Lead the way, kiddo.”

They took the elevator to the third floor and exited into a wide corridor.  Peter let his fingers trail along the textured wall, counting the numbers beside each door until he reached three-sixteen. Then he hesitated.

Knocking had always been routine– he’d been a guest. But at the moment, the lines felt blurred. Standing at the threshold, hand outstretched, he looked to Mr. Stark for an answer. A simple wave toward the doorknob settled it. 

He swallowed hard, twisted the knob and stepped inside, careful to wipe his shoes on the mat before removing them. Mr. Stark followed suit, placing his beside Peter’s on the rack beside the entryway.

Footsteps approached. Mr. Leeds rounded the corner, Ned trailing behind with wide eyes and barely contained excitement.

“Welcome,” Mr. Leeds greeted politely.

Meanwhile, Ned practically vibrated in place. “I can’t believe Tony Stark is in my apartment!” he shouted, his voice pitched with disbelief. A sharp look from his father cut through the moment. The grin faltered slightly, but didn’t disappear. “Sorry. Sorry, it’s just– this is so awesome!”

Any other day, Peter would’ve felt the same way. The sheer joy on Ned’s face would’ve been contagious, prompting an equal level of enthusiasm. Reality twisted the moment, pressing down on him like a boulder. Mr. Stark wasn’t there for fun. He was here because Aunt May was gone.

That didn’t mean he begrudged Ned’s excitement. He pressed his lips together and forced a faint smile. “Yeah, it’s totally awesome.”

The shift in his tone didn’t go unnoticed. Ned’s smile dimmed, eyes widening with instant regret. “Dude! I didn’t mean– I was just–”

“It’s fine, Ned,” Peter cut in, unwilling to unpack any of it. He looked toward the kitchen, where the clanging of pots and pans signaled dinner preparations. When he turned back, Mr. Stark was shaking hands with Ned and his father while chatting lightly.

“The table’s this way,” Ned said, motioning toward the dining area. An extra chair had been pulled up. Ned dropped into it. Peter sank into his usual seat, Mr. Stark settled beside him, and Mr. Leeds took the head of the table.

“Smells nice,” Mr. Stark remarked, smooth as always.

The rich scent of seasoned meat, vegetables, and rice filled the air. Peter inhaled without thinking. It did smell good.

“Dinner is ready.” Mrs. Leeds said,  carrying several dishes from the kitchen and lining them up along the table. After that, the familiar rhythm of dinner at the Leeds house unfolded. Mrs. Leeds said grace, then made her plate, followed by their guest. Mr. Stark served himself, thanking her with a polite nod, and Mr. Leeds followed, leaving Peter and Ned to fill their plates last.

Conversation flowed around him, everyone providing their daily recaps. It felt normal and safe all the way up until Mrs. Leeds turned her attention to him.

“What about you, Peter? What did you do today?”

Peter’s anxiety ticked upward, his eyes instinctively landing on Mr. Stark, searching for backup. He was greeted with a small nod of encouragement.

“We, uh–” He cleared his throat. “We– well, we watched a movie. Ate popcorn.” The words felt thin, not enough to fill the time they’d spent together.

Expectation lingered, the Leeds’ waiting for more. Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek. What else was there?  Nothing, really. He’d wasted his time with Mr. Stark, and he wanted to kick himself for it.

Mr. Stark nodded, smiling easily as he tore a piece of chicken from the bone. “Took a good nap too.” He brought the meat up to his mouth, pausing to say, “I don’t think either of us slept well last night,” before popping it into his mouth.

Mrs. Leeds hummed in understanding, sending the conversation in a new direction. Peter sighed in relief and allowed himself to sink into the background. Plates emptied, but as was tradition, nobody rushed from the table. Talk stretched well past the last bites of food. Eventually, Ned excused himself for homework. Peter considered following, but he wasn’t ready to leave Mr. Stark’s side.

At some point, the conversation shifted to May. They told stories, reminisced over sweet memories, and said kind words. That part felt good. Then, without warning, Mr. Stark dropped a bombshell of a question.

“Do we know anything about funeral plans?” 

The question silenced the room. Mr. Leeds turned to his wife, who sighed heavily.

“I think they’re hoping some family will come forward. If no one does, the state will handle the basics. I know May has a plot beside her late husband…” She let the words hang, unfinished– her eyes darting between Peter and Mr. Stark. “We can talk about the rest later.”

Unease crept up Peter’s spine. He hated it when adults spoke in codes, skirting the details. His lips parted, prepared to demand answers, when a firm hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him.

Mr. Stark squeezed gently– comfortingly. “We can talk about it later, but just so you know– I’ll take care of whatever else needs to be taken care of. Tell me what I need to do.”

Mrs. Leeds’ expression softened. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. That would be very kind and helpful.”

“Tony,” Mr. Stark gently corrected. Another squeeze on Peter’s shoulder followed. “Anything for the Parkers.”

The night wrapped up fast after that. Dishes were cleared and quite settled. Peter lingered near Mr. Stark, grabbing him by the elbow the second they were alone. 

“Can I please go back with you?” The plea slipped out, raw and unfiltered. “Please?”

Mr. Stark sighed, rubbed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wish you could, bud, but you’re safe here. The Leeds are taking great care of you, and I’m doing my damndest to get custody– just like I promised I would.”

Peter’s throat burned. “Can I come back tomorrow?”

Mrs. Leeds re-entered, catching the tail end of the inquiry. His gaze snapped to her, eyes shining with desperation. “Can I go back tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is a Teacher’s Workday.” Mrs. Leeds' forehead creased. “Ned will be home. I thought you might spend some time together.”

Peter’s teeth sank into his bottom lip.  “Yeah, but–”

“It’s okay, Pete,” Mr. Stark interjected, his tone was gentle and firm. “Spend some time with your friend. Chill, play some video games, go for a walk. I’ll see you again soon. I’m not going anywhere, buddy.”

Tears gathered, streaming hot against his cheeks. “Saturday?”

Mr. Stark turned to Mrs. Leeds. “Does that work? I’ll handle all the transportation, if that helps– pick him up at noon, feed him lunch, and bring him home by dinner.”

The pause stretched on for what felt like ages. His fingers curled into the fabric of his jeans under the table, his pulse hammering in his ears as he waited for an answer.

Finally, there was a slow nod of approval. Mrs. Leeds smiled, brushing her palm against Peter’s cheek. “Yes, I think that would be fine.”

Relief flooded his chest so fast it made him dizzy. He exhaled, his shoulders sagging as some of the tension drained away.

Mr. Stark nodded, slowly approached the entryway and grabbed his shoes from the rack. Peter followed without thinking, drawn forward by instinct alone. At the door, he was pulled into a firm hug. The grip was strong, steady– filled with the kind of comfort only Mr. Stark's hugs could bring.

“‘Night, kiddo,” Mr. Stark murmured, giving Peter’s back one more gentle pat before stepping away.

Peter swallowed past the lump in his throat, nodding as he watched Mr. Stark slip out the door. He lingered there for a moment, staring at the door, wishing time would move faster.

A vibration in his pocket snapped him out of it. He pulled his new phone out of his pocket. The screen was lit up with a message.

‘See you Saturday, Kiddo. Try to have some fun with Ned.’

Peter sniffed, swiping at his eyes before typing out a quick response. ‘Yeah. See you then.’

Chapter Text

On Friday morning, Tony was quite sure what to do with himself. He woke up early, despite a distinct lack of sleep, and dragged himself through the motions of his morning routine, feeling entirely out of sync. He showered on autopilot, stood in front of his closet for entirely too long before grabbing a T-shirt. Only to realize he’d put it on inside out when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bedroom mirror. He sighed, tugging at the neckline, then allowing his arms to fall loosely by his sides. Fixing it felt like a lot of effort.

Maybe coffee would help?

He shuffled to the kitchen and poured himself a mug, drinking half of it before even registering the taste. Scalded. How the hell did a billion-dollar smart system still manage to burn the coffee? He scowled at the cup and reluctantly added some sugar, the spoon clinking noisily against the ceramic as he stirred. 

The caffeine did nothing for his physical energy level, but it had his brain itching to do something. The lab was the most logical choice. He certainly had plenty of work to do.

As he made his way inside, he ran a hand over his face and grabbed the first project in reach– a compact data storage unit that the board had been nagging him about. The prototype should’ve already been finished. It wasn’t a difficult task, but after five minutes of trying to focus, he huffed a frustrated breath and shoved it aside in favor of something more engaging. 

The Iron Man armor stood nearby, gleaming under the bright overhead lights. The cooling system needed some fine-tuning. He pulled up the schematics and got to work. That held his attention longer, but not by much. His mind wouldn’t stay in the damn room. It kept drifting toward Peter.

Frustrated, he picked up his phone. No missed calls. No messages. No updates from the social worker, the Department of Family and Children’s Services, or his lawyer. His jaw tightened as he exhaled through his nose. IN any other situation, he’d say no news was good news. But this was about Peter, and the extended silence was grating on his nerves.

He rolled his shoulders, swiped his hand to dismiss the hologram, and stepped away from the workstation. His spine popped. He reached around to place a hand on the small of his back and tilted his head upward.

“FRIDAY?” He moved his hand upward to his shoulder, digging his fingers into his tight muscles. “I have everything set up for notifications, right? No blackout protocols are active?”

“No, boss. All calls and messages are set to go directly to your device.”

His lip curled, and his hand flourished upward. “Great. So they’re all just blowing me off? Like I was calling about a birthday party invitation rather than my kid’s well-being?” He tucked one hand below his chin while the other drummed against his thigh. “Maybe I should leave another message.”

“I recommend giving everyone involved a full twenty-four hours to respond before attempting any further contact. This ensures–”

Tony’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing into a glare. “You know what? Nobody asked you.”

There was an extended pause before FRIDAY responded. “I apologize, boss. I was simply relaying information as it pertained to the situation.”

Tony dragged a hand tover his scalp, fingers grasping his hair before falling away. The waiting was killing him. His eyes went back to the phone; the urge to leave yet another message was strong. He resisted, instead, swiping over to his messages and pulling up Peter’s contact.

 ‘Hey, bud. Hope you have a good day with Ned. Let me know if you need anything, okay?’

He watched the screen for a solid minute, hoping for a response. None came. The message wasn’t even flagged as read. He looked at the clock. It wasn’t quite nine. Maybe– hopefully, the kid was sleeping in. 

The phone sat face-up on the workbench in front of him, within easy reach if anything changed. He grabbed his metalworking gear from the hook at the back of the room. If he couldn’t focus on lines of code and equations, maybe some physical work could. 

He fired up the furnace and picked up the first piece of scrap metal, letting it heat up until it glowed orange. With a steady rhythm, he hammered it out, shaping it into what he needed. Sparks flew, and the clang of metal against metal filled the room as he literally threw himself into the process. 

Time slipped by unnoticed. When the task was done, sweat was dripping into his eyes, and his clothes were clinging to his back. He pushed the welding mask aside, wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt, pulled it over his head, and tossed it on the bench.

“What time is it, FRI?” He grabbed a water bottle from the mini-fridge, downing it in a few large gulps.

“Ten after two, boss. You have a meeting with Ms. Potts and the Marketing Team on the calendar for three. Should I let them know you won’t be in attendance?”

Tony tightened his grasp around the bottle, crushing it slightly. “Nah, it’s fine. If it goes too long, I can always make something up to get out early.” He stretched his back, lifting his arms over his head and twisting side to side. 

His phone was within reach again. He picked it up, looking for any missed notifications. There weren't any.  He was just about to throw the whole thing across the room when a response from Peter popped up. There wasn’t much to it. A thumbs-up emoji, followed by a couple of pictures of ducks.

He let out a small breath of relief. Peter was out and about with Ned, probably going for a walk. Fresh air. That was good.

‘Cute,’ he typed quickly, followed by ‘Tell Ned I said hi,’ and ‘See you tomorrow.’ All three messages were immediately acknowledged, little yellow duck emojis appearing beneath them. Something warm filled his chest.

He smiled, shoved his phone into his pocket, and tossed his shirt over his bare shoulder. If he was going to join Pepper in a meeting, he was going to have to get cleaned up.

His second shower of the day was quick, but he didn’t rush it. The hot water pelted against his skin while the steam cleared his head. 

With a towel around his waist, he wandered to the closest to change into more business-like attire. Dark slacks and a dress shirt would do. He grabbed a tie, tossing it around his neck. However, as he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t bring himself to tie it. The constriction of the fabric around his neck felt like too much. He tossed it back into the closet. He’d deal with that later. The meetings could deal with the less-than-perfect version of him today. He unfastened the top two buttons, adjusted the collar, and exhaled deeply. Good enough.

“You’re late.” Pepper’s whispered voice cut through the air as he walked into the conference room fifteen minutes past their convening. She raised her eyebrows in question rather than accusation. A silent inquiry. Likely about Peter.

He shot her a quick smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and shrugged as he took a seat.  Her gaze didn’t leave him, but there was nothing he could say. Not really. I’m working on it,’ didn’t feel sufficient.

The marketing team launched back into their presentation, but his attention wasn’t entirely there. He leaned back in his chair, rocking it gently with his toe,  tapping his fingers on the armrest. His mind kept wandering off to places he didn’t want to think about. 

Then the lights dimmed. He glanced to the front of the room just as a video began to play on the screen. It was a commercial for the new StarkPhone– bright, loud, and a little cheesy. Apparently, it had been a huge hit with the consumer focus groups. 

It was fine, he supposed. Certainly not the worst commercial he’d ever seen. He sucked in a breath, arms crossed over his chest, and let his head fall back against the chair. It didn’t matter anyway. As long as it sold.

Half a second later, a shape buzzed against the table, making him jolt. He turned his phone over to find the screen lit up with an unknown local number. Without hesitation, he swiped to accept, bringing the device to his ear.

“This is Stark.”

A woman’s voice filtered through, professional and perhaps a touch hesitant. “Hi, my name is Nicole Mosley, Peter Parker’s assigned social worker. I’m calling to let you know I’ve received all of your messages.”

Tony nodded to Pepper as he rushed out of the room into the empty hallway. “It’s about time,” he grumbled, his eyes flickering to the date and time flashing up on his watch face. Two. Full. Days. He scoffed, pacing away from the occupied conference room in search of somewhere more private. “I’m not exactly used to being ignored.”

“Unfortunately, there are backlogs of–” She paused for the briefest second, papers rustling in the background. “Active cases, and this is the first opportunity I’ve had to call you back.”

“Yeah, I bet.” He rapped his knuckles against a thick wooden door, hastily pushing it open when there was no immediate response. He automatically gravitated to the seat at the head of the long table and scoffed. He wasn’t interested in excuses or the logistics of the department. He wanted answers. He wanted action.

“Look, how about we just cut to the chase? I want guardianship of Peter Parker, and I need you to tell me how to accomplish that.”

“I’m well aware of your interest, Mr. Stark, and a note has been made on his case file. However, we are still in the process of identifying relatives who might--”

“There aren’t any.” His fingers curled into a fist atop the table. “He’s been through this before, when his parents died– Ben and May Parker were his only living relatives. I highly doubt any new ones have magically appeared since! All of this should already be on record.”

“I hear you, and you’re correct,” she agreed, her tone bordering on patronizing. “Peter does have a history with DFaCS, and when we interviewed him about possible family placements, he mentioned you as a person he trusts.”

Tony’s jaw clenched as he stood up to pace. “Okay… so what’s the holdup? The kid needs security, a stable home environment, right? I can provide that. There’s absolutely no reason for you to string him along while searching for relatives that don’t exist.”

The woman hummed decisively in the negative. “I assure you, we are not stringing him along. He’s in a very good place, with people who–”

He shut his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. He could relent; that much was true. If Peter couldn’t be with him yet, the Leeds’ home was the next best option. But that wasn’t the same as giving the kid the stability he actually needed.

“Okay, but that’s different! It’s not permanent. What he has right now is an extended sleepover with his best buddy. It just–” He scrubbed down his face. “The kid’s been through enough, don’t you think?”

“I understand your frustration, but we have protocols to follow. We have to explore all possible family connections. We’re required to contact relatives– even distant ones–before making decisions about placement.”

The headache that had been quietly brewing all day pressed against his temples. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to keep his patience intact.

“Alright, so let’s just say some long-lost second cousin, twice removed, pops up out of the woodwork. You’re gonna just hand him over to a stranger? Someone who wasn’t there for him before– who doesn't even know him?”

“We explore all options before making a placement decision,” she said, firmly, defensively.

Tony continued to pace, fingers flexing by his side. “Sure. But he wants to be with me, and I’m right here. Willing and ready.” His shoes scuffed against the carpet, and his grip on the phone tightened. “For his sake, at least- try to see reason.”

“I understand you and Peter have a bond. I hear that he wants to stay with you. But legal guardianship isn’t as simple as signing a paper. We have to follow the procedure.”

A humorless laugh escaped, his head tilted back toward the ceiling. “I get the need for procedures, but what you’re suggesting is superfluous given the circumstances. All I want is for him to feel safe and cared for without any looming dread of the unknown.”

The conversation was going nowhere. He could feel it. The entire discussion felt like one obstacle after another, all of them standing between him and bringing Peter home. Was it so hard to understand that Peter’s best option was to move into the Tower– a place he already considered a second home?

“Can’t we just– make this easier for him?”

Silence filled the line. He paused by the podium, his fingers tapping against the surface. Maybe– just maybe– she was actually considering his concerns.

“I can’t make promises, Mr. Stark,” she said, her patronizing tone grating on his already raw nerves. “What I can tell you is that I’ve made note of your interest, as well as Peter’s preferences. We’re already combing through his past records to make sure all avenues have been explored. We’re working as fast as we reasonably can—”

A surge of frustration shot through him. His fist came down hard against the podium, nostrils flaring. “Not fast enough.”

“As things progress,” she continued slowly, like she was speaking to an impatient child, “I will ensure you’re notified. In the meantime, I can give you some steps to get the process moving. You can start the preliminary requirements while we complete our due diligence.”

His brows lifted slightly. That at least sounded like something. “What do you need from me?” He searched the room, grabbing a discarded pen and notepad, ready to write.

“You’ll need to submit a formal petition for guardianship. Your lawyer should be able to draft that, but I can send you the necessary forms.”

“Great.” He jotted everything down. So far, so good. All easy stuff. “What else?”

“A background check is required. That includes fingerprinting, a criminal record check, and a financial review.”

He rolled his eyes, leaning onto the podium with a huff. “I think my finances are pretty much public record at this point.”

“That may be so, but we still require actual documentation.”

His head lolled forward, his bangs falling loosely over his forehead. Of course they did.

“I can send you a list of approved fingerprinting locations,” she continued, undeterred. “Once all that’s done, you’ll need an in-home visit to assess the living environment and a series of interviews to evaluate your ability to care for Peter long-term.”

A burst of annoyance flared hot beneath Tony’s skin. “I’ve been helping to take care of this kid for the last year and a half,” he snapped. “I’m the emergency contact for his school, my name is on file at the pediatrician, allowing them to release medical information to me, and I bought all his school supplies last fall– gym shoes and graphing calculator included.” He let out a soft growl, his fingers tightening around the pen. “I assure you, I am well-equipped to care for Peter long-term.”

“Great.” The woman chirped, as if Tony wasn’t five seconds from screaming in her ear. “If no willing relatives come forward and it’s determined that placing Peter with you is in his best interest, having these things in motion will speed up the rest of the process, creating a much smoother, quicker transition. As long as the initial paperwork is recorded, everything else could happen while he’s in your care.”

His tension eased slightly. “That– that sounds good.” He jotted down a few more notes, sighing wearily.

“The only thing I need from you right now is an email address, so I can pass all this information along to you.”

He rattled it off, ending the call as soon as she confirmed receipt.

The phone slipped from his fingers onto the podium. His head tipped back, eyes closing for a moment as the weight of the conversation settled over him.

There was no sense of accomplishment– no victory. Just a whole lot of bureaucracy and a long list of things to do. He looked down at his messy handwriting, reading through the various tasks. He supposed there was no time like the present to get started.

He retrieved his device and tucked it into his pocket. He’d have to let Pepper know he’d be busy for the foreseeable future and head up to the penthouse to call the lawyer.

They had a petition to draft.

Peter’s day with Ned and the Leeds’ family had been nice. They’d let him lie around in bed for a while, then pull him out of the bedroom with promises of a picnic lunch and ice cream at the little shop near the neighborhood park. They ate fried chicken and potato salad on a blanket and allowed him to sit by the water for a while– just himself and his thoughts– watching the ducks swim by. It was warm and peaceful, and perhaps something he needed because by the time they were strolling into the cool parlor, he was feeling a little more like himself. Not healed. Not happy. But content with the moment.

That didn’t mean he was any less eager to see Mr. Stark come Saturday morning. He walked into the penthouse with the same amount of relief as he has the last two visits. Mr. Stark seemed tired but equally happy for him to be there, and that was enough.

“Do I get to stay this time?” he asked, before Mrs. Leeds had a chance to request a return time.

Mr. Stark sighed, his lips curved inward and into a frown. “Not yet, buddy. I'm working on it, though. I promise I’m working on it.”

“Dinner with us?” Mrs. Leeds asked. 

Mr. Stark tiredly nodded his head. “Yeah. Sounds great. Maybe it can be on me this time? I can pick up whatever you want.”

Mrs. Leeds gave the offer no thought, she smiled and shook her head. “We are happy to provide for Peter and that means providing for you as well. You’re our guest.”

“Next time.” Mr. Stark smiled. “You’re taking care of my kid. Bringing you some takeout is the least I can do.”

“You’re doing so much already. You must know this.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough,” Mr. Stark said, an obvious scratch to his voice. “I just– I wish I could speed things up, force everything to settle into place so we can– move forward.”

“I think we all want that.” Mrs. Leeds shifted her purse higher on her shoulder and sighed. “See you tonight at seven?”

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark distractedly replied. He squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “We’ll see you at seven.”

The weekend passed quickly, each day passing with a similar rhythm– breakfast with the Leeds, a slow day with Mr. Stark at the tower, then back to the Leeds' house for dinner and eventually, bed. The routine felt both comforting and exhausting, each day cycling between two safe, familiar spaces while longing to remain in one. That wasn’t an option. Not yet. Mr. Stark assured him he was making progress.

Monday took on a different tone. There was no visit to the Tower. Mr. Stark had back-to-back appointments– background checks, fingerprints, meetings with lawyers and accountants– all pressed into his agenda. They texted, though. Short, easy messages were exchanged throughout the day. Just enough to feel connected.

He wasn’t back at school yet. May’s death still felt like an open wound, raw and painful. Stepping back into that level of normalcy would take time. His mind was still filled with grief-stricken thoughts that didn’t belong in a classroom. Instead, he stayed in the Leeds’ apartment, alternating between working on his e-class assignments and staring off into space. Mrs. Leeds kept a close eye on him, but she didn’t hover. She simply stayed nearby, ready to step in if he needed her. 

Late in the afternoon, Peter sat curled on the couch, watching Ned play video games in front of him. There was silence between them. He wasn’t ready to participate, but being in the room helped, the passive interaction providing just enough of a distraction to smooth the edges of his sharpest, most painful thoughts.

Then Mrs. Leeds’ phone rang, pulling him out of his head. He looked up as she answered. She offered him a brief glance before moving to the kitchen. He tried not to listen. He tried to focus on Ned’s game, but her words were clear. 

“Yes, of course. We have plenty to talk about,” she said, her voice low, like she didn’t want anyone to hear. Peter felt his shoulders tense. “Tomorrow afternoon will be fine. One-thirty? Yes. We’ll be here, see you then.”

Peter’s fingers twisted around the hem of his shirt. He didn’t need to hear the other side of the conversation to know who it was. The social worker. The one in charge of everything. The one who would decide his future. Anxiety prickled beneath his skin as Mrs. Leeds returned to the living room. 

“That was Ms. Mosley,” she said, as if that explained everything. “She’s coming by tomorrow for a home visit.”

Peter’s stomach twisted. He’d been in foster care before, but he was so young and it was such a brief stint that he didn’t really remember much about it. As far as he knew a ‘home visit’ could be absolutely anything. His mind raced, attempting to sort it out. His stay with Leeds’ was meant to be temporary, an emergency landing pad– a pit stop to hold him over until he could get to Mr. Stark. He supposed there was a chance that it was taking too long. Was he going to be moved into a foster home? Or had Mr. Stark miraculously figured everything out in one day? It was hard to tell. He looked at Mrs. Leeds to read her expression. She seemed at ease, allowing him to feel at least a little more at ease himself. Although it didn’t put his questions entirely to rest.

“Why?” His hand balled up into a fist, a lame attempt to stop them from trembling. “What does she want?”

“Nothing big or scary.” Mrs. Leeds smiled gently. “She wants to check on you and see how we’re doing. That’s all.”

Peter nodded, the knot in his chest unwinding. That sounded reasonable. He could handle that. 

“Are you worried about the social worker thing?” Ned asked as they settled down for bed later that evening.

Peter rolled onto his side, the air mattress hissing beneath him, and twisted his mouth to the side. Mostly, he was okay with the idea of Ms. Mosely coming over to check in. That seemed like a normal, reasonable thing for a social worker to do. Still, there was a niggling in the back of his head, a tiny thought screaming that he should be wary.  There was a long stretch of silence between them as he pondered his response. Eventually, he shrugged, shaking his head as he said, “I dunno.”

“My mom’s not worried.” Ned’s reply was immediate, certain, like there was no other way to look at the situation. “I can tell because when is, she gets this look– like she squints her eyes and her mouth twitches at the corners. She seemed super chill, though.”

Rather than respond, Peter nodded his head. 

“I could ask my parents to let me stay home tomorrow. Then I could be here too. Would that help?”

Peter smiled just a little. Ned was a good friend. He was really lucky to have him. Although he couldn’t decide if having more people in the room while the social worker was there would be better or worse. He licked his lips and sighed. “You should go to school. Maybe you can grab some notes or whatever from my classes? Not everything is online, and I don’t– I can’t fall behind.”

“You know they’re going to give you time to make it all up, right? If they don’t, my mom’ll go completely psycho on them until they do.”

Peter lay there trying to imagine what Mrs Leeds would like if she were angry. He’d seen her happy, concerned, and, more recently… sad. But he’d never seen her angry. He was having trouble picturing it.

“I’m serious, dude. She’ll make sure you’re able to make up everything you missed later.”

“Yeah, I know.” A deep breath pressed into the pillow beneath him, warm and familiar. “But it gives me something to do during the day,” he added, leaving the real reason unspoken. It gave him something to do besides crying and spiraling out of control.

Ned must have picked up on it anyway because instead of arguing, he just nodded. “Sure. I’ll go talk to your teachers after school.”

“Thanks, man,” Peter triedly sighed. “You’re the best.”

That seemed to close the conversation. Ned rolled toward the wall, and Peter shut his eyes, hoping that sleep would come quickly.

Chapter Text

The last-minute visit from the social worker crushed what little hope Peter had of seeing Mr. Stark on Tuesday. He tried to bargain for an hour or two in the morning. Mrs. Leeds shot him down quickly, worried about a combination of traffic and the social worker arriving earlier than planned. Too many things that could go wrong.

“Peter, you need to be here when she is,” she said with finality. “Mr. Stark isn’t going anywhere. You will see him soon.”

“I know. I just–” His sentence dangled, unfinished. Peter paused, unsure of how to express the intensity at which he was ready to go home, and stay there– for visits to Ned’s house to be limited to school projects and late night movie marathons– to no longer have to think about whether or not a stay in a random foster home would be wedged between his two safe spaces. He wanted things to go back to normal, or as normal as they could without May. Not knowing when or if that would ever happen left him feeling untethered, like he was free-falling into an abyss. He missed May. He missed her hands in his hair, the clink of her mug in the mornings, the quiet laughter that filled their apartment. Pressure rose behind his eyes, and his arms folded tightly over his chest. “I was just– hoping to see him today.”

“You have some time. Why don’t you call him?”

He nodded his head, even though he had no intention of calling. What could he possibly say? He had no cheerful updates or interesting stories to share. His brain felt heavy, weighed down with grief and what-ifs. Besides, it wasn’t a conversation he craved, it was Mr. Stark’s presence. He wanted to lean against his warm chest and listen to his steady heartbeat while thinking, if only for a second, that things might actually work out. “Yeah,” he finally breathed. “Maybe.”

He backed down the hall to Ned’s bedroom and dropped onto the air mattress in a criss-cross fold. The vinyl groaned faintly under his weight. He leaned back against the cool wall, Chromebook balanced on his lap. He logged into his student portal. The screen lit up, offering nothing but a digital reminder of everything he hadn’t done. His missing assignments tab stretched long enough to scroll. He forced himself to only focus on a few. He clicked on his math e-class and logged into the application required to complete a quiz. When that was done, he clicked on a new assignment.

It wasn’t difficult, but as the clock ticked closer to one, he started to feel nervous. Then, as he looked at the equations in front of him, an idea struck. 

Math. Math wasn’t emotional. It wasn’t messy or complicated. He could ask for help. That was a thing people did, right? That was normal and allowed. And maybe, just maybe, listening to Mr. Stark's soothing voice explaining each step would ease his nerves. 

He dialed the number and held his breath. One, two, three rings, then: “Hey, Pete. Everything okay?”

Peter’s immediate reaction was to say, “No.” It slipped right out before he had time to think about it. His eyebrows lifted, mouth gaping, as he prepared to backpedal. “I mean, yes. It’s not– I’m not– it’s nothing to worry about. I just–”

“Calm down, buddy. It’s okay.” Mr. Stark chuckled. “Breathe and tell me what you need. Okay?”

Peter looked at the school work on the screen and licked his lips. His plan to ask for help was already crumbling. It was right at the tip of his tongue to say he was nervous about the meeting with his social worker and the outcome that could follow– that he just wanted to talk. He gathered a breath, used the trackpad to bring the cursor over the first question, and clicked on it.  

“I– I was wondering if you could help me with some math.”

There was a brief pause, like that wasn’t a question Mr. Stark was expecting. Peter held his breath. 

“Sure, we can talk about math. What have you got?”

“Um.” Peter exhaled slowly through his nose. His shoulders slumped in relief, his grip on the Chromebook loosened just a bit. “Exponential equations.”

“Same bases on each side?”

“Yeah. Yeah, same base.” His voice wavered slightly. “The, uh, the first one says, 7y + 1 = 343y.”

Another brief pause followed, just long enough for Peter to wonder what Mr. Stark was contemplating. Maybe he was thinking about texting a YouTube tutorial, or trying to figure out how to explain something so simple without making anyone feel like an idiot. 

“Okay, sure. We can work with that.”

Mr. Stark rattled off a few facts and formulas, followed by some step-by-step instructions. He paused every so often, making sure Peter was keeping up. Of course, he was. The concept wasn’t all that far removed from previous lessons. He actually had the answer before the end of the explanation. 

“Did you get it?” Mr. Stark asked. 

Peter swept a hand through his curls, nodding as he released a small hum in reply. “Can we do the next one too?”

“Absolutely.”

Together they went through the next equation, and then the next. Seven in total. With each completed equation, Peter felt a little steadier, a little more like himself. The assignment was finally submitted, the confirmation screen popping up with a clean, satisfying one hundred percent.

Peter sighed. “I guess– I guess that’s it. Thanks for helping.”

“Anytime, bud.” Yet another pause hung between them. “Is there anything else you want to talk about? Because we both know you didn’t actually need any help with that math.”

It was Peter’s turn to grow quiet. He scrubbed a hand vigorously over one eye and reached forward to pull the Chromebook closed. “I’m nervous.”

“About the social worker visit?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Dolores texted me about it. She said it was routine.”

Peter shifted, scooting away from the wall so he could lie down. “I know it’s routine, but I also know I can’t stay at the Leeds’ forever, and I don’t know when or if they’re going to let me live with you. What if she’s coming over to tell me I have to move in somewhere else?”

“I promise– I promise I’m doing my best to keep anything like that from happening. I submitted a guardianship petition, along with a couple of other legal papers, this past Friday. Everything else was filed yesterday. I have confirmation that the initial paperwork was received and distributed to the appropriate parties,” Mr. Stark replied, all in one breath. “I’m staying on top of it.”

“I know.” Peter sniffed, his face turned into the crook of his elbow. “I’m just–” He leaned in further, his arm catching any tears before they could fall. “I hate this.”

“I hear you, Pete. It doesn't feel fair. I’m frustrated too.” 

It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Why couldn’t the social worker listen to him and let him stay where he felt he belonged? Why was he in this situation at all?  He’d already lost his mother, father, and uncle. Why did May have to die, too? 

Peter’s throat tightened, but not enough to stop the words that spilled out, dry and raspy. “You’re right. It’s not fair. I want May.” His face crumpled, shoulders curling inward as hot tears broke loose. “I just want May.”

“I know, buddy.” Mr. Stark said softly. “I know.”

Peter didn’t move. He couldn't. The ache inside pushed out in every direction, making him want to claw out of his own skin. “I don’t wanna talk to the social worker.”

“I wish I could tell you that you didn’t have to.”

“I could leave,” he desperately suggested. “I could walk out and take a bus to the Tower.”

“You could, but that wouldn’t solve anything. It’d only delay it. You’ll still have to talk to the social worker at some point, and I can’t even begin to imagine how worried Dolores would be if you walked out like that.” 

“I don’t care!” Peter snapped, even though deep down he knew that he did. Mrs. Leeds was doing him a favor by allowing him to stay there, he didn’t want to upset her. 

“Yes, you do.” A long sigh passed through the receiver. “Listen, Pete. How about this? You do your home visit and call me right after. If Dolorest is okay with it, I’ll swing by and take you out for a little while. Just me and you.”

Peter wiped his face, breath hitching. The image of Mr. Stark greeting him at the apartment door slid into his mind, giving him just enough incentive to carry on. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be awesome.”

“Alright. I’ll see what I can do.” 

The call wound down after that. Peter looked at the clock and felt his stomach clench. The social worker would be there soon, her arrival looming like a deep gray cloud hovering just above the horizon.

Less than five minutes later, he could hear the doorbell ring, followed by Mrs. Leeds' enthusiastic greeting. He didn’t have to guess at who it was. Thanks to his enhanced hearing, Ms. Mosely's voice was clear, even through the door. 

He knew he should get up and join them. He also wondered what would happen if he didn’t. His legs curled up to his chest. Maybe they’d forget about him. Maybe they’d decide he didn’t need to be a part of the conversation at all.

No such luck. 

Within ten minutes, a knock landed on the door, followed by Mrs. Leeds’ gently coaxing voice. “Peter? Ms. Mosley is here.”

His lips pressed into a tight line, fists curling into the blanket bunched around his legs. “Okay,” he said, willing the tension to stay out of his voice. “I’ll be right there.”

A few fortifying breaths later, he found Mrs. Leeds and the social worker in the dining room, sitting around the table. He hovered in the doorway, his heart pounding harder than it should’ve. He could hear Mrs. Leeds and Ms. Mosley talking, but he couldn’t get a read on the mood. His spider-sense was quiet. That was probably a good sign. Still, he wished he could just leave again, go back to Ned’s room, and skip this meeting entirely. 

The decision was made for him when Ms. Mosely looked up, spotting him immediately. “Hi, Peter,” she greeted warmly. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Without budging from the entryway, Peter nodded his head. Mrs. Leeds tilted her chin toward the seat beside her, a silent request he couldn’t ignore. Hesitantly, he shuffled forward, his legs feeling as though they had turned to lead.

Ms Mosely smiled, her hands folded on top of the table, her tablet pushed just off to the side. The screen was lit up with what looked like an open form, but the glare from the unpretentious pendant lights prevented Peter from reading it. 

“While this is a routine home visit,” she began, her voice even, “I also have some news.”

“Good news?” Peter asked before he could stop himself. His fingers twisted the hem of his shirt tighter, the fabric stretching within his grasp.

“I think so,” she replied. “I suppose that's largely up for you to decide.”

Peter glanced toward Mrs. Leeds. She wore that smile, one that suggested she knew something he didn’t. That seemed possible. He hadn’t exactly rushed out to join the conversation. There was plenty of time for things to have been discussed without him.

“Foremost, we’ve finished our due diligence,” Ms. Mosley continued, her gaze moving between Peter and Mrs. Leeds. “We read through your file and followed up on a few documents. As expected, we were unable to identify any living relatives. We also eliminated the possibility that your Aunt had any predetermined plans set aside for you in the event of her demise.”

Peter nodded slowly, trying to keep his face neutral. That wasn’t a shock. He already knew there was no other family, and he wasn’t surprised by the lack of will or instructions. Those kinds of things took money, and, honestly, who would have thought it would be necessary? He was only a few short years from adulthood, and what were the odds of losing a fourth parent in that amount of time? His shoulders tensed and his toes curled against the carpet. Parker luck.

“When you came back into the system, you were moved into the Leeds home as a temporary emergency placement,” she continued. “However, we’ve since received a petition for full guardianship.”

Peter perked up. “Mr. Stark?”

“Mr. Stark,” Ms. Moseley confirmed. “He’s quite insistent that it would be in your best interest to transition you from this home into his sooner rather than later.” She paused, her face morphing into an indecipherable expression.“The thing is, you’re already in a safe environment. The Leeds’ were quick to comply with all assessments, there are no safety concerns, and your needs are being met.”

He couldn’t argue with that. The Leeds were great. They were kind and gentle, and he loved being in their home. That didn’t mean it was where he was meant to be. If he’d had his way, he'd have been with Mr. Stark from day one. There wouldn’t have been a stop in the middle. It wasn’t his fault they wouldn't listen. He bit down on his lip and shook his head. “Yeah, but–”

Ms. Mosley raised her hand, the gesture silencing him before he could finish.“Let me finish, Peter, because this is very important.” She gathered a deep breath through her nose and picked up her tablet. “All that being said, Mr. Stark has offered some compelling evidence, as far as kinship goes. In his guardianship petition, he included many, many text exchanges between himself and your aunt. He attached several pictures of the three of you together, and included documented proof that he already has permissive access to your medical records and is the primary emergency contact with your school.”

The words hung heavily in the air. Peter looked down, his finger twisting around a loose thread. He hadn’t realized how much documentation went into filing a guardianship petition. He swallowed hard, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude. Mr. Stark cared enough to do all of that for him.

“A few character references and letters of support were attached.” Ms. Mosely looked at Mrs. Leeds, smiling softly. “Including one from Mrs. Leeds.”

“Oh.” Peter blinked, then turned towards Mrs. Leeds. She was beaming at him. “I mean, thank you, Mrs. Leeds. Really. That’s awesome and just– thank you.”

She reached over and gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “I want you to be safe and cared for. Mr. Stark has proven to me that he is a good person, that he’s good for you. If going to him is what you want, then that is what I want for you, too.”

Peter leaned in and gave her a quick, tight hug. He hadn’t expected that kind of support, not like this, and it settled something anxious and fluttering deep in his chest. Across the table, Ms. Mosley waited, patient and composed.

“Mr. Stark also filed an injunction, suggesting your case was mishandled from the start. According to his account, the first-response social worker asked you where you wanted to go in an emergency placement, and you told her, very clearly, you wanted to be taken to Stark Tower.”

Peter’s mouth twisted to the side, his head bobbing slightly.  “Yeah. Yeah, I tried to tell her but–”

“She ignored your request,” Ms. Mosley confirmed. “The note she left on your file says she was skeptical. She didn’t believe you had any actual affiliation with him. An internal investigation has confirmed that she didn’t even attempt to confirm or disprove your connection. That was a serious oversight.”

She sighed, her voice trending towards something more personal. “If I’m being honest, I was skeptical too… until I checked my voicemail and found four separate messages from Tony Stark, and two more from his personal lawyer.”

Peter chuckled. He could picture Mr. Stark pacing in front of a wall of screens, tapping his phone with exasperated sighs between calls. 

Ms. Mosely smiled, swaying her head as her face shifted back to seriousness. “My point is, this will likely escalate, very quickly, into family court. Which means I need to hear from you, Peter.” She leaned forward slightly, looking Peter in the eyes. “This isn’t about what Mr. Stark wants, or what I think, or even what Mrs. Leeds believes. You’re old enough to have a say– a very big say in where you go. Your voice matters here. If this isn’t something you’re sure about, or if there’s any part of you that’s even slightly uncomfortable, then we’ll put a stop to the process. No questions asked. Your well-being comes first.”

There wasn’t a second of hesitation. Peter shook his head, grinning. “No, no, no. This is what I want. I swear. I wanna live with Mr. Stark. He’s like– well, my aunt used to call him her co-parent.” His cheeks flushed slightly. “So, I guess that makes him like an uncle? A dad? A bonus parent. I dunno… but he’s family.”

His chest tightened, but for once, it wasn’t in a bad way. “I love staying here with Ned, and I’m super grateful to Mr. and Mrs. Leeds, but Mr. Stark is my family.”

Ms. Mosley smiled gently. “I thought you might say something like that.” SMs. Mosley picked up her tablet again, eyes scanning the screen as she tapped through a few menus. “I’ll write up my notes and finalize my recommendations this afternoon,” she said. “But in the meantime, let’s go ahead and do your wellness check.”

Peter gave a small nod, though his body tensed. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for whatever questions she was about to throw at him.

“It’s just a check-in. We’ll make it nice and easy,” she added gently, having caught the nervous shift in his body language. “There’s no grade at the end, and you can pass on any question you don’t want to answer. If anything makes you uncomfortable, just say so, and we’ll skip it. You’re in charge here.”

Peter licked his lips, nodding again. Knowing he was at least somewhat in control did make him feel a little better about the process.

Okay. First things first,” Ms. Mosley said, stylus poised. “On a scale of one to ten, with one being the absolute worst and ten being completely amazing, how would you say you’ve been feeling lately?”

Peter shifted in his seat, releasing a quiet breath. The chair creaked beneath him. His aunt, his last relative, was gone. Everything happened so fast, and nothing had really settled since. The only real positive in the chaos was that he wasn’t stuck in some random house with strangers. “I don’t know.” He licked his lips, eyes cutting to the side. “I guess… maybe a five?” He looked down, thumb rubbing the side of his finger. “Maybe a two or a three sometimes? It depends.”

“What do you think makes the difference between a two and a five?”

“I don’t know.” 

“That’s okay,” she said without missing a beat. “What kinds of things help when you’re feeling off?”

Peter chewed his lip, trying to think. “Talking to Mr. Stark.” That answer came easily. When Ms. Mosley didn’t look away, staring like she was waiting for more, he scrambled for something else. “Uh… talking to Mrs. Leeds is good too. Being around Ned. Watching dumb cat videos? I guess, maybe doing homework too. Keeping busy.”

“Those are all great things, and it sounds like you have a good support system.”

Peter glanced sideways as she typed another note. Sunlight filtered through the living room curtains, catching little flecks of dust in the air. His mind wandered, watching them float and swirl at a leisurely pace.

“Do you feel safe here?”

“Yeah. I’ve known the Leeds since I was a little kid. They’re awesome.” The words rushed out. Half a second later, he remembered Mrs. Leeds was right there beside him. His cheeks felt hot as he peeked over, just in time to catch her smiling.

“How about eating?” Ms. Mosely pressed forward. “Any difficulties there?”

Peter hesitated, fingers drumming lightly against his thigh. “I eat.”

Ms. Mosley glanced toward Mrs. Leeds for confirmation. When she received a small nod, she turned back to her tablet to jot something down. “That’s good. Grief can make eating feel difficult sometimes.”

She scrolled with a short flick of her thumb. “What about sleep? How’s that going?”

That was a much more difficult question. Peter sighed, dragging a hand down his face. Eating was easy. His metabolism wouldn’t let him skip too many meals. Sleep, on the other hand, was a battle. Some nights, he couldn’t get his brain to shut up long enough to fall asleep. Other nights, he was out the moment his head hit the pillow, only to wake up a couple of hours later with his heart beating out of his chest.

“I dunno.” He squeezed his hands together, his nails pressing into his skin. “I try.”

Ms. Mosley hummed sympathetically. “Do you have trouble falling asleep or staying asleep?”

“Both,” he muttered, jaw tightening.

Ms. Mosley made another note, her face remaining calm and kind. “Are you having bad dreams? Nightmares?”

Peter’s shoulders hiked up to his ears. His gaze dropped to his lap, his hands balled into fists. That was not a discussion he wanted to have. Especially with her.

Having clearly caught the shift, Ms. Mosley held up a hand, palm forward. “Remember, you can pass."

An emphatic nod followed. “Yeah. Yeah, pass.”

“That’s perfectly okay. Let’s move on.” She swiped the screen, tapping on the next text box. “I know you’re not back in school yet, but have you been in touch with your teachers or counselors?”

“Yeah. I’ve been doing some of my work online and–” His words caught as his brain went into overdrive. As much as he wanted to say  ‘ yes, and it’s overwhelming how much I’ve missed already,’ he held his tongue. He didn’t want anyone to worry. “Yeah. I’m working on it.”

“No one expects you to keep up perfectly. It’s good that you’re trying, but don’t stress over it too much, okay?”

Mrs. Leeds nodded in adamant agreement.

Peter looked between them, not wanting to make any promises. He didn’t want to prolong the conversation either. So he nodded his head. “I won’t.”

“Alright, last question, and it’s a big one.” Ms. Mosley tapped her screen one last time before looking up, her face nothing but serious. “In the last seven days, have you felt really angry, or had any thoughts about wanting to hurt yourself or anyone else?”

“What?” Peter’s head drew back, eyebrows rising in alarm. Was she really implying that he’d… The word “No” flew out of his mouth in a heated rush. “I mean– I’ve been angry. But– but not like that. I wouldn’t– I’d never– ”

“Just to be clear,” Ms. Mosely softly, yet directly, interjected. “Anger is valid. It’s a normal part of the grief process. But if it ever starts to feel too big, or too out of control– If you ever have any thoughts of harm…. You need to let someone know so we can help, yes?”

“Yes,” Peter repeated, more than happy to put that particular subject to rest.

“Good.” She softly. She typed a few more sentences, then turned off the tablet's screen. “That’s all I have for now. Thank you for being honest with me. I know you’ve been through a lot, and this is a difficult time for you. I hope you understand that it’s okay to not feel okay all the time. That’s normal and expected. All I ask is that you keep the people you trust in the loop.”

Peter didn’t answer. He just blinked, swallowing past the tightness in his throat before belatedly nodding his head. He was good at secrets. Like– really good at secrets, but he couldn’t imagine Mr. Stark or even Mrs. Leeds not knowing exactly how he was feeling about all of– this. There was no point in trying. They’d see right through him. 

He was pulled from his thoughts when Ms Mosely pushed her chair back, the legs scraping against the floor. He looked up as she gathered her tablet and tucked it into a black, faux leather courier bag. 

“Unless anyone has any questions, I’m going to head out. You both have my number, right?”

Peter and Mrs. Leeds both nodded.

A few minutes later, as the front door clicked shut, Mrs. Leeds sighed profoundly. “You did great, Peter,” she said, gently rubbing Peter’s back.

“Thanks.” Peter smiled, leaning into her touch, just a little, as he let himself breathe.

Chapter Text

Tony stood at the kitchen island, fingers wrapped around a Stark-branded mug that had been handed to him during some long-forgotten tech conference. A suit jacket hung over the back of a barstool, his tie crumpled in a loose heap at the end of the counter. He shifted his weight, one hand braced flat against the marble as he stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the clouds break over the city. 

The morning had passed in bouts of business obligations. First, a tedious briefing with the management team. Then a short meeting with legal-- something about corporate governance. He hadn’t even needed to be there, really. Just sat next to Pepper, nodded at intervals, and ducked out prematurely to avoid shaking hands.

There’d been a quick, quiet lunch with Pepper. Then a mildly concerning call with Peter, followed by another with Mrs. Leeds. Plans were made, and he’d been anxiously waiting for time to pass ever since. 

A sigh escaped as he brought the mug up to his lips, only to cringe the moment the lukewarm liquid hit his tongue. He lowered it to the counter with a quiet thunk.

“What time is it, FRI?” he asked for what felt like the millionth time that day.

“Ten after two, boss.”

He exhaled, his gaze drifting to the clock above the stove just to confirm. Finally, it was time to get going. He’d promised Peter he’d be there by three, and there was no room for mistakes. The kid was already an emotional ball of stress, he didn’t plan on making it worse by showing up late.

He grabbed his sneakers, his knees popping in protest as he kneeled down to tie the laces. As he straightened up, he patted his back pockets, feeling for the familiar bulk of his phone and wallet. Both were there. He did a  quick double-check before grabbing his favorite navy blue jacket off the hanger in the closet.

His arms threaded through soft fabric as he turned towards the door, his hand already reaching for the handle. Before he could grasp it, his phone buzzed in his pocket, giving him pause. He wasn’t really expecting any calls, but not just anyone had access to his personal number. 

He huffed impatiently, jerking the phone from his pocket and checking the screen.  

Nicole Mosley–DFaCS.

The device nearly slipped through his fingers in his haste to answer. He caught it, just barely, swiping his thumb over the screen and tucking it between his cheek and shoulder. “This is Stark.”

"Good afternoon, Mr. Stark," Ms. Mosley breezily greeted. "I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time."

"I was about to walk out the door, actually.” He looked at the door, his fingers twitching to walk through it. At the same time, he was rooted in place, wondering what the call could be about. She’d just left the Leeds’ apartment. What happened that he needed to be contacted so quickly after? 

He gathered a breath as he stepped out into the hallway and towards the private elevator. “But please continue. With good news, I hope."

There was a short stretch of silence on the other end of the line. It lasted just long enough for him to know something serious was coming.

"Well," Ms. Mosley began, "I have a couple of updates for you. The first is that we’ve completed the compulsory search for any potential relatives for Peter. As expected, we yielded no new results.”

Tony’s stomach swooped. Knowing the kid had no one left and hearing it said out loud were two very different things. Although as difficult as those words were to swallow, it also meant they were moving forward. "So," he exhaled, his fist opening and closing by his side. "I’m up?"

“I’ve discussed the situation extensively with Peter, and he’s confirmed that he’s in favor of being placed in your care.” 

A long, hesitant breath crackled through the line, sending a sharp jolt of anxiety up Tony’s spine. He held his own breath, bracing for the inevitable contrasting conjunction. But. However. Although. None of them came.

Instead, Ms. Mosley chuckled, short and pleasant.

“I can’t discuss everything that was said during Peter’s wellness check and interview. He has a right to privacy. There is one thing I’d like to share with you.”

“Okay…” Tony paced the hall, brows knit tightly together, waiting for more.

“Peter said his aunt thought of you as a co-parent. And in his words, that makes you… an uncle, a dad, or a bonus parent. He refers to you as family.”

Tony’s heart didn’t just flutter. It did a complete backflip, caught on fire, and politely exploded behind his ribs. “He said that, huh?” he murmured around the lump that had formed in his throat. 

He and Peter were close, there was no denying that, but he’d never thought to put a label on it; not out loud. Not even to himself. Being called family ? That was already high praise. But Peter calling him uncle-dad-bonus-parent-adjacent? That hit a whole different level.

His already shattered heart pieced itself back together just so it could burst all over again.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, his hand finding its way to the back of his neck. “I don’t know about an uncle or a dad, but I suppose I could make a pretty okay bonus parent.”

Ms Mosly didn’t laugh, but her next words came out warmly. “I’ll be writing up a recommendation for Peter to be moved into your home as kinship placement.”

“Kinship,” Tony echoed quietly, allowing the word to settle over him. 

“Yes, and on that note– I have one other thing to catch you up on.”

Something in her tone shifted. Tony straightened a little, listening more closely.

“Your legal team submitted the injunction to family court last week. The one citing procedural issues during Peter’s initial intake. Does that sound familiar?”

“Yeah.” Tony nodded, if only to himself. “They sent me a copy. I read through the whole thing.”

“Well, the court officially acknowledged receipt, and we’ve been notified that it passed the preliminary review. That means the case will start moving quickly. We’re expecting a court date within the next seven to ten business days.”

Tony exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. His shoulder found the wall. He leaned against it, taking advantage of the steadying support. “That fast, huh?”

“Emergency injunctions involving custodial concerns usually take priority.”

“So, that means we’re, what? We’re halfway there?”

“More like two-thirds,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I’ll send over a list of what to expect in court. It won’t be a full trial, just an informal hearing with a family court judge. The main goal is to determine whether the injunction has merit and if kinship placement is appropriate. If it goes in our favor, we’ll be able to move forward. Final approval and final placement could happen same day. ”

Tony let the words sink in. His chest felt lighter than it had in days. “Good,” he said, his voice breathy with relief. “That’s good.”

Less than two weeks and Peter could come home.

The apartment smelled like tuna fish. Not strong, just enough to know Mrs. Leeds had made tuna salad for a late lunch. The living room window was cracked open, blinds rustling from the breeze making its way inside. 

Peter sat on the edge of the couch, sneakers and jacket on, heel tapping against the hardwood. His phone lay beside him, screen up. There were no notifications to light up the screen. He checked it every thirty seconds anyway. Just in case.

He wasn’t worried.  Mr. Stark would never just bail on him like that. He was just ready to go, to get outside, to be anywhere except the inside of the Leeds’ small apartment. Mostly, he was ready to see Mr. Stark and lean into the comfort that came with his presence. 

At 3:27, his phone finally buzzed. He looked down, the message lit up at the top of the screen. ‘I 'm here, on my way up.’ Immediately, Peter’s shoulders dropped with relief.

The knock at the door came a handful of minutes later. Mrs. Leeds opened it before Peter could get up, her voice cheerful as she beckoned him inside. “Mr. Stark, Tony! I’m glad you’re here. He’s been watching the clock for a while.”

Peter stood, hands tucked behind his back, waiting for the adults to finish their greetings.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mr. Stark said, pulling off his cap as he stepped inside. “Got stuck on a call with Ms. Mosley.”

Curiosity piqued. Peter stepped forward, joining Mr. Stark by the door. “Was it about the court thing?”

“Yeah, bud.” Mr. Stark squeezed his shoulder. “I guess she talked to you about it too, huh?”

“Sort of.” Peter shifted his weight, glancing towards Mrs. Leeds. “She said you filed something and there would be a court date soon. She wanted to make sure I still wanted to stay with you.”

“Sounds about right. She’s nothing if not thorough. I'll give her that.” Mr. Stark rolled his eyes and smiled. “You ready to go?”

Mrs. Leeds grabbed Peter’s hoodie from the couch and passed it into his hands. “Be back by seven, okay?” 

“We will,” Mr. Stark promised, already guiding Peter, nudging him lightly between the shoulder blades.

Once they reached the car, Peter slid into the passenger seat and buckled up without a word. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Mr. Stark let it stretch a few blocks before saying anything.

“When I talked with Ms. Mosley, she indicated that a court date would be set really soon. A week, no more than ten days.”

Peter nodded. While he hadn’t been given an exact number of days, he’d also been told that the court date would be coming sooner rather than later. He was more interested in what came after that. He could assume, but no one had actually touched on that. “Do you know what comes next?”

Mr. Stark’s eyes drifted, momentarily, from the windshield to Peter. “If the judge is agreeable, which they will be– then I’ll be awarded guardianship, and you’ll be able to go home with me.”

“No gaps?” He whispered. “I won’t have to stay in a foster home or anything?”

“Not likely, bud. Mrs. Leeds is happy to have you.”

Peter nodded again, not feeling particularly talkative after spending an hour answering so many questions with the social worker. He was relieved to hear he had a direct path from the Leeds to Mr. Stark. He sighed contentedly and leaned his head against the window.

They didn’t drive far. With such a short amount of time to spend together, they stuck close to Queens. Peter was a  little surprised when Mr. Stark parked a block away from his favorite bodega.  He shifted around his seat, raising his brows in question.

No answer. Mr. Stark tugged his cap low over his eyes and climbed out. When Peter didn’t instantly follow, he leaned down to see inside the car and grinned. “You’ve been trying to get me to try this place for as long as I can remember. You coming?”

The little bell above the door chimed as they walked into Delmar’s. It had been at least a week since Peter had seen the inside of those walls, but nothing had changed. The shelves were overstuffed and leaning slightly. Peg candy over a dozen hooks, and the bodega cat was still splayed across the register, looking like she owned the place.

“Murph!” Peter greeted, petting the cats back and running his fingers through the thick, fluffy fur. Murph purred at the attention, then stretched and yawned before slinking off to the back room.

Half a second later, Mr. Delmar appeared, wiping his hands on a rag. “Look who it is,” he said, smiling broadly. “I was starting to think your good-lookin’ Aunt had banned you from coming by! She forgive you for that anti-peperoncini comment, yet?”

Peter’s heart jolted and sank. Mr. Delmar didn’t know, and he was going to have to be the one to tell him.

It hit all at once. He hadn’t actually told anyone himself. The social worker told Leeds. Someone must’ve called the school. Ned told MJ and Mr. Stark just... knew.

He drew in a shaky breath, trying to brace himself, then forced out a small, tight smile. “Actually, she, uh– she passed away. A week ago.”

The grin vanished from Mr. Delmar’s face. “Oh, kid. I’m so sorry to hear that. She was quite a lady.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, inadvertently drifting backwards until his back came in contact with Mr. Stark’s chest. A warm hand grabbed his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

There was no spark of recognition when Mr. Delmar looked past Peter to Mr. Stark. His shoulders squared and his eyes narrowed with concern. “You the one taking care of this kid?”

“Trying to,” Mr. Stark smiled. “He’s a good one.”

Mr. Delmar’s gaze drifted between them, steady and thoughtful. He wasn’t curious about who Mr. Stark was. He wasn’t trying to place him, not really. It was more like he was watching, trying to decide if Mr. Stark was a good person. 

After a beat, he nodded once, then smirked. “He’s a menace.”

A laugh burst out of Mr. Stark. Then they ordered their sandwiches to go. Well, Mr. Stark ordered. Mr. Delmar knew what Peter wanted without ever having to ask. When they made it to the end of the counter, Mr. Stark reached into the cooler for two cans of soda and set them beside the brown paper bag. As he pulled out his wallet, ready to pay, Mr. Delmar held up a hand. "Nah, it’s on the house."

They took their food to the park, one of the little ones tucked between two side streets. Small, with two worn-out picnic tables and a shallow pond where ducks floated lazily on the surface. 

A few kids were still hanging around the far end of the pond, tossing pebbles into the water and racing along the beaten-down path. The grass looked like it hadn’t been mowed in a while, and the trees were in desperate need of trimming. Above them, the sky was warm and clear, caught somewhere between afternoon and evening.

Peter sat at the picnic table closest to the water. One leg folded under him, while the other foot braced against a wooden slat. His sandwich lay on the table, untouched as he stared across the pond. 

Mr. Stark sat beside him, his sandwich half eaten. He tore a corner of the roll free and lobbed it toward the pond. Two brown ducks came waddling out of the water, racing to see who could grab it first.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Peter mumbled, watching with interest as the ducks battled it out. Interestingly, the smaller of the two came out top, gobbling the treat down like a toddler with a stolen cookie.

“Oh, yeah?” Mr. Stark asked, a second piece of bread already wedged between his fingers. “Why not?”

“It’s bad for them, like bird junk food. There’s no nutritional value. They’re supposed to eat plants, and seeds, and bugs. Not white bread.”

 “Huh.” Mr. Stark popped the chunk of bread into his mouth and brushed his hands together. “You learn something every day, I guess.”

Peter finally unwrapped his own sandwich and took a bite. It was squished flat and a little messy, just the way he liked it. Mr. Delmar hadn’t lost his touch.

They ate slowly, watching the ducks hover nearby, quacking at nothing. When they decided there wouldn't be any more handouts, they splashed back into the pond, creating wide ripples. 

Mr. Stark wadded his wrapper and napkins into a ball, then leaned forward on the table. “You holding up okay?”

Peter shifted, plucking a pickle from the edge of his sandwich before it could fall to the ground. He shoved it into his mouth, chewed, and shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. ‘M trying to.”

No more questions were asked. The space around them was filled with comfortable background noise. Squabbling ducks, children playing, and cars rumbling in the distance. The sun dipped lower, the blue sky bleeding into orange, then purple.

Peter watched the ducks settle down in the weeds, bills tucked below their wings. After a while, he found himself speaking, his eyes still locked on something in the distance.

“I keep thinking she’s gonna text me. Sometimes I check, thinking maybe I just missed something. Or my phone’s being weird.”

Mr. Stark nodded, shifting so their arms were touching. “Grief’s like that sometimes. Sneaks up on you sideways.”

Twilight took over. Not dark. Not yet, but the light was fading. The street lights flickered on, but none of them were close enough to prevent the park from falling into pale shadows. Mr. Stark glanced at his watch. “We’ve still got a little time.” He looked over his shoulder, thumbing towards the sidewalk. “Wanna walk around?”

Peter nodded, crushing his empty can and carrying it over to the recycling bin.

They took the sidewalk heading back towards where they parked, mostly keeping to the less populated side roads. There were a few stores along the way. A lot of them were already closed, others still had their signs flipped to ‘open’ even though customers appeared to be scarce. They wandered past a small corner shop with a faded green awning and a crooked sign dangling from rusted chains. Antiques & Oddities. 

Peter paused by the window. Inside, soft yellow lighting bathed a clutter of old furniture, woven baskets, and free-standing iron vault that looked like it came straight out of a really old western movie. 

“Wanna check it out?”

“Sure,” he said, already climbing the three steps leading to the entrance.

The door opened easily, the smell of dust and lavender flooding his senses. Shelves crammed with an assortment of random things lined the narrow aisles. Frames filled with eccentric photographers took up an entire shelf. A taxidermied squirrel wearing a cowboy hat stood century on a rickety side table, and the back wall was covered in old clocks, all of them displaying completely different hours.

Peter trailed his fingers along a row of old books. Most of them were bound earthy shades of buckram cloth, a few in soft worn leather. He paused somewhere in the middle, tilting a book back to read the cover. 

‘The Sound of Ivy in Winter’

His breath caught in his throat. “She was looking for this,” he said, just loud enough for Mr. Stark to hear. “She stumbled across it once and decided not to buy it. A few days later, she regretted it and went back to the store but it had already been sold. She searched all kinds of garage sales and flea markets after that. Never could find it, again. I wonder if it was here the whole time?”

Mr. Stark turned around, a tiny elephant carved from bone still in his hand. He leaned over, looking at the pages as Peter flipped through them. “Do you want it?”

After some thought, Peter shook his head. “It was supposed to be hers.” He slid the book back into the shelf with a care that bordered on reverence. “She didn’t get to read it. I don’t want to finish something she didn’t get to start. It’s– it doesn’t feel fair…”

“That’s fine, buddy. You can leave it on the shelf, a treasure for someone else to find.”

“Yeah,” Peter replied, eyes still locked onto the pale taupe spine. “I like that idea.”

They walked out of the shop, the woman behind the register offering a polite nod as they passed through. Peter shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, his steps dragging behind Mr. Stark’s as they finished their walk to the car.

The court notice came in the mail two days later, tucked between a personalized fashion week preview and an exclusive invitation to test drive a Bugatti that hadn’t been announced yet. It wasn’t extravagant, just a simple, cream-colored envelope embossed with the courthouse seal. Tony opened it right there on the kitchen counter, scanning the lines twice before setting it down with a heavy exhale. Seeing it in print made everything real in a way the lawyer calls and case updates hadn’t.

The hearing was officially on the books, a little less than a week away. 

Chapter Text

Going back to school wasn’t as difficult as Peter imagined. If anything, it was a relief to shift back into a semi-normal routine. Get up, get dressed, eat, take the train… The Only real difference was that he was starting from Ned’s apartment, instead of the one he shared with May. He went about the motions pretending that one detail didn’t bother him as much as it did.

The moment he reached the school, he hesitated just outside the entrance. Ned paused, too, the door half open. 

“If you don’t want to stay, you can always call my ma. She’d come get you.”

Peter nodded his head, smiling. He had no doubt that she would come if he asked, but he also knew how much school he’d already missed. He didn’t think he should miss any more. “Yeah, I know.” He twisted his student ID lanyard between his hands and inhaled deeply. “But I should at least try. Right?”

Ned smiled and nodded, but his brows were pulled together like he didn’t quite believe that. He didn’t say anything else, though. He simply pushed the rest of the way into the school, using his foot to keep the door ajar for Peter to follow.

Nothing had changed in the time he’d been gone. The hallways were crowded. The lights were too bright, and the classrooms smelled like a combination of whiteboard markers and whatever soap the janitors used on the floors. He kept his head down as he walked the halls, but that wasn’t enough to make himself blend into the background. A constant flow of “Hey, man. I’m really sorry,” and “If you need anything, let me know,” came at him from every direction. Teachers, classmates, even people he’d barely ever spoken to, all offered him the same well-meaning condolences.

He didn’t hate it. He just didn’t have the energy to process it all. So he nodded, or smiled, saying ‘ thanks’ when he remembered to, but made no effort to sustain the exchanges. 

In first period, Mr. Harrington paused halfway through the roll call, doing a double take when he spotted Peter in his usual seat by the window. “Welcome back, Peter. I’m really sorry to hear about your aunt. If you’re not up for participating–”

“It’s okay!” He rapidly replied. The last thing he wanted was to draw more attention to himself. “Thanks, though.”

Every class after that went the same exact way. He’d walk in and quietly take his seat. The teacher would spot him, their eyes going from surprised to sympathetic before saying how sorry they were and offering to help in one way or another. Academically, emotionally, or a little bit of both.

It wasn’t until lunch that he finally saw MJ. She was already at the table when he walked in, casually eating an apple while sketching in a notebook. She glanced up, catching him in her sight, and for a split second her typical neutral expression cracked.

She stood up, pulling him into a hug so quickly that it caught him off guard. Her arms were tight around his body and his chin dug into his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not going to make this a habit.” She took a step back, her arms swinging by her sides. “I just thought it might help… I missed you.”

Peter swallowed hard and nodded. ”Yeah, thanks,” he murmured. “I missed you, too.”

Surprisingly, Flash wasn’t a giant jerk. That was probably the most bizarre part of the whole day. Normally, Flash would have already tracked him down just to make some sort of snarky comment about Peter being poor or delusional. ‘ Yeah, right. As if they’d let you in the same room as Tony Stark.’ Instead, he gave him a quick look, barely meeting his eyes as he said, “Sorry to hear about your aunt, Parker.” There was still a little smirk, but it was less taunting and more like an attempt at being a decent person. Unsure of how to react, Peter gave him a small, tentative smile.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, one class melting into the next. By the time the final bell rang, Peter felt like someone had poured cement into his shoes. His limbs felt heavy, each step taking more effort than it should. Even smiling at Ned felt completely and utterly exhausting.

They took the train back to the Leeds' apartment in near silence. Ned played a game on his phone, and Peter stared out the window, mindlessly watching the blur of tiles and stations slip past. 

Mrs. Leeds offered snacks when they arrived. Ned happily accepted, carrying a bowl of popcorn into the living room and flipping the television on.

Peter, on the other hand, chose to grab a granola bar and slip into the bedroom. He sank onto the air mattress, phone in hand and thumbed through his contacts until he reached ‘Mr. Stark.’

The line rang twice, then Mr. Stark’s voice came through, warm and welcoming, like a well-loved blanket. “Hey, Kid! How was your first day back?”

Peter leaned back against the wall, a sigh turning into a yawn halfway through. “Not bad, I guess.” He rubbed his eyes and slid into his back.

“You sound pretty wrecked, buddy. You okay?”

Peter huffed a tired breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “It was weird. Everyone’s being nice. Like, too nice. Kids I don’t even know where talking to me, and Teachers kept offering to let things slide. But the weirdest part? Flash didn’t try to make fun of me. Not even once. He called me by my name. My last name, but still– It was bizarre.”

“Terrifying.” Mr. Stark chuckled. “Is this a body snatcher situation? Should we call someone in to investigate?”

“Funny.” Peter let his eyes fall closed. “Just– felt like a really long day.”

“Makes sense. The first day back’s a bitch, but you did it anyway.” A pause. “I'm proud of you.”

Peter blinked hard. His throat felt tight again. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Need anything?”

“Not really.” Peter shook his head, one arm flopped over his forehead. “Just wanted to call.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Mr. Stark replied, his tone nothing but honest. “Now, why don’t you go take a nap, hmm? Just a little one, don’t want to mess with your sleep schedule too much.”

Peter scoffed because he was pretty sure Mr. Stark had absolutely no room to talk about anyone else's messed-up sleep schedule. 

“Do as I say, not as I do.”

The comment to Peter by surprise, a genuine laugh bubbling out of his mouth. “I’ll see you soon, right?”

“You bet, Kiddo. If not tomorrow, then one hundred percent at the courthouse on Wednesday. Sounds good?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, voice thick with sleep. The court date did sound good. It was the last big thing standing between him and a real bed at the Tower — his bed. His space. His things. And thanks to everyone’s open positivity, he wasn’t even nervous about the outcome. He was just tired. Ready. He wanted it over with already. “Sounds good,” he repeated.

The call ended. Peter set his phone on the floor beside the air mattress and curled onto his side. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, staring at the shadowed wall. 

He made it through Monday. He could get through Tuesday. Then Wednesday would come, and after that, maybe things would finally settle.

The courtroom was smaller than Tony expected. It wasn’t like the cold, echoey ones built for jury trials or grandstanding lawyers. The modest space was situated on the courthouse’s sixth floor. There was a flag in the corner,  a seal of the State of New York on one wall, and just enough seating to accommodate everyone involved.

He glanced at Peter, sitting in front of the Leeds family, sandwiched between Ms. Mosely and the court-appointed guardian ad litem. He didn’t look terribly nervous. His eyes were darting around the room, but not in a panicked manner; more like he was taking it all in. 

The judge sat at the bench, glasses perched at the end of her nose, flipping through files. She didn’t look like she was in any kind of a hurry, making Tony’s stomach twist. He’d definitely watched too many courtroom dramas, the kind where the length of the silence predicted the outcome. The longer it lasted, the worse it would be. He rubbed his hand over his face, concealing the way he rolled his eyes while reminding himself that television logic didn’t apply in the real world. His lawyer had been thorough. Nothing was amiss. There was no reason to worry.

Finally, the judge cleared her throat, leaning forward, still staring at a stack of papers. “Let’s begin. This is docket number 0616-FAM, in the matter of Peter Benjamin Parker, a minor, regarding the petition for emergency relief and proposed kinship placement with Anthony Edward Stark.”

She paused to flip a page.

“I’ve reviewed the emergency filing,” She said, looking up over the rims of her glasses. “The argument presented claims that Mr. Parker’s original caseworker failed to consider or follow up on his stated preference for placement with Mr. Stark. That accurate?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” He rose to his feet, tucking his hands neatly behind his back. Confident, like he was speaking at a press conference. “Peter lost his aunt, and when he was asked where he wanted to go, he asked for me. But the system, for reasons I don’t think were malicious, didn’t make room for that. They didn’t understand. So he improvised, requesting to go to his best friend’s home in the wake.”

He nodded toward Dolores and her husband, sitting side by side, both of them smiling. “The Leeds’ have been nothing but kind to him. I want to be very clear about that. They haven’t done anything wrong. They’ve been generous and supportive. They clearly care about him, but staying with them was a temporary solution. I’ve been in his life. He’s been in mine. He asked me to come to me.”

The judge nodded. “I understand. And you’ve known the child for how long?”

“A little over a year.” Tony clenched his jaw, wishing he could offer a much larger number. “I met him through the September foundation. He applied, and I signed off on it. His proposal was so impressive that I decided to meet him in person. At that time, I met his aunt as well. We became close, all of us. May used to joke that I was her co-parent. I laughed it off at first, but she wasn’t wrong.  The three of us– we weren’t family on paper, but we were something close.”

The judge nodded and scribbled something down. 

Ms. Mosley stood next, her hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Peter has expressed clearly and repeatedly that he wishes to remain with Mr. Stark. He understands the implications of that decision. I’ve found no reason to object. He’s grieving, but stable. He shows no signs of behavioral concerns, and–” she looked toward Tony, then Peter, “he already thinks of Mr. Stark as a parental figure. I think that’s important to note.”

The judge made another note. “Mrs. Neal, as Peter’s guardian ad litem, do you agree with this assessment?”

“I do. I’ve spoken with Peter several times, both inside the Leeds’ home and on neutral territory. Peter has made it very clear that he wishes to stay with Mr. Stark.”

“Alright. And Peter? Do you have anything you’d like to say?”

Tony watched as Peter’s shoulders stiffened, like he was bracing for impact. He didn’t hesitate, though. Not really. “I don’t wanna be moved around. I want to go home. To the Tower– with Mr. Stark.”

The judge smiled and nodded, not pressing for more. Instead she turned her attention to the second row. “Mr. and Mrs. Leeds? Any words?” she asked.

Dolores stood up. “We support the placement. We love Peter and trust that he knows where he belongs. If he says Mr. Stark is family, then that’s where he should be. ”

While the judge rifled through the files, Tony felt his throat tighten. He really owed the Leeds something more than dinner. Maybe he’d send them on a month-long, luxury cruise, cover the whole thing, take care of Ned while they were gone.

He smirked to himself. A month might be overshooting it. Spending that long with two teenagers could turn into more than he bargained for. A week felt manageable. Two, if he was feeling ambitious.

“Alright, the judge said, pulling Tony from his thoughts. “Based on what I've read and what I’ve heard from everyone today, I’m granting temporary guardianship to Mr. Stark, effective immediately. Pending final paperwork, the full guardianship hearing will be finalized within the month. The placement will be reviewed within seventy-two hours, and a home inspection will follow.” 

The gavel came down with a soft thud. It wasn’t a triumphant sound. It wasn't a complete victory, just a quick, quiet acknowledgment that the court had seen what Tony had already known. Peter belonged with him.

The hallway outside the courtroom was a patchwork of whispered voices and scuffing shoes, but the air felt different. Less stuffy. Like someone had cracked a window open, allowing the pressure to escape.

They stood in a semicircle just past the heavy wooden doors. Everyone was smiling, quietly celebrating the positive outcome. Peter stayed close to Mr. Stark without really meaning to, their arms practically touching. 

Mr. Stark didn’t scoff or move away. He stood there talking, his glasses pushed up high on his head like he’d forgotten they were there. He held a copy of the court order in one hand, the other tucked casually into his pocket. 

“Typically, I facilitate these kinds of transitions. I help the child pack their things and transport them to their new placement,” Ms. Mosley said, her smile reaching her eyes. “I have a feeling my services are not required in this particular situation.”

The adults all nodded, murmuring quiet affirmations. Mr. Stark gave a small, satisfied shrug, one hand tucked into his pocket. “Nah, I think we’ve got it from here,” he said, voice low but certain.

Ms. Mosley smiled warmly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Congratulations again,” she offered, then turned, the soft click of her heels echoing against the laminate floor as she walked away.

An arm slid around Peter’s shoulders, light but steady. 

“Alright, Pete.” Mr. Stark tugged him into a light side embrace. “Let’s grab your stuff. Are you ready to hit the road?”

“Yeah.” Peter smiled, then turned to the Leeds, shifting slightly under Mr. Stark’s arm.

“We’ll meet you there,” Mr. Leeds said, giving Peter’s shoulder a brief pat before stepping back.

There wasn’t much to take. One weathered suitcase and the backpack slumped beside it. Ms. Mosley had said some of his other things would be boxed and stored. Peter figured he’d get it eventually. He didn’t ask. Not yet. Just knowing he had a place waiting in Mr. Stark’s penthouse was enough for the moment

The room was quiet except for the occasional creak of floorboards and the distant hum of traffic through the windows. Peter was zipping up his backpack when the sound of hurried footsteps came from the hallway.

“Dude! You’re leaving!” Ned burst in, breathless, his backpack bouncing wildly on his shoulders. He wasn’t upset. His whole face was lit up.

“Yeah.” Peter slung the backpack over one shoulder, then scooped up the suitcase with one hand, his familiar blanket tossed over the other. “I get to go home.”

Ned gave a loud, incredulous laugh. “I can’t believe my best friend is moving into Stark Tower!”

Something about the words pinched. Peter smiled anyway, keeping it firm. “You’ll have to visit. I bet Mr. Stark would say yes.” 

“Oh my god!” Ned nearly squealed. “That would be so incredibly awesome!” 

Peter was sure he’d never seen Ned’s eyes grow so wide.

They walked back through the hallway to the living room, where the adults had gathered. Mr. Leeds was perched on the arm of the couch, a mug balanced in one hand. Mrs. Leeds stood near the window, steeping a bag of herbal tea in a cup. The entire room smelled of coffee, cinnamon, and orange zest.

Mr. Stark placed his mug on a coaster, the soft thunk breaking the lull in conversation. “You good to go, bud?”

Peter nodded. “Yep. This is everything.”

The Leeds stood as Tony did, all of them walking to the door. Peter set his things down by the wall, only half-turned before Ned was wrapping both arms around him, squeezing tightly.

“You’re gonna come back, right? Stay over again sometime?”

Peter blinked at the sudden embrace, then returned it with a few careful pats to the back. “Of course. Just… not too soon, okay?”

Still grinning, Ned stepped back. “Fair.”

Peter turned to Mr. and Mrs. Leeds. They had stayed a respectful few steps behind, their expressions soft. He walked to them slowly, unsure of what to say. What he knew for sure was that he needed to say something.

When he reached Mrs. Leeds, he took her hand gently and bowed his head, pressing her hand to his forehead, the way he’d seen Ned do so many times. Then he turned to Mr. Leeds and did the same. A gesture of thanks– of respect.

“Thanks,” Peter said, his voice thick. “For letting me stay. For not thinking I was insane when I said I wanted to go live with Mr. Stark. For just… being here, and everything else. I–”

His throat closed up before he could finish. Mrs. Leeds reached out first, arms wrapping around him gently. Mr. Leeds followed, pressing into the other side.

“Peter, ‘nak,” Mrs. Leeds murmured, “you may be moving to your home with Mr. Stark, but you’re family here too.”

“You’re always welcome, Peter,” Mr. Leeds added. His voice was calm, the kind of tone you believed without question.

The goodbyes blurred after that. There were more hugs, a few last words, and then Peter and Mr. Stark stepped out into the afternoon sun. The warm breeze stirred Peter’s curls and billowed the loose dress shirt he’s yet to change out of.

Mr. Stark popped the trunk, loading Peter’s suitcase and backpack, before stepping around to the driver’s side. Peter climbed in, folding the blanket neatly in his lap. The car started with a low rumble, the air conditioning kicking in hard enough to lift the hair from his forehead.

Peter glanced back at the apartment building, then down the worn road that led toward the place he used to share with May. His eyes dropped to the court order resting on the dash. It was stamped at the bottom, signed, and finally final.

For the first time in weeks, his chest didn’t feel like it was wrapped in wire. His shoulders dropped. His knees loosened. The pressure that had been twisting his insides ebbed. He let out a breath, and with it came unanticipated tears; quiet, warm, and steady. They slipped down his cheeks, falling faster the harder he tried to stop them.

“Hey, buddy.” Tony’s hand reached over and rested on his knee. “Overwhelmed?”

Peter gave a shaky nod, rubbing his eyes dry. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t just relief. It was something heavier and quieter, with grief tucked into all of the corners. He was going with Mr. Stark, and he was glad– so glad– but his mind still drifted to May. To what should’ve been. 

He was supposed to be with her.

Mr. Stark shifted, unbuckled his seatbelt, and leaned over the center console. His arm looped around Peter, a little awkward with the gearshift between them. Still, it was solid and warm; the kind of hug Peter didn’t realize he needed until he was being swallowed by it.

That was all it took.

His breath hitched, then dissolved into sobs. His hands came up, fingers pressing hard back. He loved Mr. Stark, but he missed May so much that it hurt in places he didn’t even know could feel. Deep down in his bones, like his skeleton had been carved out and hollowed by the ache of her absence.

Mr. Stark didn’t let go. He didn’t speak for a while, either. He just stayed there, one hand curled protectively behind Peter’s head, making him feel small and safe… but also shattered.

After a moment, his loud, ugly sobs quieted down. It was then that he heard it. A sniff, sharp and sudden. Mr. Stark’s back heaved below his hands, and, for a second, Peter thought, ‘Oh, God. I’ve made him cry too.’

Then Mr. Stark’s voice cut through, rough-edged and thoughtful. “May was an amazing person. She was a great aunt and a great friend . The best one anyone could ask for, honestly. She was fierce and funny and… ” His breath hitched. “I'm going to miss her, too.”

Peter’s breath caught. He’d known that Mr. Stark and May were close. Of course, he had. But he hadn’t really considered it. Not really. Not until that moment that was he the only one who lost May.

Mr. Stark had lost her, too.

The tears slowed, but Peter stayed where he was, tucked into the space beneath Mr. Stark’s arm. His eyes felt raw and his chest ached, but not in the same way. It had become a different kind of hollow, one edged with understanding.

They held on for a little while longer, then leaned back into their seats. Peter wiped his face on his sleeve. Mr. Stark scrubbed a hand down his own, eyes a little red, nose pink.

He sniffed again and gave Peter a sidelong glance.

“Don’t tell anyone I just did the feelings thing,” he said, his voice dry and raspy. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Peter laughed despite himself. “Right. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you were human, huh, Iron Man?”

“There it is.” Mr. Stark pointed at him. “There’s the sass I enjoy so much. And here I was, worried I’d have to return you and ask for a refund.”

Peter smiled, shaking his head. “You’d never.”

“You’re right.” Mr. Stark squeezed the back of Peter’s neck. “I’d never.”

The silence that followed was easier. Lighter. 

Mr. Stark reached for the gearshift, then paused. “Ready to go  home?”

Peter looked out the windshield. The street was bustling in the gold haze of early evening. Beside them was the apartment that had been a pit stop, not a home. But ahead of them… Ahead of the road stretched forward. The cracked pavement and blinking crosswalks led all the way to Manhattan. 

“Yeah.” He looked at Mr. Stark and nodded once. “Let’s go home.”

Mr. Stark smiled and shifted the car into drive.

The vehicle eased forward, and Peter turned in his seat, watching the building grow smaller until it vanished around the corner. Then he faced forward, the blue blanket still folded in his lap, his back pressed to the seat.

Home wasn’t where May was anymore.

But it was waiting for him anyway. 

At the Tower with Mr. Stark.