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Tony pours a cup of coffee, then pours a second and adds a disturbing amount of milk and sugar. He knows he shouldn’t be giving the kid caffeine (and sugar), but he’s so funny when he drinks it, trying to keep the grimace off his face as he pretends he likes coffee. It’s long past Peter’s bedtime as it is, so coffee is in order. It’s one of the highlights of Tony’s days with Peter, and eventually he’ll learn that coffee is life.
School starts Wednesday, and Tony will once again have to adjust to not having his shadow around as much. He’s down in the lab right now, trying to connect his new Stark Pad to the main Tower server and FRIDAY. May and Pepper are off for the weekend in the Hamptons looking at antique-something-or-others (read: day drinking on the beach), and Steve and Company won’t be joining them until at least Sunday, so he’s got a whole two nights and a day to pump Peter full of sugar and caffeine and see where it takes them.
It’s been an adjustment, being across the city after spending a few months with Peter just across the hall. They both could have adjusted better, and honestly it could have been worse, but everything seems to be finding its rhythm again. Tony’s not sleeping well, but he never did, and according to May, Peter’s been attempting a normal schedule. Peter begged him not to tell her he’s still not able to sleep through the night, so long as he promises to nap during the day, with ample warning that the watch will snitch if he doesn’t. Tony is hoping that when school starts he’ll tire himself enough to sleep at night. If not, he’ll go to May, whether Peter likes it or not.
But that’s something to figure out later. Right now Peter is trying to figure out how to hack into FRIDAY. Tony could have just given him the new codes, and he will, but Peter had wanted to see if he could get in on his own. If anything, it’ll help Tony find any holes. Next he should have that Ned-kid try.
“You figure it out, kid?” The glass door to the lab hisses open once the retinal scanner clears him. He carries the two mugs around the corner while Dum-E beeps at him. “Just let--” Tony stops in his tracks.
Oh no. Peter is sitting on the floor in the center of the large lab, staring ahead at a wavy, blue hologram. His Stark Pad lies abandoned in his lap. Tony hears his own voice, the message he recorded before the team descended on Sanctuary, determined to destroy Thanos and reverse his actions, or die trying.
“Take care of Pepper, Pete. She’s going to act like she doesn’t need it, but she does. Please. Watch out for her. She’s so strong...but someone has to look out for her. And she loves you, let her take care of you. She’s only happy when she’s running around, so let her run after you. Just try not to turn her hair gray.”
The door slides shut somewhere behind Tony with a *click*; Peter hears it, of course he does, and Tony watches his head turn, as if in slow motion. He gapes at him, eyes glossy and wet, as the recording continues playing behind him.
“Rhodey will help you if you need it. I made him promise...he’ll be there, if you need it…Cap, too, by the way. We mostly fixed things. Didn’t really have a choice.”
“Peter…”
“And kiddo, know that...that you’re one of the best things that ever happened to me. I don’t know what I did to deserve finding you, but...but, I’m going to get you back. The world needs you, I need you. And...and hopefully you never see this, but if you do, I need you to know I love you, and I’m so proud of you, and I’m so, so sorry I couldn’t save you, but I’m gonna get you back…”
“Mr. Stark…”
“Pete…”
“And hopefully I’ll see you, and get to hug you, we’re there now, Spiderling, and you’ll never see this. But if you do...Peter, you’re the future. Spider-man, you’re better than all of us. So listen to your Aunt, and Rhodey, and go to school--everything is going to be taken care of--and change the world, kid. I’m counting on you to save the world, Spider-man. I know you can, I know--”
“FRIDAY, shut it off.” Tony barks, rushing to drop the mugs on the messy desk so he can get to his kid. Peter is staring blankly at him, as if a trance, and jumps when Tony lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Peter…”
“Don’t!” Peter brushes his arm away and stumbles back a few steps. He blinks rapidly a few time at some invisible spot on the concrete floor, the way he does when he’s trying not to cry. One hand comes up to his hair, tugging at the messy curls. “You weren’t kidding…” he gasps.
“Kid?”
“When you said you died twice! I thought you were kidding!”
“Peter,” Tony tries again, reaching out for the trembling teenager. “You weren’t supposed to see that…”
“You were planning on me seeing it! That’s why you made it!”
“We were planning on everything, kiddo, we didn’t know what was going to happen. And I wanted to make sure there was something when we got you back--”
“You were planning on dying!” Peter angrily swipes at his eyes. Tony can’t tell if he’s more sad or furious.
“It was a possibility, Peter. It was our last chance, and it had happened before. There wouldn’t have been a chance to come back after this one if something went bad,” Tony lays a gentle hand on Peter’s back. He can feel his heart racing. “But we had to do it. I had to get you back, kid. My life is inconsequential, when up against yours.”
“That’s not true!” Peter violently pulls away, knocking Tony’s hand off his shoulder again. It hurts; Tony wonders if he’ll ever remember how strong Peter is, how he could have shattered his forearm with his pinky finger if he’d wanted to. “It’s not true…”
“Bud…”
“What about all the rest of us? What about Pepper and Mr. Rhodes and Happy and everybody else?”
“They understood, they knew what this was and how it might end.”
“Maybe they said that! Maybe that’s what they told you, but…” Peter takes a shaky breath and tugs on his hair again. “...what you said isn’t true.”
“Peter, come on. Let’s sit down, kiddo,” Tony starts to reach out again but thinks better of it. “We can--”
“No,” Peter looks back up at him, his eyes welling up with tears again. “I have to leave.” He pushes past Tony and heads to the door of the lab.
“Peter,” Tony does reach out now, grabbing the kid’s wrist to stop him.
“Let go!” Peter rips his arm away and before Tony can blink, is on the ceiling. He can only watch as he scurries along the vaulted ceiling, over to a small hopper window in the corner.
“FRIDAY, lock--” he’s too late, and Peter punches the reinforced steel frame out before he can order the AI can institute the tower-wide lockdown that would prevent even enhanced individuals from leaving. He’s out the small window in two seconds.
Tony blinks at the ruined window. “Shit.”
*******
“Yeah, Rhodey, I know,” Tony practically runs through the lobby of the tower and out the front door.
“You gonna call his aunt?”
“No,” Tony pulls the phone away from his ear so he can double-check the location of Peter’s signal. “He’s not far. Looks like he’s over near the Paramount.”
“Does he have the suit on?”
“Yeah,” Tony turns down Vanderbilt. “He’s not answering my calls, but I’m heading over there now. Hopefully he stays put for ten minutes...and until I can get FRI to force my call through.”
“You’re not putting your suit on?”
“No. He was pretty spooked when he bolted--”
“I don’t blame him, Tones. Why didn’t you get rid of that?”
“I don’t know, Platypus. Maybe I had other things on my mind for the past few months!”
“Rookie mistake, Tones. But also, and I’m still gonna blame you, but the kid had to have known what could have happened.”
“I’m sure he did, Rhodey, somewhere in there. But he’s lost enough people, can you blame him for suppressing shit like that?”
“Guess not.” Rhodey sighs on the other end of the line. “Give me ten minutes to finish something up here, and I’ll head over. When did he leave?”
“About thirty minutes ago.”
“Be there in an hour. Let me know when you find the kid.”
“Thanks. Keep your fingers crossed he doesn’t bolt again.”
“Good luck, man.”
The call clicks dead, but Tony keeps his phone out to project the glowing red dot on West 46th. He breath catches when he sees it move slightly; Peter has jumped over to the Marriott Marquee. Not too awful; it’s not much of a move, and actually closer to the Tower. Tony watches for a second, but the dot stays put, so he turns on his heel and heads back to West 45th, sending a quick prayer up to who knows what that he won’t move again.
Tony probably should have been paying better attention to everything outside the glowing red dot. He probably should have put the suit on, at least until he got to where Peter is. The hit to the back of his knee sends him down immediately, sprawling onto the dirty concrete. His phone skitters away and the hologram flickers off. Tony feels a knee dig into his lower back.
“Are you serious, right now?” The cool metal presses hard into the back of his head.
“You don’t get to ask questions,” comes a muffled growl from behind him. “Not when you’re without your tin can.”
Tony can’t help but roll his eyes; this is so cliche he almost laughs. Almost. With his chest pressed to the ground, he can’t reach the housing unit. “We’re literally within camera view of the most advanced AI in the world. AND my phone is on. You really want to incur the wrath of the Avengers for the fifty-seven bucks and frozen yogurt punch card I have in my pocket?”
“Taking out the great Tony Stark is worth a lot,” the gun presses harder into his skull. “And that phone is probably worth a pretty penny.”
“Then take it. I have plenty more.”
“Oh, I plan on it,” Tony’s assailant leans closer; he smells like he hasn’t bathed in a month. “But I think I’m also going to--”
Suddenly the weight is off Tony’s back, and he rolls over to see the man with the gun slam into the tall brick building behind them with a yelp. The gun clatters down the sidewalk and into the street. A web attaches itself to the small metal object and flings it high up into the air and onto some random rooftop. A small figure lightly lands on on the sidewalk in front of him, between Tony and the mugger, who is trying to push himself up off the ground.
“Hey, kiddo, nice to see you,” Tony chuckles, but his heart freezes in his chest when Peter throws a web at the men, flinging him into the building again. The eyes of his suit aren’t the cheerful, glowing white Tony had purposefully designed. They’re dark, pinpricks of red glowing against the rest of the tech.
“Peter,” Tony frantically scrambles to his feet, ignoring the twinge of pain in his knee. He ignores him, stalking over to where the mugger is whimpering in on the concrete. In one fluid motion he picks him up by the neck and tosses him clear over Tony and into the street. Peter follows, leaping over him to act as a barrier in front of him. Tony can hear his harsh breathing. “Peter!”
“Shut up, Mr. Stark!” Peter’s voice breaks as he yells, the concrete cracking under his hand as he leans forward, extending his right hand out.
“Pete, stop. Now,” Tony slowly moves towards where Spider-man is crouched on the sidewalk, red pinpricks glowing in his mask. He reaches into his coat pocket for his glasses, but stops when Peter’s glare shifts to him. Tony doesn’t like the way he looks, red eyes set against harsh, cold mental. Not like his kid.
“He was going to shoot you!” Peter’s voice wavers and cracks a little. Tony feels the side of his mouth come up against his will; that’s his kid.
“But he didn’t, because Spider-man came,” Tony inches forward a bit more, sinking into a crouch beside Peter. “But Spider-man doesn’t do this…”
“He was going to kill you!”
“And you stopped him. Which is what you do, Peter,” Tony reaches out and wraps his hand around Peter’s bicep. The metal of his suit is cold to the touch, and he’s trembling beneath it. He doesn’t shake Tony off, but his extended arm doesn’t come down.
“He was going to kill you…”
“Hazard of being me, kid, so I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got you,” Tony pulls the glasses out of his pocket and shoves them on his face. Immediately Peter’s vitals pop up into his vision. “Why don’t you put your arm down, bud?”
“He’ll hurt someone…”
“Not if he’s in jail for the rest of his life,” Tony taps a tiny button on the left arm of his glasses.
“Hello, Mr. Stark.” Peter’s head tilts when Karen addresses Tony.
“Hey, Kare-bear,” Tony tightens his grip on Peter’s bicep. “How about you turn off Instant Kill for me?”
“Of course, Mr. Stark,” the eyes on Peter’s mask immediately blink bright white as Karen answers him. His shoulders slump a bit, but he’s still staring straight ahead, at the unconscious dark figure on the sidewalk. “Instant Kill Mode deactivated. Webshooter Combination 17 activated.”
“Thank you, dear. Web that guy up, will you?” Tony taps the right arm of his glasses as the Peter’s right webshooter unloads at the mugger, anchoring him to the street. “FRIDAY, call the police. Let them know Spidey caught a fly.”
“Sure thing, Boss. Shall I wait until you and Mr. Parker have left the vicinity?”
“Got it as always, baby girl,” Tony shifts closer to Peter, coming around in front of him. “Peter?” He calls gently, reaching out his left hand to grip his shoulder. It stings, more than it has in quite awhile. His knee is killing him. “Hey, bud, can you look at me?”
Peter doesn’t respond, still staring at the man webbed to the ground behind them. Tony lifts his hand from his shoulder and reaches for his chin, gently tilting his head so he’s facing him. “Hey, kiddo, c’mon. Lookit me.”
Tony isn’t sure how it’s possible, but he thinks the white eyes of the suit look as if they could start crying. He spares a quick look around to make sure they’re alone--they are, odd for a Friday night in Manhattan, even this late--then gently taps the side of Peter’s neck. The helmet of the suit retracts, revealing a disheveled, red-eyed teenager.
“Hey, Spider-man,” Tony smiles gently, ruffling Peter’s sweaty hair. “You wanna go home? Let the police take care of this asshole?”
Peter’s eyes level on the housing unit in Tony’s chest. “Queens?”
“Not a chance, Spiderling,” Tony pulls him close. He’s still shaking slightly. Tony feels pretty shaky himself. “If I have to babysit, I’m doing it from the comfort of my penthouse. Up you get.”
“You’re not babysitting, Mr. Stark. I wanted to visit,” Peter allows Tony to pull him to his feet and deactivate the suit with tap to the arm of his glasses. It rushes back to the watch on Peter’s wrist with a soft *hiss.*
“Whatever you want to tell yourself,” Tony squeezes Peter’s shoulder and tucks him into his side and they stumble back towards the Tower. It doesn’t take long to make it back; Tony hadn’t gotten very far to begin with. He keeps his arm around Peter until they’re back in the bright penthouse. He hasn’t said a word and is still shaking slightly.
“Get cleaned up, kid,” Tony guides Peter out of the elevator and through the penthouse, down the hall to the bedroom he sleeps in. Well, it’s definitely more Peter’s bedroom than just the bedroom he sleeps in by now; spare clothes and Star Wars posters and the larger Lego models that won’t fit in his bedroom in Queen’s. FRIDAY has the same access to the room as the rest of the tower, but it’s mostly Karen’s domain now. “I’m going to, too. Then meet me in the sitting room.”
“Mr. Stark…” Peter’s voice is exhausted, and he is staring at the carpet.
“No arguments, underoos,” Tony squeezes the back of Peter’s neck, then gently shoves him through the door to his room.
*****
Tony sets two mugs of cocoa on the coffee table--that hopefully Peter won’t destroy--and sinks into the soft couch to wait for him. He knows he has to say something, a lot of things, but he has no idea what. It’s one thing for Peter to be upset by the video, quite another for him to actually activate Instant Kill for something as trivial as a mugger. Frankly, the thought of Peter wanting to hurt someone like that is terrifying. Peter isn’t like them. He’s good.
Distantly, Tony hears a door click shut and footprints padding softly down the carpeted hallway. He picks up his mug and takes a sip just to give him something to do while he waits; it tastes bitter and burns his tongue.
Sure enough, Peter slumps into the living room in a few moments, head down and shoulders turned in, as if he wants to curl in on himself. Tony scoots forward on the couch as he slouches into the overstuffed chair and stares at his feet. He doesn’t say anything, let alone look at Tony.
“Kid,” Tony sighs, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “What are you doing? Get over here. I made cocoa and everything.” Peter hesitantly looks up at him; his eyes are still red rimmed and his hair is messy and still wet from the shower. Tony raises his arm. “C’mon.”
In two seconds Peter is on the couch. He tucks himself behind Tony’s left arm, hooking his chin over his shoulder. His knees poke into Tony’s aching leg as he curls up, clearly yearning for contact but also wanting to crawl into himself. Tony lets him get situated, then relaxes his arm so his shoulder pushes him into the couch, creating a constant pressure that will help ground him. Tony kicks himself for not thinking to pull his old weighted blanket out of his bedroom while waiting for the kid to come out of his room. It was helpful--kind of--after the Chitauri, so it’s worth a try with Peter. He doesn’t say anything, and Tony can feel the tension in his muscles, how he’s trying to keep himself from vibrating apart.
“Take a deep breath, bud,” Tony pats his knee, setting his mug down. Peter does.
“What happened back there, Pete?”
“That video…”
“No, kid. That’s not what I’m talking about. The suit. Why on earth did you activate Instant Kill? For a street asshole like that?”
“He was going to kill you, Mr. Stark.”
“I’m sure a lot of people have tried to kill Spider-man, but you’ve never purposefully activated Instant Kill.”
Peter doesn’t him for several long moments. “Uncle Ben was shot because I didn’t do anything,” Peter sniffles, right next to Tony’s ear, just as he’s about to demand an answer.
“Pete,” Tony knows what happened, he knows the entire story, from his own intensive research, and then the subjective information May filled in. He knows Peter didn’t stop a mugger, and he knows Ben Parker then tried to in the lot of a small gas station. He knows Peter blamed himself, even if no sane person would put the weight of stopping an armed mugger on a fourteen-year-old kid, even an enhanced one. Especially an enhanced one who’d only been enhanced for a month and didn’t know what he was or wasn’t capable of. But he also knows Peter’s mind by now, and how similar it is to his, and how that means it weighed on his shoulders far more than it should have.
Peter’s never spoken to him about it though. He’s made off-hand remarks about his Uncle, comments about power and responsibility, but he’s never spoken about this. Oh
“And if-if I h-had,” a fresh wave of tears starts, “if I had stopped him, then he wouldn’t have hurt Uncle Ben. If I’d even tried to…”
“Maybe,” Tony squeezes his bony knee. “Or maybe you didn’t know quite what you were doing, and he would have hurt you instead. Or maybe you were a kid, who should never have had to make a decision like that.”
“But I-I did,” Peter shifts closer, his chin digging into Tony’s shoulder. “And I could have--he was going to kill you, Mr. Stark!”
“Ok,” Tony takes a deep breath. “This guy you stopped. Easily. And I’m not gonna lie, if that asshole had pointed a gun at you, I would have loved nothing more than to have killed him myself,” Tony leans his head on Peter’s damp hair. “But that’s just one reason why you’re so much better than me. Than all of us. And it would have felt good in the moment and maybe he even deserved it, but you’d have regretted it. I guarantee it, Pete. Because you’re good.”
“I-I--” Peter takes a single shuddering breath. Tony can feel him start to shake next to him, his body downright vibrating on the couch. His words and breath seem to be caught in his chest.
“Hey, bud, hey, exhale...” Tony lifts his right hand off his shaking knee and rubs two knuckles against Peter’s sternum. The air leaves in a rush, followed by a hiccup and a sob.
“I-I’m sorry…”
“I know.”
“I didn’t--I couldn’t--”
“I know, Peter, I know,” Tony shifts, turning closer to the trembling child tucked against his side. Will he ever remember that he’s still just a child? “I’ve been there, I know exactly how it feels. More than I’d like to admit. And you’ll be there again, and maybe it’ll end up differently and you’ll do what you need to do. But it wasn’t going to be tonight, not if I could stop it.”
“I’m so-sorry, Mr. St-Stark…”
“You’re alright, kiddo,” Tony lifts his left hand and pushes his fingers into Peter’s hair, trying to calm his own heart rate. If he spirals into panic, he’ll set the kid off even more. “We’re alright. We’re home and everything’s fine.”
“You can’t die!” Peter is crying earnestly now, trying to tuck his face into Tony’s neck. It’s difficult with the position they’re in, but Tony presses against his head and pulls him closer as best he can.
“I’m not planning on it, Peter.”
“You were!” Peter hiccups. “You were planning on it! I saw it!”
The recording. “That was different, Peter…”
“No, it wasn’t!”
“Yes, it was, kiddo. None of us knew what would happen, and we’d already messed up so many times,” Tony’s eyes start to burn. His heart is still racing, and he knows Peter can feel it, tucked close as he is. “And I was going to do everything I could to make sure we got through it, but I couldn’t guarantee it. And I was gonna make sure I said good-bye, just in case.”
“But I wouldn’t have been able to say good-bye, Mr. Stark.”
“I know, kiddo, which is why I was going to do my damnedest to make sure you never saw that recording,” Tony pulls a knot out of Peter’s damp hair. “Especially since I know you wouldn’t have listened to a thing Rhodey said.”
“I would too,” Peter sniffs against his neck. The collar of Tony’s shirt is wet with tears.
“Oh, so it’s just me you don’t listen to?”
“I listen.”
“Sometimes,” Tony lays his head back on top of Peter’s, continuing to comb tangles out of the back of his head. His tears are still falling but his breathing seems easier, not as strangled, and for half a second Tony is shocked at how easy this has become, how ingrained it now is for him to want nothing more than ease the pain of a hurting teenager. And how much it hurts knowing he’ll never be able to make the pain go away fully. “I should have deleted it as soon as we were back.”
“Just promise you won’t need another one.”
“You know I can’t promise that, Peter.”
“I know. But I want to pretend,” Peter tries to wipe his cheek with the sleeve of his shirt. “I don’t want to go to any more funerals. Not you or May or anybody else.”
“Not for awhile, anyway.”
“Ever.”
“Pete…”
“I know, Mr. Stark,” Peter sighs and swallows a hiccup. “Let me pretend, please.”
“Alright, kiddo,” Tony sniffs. “You want me to call your Aunt back?”
“That’s ok, Mr. Stark. She needs a vacation,” Peter pauses to take a shaky breath. “Did you tell her--”
“No, and if she ever finds out, she’ll light me on fire. So what we decide now is written in stone.”
“Let’s not worry her.”
“If you say so, kid,” Tony lets his hand fall off Peter’s head and to the couch. Peter immediately latches on to it with both hands. He seems to be slowly calming down, even if his tears haven’t completely stopped falling. His sticky fingers feel as strange as they always do; the tests they finally did at the compound made it clear it’s some form of electrostatic control, but it feels like millions of tiny hooks in the skin of his wrist. “You hungry?”
“A little, Mr. Stark.”
“Thought so. FRIDAY, find someplace still open that’ll deliver larb.”
“Of course, boss.”
“And spring rolls, please, FRIDAY.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Parker. Karen also asked that I wish you a good night.”
“Thanks,” Peter exhales a shaky breath. “Tell her good night, please.”
“Of course, Mr. Parker. Your dinner will arrive in approximately forty-five minutes.”
“Thanks, babe,” Tony dismisses the AI. She’ll alert them when the delivery arrives. They sit in silence for a few moments, Peter’s muscles slowly starting to loosen while Tony tries his best to breathe evenly, wordlessly coaxing Peter to relax. “You know,” he starts, slowly. “It might be a good idea to reinstate some of the protocols just until...we figure things out.”
Peter immediately tenses beside him, shoulders coming up nearly to his ears. “If...if you think so, Mr-Mr. Stark,” he goes to let go of Tony’s wrist, but Tony stops him, trapping his hand.
“I do, kiddo,” Tony squeezes his fingers. “We’re all still adjusting, and part of my job is to keep you safe, in every way I can. So,” he takes a deep breath. “Not all the way back, but...maybe some of the more hardcore features should still be on lockdown.”
“Will I still have Karen?”
“Of course, bud. I wouldn’t take Karen away.”
“You did once,” Peter presses his chin into Tony’s shoulder. It hurts; either the kid still hasn’t learned to control his strength or he’s still adjusting after spending so much time as a non-corporeal being. Either way...it’s something they can work on.
“It was a tough love moment, kiddo,” Tony jostles his shoulder, bouncing Peter’s head. He thinks he can detect the first hint of a smile against his neck. “And...I think once everyone gets settled, we should have you train.”
“Train?” Peter flexes his fingers, squeezing around Tony’s wrist. It’s such an odd feeling, a static shock that sticks.
“With us. Natasha, definitely. She can show you some things, give you some mental exercises to make things easier. We’ll see how that goes. If we need to get…” Tony pauses, hoping Peter gets what he’s suggesting. “...someone else in, we will.”
“If you think so, Mr. Stark.” Peter doesn’t ask what he means, but he nods seriously against his shoulder.
“I do...and then if that goes well, and we don’t need a different kind of professional, eventually Cap and, ugh...Barnes.”
“You like Mr. Barnes.”
“No, I don’t.” Tony does. He hates that he does, but he does.
“Yes, you do. You both complain about the same things.”
“You’re not my favorite anymore, Spiderling.”
“Lies.”
“That’s my line.”
“Whatever, Mr. Stark,” Peter laughs wetly, and scrubs at the tears drying on his cheeks. “At least now I know for sure you like me hanging around.”
“Nah, you’re just too sticky to get rid of,” Tony lifts his arm to make the point; the fingers of Peter’s left hand are still stuck to his skin. “Thank God.” Tony pauses, his brain skipping a beat. He cranes his neck to look back at Peter, who is staring straight ahead, looking as smug as he possibly can for someone who spent the last hour crying. "That was awful. I'm embarrassed and I expect you to show yourself out."