Work Text:
When he first walked into the spot, he shrugged it off as a weird happenstance. A coincidence.
Avengers Tower, 13th March, 2015
“—and where’s Pepper? Wasn’t she supposed to come by today?”
The doors of the lab hiss open almost inaudibly. JARVIS automatically lights up the schematics for the new Stark phone he was supposed to be working on, but he walks right past them in favor of pulling out the coding of Mark XLII. He still has some tweaks to work out – plus he can’t help the urge to spite Pepper by not working on SI stuff. He’s well-aware of his pettiness, but he’s been in boring meetings all day so he figures he can indulge in this one act of childishness despite Pepper not being here to witness (and reprimand him for) it.
“No sir, she’s at the NYC Tech conference, representing Stark Industries. She told you about this two weeks ago.”
“Now, now, no need to get sassy JAR, it doesn’t suit you.”
“Sorry sir, I will try my best to be more up to your standards in the future.”
He isn’t sure if it’s just him or if JARVIS’s tone leans towards more sarcasm than he ever programmed into him. He casts a suspicious glance at speaker unit on the ceiling before shrugging the thought off, and continuing with his tinkering, his fingers flying over the lines.
It takes him a solid ten minutes to finish, which is a bit disappointing (he had hoped for a longer procrastination time). He drums his fingers idly on the table for a moment, considering on killing time with some other project, before he gives up the pretense and rises to go the phone schematics that JARVIS has kept passive-aggressively glowing in his peripheral vision this whole time. (Apparently his AI likes his girlfriend better than him. Or his girlfriend has intentionally sicced the AI on him.)
As he takes the first steps, however, he’s hit with a sudden chill and the vague feeling of dread. But as he walks further, the cold feeling fades as suddenly as it came to be. He frowns, turning back to stare at the spot he just passed. There’s no outward sign of anything being out of place. No malfunctioning gadgets or other inventions blowing out cold air. He glances up. There’s not even an air duct overhead, no draft to explain the sudden coldness.
He walks through the spot again.
It’s like walking through a pillar of air straight from the North Pole.
Puzzled, he calls out, “JAR, do we have some sort of AC/DC malfunction in this room?”
“According to my scan, there’s nothing wrong with the air conditioning. However, there seems to be a colder place right next to you. It wasn’t there this morning when I ran my usual checkups, but I can’t seem to detect any feasible cause for it.”
He frowns harder. “Hm.” Weird.
Usually he trusts JARVIS’s expertise, but it seems that this time he might need some professionals to check out the room. He makes a mental note to reserve some for the next morning and continues his way to the phone schematics. The uneasy feeling he got when he first walked into the spot is soon forgotten.
March 14th
The repairmen come by next morning, and find no faults in his air conditioning or heating systems.
The cold spot doesn’t disappear.
March 17th
He remembers the weird feeling of dread a few days later, when he walks towards the Iron Man design table, skillfully dodging the cold spot from memory, and walking straight into another cold spot, further away from the last one.
He stops in his tracks and groans in frustration.
“Not another one. JARVIS, run a temperature check.”
“Running.” JARVIS pauses for a nanosecond. “There seems to be a cold spot right where you stand, sir.”
“Yes, I know that, but is the other one still there?”
“It appears that it is not, sir. The only colder place is right where you stand.”
That stops him cold (ha). There’s no other spots. Which means that there’s some really weird drafts in the room or the previous cold spot moved.
“Oh-kay. Getting weirder. JARVIS, order another air conditioning check for tomorrow, will you?”
“Will do, sir.”
March 18th
Again, there are no malfunctions.
March 19th
The next day, the spot has moved half a meter closer to the table. The day after that it’s on the other side of the table. And the day after that it’s back in its original place. Sometimes JARVIS even detects some electromagnetic activity in those spots.
Not that he would admit it out loud, but it makes him a bit…wary.
But as the days go by, and nothing bad happens, he begins to just accept it as another unavoidable peculiarity in his life. He’s been to space and fought aliens and seen things not many people get to see, so what’s one odd cold spot to all that?
Nothing, that’s what.
.
.
.
(Yet the slight apprehension that lingers tells him that somehow this is different.)
March 18th – April 10th
During the next couple of weeks, the apprehension fades slowly, and the cold spot becomes a daily routine of sorts.
“Where the pillar of doom resides today, JAR?” he would ask when he got into the lab.
“At the exact same spot as yesterday, sir,” JARVIS would answer.
He learns to work around it. Literally. It never moves too much, but it’s always in the most inconvenient places.
In front of his latest project.
In the middle of his path.
In front of the lab’s fridge.
For some reason the spot seemed particularly fond of the places where Tony works on new armors.
Today was no exception.
He tried working on the Mark XLII blueprints again, but The Breath From The Arctic was directly in front of his preferred working spot. He could have moved his stuff of course, but he’s a man of comfort so he ended up taking up another due project instead. He walks to another work table and pulls up the Hulkbuster upgrade. Veronica has already been launched, but he got an idea on how to up the power of the bracers sometime last night so he called the armor down to work on it some more. Maybe when he’s done with updates on the Hulkbuster, the spot will have moved.
Unlikely, but possible.
He’s been working on the bracers for some time (he lost count after the 7th cup of coffee), occasionally calling out corrections and memos to JARVIS, when one of the wires in the suit sparks dangerously. JARVIS only has time to issue out a warning “Sir—” before the suit short-circuits, blasting him across the room.
A starburst of pain forms in the back of his skull and everything fades to black.
“—Mr. Stark?”
“Are you—”
“Sir?”
“That was scary!”
“Mr. Stark?”
“Sir, are you okay?”
“Oh, you’re waking up!”
Tony groans, the voices around him melting together into a swirly mess, dizzying him up even more.
“You should really be more careful, Mr. Stark! I know JARVIS could call someone to help if you needed it, but you should have stopped working, like, three hours ago."
He must’ve hit his head pretty bad, because it sounded like JARVIS just referred to himself in third person. And…does he sound younger as well?
“Sir, are you okay?”
“…what the hell?”
“Sir, it appears you are confused. Do you want a rundown for the last ten minutes?”
He tries to open his eyes only to be assaulted by the lights. He scrunches them shut, and groans pitifully.
“Sir?”
“Mr. Stark?”
He clearly isn’t okay since the sound is coming in a weird double echo.
“When have you started calling me ‘Mr. Stark’, JAR?”
A faint startled gasp gets swallowed by JARVIS’ even tones.
“I did no such thing, sir. It seems that you’re suffering from some kind of hearing impairment. Shall I call Dr. Banner?”
“No, no, don’t,” he grunts. His head is pounding, but he’s had concussions before, and Bruce would probably not have any new, ground-breaking discoveries on how to deal with one. He knows how to do the basic care himself so there’s really no need for Bruce.
He lies on the floor for a moment, waiting for the worst of it to pass before attempting to get up. The world doesn’t spin so much anymore so he risks opening his eyes as well. His eyesight is a bit blurry so he thinks he’s seeing things, when his eyes first settle on a figure.
He blinks.
The figure is still there.
He rubs his eyes.
The figure is still there.
On a proper look, he can see it’s a young boy. Maybe 10 or 11 years old. A young, small, transparent boy looking at him with comically wide eyes.
Hell no.
“Who’s that JARVIS?”
“Who’s who, Sir?”
“That! The Danny Phantom-wannabe right there in the middle of the lab!”
The boy seems to be frozen as he is, a startled expression solidified on his face like a permanent case of A-Deer-In-The-Headlights.
“…I detect no other persons in the lab other than yourself.”
“…huh. That’s weird.”
He squints, turns his head around and sideways, but nothing works. The boy is still there, clad in what looks like a t-shirt and some kind of pajama pants, complete with messy, ridiculously curly hair like he just got out of bed to fetch some warm milk or something, and still staring at him like he’s the apparition.
Something about his conversation with JARVIS jiggles in the back of his mind.
“The cold spot. Give me the location of our favorite spot, JAR.”
“It’s 2,37 feet away from its last location in front of your primary work station.”
Right where the young boy stands.
No way. He should be done with this shit. In fact, this is probably just a hallucination, yes, that’s what this is, he really should be more careful and get concussions less often. Maybe he really has been clobbered up the head one too many times. Yeah, that’s what-
“…Mr. Stark?”
-this is, surely he isn’t seeing ghosts of all things, that would be absurd-
“Can you – can you see me?”
“—No, no I’m not seeing anything, this is just the concussion messing with my brain, that has to be it, this can’t be happening-,“ he doesn’t understand he spoke out loud until there’s a high-pitched squawk.
“Yess! You can hear me!” The boy’s eyes sparkle like Tony just handed him the moon and the stars. He has to look away, because the overjoyed brightness the boy exudes almost hurts his eyes. He almost wishes he wore his sunglasses to the lab today. Tony briefly debates if answering his own hallucination would make the hallucination stronger, before he says, “No.”
“Yes you can! Finally!” The boy whoops.
It’s at this point, when JARVIS decides to intervene.
“Sir? Is everything alright?”
It takes a second for his new reality to compute.
“Is everything alright? No it’s fucking not!” – a scandalous gasp – “I’ve finally gone round the bend, because there’s apparently a ghost in the middle of my workshop that only I can see!” He explodes, then pauses. Or am I the only one?
“Actually, belay the earlier order, I think I need Brucie Bear here.”
“Yes, Mr. Stark.”
Tony waits patiently for fifteen minutes, valiantly ignoring the continuous babbling from the other occupant of the room.
“…what were you working on anyway? It looks like an Iron Man armor, but it’s way too big. Can it even fly? Oh! Are your taking inspiration from the H—"
The door clicks as Bruce Banner (“Oh. My. GOD. It’s Dr. Banner! I’ve read all of his papers!”) walks in.
“Hey, Tony, what’s the matter? JARVIS said you had an accident of some kind? How many times I have to tell you I’m not this kind of a doctor either-,“ he starts exasperatedly while surreptitiously looking for injuries, concern and befuddlement etched clearly on his face.
“Yes, yes, I know, but I also know that you did act as one in India for quite some time so I suspect you’d know how to deal with a simple concussion,” Tony waves away his protests and stares at him expectantly (still ignoring the clear fanboy spiel the ghost kid is spouting in the background).
It only takes a moment for Bruce to cave. He walks the rest of the way to Tony, shuddering a bit as he walks through the ghost (confirming Tony’s suspicions that only he can see him, because how else would Bruce be able to ignore such a loud exclamation of “Dude!”), and sets to work.
For all his talk about ‘not-being-that-kind-of-doctor’, Bruce certainly is very professional and quick about it – and for all his denials, he still brought his medical supplies with him.
“Yeah, you have a mild concussion.” is the verdict, just like Tony predicted. Bruce takes a moment to search his eyes questioningly. “…but you probably already knew that since you’ve had so many.”
Tony winces. Caught.
He’s quiet for a moment. Bruce doesn’t push him, just starts gathering the supplies and putting them away.
“Just out of curiosity… Can concussions cause hallucinations?”
(“I’m not a hallucination!”)
Bruce leans back to stare at him contemplatively.
Just when Tony is about to start fidgeting, he nods.
“It is very unlikely, but… yes. It is more common after a serious brain injury and almost unheard of in mild concussions like yours, but I suppose it is possible. Human brain is a weird thing that even doctors don’t always understand. I’m sure it’s nothing too serious though and it will probably go away when you’re healed enough.” Bruce smiles at him kindly.
Tony hums, relieved and a bit abashed at being figured out so soon, then sniffs and says, “Well, thank you, Brucie Bear, you can run along now.”
Bruce just chuckles good-manneredly and waves a goodbye as he leaves the lab.
(“Aww, he’s leaving already?”)
Tony sighs.
This is going to be a long recovery.
April 12th
The next day, he is feeling lots better as he enters the lab to finish Hulkbuster. His headache is still there, but there hadn’t been any ghostly specters in the bedroom or the kitchen, so he figures he’s safe.
Alas, when he opens the door, the ghost kid is still there.
His face lights up as Tony steps in.
“Mr. Stark! You’re back!”
Tony sighs, his shoulders slumping a bit. Then he sets his jaw and heads stiffly to his workspace, resolutely ignoring the babble that follows him. If he pretends it doesn’t exist, it doesn’t exist.
(“It’s been so lonely here, I’m glad you’re back! Even if you seem to be ignoring me again… It’s okay though! I’m kind of used to it by now-“)
By six o’clock that afternoon, Tony’s had it. He's barely done any work, and he past caring about looking like a madman, he’s got to stop that incessant noise.
“And then we went to this really cool exhibition-“
“Would you please shut it?!”
Sweet, blessed silence.
“Sir?” JARVIS asks.
“Not you, him!” he can’t help but snap. He regrets the words the very second they leave his mouth.
He can see the ghost flinching. There’s an uncertain pause, before the ghost kid answers in quiet, subdued voice “…okay”, and Tony feels the already gathering guilt rising up in an enormous wave and drowning him.
He opens his mouth, to say- to apologize-, but the kid has already turned away, sitting down on the floor with his back turned to Tony. He swallows painfully and tries to focus on the blueprints before him. There’s still a lot of work to be done.
However, after ten minutes in deafening, deep silence, Tony has to give up. He gets up and leaves the lab, consciously avoiding even looking at the ghost’s spot.
His concentration had been shot to hell anyway so he’ll listen to Bruce’s advice for once and stays out of the lab until the concussion has healed. He reminds himself that it’s okay to have bad days so many times that evening that he almost forgets the uncomfortable, vague feelings of shame and guilt welling up underneath.
Almost.
April 16th
He makes it four days before he ends up going back again.
The hissing of the automated door cuts through the quiet like a knife. He winces as he looks around the lab, searching for the Casper wannabe.
“…kid?”
Only silence greets him.
A part of him is relieved that the hallucination or whatever the specter thing was is gone, just as another part in him feels aggrieved that the last thing he did to it was to yell. (And he’s very aware that it’s probably not very sane to be sad at how he had treated his own hallucinations. It’s not as if they had real feelings or anything.)
He sighed deeply, making his way to his usual work table (that he finally had direct access to), when-
There’s subtle movement in his peripheral vision.
“Woah!” he startles, jumping up a foot.
Looks like the ghost kid is still there, only in a different spot this time, staring at him in silence. It’s kind of unnerving, actually.
“Uhh…hi?” he tries, smiling hesitantly.
The ki- the ghost continues to stare, his eyebrows scrunching up into a little frown, his mouth turning into a ridiculously adorable, childish pout. The latent quilt he’s been battling with the past four days comes to the forefront again, and stabs him hard.
“Umm, can we not do the creepy Ring ghost vibes? And go back to Casper the Friendly Ghost instead? Please?”
A feeling Tony can’t decipher flickers across his face, and the kid looks to the side, hunching a bit and crossing his arms across his chest protectively. He looks even younger this way. Tony can feel his heart giving a sharp, painful thud.
He takes a long breath and releases it slowly, gathering his wits.
“I’m sorry.”
The kid’s head whips around to look back at him. His eyes are wide, expression surprised.
“I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
The kid searches his face, as if looking for something.
He tries his best to look remorseful and earnest. (Which isn’t all that hard, because he really is sorry.)
A moment passes.
The kid’s posture slowly unwinds and he gets a small, hesitant smile. Tony breaks up in a grin at the sight, clapping his hands together.
“So. Let’s start this again. My name is Tony. What’s yours?”
A long silence.
“…Peter.”
Tony smiles encouragingly. “That’s a good name. Now, I’ve got to ask. I got a clean bill of health yesterday so you shouldn’t be a hallucination. Which begs the question, what exactly are you?” He tries to keep his tone teetering on the edge of nonchalant and soft so as to not scare or offend the specter.
The kid’s face scrunches in confusion.
“You thought I was a hallucination?” He seems to consider the statement, before shrugging. “Fair enough, you did hit your head quite hard.” The ghost’s eyes fill with worry as he glances at Tony. “Are you really okay?”
“As good as I can be, given that I’m apparently a ghost whisperer.”
The kid grants him a shy grin. Tony grins back. There’s a short silence, before he blurts out a “So. What’s your deal? How did you – end up like that?” He winces a little, but Peter doesn’t seem offended. He wavers a bit, shifting his metaphorical weight around uncomfortably, and glances down.
“I don’t…actually know. I just woke up one day and I was like this.”
There’s something in the shifting and staring down that makes Tony think the kid’s not being completely honest, but he lets it go. The kid is clearly too agitated by the subject and he doesn’t want to push. He sweeps his eyes over the workshop for a safer topic and spots the experimental materials for the Hulkbuster parts waiting in the corner. He vaguely remembers something about building and computers from the kid’s monologue four days ago, so he turns back to the kid and says, “That’s okay. Tell me one thing though, were you any good at tech stuff?”
“Umm, kind of? I made my own computer if that counts?” he says bashfully and if he was still corporeal, Tony knows he would see an embarrassed flush on his face. He just grins wide. “Great! Then you should be able to follow a tutorial on how to upgrade a Hulkbuster suit.”
The kid’s eyes grow so wide that Tony almost gets concerned.
“Really?” His voice has also gone up a few pitches.
“Yeah, if you’re up to it?” he asks amusedly.
The kid is almost vibrating at this point.
“Yes!”
Tony chuckles. “Come on then, I’ll show you the blueprints first.”
They go to the workstation where Tony pulls up the hologram and starts explaining.
To his surprise, the kid is reasonably familiar with the blueprints already, follows even the more complex parts of his explanation and even asks some relevant questions.
Honestly, Tony is pretty impressed.
And when they get to the actual assembling part, he’s even more surprised to find that the kid suggests some stuff even he hasn’t thought of. Not a lot, (after all, there aren’t many things Tony doesn’t account for) but enough to indicate that the kid is (was?) a genius of his own. He ends up adding an aerosol sedative – the formula of which he lets the kid create, though he plans on running it by Banner first before manufacturing it – to the suits functions.
All in all and to his surprise, they have a great time, and the kid waves an enthusiastic “Good night! See you tomorrow!” as he heads up for the night.
(The smile on his face as he waves back with a “See you tomorrow, Underoos!” is more genuine than he is prepared to admit and it widens to an outright grin when he hears the offended squawk his response causes.)
April 17th – 27th
During the next week and a half, working on different projects with the ghost kid becomes a habit. Each day he heads down to the lab, greets the kid, and explains the work he’s doing while he does it. They work on many kinds of projects; starting from the Hulkbuster and continuing with some Stark Industries and Mark XLII stuff, with some recreational robotics thrown in just for fun.
Peter soaks it all up like a sponge, with such a high capacity to learn and understand difficult concepts and complicated blueprints that it would feel almost supernatural if Tony hadn’t been exactly the same at his age.
In a total 180 from the first lab day with the ghost kid, Tony starts actually enjoying the constant prattling. It’s weirdly comforting, having someone firing questions and stream-of-thought to him continuously. A loneliness he never even realized he’d begun to feel dissipates, this warm presence filling up its place. The only other people he’s been this comfortable with in a lab have been Bruce and Rhodey, but it’s been a while since he’s actively hang out with either one of them. Bruce has his own projects in upstairs lab and gigs with S.H.I.E.L.D. that keep him pretty busy and Rhodey’s on another tour. The company is a welcome change.
The easy camaraderie is also the reason for the fact that while he still puts in inhumanly long hours at the lab, it’s now less because of a workaholic’s work binge, and more because of him not wanting to leave the cozy atmosphere they’ve created there.
On a Thursday exactly a week after he had talked to the kid again, he’s spacing out for a bit, staring at the kid studying an article about the Lagrangian dual problem and humming a song he doesn’t recognize under his breath, when a realization strikes him hard.
He doesn’t know how old the kid is.
He’s obviously a kid. His small stature and innocent aura give that much away, as do the occasional references to homework and school subjects. But he could be anything from 10 to 15 tops. Most likely from the younger side of the spectrum. The numerous mentions of the kid’s best friend, Ted, don’t help in narrowing it down, either. What Tony has gathered from Peter’s stories, they’re both kind of naïve, but also extremely smart. They could be freshmen in college, for all he knows. And he never mentions any family, so that’s also no help.
Apparently he has been ruminating for too long, because the kid glances up, and upon seeing his face, immediately asks, “what?”
“I… know you said you didn’t remember how you got turned into a Casper-“
“-you’re making it sound weird, please stop-”
“-but, you evidently remember some things at least. You remember your name. You remember the periodic table by heart. You’re like a walking encyclopedia of tech and science and math stuff. You must’ve been really smart.”
The kid, clearly embarrassed but pleased, looks down with a bashful smile.
Tony tries to get back on track.
“But I was wondering… Do you remember how old you…were?”
At this, Peter stills, the same cagey look spreading over his downturned face as when he was asked how he ended up how as a ghost.
“You don’t have to tell me, of course, if you don’t want—”
“…13.” The word is so faint, he first thinks he imagined it.
“What?”
Peter seems to collect himself and stares right into his eyes with a look that suddenly seems so much more mature than the number of years he speaks of. “I’m – I was thirteen years old. I think.”
13. Older than he thought, but still. Only a middle-schooler. Thirteen meager years of life, cut short. Something in Tony’s chest thumps painfully.
He tries to cover his uneasiness with a smooth quip. “Wow, you must’ve been a midget in elementary school.”
It doesn’t get the intended response. Instead of squeaking in indignation as usual, Peter looks back down again, some unidentifiable emotion tightening his features.
Sensing that he must’ve stumbled on a sore spot, Tony quickly changes subjects.
“So… What do you know about space-time theories?”
A familiar, characteristic curiosity sparks the kid’s eyes, chasing away the shadows of their previous conversation. Tony watches the kid excitedly recap his knowledge with fondness curling his lips, relief loosening his shoulders and a heaviness settling into his heart.
Later, when he’s alone upstairs, he falls asleep to thoughts about Peter’s cheerful, inherent goodness and the unfairness of it all.
April 28th
During the one and a half weeks since he started talking to the kid again, he only misses a lab night twice – once because of a rare date night with Pepper and once because of an Avengers mission to Sudan.
The mission in question was only two days ago, but they already have info about another base, this time in Sokovia. The bases have been fairly standard, even if there was a Code Green in the last place, but something tells him to be more wary this time around.
That’s why this time he’s launching the Hulkbuster back to the satellite, just in case.
Peter, as always, is asking questions the moment he realizes this isn’t a routine lab visit. The kid bounces excitedly on his toes in his spot and fires question after question for him as he sets everything up.
“Where are you going?”
“That’s a secret.”
“C’mon, Mr. Stark! It’s not like I could tell anyone.”
It’s mostly the thinly veiled bitterness he can hear on the kid’s voice that makes him blurt out, “Sokovia.”
“Oh. Where’s that?”
“I thought you were supposed to be some sort a child genius? Why don’t you tell me?”
“No fair! I asked you. Besides, I’m not that good at geography. I think it’s somewhere in Europe, but I could be wrong.”
“Spot on, kiddo, it’s in central Europe, next to the Czech Republic.”
It’s funny how something so arbitrary like an off-hand compliment can brighten the kid’s face so much. He doesn’t deserve this kid. The world certainly didn’t, but in that line of thought lies a short way to spiraling and depression so he’s glad that the kid chooses that moment to ask another question.
“Is it HYDRA again?”
“Yupp.”
There’s a moment of silence that stretches enough that Tony looks up from the launch program.
The kid is frowning at the screens.
“You didn’t take Hulkbuster with you the last time.”
“No I didn’t.”
The kid throws a sharp glance at him.
“So why are you bringing it this time?”
Tony’s hands pause. “I’m…not sure. A feeling, I guess.”
“A bad feeling?”
There’s something in the kid’s voice that makes Tony’s brows crease in concern and wariness seep into his voice as he answers.
“Yeah, of a sort.”
Peter looks away, something foreign twisting his expression, and an uneasy feeling settles into Tony’s stomach. It could be the sushi from last night, but Tony doubts it.
“Peter?”
He can practically see the kid trying to contain something – an emotion or words or something – shoulders tense and fists clenched before he turns back towards him. The foreign expression flashes once across it and leaves a painfully sincere vulnerability in its wake.
“Just…,” the kid says, “just stay safe.”
Tony looks at his eyes a moment longer, eyes he now realizes are full of fear, and nods uncharacteristically seriously. “I will.”
As he leaves the lab and walks to the quinjet, he feels the heaviness of that promise settling into his bones.
He will come back, not only for Pepper and Happy and Rhodey and JARVIS, but for the lonely ghost kid waiting for him.
The raid turns up to be a non-standard one, but not in a way Tony initially thought.
Yeah, the tech is very advanced – not as much as his own except for the stuff at with the scepter – but nothing they haven’t seen before.
It’s the scepter.
His gut feeling had been right.
This is something else.
Not a severe Code Green as he’d assumed, but something unexpected, something potentially even worse.
It’s the wormhole, it’s the outworldly threat on a scale almost beyond his wildest nightmares. Almost.
It’s his team, his family, on the ground, beaten.
Bruce. Nat. Clint. Thor. Steve.
Peter.
He has only known the kid for little under a month (or month and a half if you counted the cold spot days), but the vision of him sprawled on the ground, in full technicolor, pajamas a faded blue, dark hair matted with bright red, dark eyes dull and leeched of life; dead in a more concrete way than he’s used to, strikes a chord within him.
It’s Steve who says the words that would drive him in the coming days.
(“You could’ve saved us.
Why didn’t you do more?”)
But it’s the last, pleading, nearly inaudible ones at the very end of the vision that hone that drive into a single-minded, desperation-fueled obsession.
(“Please save the others Mr. Stark. Please.”)
The implications are not lost on him: save the others when you couldn't save me.
Tony tries.
When they return to the Avengers Tower, he drops by his personal lab to tell the kid a child-appropriate version of their adventure (the kid loves the secret door thing, just like he expected). He doesn’t do it to make sure the kid’s still there, no, he just thought the kid would like a nice story before Tony goes AWOL in his creation frenzy. That’s it.
The night of the party he’s more distracted and restless than usual. A part of it is because he’s worrying about Ultron, but another part feels…bereft for not going to the downstairs lab for three days in a row. Bruce and him have been working on the project in their mutual lab upstairs, and a part of him is glad that Peter happened to manifest in his personal lab downstairs because this is a bit too high-profile for the kid. (There’s a nagging voice in the back of his head questioning if he’s actually relieved that the kid can’t see what he’s doing, because the bright-eyed youth would hate him for it. He tries his best to ignore it.)
Still, he’s been feeling a vague something for not visiting Peter linger all evening, especially when they try to lift Thor’s hammer (the kid would have gone nuts). However, when the first bot crashes through the ceiling, his first feeling is a burst of panic. The rational part of him knows that Ultron couldn’t have done anything to Peter, but the other part thinks of the electromagnetic activity linked to Peter’s presence and wildly wonders if Ultron could manipulate the electromagnetic fields on the lab somehow.
That’s why immediately after the argument in the upper lab, he rushes downstairs.
“Peter? Pete?”
Even as he says this, his eyes catch on to the clear figure in the middle of the lab and his shoulders slump in relief.
“Yeah?” The kid looks at him, clearly startled by his disheveled appearance and frantic tone.
“Oh God, you’re alright.” Tony takes a moment just to breathe.
The kid is still watching him warily.
“What happened?”
Tony looks up incredulously.
“You mean you didn’t hear?”
Peter looks away, shifting uncomfortably.
“No, I was… spacing out.”
There’s something odd in his tone, but Tony disregards it in favor of recounting the evening’s events. The tale takes all of Peter’s attention, drawing him out of whatever weird mood he’d been in previously and leaving him in wide-eyed wonder, shock and excitement. (The kid does flip his shit when he hears of the rigged hammer game.)
Peter seems to understand his reasoning for creating Ultron, though Tony can clearly see that he doesn’t necessarily agree with it. But any misgivings he has seem to disappear in the face of his excitement over the scepter’s abilities and the endless possibilities it created. Tony has to interrupt his stream-of-thought about increased processing power and its’ potential (most of which sounded scarily close to what he’s been talking about with Bruce) to continue his story. The only time he seems to revert back to a more somber mood is when Tony tells him about JARVIS.
“It- it killed him?” The kid stammers.
“Essentially, yes. Though it can be debated whether an artificial intelligence can actually be killed or not,” Tony forces the words out over an odd lump in his throat. He coughs slightly to cover the tremble in his voice. He feels simultaneously better and worse as the kid’s voice cracks on his next words.
“But why?”
Tony sighs. “JARVIS tried to shut him down when it was apparent that his intentions were more in the murder-bot scale than the Iron Legion one. And Ultron didn’t like that.”
The kid looks perturbed.
“So he just murdered him.”
There’s a moment of solemn silence. Tony lets the moment stretch for a bit, giving Peter the chance to come to terms with the news before resuming his story. He glosses over the argument in the upstairs lab and concludes his story by pulling up the alternate AI options from a drawer. The kid seems glad to have something else than JARVIS to concentrate on.
“Why FRIDAY?”
“See, Underoos, there’s this piece of literature called Robinson Crusoe, not that you—”
“No, no, I know where it’s from, but if it’s an artificial intelligence, shouldn’t you at least ask their opinion? They can give one and it’s only fair they get an opinion.”
Tony stares at the kid, dumbfounded. “…huh. You’re right kid, I totally should.”
He activates FRIDAY, deletes the setting for name recognition and asks the question.
“AI, do you have any preference on what you’d like to be called?”
“I have no pre-programmed preferences.”
“I’m not asking about anything programmed, I’m asking your opinion. Would you mind being called FRIDAY or do you prefer some other title?”
“Assessing,” the AI answers. A few seconds pass – seconds during which Tony can see pride shining in the kid’s eyes as he watches on.
“I wouldn’t mind being called FRIDAY. The underlying meaning of deep loyalty and friendship is something I can see myself harboring towards my creator. Thank you, sir, for asking.”
Tony smiles. “Don’t thank me. All credit goes to the kid.”
“’The kid’, sir?” The AI sounds hesitant.
For a second, Tony’s face falls (and he can see Peter’s shoulders slumping as well).
“…ah. Run a thermal check on the room, would you?”
“Certainly.” A microsecond passes. “There seems to be a malfunction in the heating of the room. Shall I schedule a checkup?”
A wistful smile stretches the corners of Tony’s mouth at the bittersweet familiarity of it.
“Nah. Leave it alone. You couldn’t do anything about it. And I actually prefer it that way.” He grins at Peter who grins back. “Anyway, that’s the kid, usually known as Kid, Underoos, Casper, Danny Phantom and so forth. Also answers the name ‘Peter’. He’s usually the one I’ll be talking to here so there’s no reason to sic the white-coats on me, FRI.” The kid is shaking his head in amused resignation. He’s long since stopped trying to make Tony give up calling him names.
“Understood, sir,” FRIDAY answers.
He sets up a few algorithms to track Ultron, hoping to delay the inevitable, but eventually he’s done everything he can.
“Now, I would love to stay longer, kid, but I have a murderbot to stop. See you around.” He imbues his tone with false bravado and nonchalance and avoids looking up, not wanting to see the lonesome picture of Peter alone in the lab.
“See you around Mr. Stark! Stay safe and come back soon.” The beginning of the kid’s response is full of forced cheer, but the ending rings hauntingly sincere in his ears, echoing the last time. He meets the kid’s eyes for a fleeting second, drops the façade and nods seriously.
He will do anything to come back again, to not leave Peter without anyone to see him, to talk to him.
They get the message about Strucker not long after.
The next few days are somewhat a chaotic blur.
First he’s fighting Klaue, then he’s somehow fighting the Hulk (he knew the Hulkbuster would be needed this time, he knew it).
Then there’s the startling revelation that master assassin Barton actually has a family. (That long afternoon in the farm is the time when he misses Peter the most.)
And then they’re back in the thick of it and hours and events blur into an indefinite, ulcer-inducing, panic-y thing.
April 8th
He only visited the kid once in that sequence of catastrophes, after he got back from Norway and they’d created Vision.
(“Bad news kid, the sedative didn’t work.”
“Mr. Stark! Oh. I’m sorry! Can you pull up the formula for me? I’ll try to figure out where I went wrong.”
For a heartbeat, Tony’s surprised. He expected same kind of melancholy silence he had left the kid in. Instead, the kid’s face is etched in quiet determination. A bit grim, still, not his usual cheery self, but not nearly as gloomy as he would have expected him to be. Then again, Peter seems to be an exception on many levels.
“Sure. Don’t beat yourself up about it though, I showed it to Brucie and he couldn’t do any better either.”
“You showed my formula to Dr. Banner?!! And you didn’t tell me?!!!)
He almost hadn’t mentioned Vision. He had dreaded the idea of telling Peter that the AI he’d evidently gotten attached to would still not be returning. However, he’d misjudged Peter’s fanboy factor.
(“Wow!!! He’s turned into a real person?!!” – “more like a robot, or a cyborg, I’d say” – “So cooool!!!”)
Now, flying back to the Tower, he finds himself looking forward to seeing the kid again. It has been a long couple of days and he just wants to throw himself back into the comfort of his own lab.
He rushes out of the elevator, preparing to make a sufficiently dramatic entrance.
“Six o’clock and aaaaaall’s well!”
His answer is a long-suffering groan. “Mr. Stark, that’s such an old reference.”
“Nice to see you too and how dare you, you clearly have no taste for the classics.”
The kid just smiles and shakes his head. “Nice to see you too, Mr. Stark. Everything’s fine then?”
“Mostly. The world’s not in danger anymore and all that jazz, although there were a lot of casualties.” He says, more somber now as he remembers the preliminary numbers of dead Sokovians. Sometimes he wonders if he just exchanged one type of war for another. If he’s doing the wrong thing again.
“But you won?” the kid asks, eyes shining with naivety and a desperate need to believe that his heroes did the right thing. That good can come even from a bad situation. That they didn’t lose more than they won.
Tony wonders this himself. In his mind, if the dead count rises to one person, that’s too much. This much…this much is beyond too much. But as he looks at the kid’s guileless eyes, he can see that that isn’t the answer the kid needs. So he steels himself, sets his doubts aside and says with a reassuring smile, “We sure did, kid.”
The kid beams, like sunshine after a particularly vicious tempest. “I knew you would!”
He wishes he could believe that as well.
There’s been a decision simmering in his thoughts for a while now. A decision based on two promises he’d made. He’d already promised Pepper he’d give up the suits. And now, he’d promised Peter that he’d come back safely. Twice in a row. Those promises combined with the visions and the clusterfuck that was Sokovia made him come to a realization. If he continued on this track for much longer, there’d be no coming back. And he owed Pepper (and Peter) to be there for them. So he’s decided. He will hang up the suit. Give up Avenging and just focus on making the people closest to him happy.
Maybe with this, he won’t feel like he traded one war for another anymore. Maybe now he can also tinker with some SI projects and not feel vague guilt about the leftover armor lying around. Maybe he’ll have more time with Pepper too. At the very least he won’t have reason to feel guilty around her anymore. And maybe he’ll finally have the time to figure out what really happened to Peter.
For the next week or so, Tony concentrates strictly on self-care aka lots of lab time (regardless of what Pepper claims, lab time is self-care for him), some good food and a handful of date nights with Pep.
She’d been a bit sceptic, but ultimately proud of his decision of retiring from the Avengers business. Of course, he still funded the Stark Relief Fund and his people were sorting out the disasters of Johannesburg and Sokovia, but he wasn’t directly involved anymore. He really was trying, in ways he hadn’t been before. And that, it seems, made all the difference for Pep. She’d been very pleased and they’d had a couple of really lovely nights, dining out in their favorite places or having a movie night in Tony’s penthouse or Pepper’s apartment.
During lab time, he's positively chipper, trading quips and banter with the kid, who had started to open up and relax even more. It seems that the kid had finally started to trust that Tony wasn’t going to abandon him like he did before. He still hadn’t coughed up the names of his parents or guardians, but Tony was content to wait, to let the kid speak in his own pace.
After his week of part-time vacation (he still had some SI stuff to do), he started organizing a move from the Avengers Tower to a new facility upstate. This, more than anything else, convinced Pepper he truly meant what he’d said this time. They’d have the Tower back to themselves again, no Avengers business whatsoever.
The Avengers moving upstate also meant that the Tower is unusually quiet at times. In part it is a good thing; when Tony drove for the opening of the new Avengers Facility, he’d managed to have a cordial, even playful conversation with Cap. In other parts, it was…quiet.
So he concentrates on Pepper, SI and the kid.
He goes on more dates and adult pajama parties with Pepper. Has a meeting with some big name in PYM Tech. Teaches the kid the basics of nanotechnology and its' possible applications. Builds, deconstructs, banters, listens to some music. Repeats.
As April slowly transitions into May, he finds out that the kid mostly likes indie rock and alternative rock. They take turns on requesting songs from FRIDAY and the lab echoes with tunes from Alt-J and MGMT to AC/DC and Iron Maiden. On an occasion they also belt out some Queens and ABBA together, air-guitars and dance moves and all. Peter is a surprisingly okay, if a bit off-beat singer.
They also find out that Peter has gradually been able to move more and more. At first he was confined to a couple meters radius from the original spot he appeared in, but by first of May the whole lab is his territory. Peter is clearly over the moon by his new autonomy and shows it by whizzing from one end of the lab to the other and walking on the ceiling.
They also test out his other ghostly abilities out of pure curiosity. Somehow the actual ghost-ness isn’t a sensitive topic for Peter even if the situation preceding the ghostifying seems to be.
Tony has an entire spreadsheet dedicated for the different aspects and timelines for Peter’s abilities. There some things that Peter doesn’t remember when he learnt to do them – like floating and entering a half-aware state that resembles sleep. But for the others there is a detailed description of the situation and the time he got the ability. They find out that Peter can move around with no regards to gravity, shift through things, but he can’t touch things or be seen or heard by Pepper or FRIDAY. (Tony hasn’t told Pepper about the kid, though. He doesn’t really know how to tell her. The kid is too good and too absurd of a thing to hallucinate, but he can’t figure out why he is the only one to see him. So he doesn’t tell her.)
Tony also keeps a secret spreadsheet of the times Peter mentions anything about his previous life or he himself deducts something about the kid. He’s classified Peter’s accent as a Queens one. The kid’s also mentioned Delmar’s, a sandwich shop from Queens, once, so Tony thinks that he must’ve been either born there or at least spent a good chunk of his life there.
There are also the kid’s friends. Ned (no surname, nickname?), MJ (short for Mary Jane?) and Liz (Elizabeth? Lizbeth? Lyzanne?). There’s also someone called Flash, of all things, and from Peter’s tone Tony has gathered this Flash character is more of a bully than a friend. He has marked all these names down, but since he doesn’t know their real names, it’s been of no use in running any database searches. The only result he gets with running a search on “Peter” and “Queens” is an article about a kid winning a science fair. But the kid in question is named Pedro Parker, not Peter, and there’s no picture so it’s of no use.
(He really needs to get Rhodey’s password again so he can get to the databases that really matter, but he knows his friend would ask what it’s for and he isn’t quite ready to disclose the situation to him, so he postpones it.)
He’s gotten the feeling that the kid’s parents are either dead or gone, but he hasn’t been able to find out who the kid’s guardians are. All he knows is that as the new month begins, the kid is more melancholy for some reason. It’s not a big change. The kid is naturally very cheerful if a bit shy at times, but will talk one’s ear off about science at any chance. He’s just a little more subdued. But Tony still notices it, and makes sure to come up with more puzzles and mind games to keep the kid’s mind off of other, depressing things. He also starts to have movie nights with the kid and sometimes leaves a queue for the kid on the days he has to do SI stuff or goes on another date.
He always feels a sense of gratification when he sees Peter happy, smiling or completely absorbed into whatever they’re doing, be it watching a movie, tinkering or bantering or a mixture of all three. It spreads a wonderful feeling of warm contentment in his chest. To know that he was part of the reason why the kid is happy and not lost in his melancholy thoughts. There’s a quiet pride in it, similar to how he feels when he makes Pepper smile or Rhodey laugh. That feeling, alongside the rising affection towards the kid make him want to do more; make the kid laugh more and smile more. Besides, considering his current circumstances the kid’s smiles and laughs are so heartwarmingly genuine and miraculously unburdened and joyful and bright that they seem like a gift in themselves.
There’s always such ease in hanging out with the kid, a sense of a missing piece falling into place, that sometimes Tony forgets that the kid is a ghost. The times are rare, it’s an inescapable reality, but there are still some moments. He’s half-way through asking Peter to hand him a tool or patting his back, when he chokes on the sentence or halts his movements. Luckily, Peter usually shrugs those moments off with a smile.
The most heartbreaking moments, however, are the ones where Tony can see the jarring difference of realities hit home for the kid. Peter can be rambling off and reaching out absent-mindedly to pick up a spare part or grab a handle just to come to a sudden stop, his rambling cutting off abruptly. He would stare at his hands like they didn't belong to him, frozen in the moment until Tony's gentle prompting sets him rambling off again like nothing happened.
Those moments make his heart bleed, send him on a desperate search for ways to materialize electromagnetic movements. But his efforts are all in vain and he usually goes to bed disappointed and bracing himself for the nightmares he’s bound to have.
But usually the effects aren’t very long-lasting and Peter acts fine the day after, like he’s already forgotten the moment.
Then the really bad day happens.
He's fixing his armor when all of a sudden he's hit with a vivid flashback.
Dry sand in his mouth. Rough voices shouting. Painpainpainpain.
"Mr. Stark!"
The good doctor. Dead. A paralyzing noise. A foreign, malicious smirk on Obie's face.
“Mr. Stark!! DUM-E help me!”
Helplessness. Painpainpainpain.
The wormhole.
The bodies of his teammates, his family, littering the ground.
“You could’ve stopped this.”
Peter, very much corporeal, face bloodied, limbs twisted unnaturally and – and eyes vacant –
A mechanical claw tapping on his arm returns him back to reality.
Beside the familiar angles of DUM-E, Peter's face is creased in worry and fear, looking more alive than the very vivid nightmare ever was, despite his incorporeality.
“Mr. Stark are you okay?”
Tony grunts as he sits up to a more comfortable position, eyes magnetically drawn to his knees. The one thing he didn’t want the kid to know…
But it was bound to happen. The panic attacks come and go and while they had tapered off, they still popped up whenever it was most inconvenient.
“I’m alright,” he says gruffly, still looking away.
He’s a bit more thrown off than usual by this one and spends the next moments to gather his wits. It’s also been a while since the last one and deep down he’s known the reason for that for a while already. He’s been more relaxed, more happy in the last few months than he’s been in a long time. Despite Pepper and their distance, despite the difficulties of letting go of Iron Man, despite losing Brucie Bear, despite the mess that was Ultron and the resulting tension between the Avengers. Despite it all, he’s had a place to truly escape all that and to have fun.
All because of Peter.
It’s with this thought that Tony slowly re-emerges into the reality, his gaze seeking out the familiar form before he even consciously realizes it.
A form that isn’t where it was last.
A form that’s nowhere to be seen.
He sits up in alarm.
“Peter? Peter where are you?”
Silence rings in his ears.
Now properly spooked out, Tony stumbles to his feet and surveys the lab. Words that had been a habit just a while ago, fall out again. “FRIDAY, where’s the cold—”
Just as he’s saying that, he sees him.
Peter is crouched in a corner, sitting with his head between his knees just like he did a moment ago. Looking impossibly small and young.
He approaches slowly.
“Pete? Are you…are you okay?”
No answer.
The situation is eerily resembling the one where he had shouted and hurt Peter.
“Peter? Are you…are you okay?”
A moment of silence. Then, the kid speaks, his voice subdued and oddly muffled.
“I couldn't help you. I tried speaking but it did nothing. I tried touching you, but my hand went right through you. I can do nothing.”
The kid sighs heavily.
“You know... I don't remember what a hug feels like anymore. I used to love being hugged, but now it’s been so long that I can't even remember and it's...it's just hard.” His voice comes out tiny and strangled, and Tony’s heart goes out for him. He has never felt a more urgent need to comfort, to reassure, to envelop someone in a safe, warm blanket of security, of gravity, of corporeality.
He wants to give the kid all the hugs in the world and it physically hurts not being able to.
“I know, kid. I know.”
The next bit comes so quietly that Tony almost misses it.
“I miss them so much.”
The brittle grief and bleeding vulnerability in the kid’s voice breaks Tony’s heart into tiny, throbbing pieces.
He spends the rest of the night beside the kid, murmuring every comforting phrase he knows and waiting for his aching heart to stop hurting.
It never does.
The next day he wakes to a sore back (he slept on the couch in the lab), the kid’s embarrassed apologies (which are completely unnecessary and he tells him so) and an iron-clad determination.
He will find a way to help his kid. Whatever it takes.
He starts by trying harder to fish out the kid’s situation after that. He figures that learning where the kid comes from and how he ended up as a ghost would be the quickest way to either let him move on or somehow make him corporeal.
Therefore, on a random Tuesday a few days after their mutual meltdown, he approaches the subject.
He’s doing blueprint work with Peter floating across the hologram. Tony wanted to make sure he could see the kid’s face so he could determine if he’s lying. For all that Peter’s fairly tight-lipped about his family, Tony’s found that he’s a terrible liar. His voice always goes an octave higher, his face blanks and he makes a forcibly nonchalant change of the subject.
“So, kid. You’ve been haunting me-”, “very funny, Mr. Stark”, “-for a few months now. I know about your friends, your favorite subject, your frankly unhealthy Star Wars obsession-“, “hey!”, “-yet I don’t even know your surname.” He fixes the kid with a mock-stern glance, careful to keep his tone light. “I think it’s time to spill. Speak up. Monologue as much as you want!” He fixes the kid with a solemn stare that belies his humorous tone.
Trust me, he tries to convey with his expression and body language.
You can tell me anything.
Tell me how to help you.
Peter is visibly hesitant, but not straight up avoidant like in previous cases.
Tony decides to push a bit more.
“You know you can trust me, right? Or do you have some other reason you don’t want to tell me?”
“I—I know Mr. Stark.” There’s a reassuring sincerity behind Peter’s eyes. “It’s just…hard.” The kid halts for a moment. Tony senses that that the pause isn’t a subject change, but more in the line of Peter gathering his thoughts. He lets him, content to wait. There’s a frisson of excitement, of triumph, when the kid raises his gaze with clear resolution set upon his features.
He’s going to tell me.
He trusts me.
Tony hides the uncharacteristic giddy grin that accompanies the thought.
Take that, Howard.
“At first, I didn’t remember anything,” the boy starts. “I woke up in this lab and the first time you came in, I didn’t know who you were, because I didn’t even remember who I was.”
There’s a sort of strained detachment to the kid’s voice as he speaks, and Tony can only imagine the confusion and panic that the kid must’ve gone through in the early days.
“Do you remember when this was?” He asks before Peter can get too drawn into the memories of those days.
“I don’t know, maybe early March? You don’t keep a calendar down here so it’s hard to say,” the kid says, absent-minded.
“You were saying about the remembering…?” Tony tries again.
“Right.” The kid snaps back to the present. “The first thing to come back was my first name, of course. And then followed the general knowledge about school subjects, the things I liked, the things I hated…that sort of stuff.” Peter waves his hand dismissively. “But you know some of that stuff already.”
Tony nods and smiles encouragingly. Peter gives a sheepish smile back.
“Then I remembered the little things. Memories from childhood, from school. I…remembered I don’t have any parents. I think they died when I was young, because I don’t have any memories of them.” This is one of the rare occasions when Tony isn’t happy to be right.
Peter draws a bracing breath. (Tony doesn’t know how that works, breathing while you’re dead. They’d tried to theorize that the spirit keeps the body’s habits, but that’s as far as they got.)
“I think I have an Aunt, though.”
The revelation comes in a small voice, sounding almost scared, like Peter’s afraid that the one thing he remembers about his surviving family will disappear if he says it any louder. Like he could lose that on top of his life and everything else.
There’s such a painful squeezing in his chest that for a second Tony’s afraid that he’s having a heart attack out of the blue. But instead it’s just the dense sadness tinged with outrage at what the world has put this child through crushing his lungs and making it hard to talk. He perseveres though, and asks, tentatively, “What’s her name?”
The kid’s face crumbles.
“I don’t remember.”
They don’t speak about it again for days. Instead, they throw themselves into experimenting yet again.
They do the movement test, the influence test – or the Poltergeist test, as they’ve started to call it – and the sensing test alongside a variety of new tests mostly derived from what pop culture says ghosts can do.
(“Wanna try possessing me?”
“What?! No, Mr. Stark! That’d be gross.”
“Are you calling me gross, kid? I’ll show you gross.”
“Ewwwww, Mr. Stark! I’m glad I can’t smell anything. I bet I’d faint if I did.”)
In the end, they don’t do the possession test (too creepy, even for their science-driven minds), but they do find out that Peter’s range of movement has improved. He can now wander away from the lab, but only in Tony’s company, for some reason. The range of this new mobility reaches just a couple of meters outside the Tower so they spend quite a few days exploring the Tower. Tony loves the way the kid's endless enthusiasm is overflowing whenever they enter a new room, the way he inspects every new inch with curious eyes. It brings back memories of exploring the Stark manor in his own childhood. With enough imagination, each room was transformed into a new world. It's that imagination and curiosity he sees in Peter now, and it makes him feel strangely nostalgic and wistful, but happy all the same.
Peter can also move some objects to some extent. The kid was so excited at this new development, that even Tony calling him Betelgause for the next three days afterwards didn’t stop him from opening drawers, banging doors and endlessly spinning a fidget spinner and an Inception whirligig all day long.
(“Do you think I should Ouija someone?”
“Peter, no. I doubt any of your friends would randomly start to Ouija, nevertheless in my vicinity and I refuse to be the creepy guy who approaches them with an Ouija board.”
“Ok, fair. MJ would probably throw eggs at you anyway.”
“Well I certainly won’t go now.”
He still stores the idea in the corner of his mind. If any of his other ideas don’t work, at least the kid would have a way to talk to his friends.)
The new developments seem to lift Peter’s spirits significantly. No one else can sense him, but at least he’s free to wander outside the lab and influence some things around him and he utilizes his newfound freedom with recklessness and gusto that causes Tony to gain his first grey hairs, but honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, pranking his subordinates with supernatural help is really fun. He particularly enjoyed Peter dropping stationery and other assorted items from tables and shelves every time Happy comes by. The badly hidden flinches Happy makes are hilarious.
When he hasn’t been making any more process on Peter’s past by the end of May, he looks at Peter stargazing happily on the roof of Tower and thinks, baby steps. Baby steps.
June 1st
Pepper is watching the news on her StarkPad, with Peter having chosen to watch with her rather than witness Tony’s pathetic attempts at cooking (according to Peter, he’s worse than the kid’s aunt), when something out of the ordinary happens.
The serious news sections has just gone and the newsreader is going on about some missing vigilante, when Peter abruptly gasps loudly and actually jumps in place.
Tony sends him a surreptitious glance, asking silently if he’s okay, but Peter doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s stuck staring at the screen, and if weren’t poor taste, Tony would even say he looks as if he’s seen a ghost.
Inconspicuously, he abandons the marinara sauce and sneaks to the hallway. Luckily Peter is situated behind the couch so Tony manages to squeeze in between him and Pepper.
“What are you looking at there, honey?” he asks in a pointedly loud voice.
Pepper flinches a bit, clearing not having heard him move to the dining room. “Oh, it’s just the local news section. They’ve gone from the accident reports to the fluff part. There was a part about a new vigilante who saved a bunch of people and did some smaller scale good deeds. They were first seen in December last year and last seen sometime in February. They haven’t been seen since though and it seems that they’ve got some fans waiting for them to get back.”
Tony hums distractedly, trying to figure out why Peter would be spooked by them. Maybe they saved Peter…? Or maybe they’re not as nice as they seem.
“Maybe I should track them down. Check if they’re the real thing. Fury likes us to keep up to date with unknown vigilantes.”
Peter lets out an indecipherable small noise at his words, but with Pepper looking at him, he can’t turn around to evaluate the cause. Besides, Pepper is smiling in a way that steals all his attention and he can’t help but lean down to kiss her.
All too soon though, an unpleasant smell drifts down from the kitchen and the half an hour is spent trying to salvage the dinner. In the chaos that follows the little incident, he completely forgets the random vigilante and Peter’s reaction to them.
Just when Tony thought things were looking up, Peter's mood nosedives. A couple of days after the marinara incident, Peter's been uncharacteristically quiet and more down-trodden than usual to the point that Tony would say he's clearly depressed. The kid floats around the lab with an aura of gloom that’s closer to a classic scary ghost than his usual Casper-vibes, deep in troubled thoughts as evidenced by the crease in his forehead. Currently he's listlessly rolling a pen across the table, the same frown pulling down his eyebrows.
He’s been quiet for hours and by now Tony’s given up on trying to get him to talk so he’s startled by the sudden voice asking, "Do you think heroes should save everyone they come across?”
It’s a peculiar question to ask so out of the blue, but Tony’s just relieved that the kid is talking again that he answers immediately.
“Well, yeah,” Tony says, puzzled. “Everyone they can.”
Apparently that's the wrong thing to say, because the kid’s frown deepens and an inexplicable sadness drags his features down. There’s a moment of brooding silence, before the kid asks again, “But what if the hero is hurt and physically can’t save people?”
And in a flash, the events from before the marinara incident flood Tony’s mind, his confusion clearing in an instant.
Oh.
He purposefully gentles his voice as he answers. “Sometimes heroes can’t save everyone. Even we make mistakes, you know. It’s human nature. Nobody can be perfect even if we would want to be.”
The kid seems to be reassured somewhat by this, and Tony feels torn between self-satisfaction for figuring out the reason of his kid’s gloom and slight bitterness at Spider-Man for failing to save his kid. Then he feels guilty, because the vigilante is missing, so Peter’s probably right in assuming that Spider-Man had a serious injury and is either still recovering from it or already dead. Luckily the kid seems to miss this jump in logic and starts asking Tony about his family history, of all things.
Tony answers his questions distractedly, making a mental note to check on the vigilante when he has the time. And figure out an excuse to get Rhodey to come by the Tower sometime next week, because now he really needs that password.
During the next few days, the kid’s mood gets better slowly, and by Friday, they’re back to their normal exchange of banter and quips between fiddling and building and creating. Even those are more enjoyable now that Peter can actually help Tony a little by handing him tools, connecting wires and twisting bolts. The poltergeist powers don’t always work, so Tony has to check on Peter's work constantly, but it’s clear that the kid enjoys every amount of helping he gets to do.
Then Saturday rolls around, bringing with it an unexpected guest.
June 6th
Rhodey’s been worried for quite a bit now. He’s used to Tony not being in contact for long periods of time (and vice versa when he’s on commissions), but there’s something different about it this time.
First of all, Tony quit being Iron Man. It had been a decision longtime coming, sure, but he never really thought he’d actually do it. Drop out from some missions maybe and move on to the funding and R&D side of things, but never in a million years would Rhodey have thought he’d hang up the suit entirely. He had thought Tony’s enormous guilt complex alone would’ve prevented that, not to mention his adrenaline addiction and his well-hidden bleeding heart. Then again, this is Tony so he shouldn’t be too surprised. The little bastard tends to surprise people in all possible ways.
Secondly, usually Tony called him. Or at least texted him on a semi-regular basis. It’s been two months of total communications blackout. Very uncharacteristic for the smartass motormouth that is Tony Stark.
So naturally, Rhodey concludes that something must be very wrong and prepares for a visit to the Tower. He arms himself with Tony’s favorite takeout (for possible heartaches), his War Machine bracelet (for a chance of a more physical threat) and lots of patience (for the inevitable battle of trying to extract information about Tony’s well-being), and sets out.
Upon his arrival, FRIDAY informs him that Tony is, unsurprisingly, in his lab. He’s sprawled under a contraption that looks suspiciously like an R2-D2 and he’s quietly muttering some calculations out loud.
“Tell me where the blue wire is.”
A pause.
“Correct. Now where should I connect it?”
A pause.
“Yeah, now-“
“Mr. Stark, Colonel Rhodes is here.”
There’s a muffled curse from beneath the robot and his friend rolls away from the robot, a slightly panicked expression flaring across his face before it falls into forced neutrality.
“Hi Tones, long time no see.” Rhodey fixes him with a pointed stare.
“Yeah, well, a multi-billion dollar company waits for no one. How’s DC?” The familiar detached, blithe tone is there again, and for a second Rhodey feels disappointed. Then he gathers all the patience he had pre-prepared for this trip and starts the information extraction process, starting with strategy one.
“Fine. Who were you talking to?”
“Uhhh, no one?” Tony gives him the exaggerated side glance, but Rhodey isn’t fooled.
“I heard you asking about some wires.”
“…I was talking to FRIDAY.”
“I didn’t hear FRIDAY answering.”
“I had her in my ear piece.”
Rhodey throws him a dubious glance (he isn’t wearing any), but sets the direct questioning aside for now, moving on to strategy number two: lulling the suspect into a false sense of security by dropping the subject, plying them with food, distracting them with food and attacking later.
“I brought pizza.”
Tony looks suspicious about the not-so-subtle subject change, but seems to let it go when Rhodey lifts two boxes of family-size meat lovers.
“Now we’re talking!”
They head up to the common room and spread the boxes on the table. They bicker a little about what to watch, Rhodey putting up just enough of a fight for his defeat to seem believable, before Tony puts on The Shawsank Redemption.
A half an hour into the movie, Rhodey decides it’s time to go for the kill. His friend’s eyes glued to the TV, three quarters of the pizza demolished before him. His shoulders are relaxed, the tightness around his eyes gone and his expression as close to contentment as Tony can get.
“Tones?”
“Hmm?” Tony answers distractedly.
“Why have you been exiling yourself here?”
“Oh, I haven’t, I really have been busy you know,” the answer comes easily, with the kind of casual honesty that Rhodey associates with a happy Tony. He basks in the first successful extraction for a minute before attempting a second one.
“Tones?”
“Yes, honey bear?”
Rhodey ignores the fake sugary tone.
“Who were you talking to?”
Instantly, the tension creeps back to Tony’s shoulders. Rhodey curses inwardly. He probably shouldn’t have jumped the gun right away. Oh well.
“I said, I was talking to FRIDAY,” Tony says, his tone defensive.
Rhodey lets the silence speak for himself.
Tony seems to debate with himself for some time, making weird facial expressions like he was having a non-verbal discussion with an invisible version of himself.
Rhodey can almost hear it.
The tilt of Tony’s head seems to ask, “should I?”
The frown following it seems to indicate a strong reason for not telling.
Tony’s expression morphs into a persuasive, almost pleading one – which is weird, why would Tony need permission from himself to tell Rhodey something – then another frown.
At this point Tony turns back to Rhodey and says, “Just a second,” and walks to the hallway.
His curiosity burns him, urging him to go listen to the silent murmurs he can hear from the hallway, but he knows that he can’t betray Tony’s trust that way so he waits.
A long while passes. Rhodey even has to pause the movie so Tony won’t miss anymore of it (they’ve seen it before, but he can’t take the whining when Tony finds out that he continued without him). When Tony gets back, there’s a complicated expression on his face. Most of it consists of pure steely determination and a part of it is relief and another part is fear, of all things. It’s been a long time since Rhodey’s seen Tony afraid of telling him something. This must be quite a secret.
Tony hesitates. Rhodey tries his best to look unassuming and non-judgemental.
“I…can see…ghosts.”
Out of everything Rhodey had imagined Tony would say (which ranged from a hidden illegitimate child to a secret relapse in his alcoholism), this hadn't even been on the list. He tries to school his expression as Tony starts babbling in an uncharacteristic, nervous manner.
“Or I see a ghost. The same ghost. Not multiple ones. And the ghost is a kid – was a kid – and his name is Peter and I know this sounds crazy, but-”
Time to do some damage control.
“Hey, hey, Tones, I believe you.”
It might take some time to wrap his head around this, but he does believe Tony.
“You do?” Tony’s eyes are a wild – with desperation or hope, or both, Rhodey can’t be sure, but he’s quick to reassure him anyway.
“Sure. I mean, there’s gods and magic so why not ghosts as well?” He shrugs his shoulders.
“So you’re not going to sic the white coats or Pepper on me for this?” They’re clearly back on safe ground, because the humorous sparkle has reappeared in Tony’s eyes.
“No. Not for this, anyway,” he jokes back. “Now. Start from the beginning.”
“Okay. Well, it started one day back in March…”
The rest of his stay is filled with stories about a cute, smart ghost kid and theories of who he is and how he became a ghost.
He even gets to (kind of) meet the kid.
“He says he’s a huge fan of War Machine and that it’s an honor to meet you, but I’m his favorite.” Rhodey would bet all his medals that the last bit is Tony’s own addition.
He grins widely in the direction of the superball bouncing up and down mid-air (apparently the ghost kid is the kind that can’t stay still and tends to play around with anything he gets his invisible hands on). Any person that can make Tony as happy as the Tony who excitedly told him about pranks and experiments and other miscellaneous stories with a certain ghost kid, is a good one in his books.
“Thanks Peter. I’ve never met a ghost, so I think it’s more of an honor to meet you.” The whole talking to air and seeing objects move on their own is still a little unnerving, but Rhodey’s seen a lot in his time in the army and with the Avengers, so he tries to not let it bother him.
The kid seems to become flustered by his response, because the next thing that happens is Tony snorting and the ball dropping back to the ground. Rhodey’s grin softens into fondness. Damn this kid. Two seconds into meeting him and witnessing his and Tony’s interactions, and Rhodey can already feel a gooey warmth spreading in his chest. No wonder Tony got attached to him so fast. Even as a ghost, the kid practically radiates child-like enthusiasm and adorable wonder, a visible aura of positive feelings around him.
He feels a twinge of sympathy for the kid’s loved ones for losing such a beacon of happiness.
Tony also asks for his help. He’s been trying to figure out who the kid is, but any of the publicly available databases have been of no help, and Tony needs access to the government databases to run some name searches for people Peter’s mentioned. Rhodey grants it, of course. It’s Tony, after all. He might be reckless, but he’s never done anything truly bad with the access codes. And from their brief interaction and Tony’s stories, the kid sounds like a good person.
They discuss this in the café, away from the Tower, because Tony doesn’t want the kid to know about him trying to find his family. “Don’t want the kid to get his hopes up, you know, in case I don’t find them,” he explains. “Besides, I don’t know how much finding them will help. He might just get sadder to see them so close, but not being able to properly communicate with them. ”
Rhodey looks at him in wonder. It’s unusual (but not unheard of) for his friend to so clearly reveal his caring side. Usually it’s hidden under layers of nonchalance and deflection and defensive humor. This sort of open vulnerability, and directed to a person Tony hasn’t known very long, is practically unheard of. Then again, the kid isn’t here, so maybe Tony feels more comfortable showing his care indirectly like this. But his feelings towards the kid seem to be more open overall in general, like Peter has somehow unleashed his previously buried paternal instincts. Tony has always been good with kids even if he likes to pretend he isn’t.
Rhodey has always known Tony would be a great dad.
He debates telling Tony that as they leave the café; whether it would make him too self-conscious and defensive or whether he’d actually listen this time.
In the end, he does end up saying it to Tony, and is glad to see his gamble paying off: instead of a defensive quip, he just gets a startled expression and a flash of something that looks a lot like relief.
When Rhodey leaves back to DC, it’s with the satisfaction of a mission accomplished.
Tony is relieved. The kid agreed to let Rhodey help them find out what happened to him. And as nice as the time with the kid has been, it’s different from spending time with his oldest friend. First of all, they’ve been friends for a long time, so there’s a bond there that Tony finds himself missing in the times Rhodey’s away, just like he misses Pepper and Peter, when he’s away from them. Secondly, Rhodey’s an adult, so he can unburden himself to him in ways he can’t unburden himself to the kid. Most of all, he can grab a coffee out of the Tower and unburden himself about the kid. It had been therapeutic, to discuss the events of the past few months and speak out all his worries about Peter and his situation and letting go of Iron Man and the Avengers moving away and everything else.
It had also been supremely comforting to see Rhodey’s pride at what he’d been doing.
“I thought you’d never give up Iron Man. I’m proud of you Tones. And that stuff you’re doing for the ghost kid? I always knew you’d make a great father, even when you didn’t.”
He’d been a bit thrown about the casual mention of “father”, but…it kind of fits. He can’t explain these feelings of fondness and protectiveness with any word better than “parental”, no matter how he’s tried to deny it. He doesn’t get a lot of time to think about these newfound feelings, though, or start narrowing down the list of teenage Peters living in Queens he gleaned from the resident records, though, because it seems that the rest of the Avengers took Rhodey’s visit as a permission to drop by the Tower.
On Monday morning he’s going to get his coffee when he sees Capsicle in the kitchen making breakfast. When questioned about his presence, Steve claimed that he missed the variety of food stuff in the Tower, which Tony knows is bullshit since they can order any variety of foods to the new facility as well. It’s probably just Steve The Mother Hen wanting to check on him, the sentimental old man.
Natasha comes by on Tuesday, grabbing a bite with Pepper during lunch, but having dinner with both of them in the afternoon and switching places with Clint as he swings by with popcorn and takeout for a movie night while the women head out for a self-care evening of their own.
Peter is ecstatic about these visits, of course. He spends their visits gushing about their missions and how cool they are (Tony has to push aside little tingles of jealousy each time even though he's pretty sure Iron Man is Peter's favorite). Tony spends the visits trying not to let out the fact that there’s an overexcited ghost kid prattling in his ear. He is fairly successful in this, even if Natasha gives him a suspicious side-eye at the end of their dinner.
However, it isn’t until Vision, accompanied surprisingly by Wanda, that things get really interesting.
Tony’s watching a movie with the kid (Star Wars, again), suddenly Vision drifts in through the window. Tony’s gotten so used to Peter drifting in and out trough the walls that he almost doesn’t register it, were it not for the fact that Peter is right beside him and that this “ghost” is eye-catchingly red in color.
“Vision has arrived,” FRIDAY announces belatedly ,”and Miss Maximoff has just entered the elevator. Tony sighs. “A bit late for an intruder alert, FRI, but I guess that’s to be expected in this case.”
“I’ll do my best to improve for the next time, boss,” FRIDAY promises solemnly.
“So that’s Vision?” The kid enthuses, features lighting up with curiosity.
“Good evening, Mr. Stark,” Vision says politely, but sounding a bit distracted.
“And he sounds like JARVIS, too!” Peter practically vibrates with excitement, like an overjoyed puppy.
“Good evening, my robot child, what’s your business here today?”
The elevator dings and Wanda steps out just as Vision says, “We’ve come to discuss arranging a celebration for the Independence Day. Wanda expressed to me that she’s heard that the fireworks from the Tower are a magnificent sight to behold.”
Wanda steps forward and asks quietly, “I want to know if… I’m invited.”
Tony squirms a bit under her serious gaze and the kid’s bafflement. Things have been better since the opening of the new facility, but there’s still a type of awkwardness between them that they can’t seem to shake. She’s clearly trying to let go of her hatred though, so Tony figures he should try forgiving her for messing with his mind.
“Uh… Sure. Just email me your cuisine preferences, and I’ll make sure there’s something for you too.”
The small smile spreading on her face tells him she understood and accepted his olive branch.
“Speaking of food, we made a little too much paprikash and thought we’d bring the rest here. The others back at the facility have already eaten.” Again, Tony can see right through the flimsy excuse, but pretends he doesn’t and starts to set the table after sending Peter a subtle, apologetic glance at abandoning their marathon. The kid, bless him, just grins and gives him a thumbs up.
After the first spoonful, Tony thinks that maybe the excuse wasn’t an excuse at all, because he’s pretty certain this isn’t what paprikash is supposed to taste like. Wanda mouths an inaudible sorry at him when Vision’s attention is diverted into buttering his bread. Tony has to hide an amused smile as Vision looks up to offer him the bread basket.
Although they’ve broken the ice a little, the conversation is still a bit stilted.
Peter seems to notice that and starts to prattle out questions and observations to distract Tony from the awkwardness. As the conversation around the table dies out, Tony figures it’s okay to divert most of his attention to listening to the kid. Both Wanda and Vision seem distracted with something anyways, so there’s really no harm done.
“Did you see him shifting his clothes? That was so cool! Do you think I could do that too? I’m kind of getting tired of these pajamas… And then you couldn’t call me Underoos anymore!”
At this, Tony snorts and has to consciously suppress the urge to answer. Wanda and Vision both twitch and look at him oddly. Tony hastens to correct them. “Sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you, I just thought of something funny.”
Wanda looks hesitantly at Vision, clearly communicating with him somehow, before focusing on Tony.
“About thinking…,” she begins tentatively. “I don’t know how to say this, but… Did you know there’s another consciousness here?”
Now this, this is new. Nobody else has ever detected the kid’s presence.
It’s probably also not so unexpected, if he thinks about it a little. Peter clearly has a consciousness and who better to sense it than the team’s resident mind power users.
Peter perks up in the corner, eyes widening so much that Tony’s afraid they’ll just pop out. They’re filled with astonishment and a glimmer of hope that slashes through Tony’s own befuddlement.
“What do you mean by that?” He asks, the sharpness in his voice jarring in the quietness of the moment.
Wanda flinches a little, but closes her eyes, her fingers sparking red as she concentrates.
It takes her a while to answer, leaving Tony jittery with impatience.
Peter is still looking like someone clobbered him on the head and it was the best thing to ever happen to him.
“There’s a consciousness here. It’s… I’m not sure how to call it… It’s both present and distant. Like he’s…not alive, but not dead either,” Wanda tries to explain, her forehead creased in confusion.
Vision bows down his head too, the stone on his head starting to glow softly.
“I felt it too. It has irregular spikes of activity, but I am not certain what prompts those spikes.”
That settles it.
Tony leans back on his chair and breathes deeply. Peter is still not saying anything, his expression frozen on amazement like an old broken VHS.
“I didn’t think I’d tell anyone else except Rhodey and possibly Pepper.”
Wanda’s eyes sparkle with curiosity.
“So you know what it is?”
“……yeah.”
“…well?”
“It’s a ghost.”
Wanda looks at him incredulously while Vision’s expression shifts from neutrality to thoughtfulness.
“How do you know that when I didn’t?” She questions him.
“I see him. His name is Peter.”
At this, Peter finally snaps out of his shock. He turns to him and exclaims, “Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark, they can sense me!”
Vision and Wanda flinch minutely.
Tony smiles. “I know kid. And they know it too. It seems your motormouth has some ability to speed over the lines of reality.”
“Did he just…talk?” Vision asks slowly.
“Yeah. The kid’s been prattling all along dinner.”
Vision’s face smooths in understanding. “So that’s what we’ve been feeling.”
“That was the ghost talking?” Wanda asks.
“I would assume so. But you can’t hear anything?”
“Should I say anything, Mr. Stark? What would I even say oh my God these are the Scarlet Witch and the Vision, what am I going to say—"
“No, but..”, Wanda starts (the kid groans dramatically), “I do hear something like…white noise? A word here or there, like in a bad radio, nothing more.”
“Should I shout? Would that help?”
Tony smirks and nods subtly.
“NICE TO MEET YOU, MISS SCARLET WITCH AND MISTER VISION!”
They both flinch more violently than before.
“How was that?” He asks, hiding his grin badly.
Wanda glares at him disapprovingly.
“Like noisy white noise.”
“Awww, it didn’t work.” The kid sounds actually disappointed, so Tony wipes the grin off his face and asks, “Is there anything else you can tell me? We’ve conducted some test on the kid’s abilities, but I’d always like to know more.”
“Yeah! Do I have a uniquely strong mind or something, or why they can sense me? Have they ever sensed other ghosts?”
The kid asks good questions as always, so Tony relays them to the couple.
“I haven’t sensed any ghosts ever. But it’s possible that either I haven’t encountered any or my powers are growing. And like I said, it’s more like white noise so it’s hard to say if the ghost’s” – “Peter’s” – “Peter’s mind is stronger than any other,” Wanda explains.
“I haven’t sensed any ghosts either. And…I would kind of like to ask you why you think it’s a ghost?” Vision continues.
Tony stares.
“Well. There is the fact that only I can see him. And that he can float. And move through walls. And did already mention that he’s transparent?”
“Wow, that was a lot of sarcasm even for you, Mr. Stark,” the kid comments.
Tony snorts, but continues his stare. Vision meets it calmly.
“I was merely trying to understand this phenomenon from your point of view. See, in mine, the mind that’s both here and somewhere else feels like it’s alive. I admit, I don’t have data on ghost minds so I may be wrong, but it certainly feels like a mind that’s very much alive. I – or more specifically, the stone – can feel synapses firing as in a real, present mind, even if the connection is…spotty.”
Tony’s brain stops working at “alive”.
The kid…is alive?
There are so many emotions and thoughts firing up in his mind that he can’t keep track of them all. Doubt bleeds into joy, joy turns to disbelief, disbelief turns to hope, which turns to fear, and in the background there’s the current of how-why-I-don’t-care-the-kid-is-alive-but-how-long-this-state-is-probably-not-healthy-what-should-we-do—
There’s a monumental shift happening, and Tony is lost in it. The only clear thing is the epicenter, the kid, who miraculously isn’t dead after all. The kid, who seems to be in a state of shock once again. This time Tony can hardly blame him though, since he’s exactly the same.
It takes multiple attempts on Vision and Wanda’s part to get him to focus.
“Sir, are you alright?” Vision asks.
Tony rips his gaze from the kid and closes his eyes. That tone and that question hit a bit too close to home for him, and he pushes away the sudden flood of wistfulness to concentrate on the matter at hand.
“Yeah, fine. So you claim he’s alive?”
Vision scans his features carefully before answering, “Yes.”
Tony takes another breath.
“Tell me then, why can I see a spectral form of his mind?”
Vision lowers his gaze.
“That I do not know.”
Breathe.
“But you are sure? That he’s alive.”
Vision raises his head, his face radiating calm, certainty and reassurance, all at once.
“I am sure.”
Tony breathes.
“Well then. That changes things.”
The kid eventually unfreezes from his own shock, and by that time Tony’s already given up trying to get his attention (it had been a little unnerving to see someone usually so animated suddenly staying so still –a bit too much like his nightmares, to be honest) and gone down to the workshop. Wanda and Vision had left soon after the revelation, sensing that Tony needed some time alone.
He’s grateful, of course he is, but after hearing those impossible words and understanding their implication, his vision has tunneled on only one goal: save the kid. It’s not a new goal, saving Peter in any way he can has been his goal almost from the very beginning. But now he has a deadline: there’s no doubt in his mind that Peter’s ghost form isn’t a normal occurrence, so the fact that he’s gaining more ghostly powers every day isn’t exciting anymore, but more of a warning sign. Logically thinking, Peter’s ghost form getting stronger means that his physical body is getting weaker. Which is definitely not good.
Their time (Peter’s time) has been running out and he hadn’t even realized that.
Tony spends a few seconds cursing himself for trying to be tactful and let the kid tell about his past in his own time, before setting his fingers on the keyboard and using Rhodey’s codes to get to the government’s servers. He’s starting a school database search on 13-year-old Peters from all of New York. The kid might be from Queens, but that doesn’t mean he goes to school there, and Tony isn’t willing to let anything slip by him. Not when there’s so much (his kid) on the line.
It would’ve been easier if he could’ve just run facial recognition on Peter, but unfortunately the B.A.R.F. tech some of his employees have been developing isn’t ready to use, so he isn’t able to make a memory projection of Peter. Instead, he’s stuck doing the search the old-fashioned way.
He’s on his third Peter (Peter Gonzalez, not his kid), when the kid floats down.
“Mr. Stark, what are you doing?” There’s something weird on the kid’s voice, almost like apprehension. But why would he be apprehensive. Tony doesn’t have the patience to parse it out so he just answers, “Running a search on your identity, what does it look like?” (Peter Davidson, not his kid.)
Peter’s next words are so quiet Tony almost misses them.
“But I know who I am.”
Tony’s brain short-circuits for the third time in two hours.
“Let’s rewind a little; what?! What do you mean?”
The kid pointedly avoids his gaze as he mumbles, “I know my name. My full name. I remembered everything a few weeks ago?” Peter shuffles his feet. His face is closed off and wary, a clear sign of his unease about this topic, and Tony briefly wonders if he was right to wait after all. But the thought is quickly buried by his urgent, compelling need to save the kid before it’s too late.
“Care to share with the class?”
The kid glances at him, something dark veiling his gaze, and says, “Peter Parker.”
Tony whirls around and types the name in the search. Immediately, the screen lights up with a familiar youthful face, big doe eyes and brown curls and all, finally in full color (his nightmares don’t count). His record states that he goes to school at Midtown High, a school in Queens that’s known for it’s STEM program. Knew it, Tony thinks. The kid’s a genius. The list of absences state that he’s been missing since February.
Something in that discovery tingles his memory, but he doesn’t get the chance to think it through, because he’s already running a hospital database search. A second later, the new info pops up on his holoscreen.
Queens Memorial
Patient: Peter Benjamin Parker
Next-of-kin: Benjamin Parker, May Parker
Admittance: 02/13/2015
Injury: penetrating GSW
Tony halts at the fifth line, his insides filling with ice water. He stares at the word incomprehensibly.
GSW.
He knows what that means.
Gunshot wound.
And penetrating means that the bullet is still inside his body.
Absently, Tony wonders if that’s reason the kid can project his mind in tangible spectral form. Maybe the kid has some kind of supernatural abilities and the bullet hit a part of his brain that unleashed them? In his tenure as an Avenger, Tony has learnt that almost anything is possible. So why not this?
But that doesn’t help explain why Tony is the only one to see him. Tony’s a veritable stranger, why would the kid want to form a connection with him? True, the kid seems to idolize him, but that’s not a good enough reason to imprint on Tony when he’s dyi—shot. He shakes his head, dispelling the fruitless speculation and focuses on the next part of the hospital form.
Status: coma (GCS: 5/15)
That, at least, makes sense. There’s no way the kid would be completely awake elsewhere when his consciousness has such a strong presence here. Not even a kid with supernatural powers. Not even a kid that’s suspiciously silent right now.
Tony turns back to Peter and is met with a startling sight.
The carefully constructed blankness has shifted to reveal pain on the kid’s face as he stares at his own medical records. Pain unlike Tony has ever seen on the kid. He looks like seeing proof of the event that landed him here is a new brand of torture or something. And there are some other emotions mixed with the pain as well, making his expression complex and hard to interpret. There’s pain, and hesitation, and what looks like grief and…shame?
Something tells Tony that he needs to tread carefully here. He tries to keep his voice as soft and as unobtrusive as possible as he tries to get the kid to come out of his spiral.
“Kid?”
Something dark and ugly passes over the kid’s features as he flinches and turns back to Tony. His voice is surprisingly sharp and edged and accusing as he snaps, “Why did you do that?”
Tony recoils in shock and confusion. He’s not used to such a venomous tone slipping out of his kid’s mouth and he doesn’t know how to react to it. So he simply answers, hoping that honesty would blunt the edge of the kid’s uncharacteristic anger.
“I wanted to see who you are. I have actually tried to find that out for almost as long as I’ve known you, but I only got the codes for the government databases last week from Rhodey so I could run wider searches. And I haven’t had the time to do it with all the Avengers popping in like mushrooms in the rain, but I was going to do it this week.”
The kid’s angry expression is unyielding, so Tony tries another tactic.
“I first did it because I thought you’d at least want to see your family and friends even if you couldn’t speak to them.” The kid’s expression flickers. There’s a chink in his dark mask, and it encourages Tony to stay on this line of persuasion, to try and shatter that mask. “But now that I know you’re alive, I can actually try to save you! Your file says that you’re in coma still, but I bet we’ll figure out a way to wake you up. Your brain is clearly active, after all. I can save you, and I damn well will try my hardest to do that.”
Tony softens his voice even more and lets all the fondness (and love) that has accumulated in these three months shine through from his voice.
“You’re a good kid, Peter. You deserve better than spending your life as just a shade of yourself.”
The kid deflates, anger draining out, a curious resigned helplessness settling on his shoulders instead.
“You probably won’t think that once you hear the truth,” the kid says darkly.
“Why don’t I be a judge of that,” Tony challenges.
The kid chuckles humorlessly. The facsimile of a laugh is so different from his usual bright and open laughter that Tony gets chills running down his spine.
“Well, you asked for it.”
Tony relaxes into his seat and looks at the kid, trying to convey as much reassurance with his body language and expression as he can. He’s not sure he succeeds, because the kid still looks forlorn, when he starts to speak, but at least he’s talking to Tony.
“I should probably start from the beginning.” The kid sighs deeply, sounding like a battle-worn soldier carrying the whole world on his shoulders. Tony’s heart aches for him.
“As you know, I got a gunshot wound in the head. I… I had had a biology experiment at school that day where we tested our blood to determine our blood type. You know the one?” The kid glances at Tony, seeking an affirmation before he continues. Tony nods. “Right. Well, what I found out is that my father wasn’t my biological father.”
Tony is a bit confused as to why this would get the kid shot, but he gestures at Peter to continue, when the kid glances up uncertainly.
“That night, I confronted Aunt May and Uncle Ben about it.”
Tony’s starting to see the picture clearing a bit.
“We argued, and I ran away.”
The kid’s voice is quavering, wavering with suppressed emotions.
“I was just turning back home when Uncle Ben caught up with me. We argued some more and—and—," the kid’s voice shakes and so does his spectral form, blurring his lines and blinking out of sight.
Alarmed, Tony rushes to calm him down, “Kid! It’s okay! You’re okay! You’re alive and Uncle is okay and—”
“But he’s NOT!”
Peter’s face is creased in a way that suggests he would be crying if he could.
“He’s not and it’s my fault! My fault…,” he says with an anguished, tortured expression, his voice breaking on the last words like Tony’s heart is breaking for him. The wavering of Peter’s form stops and settles in its normal consistency just as he suddenly drops to the floor like some invisible string holding him upright were cut, and breaks down in sobs.
Once again, Tony is left there just to watch, unable to offer any kind of physical comfort apart from his presence. Instead he hovers his hand over the kid’s back and starts a stream of soothing words, hoping some of them would pierce the kid’s grief.
“It’s okay. You’re fine. It’s okay…”
Gradually, Peter’s breathing evens out and they stay crouched on the lab floor. The atmosphere is weirdly serene, like the scent of rain in the air after a storm has passed.
“I could’ve saved him, you know. He took a bullet to the stomach first before I stopped the second one and I could’ve stopped the first one too, but I wasn’t fast enough. I sensed it coming but I wasn’t fast enough,” Peter whispers brokenly. His eyes stare vacantly at the wall, like he isn’t quite present.
Tony debates whether he should let dismiss it outright or whether he should ask more, but he knows he can’t convince Peter that he did nothing wrong unless he knows the specifics. The kid is too smart to be reassured by hollow claims and would no doubt go all “Hitchens's razor” on him. Option “ask more” it is then.
“How so?”
“I…,” the kid whispers, like a secret confession, “I’m Spider-Man.”
That's the last piece of the puzzle, and suddenly it all falls into place.
Peter’s reaction to the news.
His question about saving people a few days later.
And shit, he was right, the kid is an enhanced.
But all of this falls second to the realization that Peter didn’t want him to find his identity, doesn’t want to be rescued, because he thinks he should’ve saved his Uncle. Because he thinks he doesn’t deserve to be rescued. Which is utter bullshit.
“Peter,” Tony says seriously, prompting the kid to look into his eyes. The kid does, but with great reluctance.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
The kid’s expression screams his doubt.
“Remember what I said about heroes not always being able to rescue everyone? You were in distress, and you still tried. That’s more than most people would do. And it’s enough. Hear me? It’s enough.”
The kid’s face crumbles again, and he makes an aborted gesture like he would’ve hugged Tony if he could. Tony curses his inability to comfort his kid, but luckily Peter pulls himself together after a few harsh breaths.
“So now that we’ve established that it wasn’t your fault that your Uncle might be dead – and remember, we don’t know if he is yet. Do you still think I don’t want to save you? Because, for the record, I do. I doubt there’s anything you could say that would make me not want to save you. First of all, it’s kind of superhero DNA. Second of all, like I said, you’re a great kid and you deserve to live. And third of all, I’d miss my lab buddy too much,” Tony lists out, smiling disarmingly at Peter in the end.
Peter’s eyes are huge.
“You’d miss me?”
Tony scoffs. “Of course I would. Who would be here correcting my calculations and spouting obscure meme references,” – “They’re not obscure!” – "and prattling my ear off about Star Wars?” And to Tony’s surprise, even if his tone is playful, he realizes that he really would miss all those things about Peter and more. So he decides to take a leap of faith and tell the kid just that. “Seriously though, kid, I would miss you. Really much. I’ve been happier these three months than I’ve been in a long time. Looks like all I needed was a ghostly pseudo-son to complete my life.”
And isn’t that ironic? The one thing Tony thought he would never want was the one that he needed; the one role he had forbidden from himself is the one that makes him the most happy. Being a father figure to Peter has been a balm to his soul that he never knew he needed until he had it. And now, he knows he can never let it go. Unless the kid wants to, of course.
So lost is Tony in his revelation that he doesn’t notice the kid’s uneasiness at first.
When he finally focuses on the present, he can see the kid fiddling with the hem of his T-shirt, a clear sign of nervousness.
Tony frowns.
“What is it?”
The kid’s eyes dart quickly up and back down. He seems reluctant to speak again and Tony feels frustrated, because he thought they were over this already. But there’s an undercurrent of fear and uncertainty that he can see lingering in the kid’s downcast face, which makes him wait patiently.
After several minutes of more silence and Peter’s nervous fidgeting, Tony prompts him again.
“Peter?”
The kid’s face tightens and he screws his eyes shut for a long second before opening them, resolution clearly settling on his features; jaw locking and eyes flaming with determination. The fear is still lurking underneath and there’s a concerning gleam in his eyes, like he’s desperate about something; like something could go horribly wrong once he answers Tony, but he has to do it anyway.
Peter takes a breath and seems to brace himself.
Tony braces himself too. The afternoon has been a surprise after another, but it seems that the kid still has some left up his sleeve. Tony really shouldn’t be surprised anymore.
“There was one other reason why I didn’t want you to find out who I am. Why I thought you wouldn’t want to save me.”
Tony opens his mouth to remind Peter of what he said literally just ten minutes ago, but Peter raises up a hand to silence him.
“Yeah, I know, you’d save me no matter what. But… I, too, I would miss you, but I also want you to know that I understand if you don’t want me. They didn’t want you to know, and I mean, I guess you will know if you do this, but I want you to know that I understand, and I’m okay even if—," the kid’s strong start descends fast into a rambling spiral of nervousness. Tony interferes before it gets too far.
“Kid, what? What are you talking about?”
Peter takes a breath, squeezes his eyes shut and blurts out, “I’myourbiologicalson.”
“Come again?”
Peter opens his eyes and looks at him. Anxious apprehension and fragile, tentative hope are warring on his face. The hope is winning by a little bit as he says the quiet, careful, almost timid words.
“I’m your biological son.”
.
.
.
My son.
.
.
.
Tony’s mind is reeling.
There’s no way he would’ve guessed this much less brace for this.
This is one too many a shock for the same day. It feels like the ground has disappeared from under his feet and he is the one floating ghost-like in space, disjointed from reality, untethered and lost.
He has a son.
Peter is his son.
His kid actually is his kid, in all meanings of the word.
How is the kid his kid?
Peter coughs awkwardly. “Well, apparently you met my mother in some ga—”
Tony crashes back to reality.
“No, no, no, I mean how can someone so, so good as you possibly come from me?”
Peter looks at him, a mixture of confusion and blossoming hope spreading on his face.
“But you’re good, Mr. Stark?”
Tony scoffs. “No, I’m really not. But thanks for saying that, I appreciate it.”
The kid seems offended by this.
“No, I really mean it, Mr. Stark! You’re super smart and instead of using your smartness just for yourself, you invented sustainable clean energy tech and depollution devices and stuff! And you donate for charities and universities and fund important medical research and the Stark Relief Fund, not to mention that you’re an actual Avenger who saves lives!” Peter exclaims.
Tony is once again surprised. He expected the last argument, but not any of the others. Something warms in his chest and he can’t help the wide grin that spreads on his face at the kid’s words.
“You really are something else, kid.”
“Well, like father, like son, I guess,” the kid stares him down pointedly.
Tony chuckles helplessly, defeated. He might not be so convinced about his own goodness as the kid is, but if his son (his son!) believes it, then…
“I guess so,” he says quietly, earnestly.
The kid’s posture relaxes as he hears the honesty in his tone, and he smiles at him shyly. Tony grins widely back, and they look at each other for a second before bursting to loud, relieved and mildly hysterical laughter. It feels very good, cathartic even, to laugh properly after the kind of day they’ve had. They laugh so long that Tony’s side cramps and his eyes are streaming with tears of laughter.
It doesn’t help that they’re setting each other off every time they as much as look at each other, but eventually the laughter dies out.
They sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, before Peter asks, “What do we do now?” There’s still a slight uneasy edge to his tone, but he seems mostly calm despite the dangerous situation looming above them.
Tony looks at the screen where his kid’s medical records are displayed. He feels resolve burning in his chest, burning him with the desperate need to go save this amazing kid. His son.
He looks at Peter with steely, iron-clad determination and states,
“Now, I’ll fix this.”
As he drives to Queens, he’s struck again with the realization of how fast things have changed.
Just a quarter of a year ago he'd scoffed at idea of tolerating, much less liking a teenager. But then again, these have been very special circumstances. And Peter's a pretty special kid. He had already liked (loved) the kid before finding out he was his in blood as well, and he would bet that even if they had met in different circumstances, with Peter alive or not related to him at all, he would’ve ended up loving the kid as his own just the same. The kid’s simply too endearing not to love.
Tony wouldn’t be surprised if the kid got Pepper, Rhodey, Happy and the Avengers all wrapped around his pinky from the moment he finally meets them all in person. Hell, he’s already got Rhodey half-way there, when honey bear couldn't even see him.
But it might be some time before the kid is back to his old, happy-go-lucky self.
They’d found out from the medical records that Peter’s Uncle actually had died that night in February.
Peter had been really sad of course, but didn’t seem to blame himself so much anymore, so Tony had figured that he should let the kid grieve in peace for now. He had left the kid to the living room to watch a Star Wars marathon while he drove to Queens to meet the kid’s aunt. It had felt fundamentally wrong to leave his kid in distress but at the moment saving his kid’s life as fast as possible takes precedence over the kid's emotional well-being. Tony can worry about that after his son’s consciousness is back in his physical body.
In his distraction, he has already driven the whole way to the Parker residence. He shakes his head, dispelling the line of thought and gets up from the car. He needs to figure out what to tell May Parker to convince her to help him.
He's weirdly nervous when he knocks on May Parker’s door. He's been in many uncomfortable and unexpected situations in his life, from giving a presentation while roaringly drunk to getting his company stolen from him by a man that was supposed to be his ally, but for some reason this trumps them all. Somehow talking to his comatose child's grieving aunt is more nerve-wracking and more scary than flying a nuke into a wormhole.
But as May Parker opens the door with a countenance of a woman at the end of her rope, he sets his nerves aside and reminds himself of his goal: save Peter. A goal he knows the kid's aunt shares. Sure enough, that's the thought that settles his nerves. They both care about Peter, and that should be enough for May to listen to what Tony has to say, given that she first believes him about the mind projection thing.
"Hi?" May asks, both clearly dismayed by a disturber in her grief and scared of the possibility of yet another piece of bad news.
"Hello, Mrs. Parker. I have something to discuss with you. It's about your nephew. Do you mind if I come in?"
May's eyes widen, only now recognizing Tony, but she moves aside all the same.
"Come on in."
Tony steps in and toes off his shoes. He has a feeling this will be a long conversation.
The Parker’s apartment is small, but very homey, full of the last rays of the dying sun, walls painted a warm blue and dotted with family photographs. There are books scattered everywhere. Tony notes that most of them are science books, probably Peter's. There's a random assortment of notebooks and books on the coffee table as well, and Tony feels a wistful sting at the sight of them. While May bustles in the kitchen with tea, he idly wonders what it would've been like if the kid had grown up with him. The mansion and the tower would've certainly felt less lonely.
The teacup clinks as May sets it down on the coffee table, careful to avoid any of the notebooks or spreadsheets on it. Tony thanks her quietly.
They sit in awkward silence for a while.
May opens and closes her mouth a number of times, like she wants to say something, but doesn’t quite know how.
Tony can relate. He tries to form out a tactful way of saying “your kid is actually by biological son and he’s been with me in ghost form for the past three months and now I’d like to take over his medical care”. He’s not progressed very far.
In the meantime, May seems to have managed to process her own thoughts better than him, as she turns to him and opens her mouth again.
“I don’t know how you found out, but I want you to know that Mary wanted it this way. She had already been dating Richard and with your style back then… She didn’t really want you to know about him. Not that it really matters now, because he’s… Anyway, I can provide for his medical care as long as it takes, you don’t need to worry about that—," she babbles out.
It’s like a weird déjà-vu of a similar conversation he had had with Peter just a couple of hours ago. There’s no blood ties here, but Tony can still see a family resemblance. After all, family is a lot more than just shared biological features. It’s cohabiting the same space, living as a single unit, manners and speech patterns assimilating to each other until they form a cohesive team, a family of their own making. Tony knows that, because he’s done that, first with Rhodey at the dorms and later with Pepper and most recently, Peter. Happy too, to an extent.
Also, there goes one of his concerns.
“May, please,” he interrupts, his tone polite and conciliatory. “I’m not here out of obligation or responsibility or anything like that, although they do play a part.”
May eyes him suspiciously. “You’re not?”
“No. I actually…met Peter,” Tony confesses.
“You met him? When?” May asks, surprised. Then her eyes narrow. “The Expo?”
It’s Tony’s turn to be surprised.
“No, not the Expo, why would…? No, that’s not important, the important bit is that I met Peter. I didn’t know he was my son back then, but I liked him, spending time with him and I grew to care about him. I didn’t know he was hurt until, well, until today, so I had to come see you right away. I know you could provide for him, but I do want, I do need to be a part of his life in any way I can. I should’ve been a bigger part of his life before this, but I didn’t know, and I want to make up for it, if you’ll let me?” Tony takes a deep breath, not daring to look May in the eyes, fearing her disapproval.
“I know that my past…is colorful to say the least, but I promise I’m in a committed relationship and I’ve been sober for half a year now. I reali—"
“Mr. Stark,” May interrupts him. “Tony. You don’t need to say anything more. You seem to at least care about him – and you do need to tell me more about how he met you, I don’t appreciate being left out of any secrets—,” her eyes scan his face keenly, almost omnisciently, and suddenly Tony’s sure she knows, “so I’ll let you see him. And take care of some of the medical bills, if you must.”
Tony’s shoulders sag in relief.
“I really do...care about him. A lot. Thank you, May Parker,” he exhales reverently.
She smiles tightly, but warmly at him.
“No problem. It’s nice to know there’s actually a fairly decent person under all the cold steel.”
Tony smiles slowly back. He likes her. She reminds him of her own mother, all sharp eyes and keen mind, focused on protecting her child with a fierceness of a lioness in one moment, but incredibly caring and soft in another.
Tony is sure that together they’ll be able to save Peter.
They have to.
The next few days go by in a hurried rush for Tony. It feels as if he goes from convincing May to standing beside Peter's med bay bed in a blink of an eye.
May was a bit skeptical about the ghost thing at first, but once they arrived at the Tower and she saw Peter writing out “hi may, miss me?” on the whiteboard, she was swiftly persuaded. She also wasn’t happy about the Spider-Man thing (“how could he not tell me?! I knew he was sneaking out, but this?! He could’ve died!”), but grudgingly admitted that his powers are probably the only reason he’s still alive.
Most importantly, she agreed to moving Peter's physical body into the Tower’s medical bay.
After some consulting, Tony, Dr. Cho, Wanda and Vision devised a theory that the bullet in Peter's brain affected the parietal lobe in such a way that he was essentially cut off from his senses, leaving his mind adrift. Then, somehow, Peter's awareness drifted to his closest blood relative, got accustomed to the new state of being and voilá, the ghost Peter was born. Even with Wanda and Vision's help, they were unable to figure out how exactly Peter's awareness and mental capabilities managed to transport themselves and stay intact, just that it probably had something to do with his regenerative abilities.
It felt like their brainstorming session was only a couple of hours when in truth they spent almost twelve hours in the meeting room, going over scans of Peter's brain and doing all sorts of tests. Peter's brainwaves showed significant improvement whenever the mind projection was close or when he was talking, but Peter couldn't get back into his body, no matter what Wanda, Vision and Dr. Cho tried. In the end, they also theorized that once Dr. Cho removes the bullet interfering with Peter's senses and once Peter’s mind projection is brought close to his physical body, the body would reel the mind back to its’ rightful place.
Dr. Cho performed the surgery as soon as they were absolutely sure that this was the safest way to get Peter back to his body. Tony and May paced in the waiting room for the duration of the procedure, too restless and scared and worried to sit down. Tony especially kept thinking about the scans and calculations over and over. It didn't help that Peter's mind projection had fallen into a "ghost-sleep" as they called his periods of half-awareness. Nothing else happened though and after a few nerve-wrecking hours, Dr. Cho came to tell them that the procedure had been successful and there hadn't been any complications. Tony's knees had given out and he had fallen into a chair while May had leaned against a wall like her legs would give out at any moment.
After that, it hadn't taken long for Peter's mind projection to "wake up", but just to be on the safe side, Dr. Cho had advised them to wait a day for Peter's body and mind to recover, which brings May, Tony and Peter to the bedside of Peter’s physical body the following morning.
“It’s weird,” Peter comments.
“Tell me about it,” Tony answers.
“Should we try it?” May asks.
Tony doesn’t answer, and just looks at Peter expectantly. This is the moment the frantic frenzy of the last twenty-four hours would hopefully pay off.
Peter stares at his own body intensely before nodding slowly.
“…yeah, I’ll try it.”
Tony holds his breath as the kid approaches the hospital bed.
This, this is the moment everything will be resolved.
If all goes right, he will be able to see his son, alive and have the chance to get to know him better, to be a better father. To be a dad.
He can’t wait.
Peter leans down cautiously, stretching his fingers to touch his own face.
Nothing happens at first.
Then, a bright, blinding light flashes, burning Tony’s retinas.
He yelps in pain, echoed by a another, higher yelp from the bed.
When he’s able to blink the black spots away, the room is the same as before, but Peter’s mind form is gone.
“Did it work,” May asks anxiously.
“Well, the ghostly mind specter is gone at least,” Tony answers.
The both stare at Peter’s still, unmoving body.
A moment passes.
Nothing happens.
Another moment passes.
Nothing happens.
The bitter disappointment and anguished creases on May’s face are salt to his own wound.
It didn’t work.
The soul-crushing, heart-breaking disappointment and despair sends him right to his knees as May starts to sob into her hands. His eyes fill with tears and there’s a weird wheeze coming from somewhere. It isn’t until May’s hand lays down on his shaking shoulder that he realizes that he’s sobbing too.
He didn’t fully comprehend how much he had depended on this one thing going right until the moment it didn’t. And now, while there’s hope – the kid’s heart still beats – he’s left with the same yawning, gaping, bleeding, aching loss of Peter that May has coped for almost four months.
Tony sincerely can’t understand the strength of this woman.
He’s crying harder than he has in years, desperately holding onto May as she’s holding onto him. He wishes Pepper was here too, or Rhodey, but he and May had wanted to try this as soon as possible, so they’re both out of the country.
Somewhere in the sea of grief, he registers May’s startled gasp, but it doesn’t fully sink in until she shushes him.
“Do you hear that?”
Tony holds his breath.
There.
Peter’s heartbeat is speeding up a little.
The hope roars back to life and Tony stands abruptly, pulling May up with him.
They rush to the bed in a weird tangle of limbs, almost stumbling down several times, but somehow managing to stay upright.
Peter’s eyelids are fluttering.
May lets out a wondrous, “Oh”.
Tony’s heart skips a beat.
They look at their shared child, a desperate hope sparking in their chest.
Peter doesn’t disappoint.
After a while of random twitching, those expressive eyes finally slid open. His eyes are muddled with the lingering remnants of sleep and slam closed almost immediately, but he’s there, Tony can see it.
The next time the kid tries to open his eyes, it’s more careful, his eyes clearly sensitive.
“FRI, dim the lights to 10 percent,” Tony whispers slowly.
“Yes, boss.”
May flinches a bit like she has done every time Tony’s AI speaks.
Peter’s eyes suddenly become more alert.
“Mr. St’rk?” he mumbles.
Tony moves to sit next to the kid, May moving to the others, and takes his hand into his own. He strokes the skin soothingly as he answers, “Yeah, kid, it’s me. Your Auntie is here too.”
“May?”
“Here, honey,” she takes his other hand.
“Wha’ happen’d?” Peter slurs out, clearly fighting to become more awake.
“You’ve been in a coma, kid. And ghosting my lab.”
“Tha’s no’ how you ghost, Mr. St’rk. You mean I haunted your lab,” Peter’s lips curl into a weak smile that Tony bets would be a cheeky grin in other circumstances.
“Okay, then, haunted,” Tony smiles back.
Peter turns towards his aunt, his expression shifting into a pleading, teary-eyed stare.
“I’m sorry May. I couldn’t save him,” he chokes out.
“It’s okay darling. It’s not your fault,” May reassures him, "I'm just happy you're alive."
They cry for a bit and hug each other as tightly as they can – which isn’t too tightly in Peter’s case and very tightly in May’s – before Peter turns back to Tony again, reaching for him with both arms. Tony reads his intention and leans down to hug him too, relishing the feeling of holding his kid safe and concrete and real in his arms for the very first time. He tries to commit the feeling into his memory so he won’t ever forget it, even if he knows that he’ll get many more chances now.
Eventually sleep calls to Peter again, his arms falling down limply and eyes blinking slower and slower. He strokes his kid’s hair soothingly and starts humming softly, lulling his son to sleep as May tucks the blankets around Peter.
It’s a bit later in the night and May’s sleeping in a cot in the corner of the room, when Peter wakes up again and this time he’s more lucid.
His eyes are immediately aware and alert, and he smiles at Tony when he notices him working on some coding next to his bed.
“Kid! Back to the land of the living, I see. Do you need anything?” Tony fusses with the blanket, tugging it more tightly around him. Peter just watches on, a soft look in his eyes.
“No, I’m fine.”
They settle into a comfortable silence.
Peter breaches it first.
“Actually, there’s one thing…,” he starts.
“Yeah?”
Peter reaches out for him, and Tony immediately takes his hand.
“Hi dad, I’m son,” his son grins blindingly, offsetting the tiredness lingering on his features and brightening the room as he shakes his hand.
Tony grins back just as widely and shakes his son’s hand.
“Hi son, I’m dad.”
As Tony watches the beaming smile of his son, something slots into place. A series of seeming coincidences, all leading inevitably to this one moment.
Coincidences, he wonders, or something else?
Predestination and fate are some of the words floating in his mind, but as he watches the kid start to fall asleep again, he shakes his head and discards them.
It doesn't matter, he decides. I found him. Or he found me. That's the most important thing. And I'm not letting go any time soon.
A small, fond smile plays on his lips as he slouches more deeply in his chair, ready for a long night of watching over his son and all the days and nights afterwards.