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Peter’s had a long day. He got a new suit with awesome legs, snuck onto a ship and went into space – it’s not being a stowaway if he’s doing hero work, right? Right – fought Thanos and nearly got the glove off, and would’ve succeeded if Quill hadn’t lost it and punched the guy in the face. Then he got dusty, and then he wasn’t anymore and Dr Strange – what was his real name, anyway? – told him it was five years later and they had to fight again.
Does he still have to go to school? He’s practically an adult now, right?
And then he went through a portal and Mr Stark hugged him. Hugged him. Not going for the door handle this time, but an actual hug. Best day ever, and then it was a haze of fighting and a very dangerous game of pass the baton, until Mr Stark got the stones and destroyed Thanos’ entire fleet.
And then. And then Mr Stark died.
Peter didn’t know what to do, how to fix it. It was surreal, watching as Pepper took care of him, lying his body down on the ground while the chaos of battle settled around them. The solemn faces surrounding him, the dim light in the Iron Man suit. It was like waiting for the punchline of a joke that never came.
“He can rest now,” Pepper had said, tears filling her eyes even as her mouth was firm with resolve. “He did well.”
Yes, it had been a long day for Peter. He wished he could go back, have a do-over, change something. What was the point of living in a world with magic and powers if he had to keep losing his precious people?
His vision blurred so he closed his eyes, listening to the cries of triumph from those too far to see what they’d just lost. The thought crosses his mind that his new suit will be his last suit and he wants to strangle it, wring his brain out for coming up with inappropriate things all the time.
The ground trembles. Peter finds it appropriate, a cruel mirror to his turmoil as his world falls apart. But then it trembles more, and Thor lands beside Mr Stark with confusion twisting his mouth. Peter wipes at his eyes and tries to remember if he’s ever seen Thor with a beard, and the part of his brain that never switches off suggests unhelpfully that even looking like he’s lost all motivation, Thor is still better looking than Quill will ever be.
Peter tries to strangle that thought too, and then Thor is pressing the hammer’s head of his axe to Mr Stark’s chest. Blue lightning crackles over the weapon before arcing through the air to the suit, heat thickening the air as dirt lifts from the ground. Peter instinctively reaches for Pepper and pulls her back, trusting Thor to do right by Mr Stark but not the weapon’s ability to discriminate. The light intensifies and Peter has to shut his eyes, not knowing what’s happening but hoping Thor’s doing what he thinks he’s doing.
A groan cuts through the air as the lightning quiets, and then a familiar voice asks, “Who stuck a fork in the toaster?”
Peter’s eyes fly open as Pepper bursts out of his grip, throwing herself over Mr Stark and holding disbelieving fingers to his face. Peter gapes at them, then at Thor, and then at Dr Strange for good measure as he joins them. “Your weapon?” Dr Strange says to Thor, eyes scanning Mr Stark’s body with such scrutiny that Peter wonders if he really is a doctor.
Thor shoots him an unsure smile. “It worked last time?”
Peter inches his way around Pepper, trying to get a good look at Mr Stark’s face. His eyes are open, lips moving with words he can’t hear. Dr Strange, apparently satisfied, says to Mr Stark, “Glad to see I don’t have to confirm your death,” his voice flat despite the relief in his eyes. “That would’ve been most unpleasant.”
“You knew that would happen,” Mr Stark says, and though it’s strained and lacks any real accusation, they’re the most beautiful words Peter has ever heard because it means Mr Stark is alive.
“It’s the one outcome where we win,” Dr Strange says, and Peter thinks he hears an emphasis on the ‘we’.
Then they’re surrounded by so many people that Peter’s lost in it, but that’s okay because they have time, now. He lets himself get lost in the crowd and slips his mask back on.
Peter doesn’t have a fever. He knows he doesn’t because Mr Stark invited him over for tea and he had Aunt May check, because surely he’s delirious, right? Mr Stark wouldn’t invite him over for tea. Either it’s a joke or he has some unknown illness that even his new suit can’t pick up.
But it’s not a joke and he’s in Mr Stark’s house. He’s standing awkwardly in the kitchen, because although Mr Stark set the time for two o’clock on a Saturday, he’s still recovering and Pepper has to check if he’s okay to get out of bed.
Peter puts the kettle on to boil, just in case there’s actual tea. His eyes dart over the kitchen awkwardly, unsure of what to do as he waits. A photo frame catches his gaze and he wanders over, picking it up with a touch of disbelief. He was gone for the length of a nap that was really five years and Mr Stark has a daughter. She’s in this photo, shy smile for the camera as her parents beam proudly for the photo. Peter can’t help but smile as he takes it in, then puts the frame back on the shelf. There’s another beside it, with Mr Stark in it so he picks that one up too, and –
He’s in it. It’s a photo of him and Mr Stark, posing for one of his internship things. There’s dust in the crevices of the frame and it’s newer than the other one, which means. Mr Stark kept his photo the whole time. Mr Stark kept a photo of both of them in his kitchen.
Peter puts it down because he’s lightheaded and hey, maybe he really does have a fever and the thermometer’s broken.
“Are you okay?”
Peter jolts at the sound and looks down to see the little girl from the photo blinking curiously up at him, clutching a toy rabbit to her side. He opens his mouth to reply he’s fine, or ask her name but instead what comes out is a too-loud, “I’m Peter!”
She blinks at him again. Peter has the sinking feeling she’s going to be the more reasonable one, even though she literally can’t be older than five. “I’m Morgan,” she says, squinting as she stares at his face. “You’re from the picture with Daddy.”
“Um, yes, that’s me,” Peter grins. He squats so he doesn’t feel like he’s looming over her. “I was. Am? His intern.”
Morgan’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Are you my big brother?”
Peter’s mouth drops open. “Um. Uh.” Utterly lost for words, he hears a snigger and looks up to see Pepper in the doorway, hand over her mouth. Mr Stark is next to her, leaning on a crutch and looking just as lost as Peter feels.
“Honorary big brother for now, sweetie,” Pepper says, coming in and lifting a giggling Morgan into her arms. Peter doesn’t know what to think of that.
Mr Stark makes his way to the table and Peter hovers near the kettle. “Did you want. Actual tea?”
Mr Stark stares at him for a long moment before shrugging. “Could use a coffee.” Peter hesitates and Mr Stark gestures to the cupboard. “It’s in there somewhere. Two sugars. No, three, since Pepper’s not here. Please,” he tacks on at the end.
The air is heavy with awkward silence as Peter makes one coffee and one hot chocolate. He sets them down, finally, and takes a seat. Mr Stark clears his throat. “Thanks for coming. I… never intended to put you in danger, and I tried to protect you. I hope you know that.”
Peter feels his cheeks warm. “I didn’t give you much say,” he admits to his hot chocolate. He thinks of that wasteland of a planet he got dusted in, takes in the lines on Mr Starks face and remembers once again that thirty minutes for him was five years for everyone else. He thinks of waking up, seeing everyone else who was with him looking just as confused as he was. Realises who wasn’t there. “We left you alone, on that planet. When we failed.”
“I had Nebula. Taught her bar games,” Mr Stark says lightly. He looks older, and Peter knows it’s not just from time. “Would’ve run out of oxygen if a glowing woman didn’t save us. You should meet her, Carol Danvers. You’d like her.”
Peter picks at his mug. He died. Mr Stark died. They’re having tea with no tea. “You hugged me, in the battle.” He finally lifts his gaze to see Mr Stark hide his face behind his coffee.
“I missed you,” Mr Stark says into his mug. “Thought you were dead.”
“I was dead,” Peter says, putting his hot chocolate down. “I had a nap and you have a family now. Which, congrats! I, um. Saw the photo. Of us.” He grips his mug. “You… actually missed me.”
Mr Stark wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sighs. “Of course I missed you. Who else would blow up my phone?”
Peter eyes the raw red skin of Mr Stark’s right hand. It looks terrible, but also like it’s healing. “Did you…” and he can’t believe he’s asking this, but. Mr Stark hugged him, and has a photo of them, and Morgan looked at him like they’d already met. “Did you miss me because I was your intern, or an apprentice of sorts, or…”
Mr Stark grunts and stands, impatiently swinging his crutch into place. Part of Peter is surprised he’s using something with no tech, and then Mr Stark is gesturing for Peter to stand. He does, and Mr Stark pulls him into another hug. “I missed you because you’re you, Peter,” he says, and his voice is gruff but his hands are warm. Peter tentatively returns the hug and hears the crutch hit the floor. “You’re family. I didn’t say it before because I was proud, but I lost you and nearly lost my family but I’m here and you’re here. So I’ll say it. You’re family.”
Peter’s eyes aren’t wet. They aren’t. “Mr Stark,” he says quietly, his brain quiet for once.
“Tony,” he says, not moving. “Call me Tony.”
Peter can see Morgan in the doorway, watching them with satisfied eyes. Pepper leads her away, an amused smile playing at her lips. “Okay,” Peter says, feeling the increasing weakness in Tony’s right side but supporting him without effort anyway. He pauses for a moment. “Am I. Still an intern or did you hire someone else?” Tony’s shaking in his arms and Peter’s concerned for a moment before he hears the snigger. “Are you. Are you laughing at me? Mr Stark! Tony!”
It’s still awkward but Peter has a lightness in his chest that hasn’t been there in a very long time. Tony told him Morgan thinks he was just an intern, so Peter tries to keep it normal for the next few dinners.
He succeeds for the most part. After all, how suspicious can a five-year-old be?
That is, it was going well until he was helping Pepper build a new set of crutches for Tony. Secretly, because they’ll have speakers to scold him when he inevitably abandons them to do something stupid. Her words, not his.
He’s focused on cutting the next piece and keeping his hands away from the laser that when he feels an unexpected tug at his leg he shrieks and finds himself stuck to the ceiling. After a moment he realises what he’s done and looks down to see Morgan gaping up at him, plush toy fallen to the ground.
Peter detaches and lands in a quick spin, hands stretched hopelessly towards Morgan. “I can explain.”
“Spider-brother,” she says, voice full of awe while her eyes sparkle. Peter knows she’s made the connection and he’s doomed.
“No, I just, um, know some magic tricks!” he says, trying for a grin.
Morgan picks up her toy, a plush Captain America toy that would’ve made Peter laugh at any other time, and runs for the door. “Mummy! Peter’s a spider-brother!”
He’ll never hear the end of this.