Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter tried to kill himself.

It had been seven hours since he’d tried. Jumped off a tall building and everything. The whole shebang – disabled his parachute, used all his webbing up so his body couldn’t react and try to save itself. He’d fully expected never to wake up when he stepped off that ledge.

His jump had been miscalculated and he’d hobbled away with a broken wrist and a sprained ankle. Stumbling back to his apartment, he had never wished more that May was alive to bandage him up and tell him everything was okay. But she was dead.

Was he? Sometimes he felt like he was already dead.

Lots of things had changed since he’d come back. May hadn’t been dusted but she had died two months after half the population had been snapped. Peter had been given an apartment by Tony in Brooklyn, where he lived alone until Tony (supposedly) was going to make a room for him at the lake house (that promise was made to him three months ago). The Avengers were all back together and better than ever, operating not under Captain America but the resurrected Black Widow. Queens was cleaner, somehow. Tony had a kid. He lost an arm. He and Miss Potts got married.

And Peter wanted to kill himself.

Peter had been sad before. Heck, he’d been depressed before.

This was different.

He wasn’t entirely sure how to tell Tony. He wasn’t sure he should tell Tony. Ever since they’d defeated Thanos and everything had finally gotten normal… I mean, what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey, Mister Stark! I’ve been depressed since I was like, ten, and I’ve never dealt with it and it’s come back to bite me in the butt! I tried to throw myself into the street the other day, didn’t quite work out. My aunt is dead and you don't really pay attention to me anymore. You have a kid now, and actual one, who is better than I could ever be. I don’t want to exist anymore. How was your day?’

That sounded stupid in his head. He couldn’t imagine what it would sound like out loud.

He’d promised May that if he ever felt this way, if he ever tried to do anything like this, he would tell someone. If not her, then someone.

Anyone.

She had known him so well.

God, he missed her.

Ever since coming back, he’d felt lost. He was always out of place. He didn’t fit into Tony’s family. He was no longer Tony’s kid. He didn’t get called ‘kiddo’ or ‘Peteypie’. He didn’t get to have movie nights because the Stark family went to bed early, something he had never expected Tony to do, because Morgan slept better if she knew her parents were asleep as well. He wasn’t an Avenger, he wasn’t good enough for them, but he wasn’t normal. Spiderman still saved people, he still stopped robberies and out of control trains. Spiderman still made a difference.

Peter didn’t. Peter was barely alive. He lived in an apartment by himself, making his own meals and never sleeping. It was too quiet or too loud, never a balance. He had panic attacks half the time and the other half he disassociated. He was a walking statistic for teenagers with mental disabilities, a poster child for what can happen to a kid who’s been raped, abandoned, seen countless deaths, saved people instead of saving himself…

Who was he kidding. He was a superhero. There weren’t statistics for him.

He hadn’t gone back to school, choosing instead to teach himself and take online classes. Tony had sworn he’d teach Peter himself, but … well.

He was lost in a world that he used to know so well. The Tower used to be his home. Tony used to be his dad. May used to be alive.

Peter used to be happy.

He was drowning in a current that was sweeping him away. He couldn’t breathe.                                    

Peter remembered the Soul Stone. No one else did. He wondered if it was because he’d caught Thanos’ eye. If he saw a child and spared him a moment’s thought. If he resigned Peter to five years of torture purely out of spite or some insane fluke. But he remembered.

Every.

Single.

Second.

The slow realization that he had tried to commit suicide hours prior was setting into his bones. The soft noises of the dishwasher filtered in from the kitchen, light from the windows laid across the pillows of his couch with white serenity. There were flowers on his table, though he couldn’t remember how they’d gotten there. There was Physics worksheets on the table, an open notebook beside.

It looked like a home. Just not his home.

He missed May’s tea mugs all over the apartment. He missed the classic Italian music filling the living room as she cooked dinner. He missed feeling safe and warm and wanted. He missed his home, his apartment, his May.

He was shaking. He hadn’t been shaking on that roof. There had been a blissful peace from all the way up there, looking down on the city he loved. Away from all the noise and the light. Up in the air, among the clouds it seemed, closer to the stars. He’d been in space. Staring up at the black expanse high above him, he’d remembered what it had been to be in that flying doughnut, seeing galaxies upon galaxies. It had been peaceful. He hadn’t been afraid up there, there had been no doubt as to what was the right thing. Step off the ledge, close your eyes, and let go.

It had been beautiful for the longest moments of Peter’s life.

And then he’d hit another roof, pain had sprung up in every part of his body, and the peace had ended.

He needed to tell someone. He’s promised May. She deserved at least this from him. He didn’t care about himself, but May had. May did. She always would.

Peter didn’t believe in God, but just for a moment, he selfishly prayed that someday, he would love himself like May had loved him.

He reached for his phone. The world around him looked like someone had taken the saturation tool and decreased it. Everything was dimmed, dull. Was this his life now? He couldn’t remember seeing color except his own blood. His own blood was always the brightest thing in the room. It entranced him whenever he saw it. The scars on his wrists bled like neon lights. His injuries on patrol were like shooting stars. The world around him was greyscale, lifeless, and his blood was the only real thing about him.

He needed to call someone.

His fingers clicked Tony’s contact before his demons could scream more doubts and insecurities about what an awful idea that was.

Tony picked up the third round. “Hey, kid, is this an emergency?”

Peter was silent for a second in shock. He knew that Tony was busy; Tony had a kid now. A real one. One that he’d chosen to have, not one he was landed with because of Peter’s own mistakes. He had a baby to look after. Why had he even picked up his phone he was so stupid oh my god just go jump off a building Peter no one wants you-

“Pete, can we raincheck this phone call? Morgan’s having a screaming fit because she hasn’t been sleeping well.”

Was this an emergency? May would have considered this an emergency, but May was his aunt. He was her family. He’d been with her since he was four years old. Tony didn’t care about Peter, at least, not in the way that May had. Not in the way that family loved on another. Tony had a kid. He had a family.

He didn’t need Peter.

Did anyone?

He swallowed. Tears continued to stream down his face, but he used his well-trained cover-up voice and said, “No, no, it’s not an emergency. Sorry for bothering you.”

“I swear I’m working on moving you down here, kiddo. It’s almost-,”

I have more important things to do than house an unwanted orphan. “Don’t sweat it, Mister Stark. I hope you and Morgan get some sleep.”

Peter hung up.

‘You should hang yourself.’

Peter’s hands shook even more.

Tony didn’t care. Why should he? Peter was just a kid he’d met because he had superpowers and he needed help beating Cap. They’d spent hours at a time together and Tony knew almost everything about him, and he kissed Peter’s forehead when he was proud of him and they fell asleep to Star Wars and Peter had called him Dad before the Snap but what did any of that matter?

He wasn’t Tony’s kid. Not like he used to be.

That hurt him. That hurt him so much. Tears grew in the corners of his eyes and he heard himself apologizing. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mister Stark. I’m sorry for …”

What? What was he sorry for? Being a burden? A bother? A nuisance? Was he sorry for dying?

Or was he sorry for coming back?

A voice that sounded like May’s said, “Call someone else.”

Now.

Ned answered but informed him he had a college final to study for. MJ was working on a journaling gig and didn’t have time to talk. Steve was on a mission. No one had time for him. No one cared.

Sam Wilson’s phone number glared at him. He almost didn’t press it.

Sam picked up almost immediately.

“Hey, Pete. Odd to get a call at five in the morning. Rough patrol?”

He answered. He wanted to talk.

When he didn’t reply, Sam’s voice grew slightly concerned. “Peter? You there?”

No. Peter hadn’t been here for three months. He was still in the Soul Stone. None of this was real. He wasn’t alive. He was dead. Just like May, and Ben, and Mom and Dad. All the Parkers were dead. That was their fate. Live here for a little while and then disappear off the face of the planet like they had never existed in the first place with no one but the next Parker to care. But what happened when the last Parker died? Who remembered him?

Who remembered Peter?

“Peter? Bud, you sound like you’re freaking out. What’s wrong?”

“I tried to kill myself.”

“What?”

Peter shook. He shivered. He was breathing quicker each passing second. Horribly clarity pierced him like a bullet and melted into his skin like acid. Ice filled his veins and suddenly the tears that he had pushed back cascaded down his cheeks in torrents. Sobs that had been crushed beneath the weight of his insecurity broke forth like tidal waves and he was drowning. The world came back into bright, brilliant, colorful focus and it was overwhelming. The blood on his palms was startling and dry, dark against his pale skin. The dishwasher was suddenly so loud it hurt his ears and the light from the moon was making his head hurt.

Everything was too much and he wanted to run for his razor, for a kitchen knife, for anything that could make all of this just quiet and-

“-in your apartment in Brooklyn. You’re on the phone with me, Sam Wilson. It’s 5:03 in the morning of July 30^th, 2023. Your name is Peter Benjamin Parker, nephew to May and Ben Parker, son of Richard and Mary Parker. You’re Spiderman. You are turning seventeen next month.”

Sam was safe. Sam had picked up the phone. Sam wanted to talk to him.

“Sam.”

“Hey, buddy.”

Peter’s breath picked up again. Someone knew. Sam knew. He knew what Peter had done. He wouldn’t want him when he understood. He would see how weak Peter was, how useless and unlovable. He would hang up, like Tony. He would abandon him. He should. Peter killed everyone he loved in the end.

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t seem to die.

“Sam. Sam.”

“I’m right here, Peter.

“Sam, I tried to kill myself. Sam, I tried to kill myself!”

He wasn’t safe even around himself. How could he be a hero if he couldn’t even save himself?

“Peter, you wanna come over here or do you want Buck and I to come over there?”

They wanted to see him?

“Of course we want to see you, Pete. You’re our friend and we care about you. We’re worried, Peter.”

Peter shook his head. “No, no, I’m fi-,”

“No, you aren’t.” How did Sam achieve such a calm tone in this situation? How did he keep his cool when there was a suicidal teenager on the other end of the phone? “You aren’t fine, and you aren’t okay. That’s okay, Peter. No one should expect you to be.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” The young hero whispered, tears stinging his cold cheeks. They were hot and salty and they weren’t stopping. His vision was shaking just like his hands and nothing seemed steady. He was falling, he was still falling, and he was never going to hit the ground. He was just going to float forever, never reaching his destination.

“Peter, you’re not a bother. You’re never a bother.” Sam’s voice was pained as he said this, as if he couldn’t understand why Peter would think that. As if he didn’t know. “Why told you that?”

Didn’t Sam understand? That was all Peter had ever been. To his parents, to May and Ben, to Tony.

Peter couldn’t even kill himself correctly.

He shouldn’t be alive.

“Okay, kid, Bucky and I are coming. Stay where you-,”

“No, no, I’ll – I’ll come to you.” And suddenly he was shooting to his feet, ignoring Sam’s shout of protest and stumbling around the coffee table to his bedroom. He abandoned his phone on the couch and slipped on his Spiderman suit without blinking once. His eyes continued to sting as he yanked on his mask. The material buzzed beneath his fingertips, or maybe that was just Peter disappearing again. Disappearing was better than living like this. Disappearing was better than living at all.

Karen didn’t let him disappear though. She patched Sam’s call to the suit without hesitating a second. Falcon’s comforting voice filled his ears right as he jumped out the window and swung into the city below.

“Peter? Pete, I don’t think it’s safe for you to be out right now. Go back to your apartment and sit tight, okay? Buck and I-,”

“I need to get out,” Peter gasped, Karen warning about heart rate but he couldn’t really hear her because he wasn’t really here. “Sam, Sam, I need to get OUT.”

“Okay, okay, Pete. Just have Karen send you over here, okay, kiddo? You know Buck and I love you.”

“You make fun of me,” he whispered even as he blindly followed the route his AI set out for him. “Call me names.”

“That’s because we care about ya, kiddo.” Sam’s voice was riddled with sorrowful fondness. “I call Bucky all sorts of names. Does that mean I don’t love him?”

Well, that was ridiculous. After the final battle for the world was over and Thanos had been defeated, he’d watched as Sam had tackled Bucky in a hug and then kissed the man like his life depended on it. They lived together, hell, they were probably going to end up married. Of course they loved each other. They teased each other because they liked each other. That was the point.  “That’s different.”

“Why, kid?”

“Bucky matters.”

Sam’s breath hitched. “Peter, you matter.”

Did he? Swinging through streets full of thousands of people, he couldn’t imagine why he would. He’d watched a young boy bleed out beside that intersection. He’d been too late to stop a girl being raped in that alley. He hadn’t caught a woman who’d jumped off that building.

He hadn’t saved May from dying in that hospital.

“Do I?”

Why couldn’t things get better? Why couldn’t he be better?

“Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“How far away are you?”

He lazily looked at Karen’s timer. “Two minutes.”

“Okay, kiddo. The balcony’s open, alright? Come right in.” Sam sounded so sad. Had Peter done that? Why did he have to mess everything up? Why couldn’t he do anything right? Maybe he’d come back wrong. Maybe he remembered the Soul Stone, but he wasn’t supposed to. Maybe he was broken.

“Hmm.”

“Do you want me to stay on the line until you get here?”

Peter wanted to say no. He wanted to let go of his webbing and let himself drop to the street. He wanted to die.

Most of him did. Most of him wanted to die.

Not all.

“Please.”

Sam let out a wet laugh. It sounded like he’d been holding his breath. “Of course. Of course, Peter.”

His hands started shaking again. “Sam?”

“I’m right here, buddy.”

“I’m scared.”

“That’s okay, Peter. I am too.”

That couldn’t be right. Sam was a hero. He was the Falcon.

“You are?”

The soldier laughed again, sounding only slightly hysterical. “Kid, I’m terrified right now.”

“Why?”

“Because someone I care about a shit ton just told me that he tried to kill himself.”

“Oh,” Peter answered nonchalantly. His eyes raked over the building that used to be Stark Tower. It was something different now. Some big cooperation. He wondered if it still looked like home. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, Peter. I’m scared because I care about you. I care about you, Peter.”

“You said that already,” he replied.

“I know, Peter, but I have a feeling that you haven’t heard it a lot recently.”

The truth hit him squarely in the chest. He landed on Sam and Bucky’s balcony with ease, letting his shoulders fall. His eyes slowly dragged themselves from his shaking hands to the open door into their apartment. On the threshold stood his friends, wide and worried gazes tracing him from head to toe.

Bucky was the one who made the first move. He walked forward and put on hand on Peter’s shoulder. The other snaked around and cupped the back of the boy’s neck. “Hey, kiddo.”

He broke.

Sobs overtook his body and he crumbled into the hero’s arms. Bucky wrapped him in his embrace, settling Peter into his chest and neck, safe and warm and wanted. Was this what love felt like? Was this what he’d forgotten?

May’s hugs had felt like this. How had he forgotten?

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Bucky. I’m sorry…”

“Shh, shh,” Winter Soldier stroked Peter’s hair. “Come inside, kiddo. I made hot chocolate.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. I didn’t want to do it, but I did and I’m so sorry,” he croaked, throat screaming in agony as more cries escaped his lips. All he did was cry nowadays. Why couldn’t he stop crying?

“We’ve got you, Peter,” Sam’s voice joined the cacophony that was Peter’s overwhelmed brain, settling a blanket of stillness over his dark thoughts. “We’ve got ya.”

Peter was settled on their couch between the two heroes. Bucky pulled a blanket off the back of the sofa and threw it over the three of them. The teenager glanced up at them.

They were both trying not to cry.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered.

“Oh, Peter,” Sam sniffed, a tear falling from his chin. “What’s wrong?”

“I – I want to die,” Peter moaned, choosing to stare at his shaking fingers. “And – and I feel like I came back wrong, like I wasn’t supposed to return after the Snap. I don’t belong anywhere. Tony moved on and – and he has Morgan; he doesn’t want me. May’s dead and my old apartment has other people living in it. I can’t sleep and I have nightmares and I cut myself and I cry all the time and I wish I was dead.”

Sam ran a hand through Peter’s curls, “Peter, why didn’t you tell anyone?”

The boy stared up at him, brows furrowed in confusion.

“No one asked.”

Bucky scowled, turning away. His jaw quivered as tears shone in his eyes.

“Peter, can I see your arms?”

He couldn’t hide anything anymore. Not from Sam’s pleading gaze. He lifted up his arms and rolled up his sleeves. Sure enough, white and red scars crisscrossed over his pale skin. They weren’t older than three months. May would never have let him get this far. May would have stopped him.

“Kiddo, why do you hurt yourself?”

“S quiet.”

“Okay,” Sam took his wrists, slowly drawing circles on Peter’s palms with his thumbs. “Why did you try to kill yourself?”

“I want to die.”

“Why?”

Peter swallowed. Why?

“I want to find peace.”

If heartbreak could be seen in human emotion, he saw it that morning in Sam Wilson’s eyes. “Does Tony know?”

Because everyone knew how close he and Peter were … how close they’d been. Because everyone saw the fatherly way Tony had treated the kid, the warm hugs he never gave anyone else, the worry he festered when the kid got hurt. They weren’t blind. Even if the Rogues hadn’t been around to witness it, they’d heard stories from Rhodey and Pepper about how Peter groomed Tony to be a dad.

“I called him,” Peter shrugged. “He was busy with Morgan.”

Sam frowned. “Did you tell him what was going on?”

“Didn’t get the chance.”

Bucky jerked suddenly and Peter could practically feel the rage emanating off his body. “I’m going to kill him.”

“No!” He shook his head frantically, grabbing Bucky’s arm. This was exactly what Peter was afraid of. He was just getting in everyone’s way and messing everything up. “No, no, it’s fine. Morgan’s much more important than I am and she wasn’t sleeping-,”

“Oh, and you committing suicide is so much less important than a five-year-old’s sleep schedule!” the war hero tore himself out of the kid’s grip and whirled around, fury burning in his dark eyes.

“Peter, Morgan isn’t more important than you,” Sam intervened gently.

The young hero scoffed softly. “She has to be.”

“Peter.” Tony used to be able to do that – say his name so soft and kind and stern all at once, like he couldn’t contain how much he adored the boy but had to get him to understand. Sam was pretty good at it too. Peter raised his glassy eyes to meet the Falcon’s brown ones. How did someone hold so much emotion in a single gaze? Peter always thought that he had such emotionless eyes. Whenever he looked at himself, all he could see was an emptiness that used to be so full. Would he ever be like that again? “Morgan is not more important than you are. She’s young, yes, and she’s Tony’s biological child. She is adorable and loud and mischievous and she’s the perfect little Stark child but she is not more important than you.”

“Yes, she is,” He stressed, closing his eyes tightly and shaking his head. It couldn’t be anything else. That had to be the reason. “I don’t matter like she does, not to Tony, and that’s okay. That’s fine, it’s fine. It’s all fine. I should be okay with that. I’m not even his kid, I don’t know why I’m acting like this-,”

“Why does she have to be more important, Peter?”

He didn’t want to answer Sam’s tender inquiry. “Because if she’s not… then why doesn’t he care?”

“He does care, Peter.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Yes, he does.” Sam sighed heavily. “Peter, I know it’s easier for you to say that Tony doesn’t care. I know it’s easier to just shove him into the box of parents who have died or left or whatever you call it and force yourself to act like it’s all okay, but it’s not. And Tony loves you, Peter, he does. But he’s also human and you know better than most that human beings are flawed creatures.”

He hummed in reply. It all made sense. Sam was being perfectly logical and compassionate all at once. It didn’t make anything better. Bucky seemed to think the same thing.

“Sam, that man is supposed to be his legal guardian! He’s supposed to be taking care of him! He – Peter, when was the last time you saw him? Face to face, in person? Hmm?”

The teen let out a shaky breath. “I – I don’t know. Two weeks?”

Bucky turned around again, fists clenching and unclenching with his need to break something. Sam sighed sadly.

“Peter, you know that people love you, right?”

Peter stared at him. No.

Sam’s eyes were so sad when the boy didn’t answer. “Bucky and I, Rhodey, Steve. And, bud, Tony loves you too, even if he’s been crap at showing it recently.”

“Shit at showing it, if you ask-,”

“Bucky.” Sam’s tone garnered no interruption. “Pete, there are lots of people who love you.”

He couldn’t possibly understand why. He glanced down at himself and scoffed softly. What was he? Useless. He couldn’t even die correctly. “I didn’t come back right.”

“Yes, you did, Peter.”

“No,” He spat, irritation rearing its ugly head. “No, I didn’t. I was fine before. I kept myself together, I didn’t cry myself to sleep, I didn’t cut, I didn’t try to kill myself. I was fine until – until stupid Thanos and – and now I’m a mess and I hate myself and I wish I was dead!”

“Were you?” Sam didn’t look convinced. “Because, Pete, if I had to make a guess, I would say that you’ve been depressed for a long time and coming back from being dead just … avalanched everything you were feeling.”

“Well, why can’t I go back to that?” Peter looked down at his hands, shaking in Sam’s gentle grip. “Why can’t I go back to just … being sad and that being okay?”

Bucky lowered himself back to the sofa, anger dissipating as he placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Kiddo, you’re a genius. You know that’s not healthy.”

“I don’t care.” He’d gone this far. He’d gotten to the point of wanting to kill himself, hadn’t he? Why should he care?

“We do,” Sam hadn’t stopped rubbing his palms. It was calming, the soothing motion of constant touching.

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not worth it.”

The men sitting beside him gasped softly, their eyes finally shedding the tears they had kept at bay. In front of them was a child, a baby by their standards, who had suffered more than most of the heroic adults they’d met. He had lost his parents, his aunt and uncle, was bullied and harassed, died, and felt abandon by the man who should have called him son. He hated himself for so much that wasn’t his fault and he had gotten to the point where he felt worthless. Where the only thing he should do is die.

“I’m just a kid, Sam,” Peter whispered, eyes wide and searching for an answer he didn’t think the man could give him. “Kids aren’t supposed to be heroes.”

“Peter, Peter, look at me.”

He did. He turned and really looked at him. He looked James Buchanan Barnes straight in the eyes and held onto the certainty he found there. He latched onto the steady ground that he couldn’t feel under his own feet and grabbed onto the love he didn’t deserve.

“You don’t have to be anything here. Just be Peter. Just Peter.”

“But – but nobody likes just Peter.” It was so childish to say it like that, but, well, that’s how it was.

Bucky cupped his cheeks. It was such a familiar action. Years ago, Tony would have done the same thing.

He could barely remember the last time Tony held him like this. Like he wanted him.

Did Bucky and Sam want him?

“I do. I like the sassy, nerdy, dorky, courageous and literal ray of sunshine that is Peter Parker. I like him an awful lot and I want him back.” Bucky pushed some of Peter’s messy hair out of his face. “I know he’s still in there. Do you know how I know?”

“How?” Please tell me. Please help me.

“Because you called us, kiddo,” the ex-assassin chuckled wetly. “Because you picked up your phone and actually called instead of going to another roof or pulling out a bigger knife and trying again. Because somewhere in there, underneath all this sadness, is a boy who wants to live. There’s the kid who talks during fights and gets up early to feed the stray dogs on Saturday mornings. There’s the kid who means the world to Tony Stark. He’s still here, Peter.”

Sam’s hand released his wrists and settled on his back. His fingers were warm. “Peter, do you really want to die?”

And he thought about it. He really did. He thought about the quiet that he’d experienced, the silence in his brain as he stepped off that roof in contrast to the small buzzing of their coffee machine or the birds on the balcony. He thought about the absence of fear and the blatant emotionlessness of it all, the disregard for life in its entirety as he let himself be taken by gravity and he pondered the absence of fear in this very moment, staring into Sam and Bucky’s fond eyes. He searched the depths of himself, the peace that he’d felt in those few seconds of lifeless falling, and then he compared it to the peace he was finding bit by bit in the slowly rising sun he could see from Sam and Bucky’s couch.

Falling, shockingly, came up short.

“No.”

How odd that the sun broke the horizon at that moment. How weird that suddenly he could hear everything again. There was a shop opening far below them, the smell of fresh bread breaking the air. There were pigeons cooing on a roof three streets over. A family was singing Happy Birthday. How strange that suddenly all the colors around him were bright but not crimson like blood, but blue like the sky and golden like the stretching rays of the sun. The flowers growing on Sam and Bucky’s windowsill were red and purple. There was a bright orange sweatshirt hanging off a balcony across the road. A white plane pierced the atmosphere above them. How remarkable that touch returned at that moment. How Bucky’s hand on his shoulder and Sam’s hand on his back were rough and gentle all at once, that they were grounding him in a world that he had been floating away from only moments ago. He could feel the couch under his legs, fuzzy and warm. He could feel the cool morning air against the skin of his face, could almost taste the coffee being brewed two floors below them.

Was this peace?

Peter fell asleep on that couch, huddled between two people who loved him. Who loved him, who told him they loved him, and who he believed. He rested his head on Sam’s shoulder and closed his eyes, finally feeling safe. Bucky’s metal fingers untangled his disheveled curls and situated the blanket atop them so that they would all be warm. Peter hoped that Tony had this. He hoped that he was curled up with his wife and daughter, feeling more loved than he ever had in his life. He hoped that somewhere in the man’s head, he was picturing Peter there too, asleep at his feet, safe and warm and home.

He hoped May was too, wherever she was. He hoped that she was looking down at him and proud.

He hoped she felt this kind of peace.

He awoke to the gentle sounds of Mario Cart. It was the best sleep he had had since the Snap. He opened his eyes slowly, a natural smile gracing his lips. Sam and Bucky were playing the video game whilst still keeping an arm around Peter. It was so odd of a thing to wake up to.

It felt like home.

“How do you keep getting first? You’re like ancient.”

“Not my fault I’m better than you, Birdie. Maybe if you didn’t have automatic drift on you’d play better.”

“Last time I tried manual drift I fell off of Wario’s Goldmine every ten seconds.”

Peter snorted.

Bucky and Sam looked down at him, pausing the game.

“Heyah, kiddo. Wanna join us?” Bucky lifted a spare controller. His boyfriend slapped his hand. “Ow!”

“How ya feeling, Peter?”

Peter thought for a moment. He almost started crying when he didn’t have to lie as he answered, “Good.”

“Yeah?” Sam smiled fondly, ruffling his hair. “Anything you need?”

His hands weren’t shaking anymore.

He glanced back up at the two heroes.

“I think I’d like that hot chocolate now.”

Both heroes laughed, scrambling up from the sofa to do just that. As they bickered in the kitchen, gathering supplies for a breakfast that they’d never gotten around to eating, Peter settled into the couch, happier than he’d been in a long time. As the smell of eggs filled their apartment and the sunset’s rays fell upon his tired face, he grinned.

Picking up Sam’s controller, he pressed play. Might as well get his friend up a few places.

“HEY!” Bucky yelped from the stove. “That’s cheating! Sam, get our kid under control!”

Peter laughed, throwing his head back as he passed Bucky’s halted cart, whizzing down Rainbow Road with the skills of an expert.

It wasn’t perfect. But then again, it didn’t have to be.

It was peaceful, though, and Peter supposed that was perfect for him.

Chapter Text

Peter’s apartment was empty.

The last time he’d heard from the kid was an odd call at five in the morning, right smack dab in the middle of one of Morgan’s insomnia induced fits. Between the child screeching and the throbbing headache pressing against his skull, Tony hadn’t been able to hear the tremor in his son’s voice. Something had made Tony want to stay on the line and talk, but with Pepper in Canada with Wanda, and Rhodey doing something with the government, he had to deal with his daughter first. He hadn’t realized what it was until he asked Friday to replay their conversation. 

His kid was crying. 

Peter had always been good at concealing tears if you couldn’t see him, but Tony prided himself in being able to see through the facade. 

Guilt had seized him when it dawned on him that he had hung up on a weeping Peter. Well, to his small credit, he hadn’t hung up. Peter had. 

That didn’t help him feel any better. 

Tony had called back later, once Morgan had finally fallen asleep around eight. He’d tried to call back. He hadn’t gotten an answer. 

That was thirteen hours ago. 

Tony ran a shaky hand over his face. He took a deep breath, turning Peter’s phone over in his hands and forcing the tears in his eyes to remain there. He surveyed the kid’s apartment, praying that he could find any clues in his absence. Physics notes sat on the table next to the flowers that Pepper had sent on Friday. Peter’s phone had been on the couch when Tony had come in, but it had long since lost its battery and the screen was dark. Blood dotted the coffee table and the sofa cushions, only making Tony’s worry mount. As he advanced towards the bedroom, guilt and panic continued to grow inside him. Nausea festered in his stomach at the horrible thoughts circling his brain. Kidnapped, tortured, blackmailed, someone found out his identity, someone wanted information, he’d gotten hurt on patrol and Tony hadn’t been there and-

The window was open, cool morning air chilling the room. Peter hated sleeping in the cold, not that it mattered. The bed was perfectly made and it didn’t look like it had been disturbed since the kid called. There was blood on the kid’s pillow too, a rusty crimson against the white pillowcase. As fear continued to fester within him, he searched the kid’s room and bathroom. His eyes surveyed the New York skyline through the large windows and he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by memory. If all had gone according to plan, he and Pete would have been out there for years, chasing bad guys and putting criminals in jail. Peter would have attached a web to his boot and they would have flown across the city, the kid’s high pitched hollers slowly growing deeper as he matured. He would have watched Peter surpass him in height, watch him rival Steve in muscle and stature, cheer him on from the sidelines as he finally hung up the suit, content with knowing that his son, his legacy, was watching over their city. 

And it had been theirs, once upon a time. 

But it hadn’t gone according to plan. Nothing had. Thanos had come and Peter had died and Tony had waited five years to save the one person he couldn’t live without because he was scared. He’d left Peter alone for five years, whether Peter remembered the Soul Stone or not because he had been too terrified to risk what he’d found with Pepper and Morgan, his perfect little family, to rescue the imperfect one. The one that was just he and Pete, talking a million miles a minute and making life-saving inventions. Just he and Pete, swinging across New York to the whoops and cheers of the people on the street. Just he and Pete, staying up until two just so that they could finish counting stars. Just he and Pete, flawed and broken, pieces of two different puzzles that managed to fit together just so, that helped heal the cracks in each other’s shattered hearts until somehow, they felt whole again. 

And he had abandoned that. Because he was just too scared. 

God, he hated himself, but for nothing more than that . 

Tony wiped the tear from his cheek. He had been too late to save Peter then. He had always been too late, it seemed. His parents, Skip, Ben, Vulture, Thanos, May. When had Tony ever been there when it mattered? When it wasn’t fighting the Rogues in an airport? Sure he’d snapped his fingers and destroyed Thanos’s army, but if he’d waited three seconds longer, he was sure Steve or Peter would have jumped to stop him, to take his place. When had he ever really looked at Peter, his kid, and just been there for him?

He had told Peter that he would bring him to the lake house. His room was finished the day that he had called, decorations and everything perfectly set. That was part of the reason he’d come to Manhattan, to help Pete move in. 

How stupid could this genius get? 

Three months. He’d waited three more months before getting to this point. Peter could have stayed on the couch or slept with Morgan for God’s sake. Why did it get to this point? How had Tony let it? 

Tony knew that somewhere in his mind, logic was reassuring him that he’d been in a coma for a good portion of those three months. He’d been recovering for the majority of the rest. He’d been struggling with his unsatiable PTSD, anxiety, and overall overwhelmed sensibilities after the entire ordeal of being dead for several minutes. He was still in recovery, technically, but did that excuse any of it? Even if he couldn’t have been awake to do something, shouldn’t Pepper have…

No. The father in him that had been trained by Peter and then Morgan shouted that no, it wasn’t okay. None of that could excuse his behavior. He’d been horrible. 

He was just like Howard. 

How many times had Tony sat in that big empty house alone, waiting for his father to come back? How many hours had he sat there, calling his father’s name, again and again, only to be answered by cursed silence?

How many times had Peter done that? How many hours had he sat on that couch, or in that bed, and prayed that someone would come back for him?

Had he not been abandoned enough?

Tony’s hands shook with his sudden sobs. God, he was an awful father. 

His phone buzzed in his jeans pocket and he jumped, breath stifling in his sore throat. How long had he been standing there staring out into the blue sky? He fished the device out of his pants, gently settling Peter’s phone on his bed before checking the caller ID. Sam Wilson’s ridiculous photo flashed across his screen, metallic wings in full view. Clearing his throat and pushing his emotions straight back into his stomach, he answered, “Wilson.”

“Hey, Tony.” 

Immediately, Tony dropped the emotionless facade. “What’s wrong?” 

“Steve dropped by earlier and said you were looking for Peter. I want-,”

He wasn’t sure how but suddenly he was in the hall, racing towards the stairs. The quicker he got to the roof the quicker he got to his suit. The quicker he got to his suit the quicker he got to Peter, wherever the hell he was. “Is he with you? God, is he okay? I’ve been so worried, Sam.”

Please tell me my son’s alright. Please don’t tell me this is one of those phone calls. Please don’t tell me my son is dead . 

“Tony, calm down, man,” Sam’s voice wasn’t the kind of sad that Tony affiliated with death, so he tried to grasp onto that small hope. “Peter’s at our place. Him and Bucky are making waffles right now, actually.”

Tension leaked from Tony’s shoulders like water against rubber. “Oh, thank God,” he sobbed, sliding against the wall. His head leaned back, tears escaped his tightly closed eyes. Relief joined the emotion-filled sea in his gut, but it did not swell enough to overpower his guilt and fear. “How is he?”

Sam hesitated. “Are you sitting down right now?” 

His feet that had already started moving again slowed down. “No. Should I be?”

Is he okay, Wilson? Is my kid okay ?

The winged hero sighed heavily. “It’s not good, Tony.” 

“Sam,” bated breath, galloping heart. “Tell me.” 

Terror had reared its head inside his chest. The relief that he had felt disappeared in a heartbeat, replaced by horrible dread. He’d felt this once before, when Peter had whimpered his name on that dusty battlefield, already becoming ash against his fingers. He had sworn he’d never feel it again, not while he drew breath. He had broken that promise too. 

Whatever it was he had been preparing for Sam to say, it wasn’t this. 

“Peter tried to commit suicide.” 

Tony’s stomach swooped. His vision tunneled and he was on the floor, breathing too fast and heart pumping too rapidly to be healthy. He was shaking, phone falling from his trembling fingers. Somewhere, he could hear Sam’s desperate voice yelling at him to calm down, to breathe, that it was okay and Peter was alright but he couldn’t really hear him because the images in his head were too bright, the sounds too loud. Peter’s wrists, sliced and red against the whiteness of his skin. Peter’s open eyes, lifeless and empty and dull, the opposite of everything he truly was, forever trained on one spot in the sky. Peter’s ever-moving hands, still against the stones beneath his fingertips, never to move again. Peter’s neck, encircled by rope, the freckles on his collarbone overtaken by the red scars of the cable. Peter’s broken body against the street, blood pouring out of his limp form, breath stopped too short. 

Peter’s hands, disappearing from Tony’s grasp. Peter falling into him, his legs gone now too and suddenly Peter was crying and begging. He was becoming dust in the wind and Tony couldn’t save him now, he hadn’t saved him then and he’d never left, had he? He was still on that damned planet, grasping for the ashes of his son that was his son please don’t take my son -

“TONY!” Sam’s voice appeared out of thin air, loud and forceful and gentle all at once and Tony came to sobbing, his entire body collapsed against the wall of the stairwell, the cold stone grounding him to the cold reality. 

His son was dead. 

“ Sam- ,” tortured, pained, broken.

“He’s not dead, Tony! Peter’s not dead!”

“He is ,” Tony croaked. “He is, I saw him. I held him, Sam, he begged me not to go.” 

“Tony, you aren’t on Titan. Thanos is dead, Tony. You defeated him, remember? You and Steve together. I was there, Tony. You need to breathe!” 

Breathe? Now? Right now? Was Sam serious?

When Peter had died, Tony hadn’t felt this. It had been numb and void and emotionless sorrow, a dichotomy he’d never experienced before. Now it was hot and full and overwhelming. He couldn’t breathe because all the sobs were filling his lungs. Blood and dust and death were corrupting his stomach and his heart was shriveling inside his chest. A fatherless child was called an orphan but what did you call a sonless father? What word truly captured this devastation of the soul?

Had Peter always been such a vital part of Tony? Had he always occupied such a large space in his heart? He was sure that Pepper didn’t take up so much room. He couldn’t even confidently say that Morgan did, precious though she was. It was like Peter was his soulmate, bound from the beginning, and the proclamation that part of his soul could die, that part of his soul could kill himself, was tearing Tony’s entire being apart. 

Was this how a man was truly created? Two halves of one whole soul? Was Peter his missing part? 

Was he going to be missing it forever?

“TONY!” 

Steve’s voice. It shook Tony to his core, and reality crashed against him in waves of desolation. Gruff and low and every bit the captain he was, pulling Tony above the ocean’s damning waters. Hadn’t that always been their thing? Reaching for each other when they’d fallen? Being there to pick them up?

“Your name is Anthony Edward Stark. Your wife’s name is Pepper; you have a daughter named Morgan and a son named Peter. You are the owner of Stark Industries, Ironman, and a hero. You’re fifty-three years old. You saved the world. It’s July thirtieth, at 6:30 in the afternoon. You’re at Peter’s apartment in upper Manhattan, New York City. You’re in the hallway, right? Feel the carpet under your hands. Listen for Peter’s AC, okay? There are probably pigeons outside his windows; there always are. Can you hear them?”

No. 

“Tony, can you hear them?”

He strained, and between the roaring in his ears and his own cries, he heard soft coos .

“Tony!” 

“Yes,” he hissed roughly. “I can hear them.”

With the admission came sight and sound and feeling. The world around him jilted back into focus. He was in the hallway of Peter’s apartment. Evening light was coming in through the windows. Peter’s AC was humming away and pigeons sat on one of his windowsills. 

Steve blew out a breath through the phone. “Good. Now get over here. God knows that I don’t have the emotional constitution to put up with a little lion cub distressed for his papa and the big daddy lion missing his baby. Sam and Buck took good care of him today, but I think it’s high time you swooped in and saved the day, don’t you?” 

Did Steve not understand? Tony hadn’t been there to save Peter. What difference would it make?

“Peter’s okay, Tony,” Sam added reassuringly. “He’ll need therapy, no doubt, and some good cuddles, but he’ll be okay. You know he will.” 

“He’s a strong kid.” Tony could almost see Steve crossing his arms and smiling proudly in the boy’s direction as he praised him. “Stronger than all of us.”

“Alive?” 

It was a whispered plea. He’d begged God before, so many times in those five years of absence. Would he hear Tony now?

“Yeah, Tones,” Steve answered. Firm, certain. “He’s right here.”

Tony picked up the phone and shakily made his way out of the apartment. He took the elevator to the roof and walked towards his sentry suit in a daze. Suicide. His kid had tried to commit suicide. Happy, cheerful, hopeful Peter Parker had thought his life was worth so little that removing himself from it wouldn’t have mattered. As if his death wouldn’t break Tony even further. 

How - did Tony really fuck up so badly?

“No, Tones,” Steve’s grounding and soothing tone was projected by Friday as he entered his suit. “This doesn’t mean you failed. Sam thinks that Peter’s been struggling with depression for a while, probably well before the Snap and, well, just get here, okay? Peter’s okay. He’s safe and loved and he’s been taken care of.”

“But I-,”

“Tony,” Cap’s voice garnered no argument. “Do you love Peter?” 

For a moment, Tony sputtered. Was Steve serious? “Of course .” 

“Then just get here. I know you think this is all your fault, and yes, you could have been around a little more and not left him in the city by himself three months after he had died, but this is a problem that’s been going on for a long time. Pete has a big heart. It makes sense that he feels pain, especially sadness, on a level far greater than others.”

“Why didn’t I…” the inventor shook his head, taking off from the roof as fast as his boosters would let him. “I should have been there. Is he mad?” 

Tony wasn’t sure he could face a mad Peter. 

But rather a mad Peter than a dead one. 

“Sam said he was.” 

“Good.” 

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, I guess he’s entitled to be a little angry.”

“I love him.” 

The Captain’s voice turned fond. Tony could hear the understanding smile on his lips as he soared through the sky towards Sam and Bucky’s apartment. “I know, Tony. He’s not angry now.” 

Tears jumped to his eyes. He didn’t deserve Peter. He’d never deserved his forgiveness or his kindness or his love. He hadn’t deserved it when they’d met and he hadn’t earned it since. 

“Tony, Pete’s okay. He’s okay. He just wants his dad.”

“Don’t-,” Tony choked, shaking his head harshly. “He shouldn’t.” 

“Why not?” Steve asked gently. “He loves you.” 

“He shouldn’t .” 

“Maybe,” the hero conceded. “But he does. Instead of assuming who Peter can and can’t give his love to, perhaps you should be thankful that he does , and get over it.”

Tony felt tears stinging his vision just as Sam and Bucky’s top story apartment came into view. It was a suite-style flat, taking up almost the entire top floor of the building. Tony had made sure that his friends were well put up when he retired after Thanos was defeated, and since he couldn’t seem to voice emotions like a normal person, he’d bought them expensive living space. Same thing, right?
The balcony’s doors were wide open, the curtains beyond them fluttering in the breeze. Tony landed gracefully, or the suit landed gracefully. Tony probably would have landed like a drunken duck on his way to his next fix. The titanium alloy opened slowly, too slowly for his liking, and he stumbled out. Steve was there to catch him when he did. 

“Oh, Tony,” he breathed when he caught sight of his friend’s face.

Tony didn’t have to be a genius to know he looked like a mess. His eyes were probably bright red from crying and his hair was disheveled. His breathing was everywhere but healthy and his hands were shaking. Anxiety had probably written itself across every feature of his expression. 

“Come on, Tones.” Cap wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led him inside. 

Instantly, Tony’s eyes searched for his kid. Within seconds, he’d found him. He was sitting at the counter, a mug of steaming something in his hands. His smile was soft and his eyes were crinkled with silent laughter. He looked so at peace. 

“Hey, guys. Guess who dropped by.” 

Despite Steve’s informal introduction, the air in the apartment was tense. Tony could feel his anxiety pawing at the ground ready to strike. Peter’s eyes were downcast, staring into the contents of his cup. He could probably hear his adoptive father’s racing heartbeat. Sam had a firm hold on Bucky’s metal arm and if he had not, Tony was sure that the ex-assassin would have launched himself at the billionaire. Fury had settled into Bucky’s features and his knuckles were clenched. Sam looked pensive, mouth set in a firm line and worried glance going from Pete to Tony and back again. Steve seemed like the only one who had his shit together. 

“Um, sorry to drop in like this.” It was lame. He knew it was lame, but in the face of Peter’s suicide, he was not sure what else to say. All the charisma and suave personality that should have come rolling off him like water on rubber had disappeared in a flash. What would smoothe words do to battle Peter’s sadness? What comfort could Tony bring with nonsense comforts and meaningless niceties?

“Give me one good reason why-,” Bucky lunged. Tony did not move, ready to accept his punishment.

“Because that’s Tony, Buck,” Sam jerked his boyfriend back. “And yeah, this sucks. But it’s not his fault.” 

“It’s okay, Birdboy,” The inventor waved his arms weakly. He took a step further in the room. “Wolfie’s right.”

“Tones,” Cap’s voice became pained. “You made a mistake. But this isn’t-,”

“Yes it is,” Tony snapped. Tears burned the edges of his vision. God, when would his eyes get tired of crying? “If I had just been better at loving you, Pete, than none of this would-,”

“Tones, we all mess up. This isn’t all on you, okay?” Sam glared at his boyfriend taking several steps toward the retired hero. “You’ve been busy, we get that. Peter gets that. But you have a chance to make this right, yeah? You can’t change what happened leading up to this point, but you can change what happens next.”

“Next?” he hissed, jerking his head to the side and closing his eyes tightly. They did not understand. He could not possibly atone for this, for this atrocity. He could not make up for the innocence and happiness that Peter had lost. He could not find redemption strong enough for this heinous deed. “Why the fuck does it matter what happens next if I was shit at being a father before-!”

Apparently interrupting was going around, because Peter cut in with, “No.” 

Silence. The kid’s hoarse voice pierced Tony’s heart like a knife. He finally moved, slowly sliding off the stool he was sitting on. He walked towards his surrogate father with his head down, knuckles pale, with the gate of a man going to war. He halted in front of Tony, and he noticed that the boy’s bottom lip was trembling and chapped. He had been biting it. There were bags under his eyes, dark ones, and his lashes were rimmed with red from crying. Tony hated himself, but rarely did he ever hate himself more than when he made Peter Parker cry. 

There was hardly a sin more grievous than an act that harmed the purest soul on earth.

“Peter,” Tony’s voice was wrecked and he did not realize he was pleading until his mouth opened and words rolled off his tongue in that begging tone. He did not beg, but he would for Peter. He would do anything for Peter. “You don’t have to forgive me. You shouldn’t, actually-,”

“I’m not ,” the kid spat softly, if one can do such a thing. His hands tightened at his sides. “Because there’s nothing to forgive.”

You don’t deserve him. You’ve never deserved him. He almost slipped away and you never would have known because you don’t deserve him . “I know I’m the last person you need right now-,” 

Suddenly, Peter hurled himself into Tony’s arms, burying into his chest and settling his head in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Perfect. He had always fit so perfectly there. 

Tony did not deserve this. 

“You’re the only person I need.”

He did not deserve that either.

“You’re the only person I really want too.” Peter lifted his head from Tony’s chest just enough to meet his eyes. He smiled softly. It was such a juxtaposition to the hard-jawed boy that had been here only seconds before. “If that helps you stay.” 

“Why?” Tony asked, tears shining in his eyes. He didn’t understand. How badly he’d floundered, failed, stumbled and in the end, Peter had been the one to help him stand. How could Peter want anything to do with him after what he’d done?

“Because you’re my dad.” 

Tony shook with a relieved sob. Over the kid’s head, Steve smirked knowingly, patting Sam and Bucky on the backs. The trio silently left the pair to let them talk. Now that Peter was in Tony’s arms, an ounce of the anxiety he had been feeling dissipated; his shoulders fell and he pulled Peter further into his arms, nestling the kid’s head into the crick of his neck. Carefully, he sat them both down on the sofa. Peter climbed into Tony’s lap with ease and the inventor held him there, content to just breathe in the kid’s scent. He’d taken a shower since he’d been with Sam and Bucky, and Tony ran his fingers through the boy’s rambunctious curls. Peter did not do anything but sit in his dad’s arms and sigh, but soon enough, Tony felt a wetness appear on his neck. 

“Butterbean?” one hand remained amongst the curls. The other gravitated lower to run ghost his fingers over the kid’s spine. “Talk to me, buddy. I know I haven’t been here - that I haven’t been a good dad, but I-,”

“You’re the best dad,” Peter gasped wetly, shaking his head. “You’re the best, okay? This isn’t - this isn’t your fault.” 

Tony sobbed, gently pulling Peter’s chin so that he would look up at him. He did. “Pete, you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to be strong for me, kiddo. That’s not your job. You can be mad, Squirt. Hell, you should be mad.”

“I was,” he snapped softly, lowering his eyes. Tony clicked his tongue. He hated not seeing Peter’s eyes. They were so beautiful and big and kind. “I was mad. I was furious. But -,”

“But what, Pumpkin?” 

The whole world held its breath for a moment. Nothing else mattered but the kid in his arms. 

“You’re my dad.” he said it like it fixed everything. Like the past three months had not been filled with Tony’s horrible parenting techniques. Like Peter had not tried to commit suicide. “You’re the strongest, kindest, most wonderful human being I’ve ever met and I missed you.  God, I missed you so much. But what I did -,” a short breath, shaky and scared but resolute. Determined. Unwavering. “I didn’t do it because of you. I’ve been sad for… a long time, okay? That’s not on you.” 

‘ And if you died? I feel like that’s on me. ’

“Kiddo-,”

“When Steve got here, I was mad. I’d cried my eyes out with Sam and Bucky and all I felt was anger towards you for abandoning me. I told him that I shouldn’t have been surprised; everyone else in my life had done it, right? Mary, Richard, Ben, May. Everyone leaves. But then - then he started talking about those five years without us,” Peter’s volume diminished into a hush. “What you’d done. How you had nightmares and panic attacks because of me.”

“Kiddo-,” he tried again, but Peter was quicker. 

“I’m not apologizing for dying, Tony.” He whispered, hands tightening their grip on Tony’s shirt. “I’m saying that I understand now. I understand why you didn’t try and save me immediately. I get it. I get the coma and - and the distance and the pain. I get it. It’s not perfect, but I can’t ask you to be perfect, Tony. No one is. But you love me, don’t you?” 

The billionaire gasped. “Of course, Peter.” 

“Then that’s good enough for me.” That smile was so him . It quirked higher on one side than the other. It flashed his dimples and made his eyes sparkle. Tony realized that it was the first real smile he had seen from the kid in five years. 

That made him cry all the harder. 

“Tony, I’m going to be okay.”

Not he was okay, not he was fine . 

But he would be. 

That was a promise.

“Tony.”

“Yes, baby?”

The endearment turned his cheeks and nose pink. “Thank you.”

“Don’t,” Tony shook his head. “Don’t do that. You can’t thank me. I’ve done everything wrong, Peter. I’ve fucked it all up again. First it was the Ferry and Vulture. Kid, I let you die. And I finally got you back and I couldn’t even love you right, something I’d told myself I would do from the start and-”

“I didn’t feel myself when I was here and you were at the lake house,” Peter whispered, playing with the hem of Tony’s shirt. “And then I realized that you had the missing part of me right here.” he poked Tony’s chest, right where the man’s heart was. “And I don’t want it back. I want you to keep it, because I love you, and I know you love me. But… I didn’t feel whole without you by my side.”

The kid looked down at his shaking fingers.

“My life didn’t feel whole without you in it.” 

“I’m staying kid.” Tony tipped his chin up and held it between his fingers. He stared straight into those identical brown orbs. He searched deep into Peter’s soul and tried to ingrain the promise there, to stitch it into every pattern, every design. He delved into the darkness that had settled there and used this promise like a torch, a threat to any of Peter’s demons that Tony was ready to fight them. That he was not afraid. That he would protect his son, that he would not make the same mistake again. “I promise.” 

“I don’t deserve that.”

“No,” Tony leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “You deserve so much better . But I’m gonna try, Pete. I promise, okay? I promise .”

“I’m sorry,” Peter sobbed quietly, letting his tears roll down to meet Tony’s gentle fingers. He was quick to wipe them away. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t be ashamed. Don’t feel bad about the wars your soul had to fight to save itself. Those battles, they make you so fucking strong, kid.”

“I’m not strong.” 

A four year old watching his parents lowered into graves. A fourteen year old with his uncle’s blood staining his hands. That same fourteen year old donning a homemade suit to fight for others. A crumbling warehouse. A downed plane. Dust on the wind. Returning, fighting the Mad Titan, winning. 

Jumping off a building, falling.

Flying . 

“Peter Stark.” 

The kid jerked at the name change, wide and glistening eyes boring into his dad’s.

“You are the strongest person I have ever met.” 

He continued to stare. Suddenly, Tony had to make him understand. If he was going to fix this, if he could earn back a part of this kid, that would be enough. Just a part. He had never deserved any of Peter Parker, but if he could just try .

“I used to think that I couldn’t be saved,” Tony croaked weakly. His hands were shaking. When had that started back up? “That - that I was unrescuable. But then I met you. And Peter, even Pepper, Morgan, they could never have saved me like you did. After Siberia I was a cold person. I became angry and bitter, worse than I’d ever been before. And then you came. And Butterbean,” he chuckled wetly, brushing away more of his son’s tears. “You brought laughter back into my life. You brought sunshine and smiles and movie nights and hope and love and I will never be able to do enough to earn that. I can’t love you enough to match the love you gave to me - give to me. I don’t believe in soulmates, kid, but - but if I had one, it wouldn’t be Pepper. Hell, it wouldn't even be Rhodey.”

Peter’s bottom lip trembled and Tony saw all the sadness and joy at once in his eyes. Tony swore to be better, to try harder. To push Howard down a flight of fucking stairs and piss on his grave. To look at this kid, his son, and treat him how he had always deserved to be treated. When Peter stumbled, he would be there. When Peter jumped for the razor, he would be there. When Peter was on the roof, staring at stars and crying for answers, he would be there.

When Peter needed love, Tony would be there. 

“It would be you.”

He sniffed. “I tried to die.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to.”

The best news that Tony had heard in his entire life. “I’m so fucking glad, baby.”

“I want help.”

Tony sobbed again, the kind that shook his entire body and he yanked Peter in again. “Oh, buddy. We’ll do it, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

It was not perfect. But then again, neither of them were. They both made mistakes. They both suffered and sometimes getting up in the morning was the hardest thing in the world for the pair. But they tried. And it took a long time for Peter to love himself. But that was alright. Tony loved him enough for the both of them.

And the next time Peter was on that building and he jumped, it did not feel like falling. 

No. 

It felt like flying .