Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Harley Vincent Stark hadn’t been an only child ever since he was three years old, when his younger brother Pietro Cassidy had been born. He never once wished to experience being an only child again, even when he and Pietro fought, but most especially when his younger sister Alia Dashielle had been born.

Harley was six years old when he became familiar with the chaos brought by three children in the penthouse of the Stark Tower.

"Mama!" Pietro would scream, bare feet pattering against the floor as he ran to where their mom was. "Harley's being mean!"

"Am not!" He would defend himself, hot on his brother’s heels. "Peter keeps trying to give Tasha Legos!"

Their mom would take one fleeting second to look at them both before sighing, "Wear your slippers and come back."

Harley was nine when his usual call by the door was met with ominous silence, rather than two sets of a call back and little feet running.

"Pietro and Alia aren’t here, bud." His dad forced every word out, as if everything he said pained him. "They—"

"—are playing hide-and-seek, right?" He couldn’t let him finish, not when he could sense something was very wrong. "Peter and Tasha love hide-and-seek."

"Harley, honey, listen—" His mom tried to wipe her tears discreetly, but more just kept flowing down.

He shook his head, his fist clenched on both sides — nails digging onto his palms. "We— We just need to find them. Right, mom? Dad?"

Harley was nine when he became reacquainted with the silence of being an only child of the two most influential people in the world.

Harley Stark, eldest of Tony and Pepper Potts-Stark, soon found how great his siblings had become at hide-and-seek while he was away. He never gave up searching every nook and canny, though, even as years passed, still believing that either Peter or Tasha would be there — stifling a laugh as they wait for him to find them.

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Peter was having trouble remembering what was his life like before any of this. Before he lived in a cage with nothing but a stone cold floor. Before a number of cuts and bruises decorated his body. Before his baby sister was used to get him to obey.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he felt sunshine against his skin. It must’ve been the day he and Tasha had been taken from the beach, however long ago that was.

"Kid, are you alive?" The voice startled him still, despite hearing approaching footsteps a moment before.

In lieu of answering, he found himself steeling his demeanor. "Who are you?"

"I’m Agent Parker." He wasn’t one of them. Peter wasn’t entire sure what gave that away, but he was almost certain. "What’s your name?"

He waited a moment to respond, "Peter."

"Nice to meet you, Peter." He didn’t have the energy to smile back. Thankfully, the adult didn’t seem to mind. "Let’s get you out of here."

"I can’t leave." Peter stayed rooted on his spot on the ground, ignoring Agent Parker’s outstretched hand. "They’ll hurt my sister."

"We won’t leave your sister behind." He uttered it like a promise, but he wasn’t convinced. "Fitz, do you copy? . . . Can you bring the girl to where I am? . . . Her brother wants to see her."

It wasn’t until Tasha appeared by the opening of his cage with two lollipops on hand did Peter realize a couple of things.

One, she was in a much better condition than he was. Which meant he succeeded in protecting her from harm, at least for the most part.

Two, she wasn’t warned about the dangers of accepting candies from strangers. Because why else would she eat a lollipop when this was the most unnatural place to receive one?

"Tasha." He ignored the protests of his sore body and lifted her into a hug. He buried his face into her hair, "You’re alive."

"Peter!" Tasha grinned at him like she was about to tell him about the best part of her day. "Agent Fitz gave me a lollipop! I got you one, too!"

Peter’s broken ribs only allowed him a soundless chuckle. He accepted the lollipop, but only because it was his sister giving it to him.

The sunshine that welcomed them out was muted, not quite blazing like the last time he felt it on his skin. It must’ve been winter already, which meant his and Tasha’s birthdays already came to pass.

Peter couldn’t remember what life was like before darkness engulfed his— their lives. He wasn’t sure what kind of life awaited them, not even what kind of new normal they were supposed to get used to. All he knew was, whatever it was, he just needed Tasha safe.

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Harley got used to staying in his siblings’ rooms more than his own. He studied in Tasha’s room and napped in Peter’s. There was some comfort in being surrounded by everything of theirs, a collective reminder that they weren’t just mere fragments of his imagination.

At first, he had been against the idea of changing their sheets and rearranging their rooms. He didn’t want Peter and Tasha to feel unfamiliar with their own rooms when they come back.

However, as years passed, stepping into their rooms had become jarring. Everything in the penthouse changed, yet their rooms stayed almost exactly how they left them. The rooms had become memorials of sorts for a five-year-old Pietro and a two-year-old Alia.

Harley couldn’t stand that. Because neither of his siblings were dead. Someone just hid them really well. Peter and Tasha would be back eventually— soon.

"Alia can’t fit in her crib anymore," Harley announced one dinner out of the blue.

He heard the second his parents stopped moving. He knew they were having a conversation with just their eyes right in front of him, without needing to lift his attention off his plate. They did that a lot when they were conflicted.

"Pietro probably needs a bigger bed, too," his mom eventually agreed, albeit indirectly. "Would you like to help me redecorate their rooms, honey?"

"Yes, please," he nodded eagerly.

"Wanna build their new beds together?" His dad offered next. "We can rebuild your bed, too."

He perked up even more at that, "Really?"

Harley caught his parents share a look at his reaction, but he didn’t give it any thought. Frankly, his mind was already occupied by the thought of helping his parents decorate Peter and Tasha’s rooms — just like he did then, before they were born.

Harley found sanctuary inside his siblings’ rooms. In them, he found company in the ghosts of what-had-beens. With them, he didn’t feel entirely alone.

He just hopes the ghosts don’t go away with the redecoration, like the scents on their sheets eventually had.

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Peter was anxious. His shoulders were up to his ears, tensed. His back was straight, rigid. His eyes were darting around the room, cataloging everything and everyone at every movement he sensed. His arms were around his sister, protective, ready for any sign of potential danger.

No matter how many times Agent Parker and Agent Fitz (who was apparently also a Parker, she was just using a shorten version of her maiden name at work) reassured him that they were safe, he couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder. Something really bad happened when he wasn’t vigilant about his surroundings and he really didn’t want any repeats.

"Do you remember who your family is, Peter?" Agent Parker asked him once when he was situated in a hospital bed with a bag of liquid connected to his veins. "Your dad? Mom?"

"I— I think so." He tried to think back. "We have a brother, too. We have a— a mom, a dad, and an older brother."

"Do you remember any of their names?"

Peter looked at him in horror as his mind came up blank. "I can’t." He could suddenly hear the thumping of his heart in his ears and the machine next to him beeping faster. "Why can’t I—"

"Alright, bud, take a deep breath. It’s okay." Agent Parker immediately tried to calm him down. He could barely hear him repeat "it’s okay, you’re okay" over and over.

Peter only calmed down after Agent Parker said, "We don’t want to wake up your sister with all the beeping, right?"

"Sorry," he apologized a moment after he stopped hearing his heart in his ears. "I didn’t mean to."

"Don’t worry about it," Agent Parker assured him with a small smile. "I just have one last question before I let you rest. Is that okay?"

Peter nodded mutely. He had a feeling the next question would be on the same vein as the previous one, so he distracted himself by absentmindedly smoothing Tasha’s hair as she continued to sleep. They were supposed to be occupying different beds but both of them refused to separate, so the adults had to give them a bigger bed to share.

"Do you remember your full name?"

Just like he did on the previous ones, he took a moment to think. "I just remember Tasha’s name has an ‘A’ in the front, with an ‘ah’ sound."

He knew he didn’t answer his question, but directly admitting that he came up with nothing again didn’t feel right. Thankfully, Agent Parker seemed to have gotten the hint and didn’t press him for anything else.

Peter only allowed himself to close his eyes and sleep after looking around the room and draping a protective arm on Tasha, who instinctively snuggled closer.

Peter was traumatized — at least according to the voices in his sleep. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but the voices said he was showing a lot of the common signs. It was the trauma that blocked his memories from his life before and the voices weren’t sure if he’d ever get them back.

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Harley always talked about Pietro and Alia in either present or future tense, but never in past. There were never ‘if’s, either, just ‘when’s. There was always certainty whenever he talked about them, like there was no other truth.

Even when all the leads eventually ran into dead-ends, they were always alive in his speech.

Harley had gotten less vocal about wanting to know how the search for his siblings was going. He could only take so much disappointment, after all. However, that didn’t mean he thought about them less nor that he was starting to forget.

"Mom." He turned his head to the side, willing his mom to catch his stare.

"Yes, honey?" He took a moment to admire her eyes. The love in them, whenever he was in her line of sight, never changed — even when Pietro and Alia came into the picture. "Something on your mind?"

Harley wasn’t oblivious to the emotions she — and, by extension, his dad — had been hiding since he came back from summer camp and found his siblings gone. He wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, but he was assuming it was similar to what he had been feeling since the news was broken to him. "I feel . . . conflicted."

As such, he knew his mom would understand. "About?"

"I don’t know if I should wish that Peter and Tasha are together right now or not." He looked down with a pout and lightly creased eyebrows. He fiddled with her sweater as he thought of how to phrase his explanation. "I want them to be together, so they don’t get lonely. I guess that’s fine if they’re okay, but— what if they’re not? What if— What if—" He took a deep breath, unwilling to finish his thoughts. "I don’t want to wish that they’re both suffering, but I also don’t want to wish that one of them is suffering alone, either. It’s hard."

"Oh, honey." His mom put a gentle hand on his head, but didn’t say anything else. The silence stretched until she eventually found her voice. "I’m sorry, Harley. You have a valid concern, Mommy just doesn’t know what to say."

"It’s okay, mom. You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to share."

Harley was always encouraged to speak his mind and to express what he was feeling. Although both of his parents encouraged him so, he spent more of his time with his mom. As such, she was subjected to his musings more often than his dad.

They usually have a comment or two, either to guide him or to show their attention, but he rarely received any whenever his thoughts involved his siblings. Rather, he would get silence and a bone-crushing hug at worst.

Harley learned quickly that a hug hurt more than an apology at times, because the former meant tears he wasn’t supposed to know.

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Peter adjusted for Tasha’s sake. He eventually stopped flinching whenever someone that wasn’t her came close. He learned how to fake a smile to discourage anyone from worrying. He mastered being subtle about his hyperawareness and suspicion of everything and everyone.

The only thing he didn’t really change was his protectiveness over Tasha — which was easy for adults and strangers to overlook, thankfully.

"Ben and May," Agent Parker — who recently reintroduced himself as Richard — started, "this is Peter and Tasha."

In his peripheral, he saw Tasha look up at him like she was waiting for him to make the next move.

Peter took that as his cue. He gave them a small smile, "Hello, I’m Peter Parker."

He touched the back of Tasha’s hand with his to signal her to introduce herself next. He would’ve easily done it for her, but she needed to get used to her new name.

"Hello, I’m Tasha Parker!" His smile widened unconsciously upon noticing how she copied him, but made it her own.

"Oh, how adorable." Peter found himself silently agreeing to the comment. His sister really was adorable, a ray of literal sunshine — especially to anyone she sensed he trusted enough.

"We’re your Uncle Ben and Aunt May," the man who resembled Agent Parker introduced himself and the woman next to him. Thankfully, like Agents Parker and Fitz, they both gave off auras that Peter deemed safe and harmless. "It’s so nice to finally meet you both."

"They’re the ones we named you guys after," Agent Fitz — whose name was actually Mary Parker, née Fitzpatrick — informed him and Tasha.

And, as it seemed, if their expressions were anything to go by, this was also a revelation for the other two adults. "What?"

"Yup," Agent Parker sounded pleased with their reactions. "Peter Benjamin and Atasha Maybelle."

Peter knew Tasha reacted to things based on how he did. She held his judgement at a high regard and almost always waited for a signal before doing her own thing. She depended on him in more ways than one, most especially during unfamiliar situations.

As her older brother, he appreciated her complete trust on him. It made his mission to protect her much easier. However, it wasn’t in his plans to raise his sister to be his shadow: so unsure of herself and heavily dependent on him.

It also didn’t help that he knew exactly what her behavior was a manifestation of. After all, her fate once rested entirely on his actions— his obedience.

Peter was set on healing Tasha’s scars, even if it meant he had to bury his. Anything for his little sister’s sake.

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Harley rarely dreamed of his siblings. He found that strange, as they were often present in the thoughts he drifted off with. Even if they weren’t in his thoughts, they were certainly always in the back of his mind — residing in a part of his subconscious permanently, almost.

When he did dream about them, it was often something he didn’t want to wake up from. Memories of the fun times they had. What-ifs of the life they could’ve continued to live. In them, they were always happy. He was always happy.

Too bad the dreams seemed to always disappear as soon as he opened his eyes.

His new dream with Pietro and Alia started out like any other. They were playing a game, one of their usuals and favorites: the infamous hide-and-seek. He wasn’t the seeker this time as their dad decided to join the fun so he, too, scrambled as soon as the countdown began.

As the dream would have it, his dad found him first — which meant he had to follow him around while he continued his search for Pietro and Alia. He didn’t mind being found first, as it was part of the game. Plus, it meant he could watch them giggle after being found — and those were always great to see.

By the time him and his dad began searching the last room, they still haven’t located Pietro nor Alia. By the time they finished checking under everything, a sudden sense of dread filled his being.

The feeling only intensified when they thoroughly rechecked everywhere twice and there were still no traces of either of them. Like they just vanished into thin air.

"Peter! Tasha!" Harley heard himself call their names. "Great job hiding, Dad and I can’t find either of you. You can come out now."

The silence that answered him was deafening. "Seriously, guys. Game’s over! You both won."

And suffocating. All at once. "Peter! Tasha! Where are you? This isn’t—"

Harley woke up with a start.

And the very first thing he saw, against the darkness of his room, was the faint light of an arc reactor.

"Dad!" Tears started pouring down as soon as he felt his dad’s arms wrap around him.

"There, there," he felt his dad rub his back soothingly. "It was just a nightmare. It wasn't real."

"But— But—" It was difficult to talk with all the tears and the heaviness in his chest, but he pushed through. Or tried to, at least. "Peter— Tasha— They’re— They’re—"

"It’s okay, bud. Take your time."

Harley let out a shaky deep breath, "They’re gone."

His dad tightened his hold on him, but he only cried harder.

There was always something unfair about dreams. The good dreams, those that he might want to keep, disappear the second he wakes. The bad ones — the nightmares — stay as long as they want, no matter how hard he willed his brain to erase them.

"They’re not gone, Harley," he heard his dad say eventually. There was a slight tremble in his voice and Harley wasn’t sure if it meant his dad was merely holding back tears — or if he didn’t believe his own words, either. "They’re just hiding, like you said. We just need to keep looking."

Variations of that nightmare haunted him over the years. On ‘good’ nightmare-filled nights, they end like it did: with a cliffhanger and his siblings remaining undiscovered. On worst nights, they end with his siblings’ lifeless bodies by his feet.

Harley supposed it was with slight relief that he rarely dreamed of Pietro and Alia no matter how much he thought of them. Because that meant he had less chances of seeing them dead over and over again.

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Peter preferred a dreamless sleep over the contrary. He didn’t have any reason to like dreaming, as everything he might want to dream about was already with him.

Sure, there was a chance he might dream of the family he had yet to remember, but it wasn’t like they’ve appeared in them so far — not even any hints that they might.

Frankly, whenever he did dream, it was about the things he didn’t want to remember. Even worse, it was often a distorted version of the dark reality he suffered through.

In reality, the bad people didn’t actually hurt Tasha to the point that she lost consciousness. The most they’ve done to her was make her bruise and bleed. Peter made sure that he didn’t give them any reason to be more violent than that.

In his dreams, however, everything seemed to be always a hundred times worse. She was always in the same condition he was — if not much worse. Maybe there should be a sort of comfort in that for the equal treatment, but there was none. Especially if he would rather take all the hit if it meant his sister was unscathed.

Peter’s most hated nightmare was the one that didn’t show Tasha at any point. Rather than showing any glimpse of her being abused, it relied on the knowledge the others already planted in his dream-mind.

In this particular nightmare, he already knew she was severely injured without any type of proof showing him so. He already knew she was bleeding too much from her wounds. Because he was barely alive himself.

In this particular nightmare, Agent Parker still found him in his cage. However, this time, he didn’t even have the strength to respond to whatever he was saying. "Let’s get you out of here."

Peter wanted to say, I can’t leave, like he did then. They’ll hurt my sister, like a script he unintentionally memorized. But he couldn’t. Not when everything was on fire and nothing was coming out of his mouth.

"Save your energy, kid," he heard Agent Parker say when he opened his mouth and tried to push the words out. "I got you."

He willed his body to put up a fight when Agent Parker carried him, but no muscle moved. Not his legs, not his hands, not even his eyelids. It was like his body was completely paralyzed.

He wanted to scream, I’m not leaving without my sister! But nothing was working for his will. If anything, something was actually pulling him under.

"You’ve got nothing to worry about." Agent Parker’s attempt at comforting him only made him panic even more. He struggled against the invisible force holding him stiff. "You’re safe now."

No! Not without Tasha!

Peter would wake up in the middle of the night with only two thoughts echoing in his mind. I left Tasha. I killed her. I left Tasha. I killed her. I left Tasha. I killed her. I—

And the only thing that would calm his frantic mind was tiptoeing to his sister’s side of the room and planting a soft kiss on her forehead. Essentially his own way of checking — and proving — for himself that she was physically there with him; that she made it out to safety with him.

—‘d rather stay than leave her behind.

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Harley had a habit of bringing up his siblings randomly. Not even as an obligation-binding conversation topic nor something he intentionally subject his parents into, albeit that might be what it seemed to them. Rather, it was just a manifestation of how his thoughts wander.

At times, there would be no real intention behind it. It was just a blurted comment. He didn’t always need either of his parents to do anything about it other than briefly acknowledge. Still, it didn’t mean it wasn’t part of his self-assigned mission to keep them alive.

"Dad," he called over his colorful blueprint of new robot enhancements. He wanted to plan out his additions to his self-made robot first before messing with its hardware.

"Yes, Harley?" His dad responded over his own project: the newest Iron Man suit.

"Can Iron Man help look for Pietro and Alia, too?" He wondered casually, akin to how he let his parents know about Alia’s bed then.

There was no need to say anything else. He knew his dad would understand without any elaboration nor defense. "Of course."

And, likewise, he didn’t need his dad to say anything beyond that, either. "Okay," he gave a little satisfactory nod. "Where did we store the sharpener again?"

His dad gestured on the drawers below his designated work station, "Bottom one."

Harley pretended not to notice the slightest relief in his dad’s eyes after he shifted the conversation topic. There was no need to question it, as the slip in his dad’s previous expression was a familiar one.

After all, keeping Pietro and Alia alive manifested in varying forms for the people that knew them best. As much as Harley developed his own, his parents eventually created theirs, too, albeit they were definitely more subtle about them than he was with his.

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Peter felt like an imposter. Everyone who approached him kept on commenting about how much of a ‘good son’ he was. When all he was doing was carrying his sister and letting her cry on the crook of his neck.

He wasn’t even Richard and Mary Parker’s son. Not by blood, not even on any legal documents that weren’t faked. The arrangement they had — him and Tasha taking the Parker name — was only supposed to be temporary, only really for the sake of enrolling to school. It was only supposed to last until Peter remembered enough about their family . . . or until Agent Parker and Agent Fitz traced them, whichever one came first.

However, now, the second one was no longer an option. Not since Agent Parker and Agent Fitz perished in a plane crash, taking whatever progress they made in locating Peter and Tasha’s family down with them.

Peter had nothing against being a Parker. Agent Parker and Agent Fitz treated him and Tasha really well, like they were actually their own flesh and blood. Uncle Ben and Aunt May, too. He was beyond grateful for all their kindness, and their willingness to take both of them in.

It was at times like this that Peter envied Tasha to an extent. She was too young to remember the first set of family they had, so she had no trouble accepting the Parkers as hers. As such, she played the part of a grieving daughter really well, even if they had only been under their care for a short time.

"I want mom and dad back," Peter heard Tasha whisper between her sniffles. The utter sadness and devastation in her voice twisted his heart so painfully, he didn’t even register properly what he called their rescuers.

Had it been any other day that wasn’t the funeral of their adoptive parents, he would’ve pondered on it like he always did whenever she addressed them as such. The bottom line of his pondering, whichever way it went, was this: Agent Parker and Agent Fitz did act like a dad and a mom to them, so they certainly earned those titles. Somehow.

"I miss them, too," Peter whispered back. He just wasn’t sure if he was only referring to Agent Parker and Agent Fitz like she was — or if he thinking of their actual parents, too, whoever and wherever they might be.

Although Agent Parker and Agent Fitz’s status as Peter and Tasha’s parents were debatable, their roles as their saviors weren’t. They deserved a son who was proud to call himself as such. And, perhaps, filling in that role was the least he could do after all that they had done for him and his sister.

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Harley wasn’t sure what prompted the chaos. One moment he was peacefully walking around Stark Expo’s venue by himself, unbothered by anyone else thanks to the lanyard hanging around his neck, then he was running against the flow of people suddenly trying to reach the exits the next.

The most sensible thing was to follow the crowd. There certainly must be a reason why they were all trying to exit the building as fast as their legs could. Whatever they were running from must be located deep into the venue.

Harley wasn’t one to follow crowds and, besides, he promised his mom that he wouldn’t go out of the venue by himself, so his decision to run toward potential trouble was completely excusable.

His eyes focused on the only other person who wasn’t running away from the scene. Based on their stature and demeanor, the person was a child — a girl, if their pigtails were anything to go by — who was probably half of his age.

She was looking up at the humanoid robot — which donned a noticeable attempt at replicating the Iron Man armor — with sparkling eyes. "You’re not Iron Man," he heard her declare in confusion after tilting her head to one side. There was no ounce of fear in her voice. Rather, she sounded curious. "Who are you?"

Harley immediately sprang into action when he saw the humanoid robot inch closer to the girl, its eyes suddenly heated up to red. Without uttering a single word and with every sense of urgency, he scooped her up into his arms and sprinted away like his life depended on it. He didn’t bother looking back at what she might’ve met with had he been a second later.

He didn’t dare to question how he even managed to snatch her, with a mere strength of a twelve-year-old. He was operating on pure instinct, without needing to think about it, which was strange because he didn’t even know he possessed such a thing. All he did know was he couldn’t’ve just leave her behind.

Amidst the adrenaline rush and the wind created by his speed, he heard the child in his arms have the time of her life, "This is so fun!"

He pushed down any incoming thoughts about his parents’ possible reactions once they learn that he put himself in a line of fire. After all, his undivided attention needed to be on increasing their chances of survival, especially with families most likely praying for their safety.

Harley locked them both inside an empty room along a deserted hallway. He only let her go once he situated himself on the floor, after sliding down the door in relief. "Are you okay?"

The kid made a sound of affirmation, before throwing back the question at him. "You look tired. Was I heavy?"

"I’m okay," he assured her. For extra measure, he also threw in a small smile. "I’m just not used to carrying anything while running for my life."

She looked unconvinced. So he made a call to divert the topic. "What are you doing by yourself? Where are your guardians?"

At this, she suddenly looked sheepish. "I wanted to look at the robots closer."

Much to his surprise, he didn’t need to know more to puzzle what exactly happened. She purposely ran from her family to marvel at the Iron Man-like robots.

"Kid." Harley almost laughed at the hypocrisy of the disappointment in his voice. "You shouldn’t’ve done that."

"I know," she sighed, "but they looked really cool."

Harley swallowed any thoughts that surfaced after his mind finally registered what the kid looked like. After all, his sister wasn’t the only almost six-year-old girl with black hair and blue eyes. Just because this kid also had those traits didn’t automatically mean she was Alia.

Nevertheless, his heart clenched painfully at the reminder that there was still no promising developments on his siblings’ whereabouts almost three years into their disappearance.

"Don’t worry your family like this again, yeah?" He couldn’t help but speak from experience. "No matter how cool the robots are."

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Peter was having an unarguably best day. Uncle Ben and Aunt May took him and Tasha to the Stark Expo to go see Stark Industries’ newest inventions. And the museum full of old Iron Man suits.

Apparently their adoptive parents mentioned planning on taking them there after SI announced the date because of their apparent fascination with Iron Man. Aunt May and Uncle Ben thought it’d be great way to cheer them up, but tickets already ran out. However, as it turned out, there were actually four Stark Expo tickets — for two adults and two children — mixed into their adoptive parents’ belongings. Which meant they passed before they could break the news to him and Tasha.

When Uncle Ben and Aunt May let them decide whether to use the tickets, Peter and Tasha immediately gave an affirmative. It was Agent Parker and Agent Fitz’s last gift to them, after all, and now it was also their aunt and uncle’s.

Unfortunately, his ‘unarguably best day’ became debatable when chaos broke out right as they were getting lunch at a food court.

One moment he was dutifully guarding their chosen table while Uncle Ben picked up their orders on the other end of the food court and Aunt May accompanied Tasha to the bathroom. Then, the next thing he knew, humanoid robots came trashing the place with their laser eyes — sending everyone to panic.

Peter decidedly donned his Iron Man mask after part of the ceiling came down. With all the running and screaming around him, plus the sounds of havoc, he couldn’t see nor hear Uncle Ben. He couldn’t hear his own voice, either. And it certainly didn’t help that he could also now hear the floor above — and below.

He wasn’t positive about how he was processing the situation. Was he glad that Tasha wasn’t with him, in the middle of a chaos? Or was he anxious that Tasha wasn’t with him, unprotected amidst the danger? He didn’t even care that he was basically a lost child, ignored by everyone around him in favor of saving themselves.

A humanoid robot suddenly blocked his path. Like the others, it resembled an Iron Man armor — except it was silver metal in color and its eyes were pale yellow. It took a second to glance at him before a machine gun appeared on its left shoulder, the muzzle pointed directly at him.

Peter wasn’t scared. He faced scarier things than a gun, so — in his humble opinion — being at the receiving end of one was nothing. He didn’t move from his spot on the floor and, instead, rose his left hand with an Iron Man repulsor.

He braced himself for impact. However, the impact he anticipated to hit him went on the robot instead — killing it instantly.

"Nice work, kid," he heard a familiar voice praise him before he felt himself being lifted up.

Iron Man, he thought in wonder.

Never in his eight-year-old life did he ever think that he’d get to be this close to his favorite superhero. Much less be carried by him to safety.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Peter wanted to answer no, but he couldn’t find his voice. So he had to settle for merely shaking his head. "That’s good. I’ll drop you off with those people, alright? They’ll help you find your family."

It wasn’t until his feet was back on the ground did he managed to find his voice. "Thank you, Mr. Iron Man."

Unfortunately, Iron Man was already back up in the sky by then, so it was debatable if he even heard his thanks.

Peter stared up at Iron Man’s retreating form until he was no longer visible in his sight.

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Harley was thirteen when he started forgetting. Perhaps he had been forgetting long before that, just without realizing it. In any case, he was only made aware of the fact when he had to fill out an ‘about me’ page for classwork.

Harley knew his name was Harley Vincent Stark. He was born in California on April fourteen. His favorite color was navy blue. His favorite food was Shrimp Alfredo. He liked tinkering with dad, watching movies especially Star Wars, reading with his mom, playing games, and practicing guitar.

He knew his entire immediate family’s names and birthdays. His mom was Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts-Stark, born on February twelve. His dad was Anthony Edward ‘Tony’ Stark, born on May twenty-nine. His younger brother was Pietro Cassidy ‘Peter’ Stark, born on August ten. His baby sister was Alia Dashielle ‘Tasha’ Stark, born on September twenty-two.

He didn’t need any of those information about his family for classwork. However, he wanted to test whether he knew what the answers would be for each of his family members. After all, the questions were all basic — just things someone should know about another to get to know them. As they were his family, he should know — or at least have good guesses about — what the answers were for each of them.

Unfortunately, he already faced difficulties as soon as he passed ‘birthday.’

Harley could recall his dad’s favorite was red while his mom’s was blue. He could tell tinkering and reading were on the lists of his parents’ respective hobbies and watching movies was in both of theirs. His dad’s favorite food was probably something quick and easy to make while his mom’s was the complete opposite.

He couldn’t even remember what Pietro and Alia declared as their favorite colors. Much less what they liked to eat nor do.

He used to know, though. They used to come easy to him, a second nature almost, like their names and birthdays do. Yet, now . . .

"How was school, honey?" His mom asked him after he flopped down on the couch in her office. He often accompanied her in her office whenever she decided to work overtime, most especially whenever his dad was still out and about. The penthouse could get lonely real fast if he was the only one on the floor.

"The usual," he replied nonchalantly as he took out everything he needed to start on his homework. "Harry had to leave early because he had an appointment, so I just stayed inside a classroom during lunch."

In his peripheral vision, he saw his mom nod. "Is Harry okay?"

"Yeah, he’s just getting braces."

"That’s a relief, then. Although that means he won’t be able to eat properly for a bit." Harley merely hummed in response, unsure what he was supposed to say to that. He hadn’t experienced having braces yet. "Did you learn anything new today? Anything interesting?"

"Nothing interesting, but I did learn something new." He purposely busied himself with arranging his laptop, notebook, and utensils so he didn’t have to look at his mom as he uttered his next words. "I don’t remember Peter and Tasha’s favorite colors."

The silence that followed was expected. It always came before a response whenever his siblings were concerned. He learned how to not give it any meaning over the years, nor to think too much about it.

"Pietro likes green because it's the color of Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber," his mom said eventually. "Alia likes yellow because it's the color of her favorite ball."

Right. Of course. His brother who liked watching Star Wars and assembling Lego buildings with him. His sister who liked running after her bouncy ball and throwing it at their Lego projects for fun. How could he forget?

Harley was growing up. It was only natural that he would forget the finer details of his childhood as he accumulated more memories. However, information about his siblings shouldn’t be a part of those forgotten finer details. After all, those weren’t just mere specifics — those were all he had of his siblings, who were still yet to be found.

(Thankfully, he had his parents to remind him whenever his memories slipped.)

Chapter Text

Peter was ten when he became more confident about what he remembered from his old life. In hindsight, that shouldn’t be the case as it had been already three years since Agent Parker and Agent Fitz found him and Tasha. If anything, he should’ve forgotten everything he initially confined to his adoptive parents three years ago.

However, that was obviously not the case. Somehow, time helped him be more certain of what was taken away — albeit he didn’t regain any additional specifics.

He was Peter. His sister was Tasha. Their birthdays were three years and one month apart — his in the summer, hers in the fall. Their original family had five members: a dad, a mom, an older brother, and them two.

Their lives changed in a summer. Then it changed again in late fall. Then once more in spring.

And, amidst all of those changes, Peter was almost certain he never once mentioned to Tasha that they were from a set of three.

"Tash," he called over the Brain Quest smart cards he was quizzing himself with.

"What," she responded without bothering to take her eyes off the guitar tutorial she was watching — nor to make her respond sound more like a question.

"Did I ever tell you we have a brother?"

That made her relax her fingers on the neck of her guitar. She turned to him, shock was completely written on her face, "Mom was pregnant?"

Peter was filled with dread suddenly. How could he forget to mention their older brother? Sure, he had been mentally preoccupied by a lot of things, but still. How could he let Tasha think he didn’t exist?

"No—" He paused, slightly unsure how to phrase his next words. "I meant in our life from the before. We have an older brother."

He didn’t need to elaborate what ‘the before’ was. He knew Tasha understood, even if the specifics of ‘the during’ had already been buried in both of their minds.

"Oh." Her reaction was underwhelming. It was like she didn’t even care — not even a little. "That’s cool. I definitely needed more of you."

Her sarcasm set off the alarms in his head. He didn’t expect her to long for their older brother as she probably didn’t have any lingering memories of him like he did, but he expected her to show interest at the very least.

He needed to pique her interest. Unfortunately, the lingering memories he had of their older brother was difficult to share. After all, they were merely emotions — those that he remembered feeling around him, the reasons for them still unremembered.

"He could be more like you," he chose to counter. In essence, that might’ve not been too far from the truth. Sure, he might not remember how he looked like nor what his name was, but remembered how happy and contented he had been around him. Just like how he feel whenever Tasha was around.

As far as Peter was concerned, their older brother was a great brother. And he deserved to be remembered as such, even by their little sister who couldn’t remember him at all.

"Maybe," Tasha responded eventually after letting the silence sit, "but I have a feeling he’s more like you."

He considered it for a second. "Would that be so bad?"

His sister shot him a look before giving an affirmative like it was the most obvious answer in the world. "Fighting with one of you is already hard enough. I don’t think I can ever win if you two join forces."

He chuckled at that. "Better sharpen those arguing skills, then."

Peter hadn’t healed from the trauma Agent Parker and Agent Fitz rescued them from. He just learned how to live with it . . . somehow. He couldn’t say how he even managed to block all his memories of their original family in the first place — nor if those memories would ever come back. For now, he was contented to know with more certainty that they had been well-loved before they were ripped away.

(There were still a few more years until Peter fully carried the burden of forgetting.)

Chapter Text

Harley wasn’t sure why he insisted to go to a public library in Queens rather than to one closer to the Tower in Manhattan. Sure, his high school was around the area and his group mates lived close by, but his visit to the library was a solo mission. He didn’t need to be considerate of them, seeing that he wasn’t even scheduled to meet with them until later in the week.

Yet, still, his gut feeling led him there.

He could’ve easily just opted to use Midtown Tech’s library, but then he would need to relocate somewhere on campus once it closed for the day. He didn’t want to bother pinning his research mid-progress, so the nearest public library was his best bet. And, besides, he was eighty-five percent sure his school’s library barely had any non-science-related nonfiction books. Which meant the chances of it housing anything that could help his group project was slim, anyway.

Harley headed to the section one of the librarians pointed him towards after he inquired about Cleopatra. However, the path he took to get there made him pass by the science section. He ultimately decided to made a quick stop as he had a lot of time to spare.

It was an impulsive decision, based on nothing but curiosity. Suddenly, he wanted to check whether this particular library carried a copy of his dad or his Uncle Bruce’s published researches.

And as he was scanning the spines with his eyes and fingertips, that was when he heard it.

"Brother," a whisper shout. It singlehandedly made him freeze on the spot, right where his own name stared back at him. Stark.

Pietro and Alia used to call him that, as an alternative for calling his name directly. No one had called him that in five years, not since his siblings disappeared. He had already forgotten how it felt being at the receiving end of such an endearment.

"Brother," the voice tried again, a bit louder this time as they moved closer. It couldn’t be him they were calling, he knew, but there were only the two of them in the aisle.

Harley forced himself to break out of his reverie and faced the owner of the call.

He didn’t have any expectations on what he’d be greeted with when he turned, but it was certainly not a girl who his brain thought resembled his mom at first glance.

Her black hair was tied back in a single braid. Bangs framed her face and hid majority of her forehead underneath. Her eyebrows arched the same way as his mom’s, just like how her nose slopped similarly. He could swear, if he stared hard enough, that her mouth curved the same way as his dad’s.

Her eyes were deep blue — the same hue as that of his and his mom’s — and wide with apparent realization.

There should only be one person who looked so much like his mom, with a hint of features from his dad.

"You’re not my brother," he heard her state — quietly and in utter surprise.

Harley wanted to say, I am, but the words got stuck in his throat. He felt like he was seeing an aged-up ghost of his sister. Or an aged-up hologram— figment of her. (It was definitely not a dream, as she had always been a two-year-old in them.)

"Sorry, not-brother!" She apologized in a loud whisper before dashing past him, seemingly embarrassed.

"Wait— Alia!" He followed her as soon as he got his legs to move. His heart was hammering in his chest, his thoughts were all over the place. He couldn’t just let her leave.

Unfortunately, she was already gone by the time he reached the position he last saw her at — nowhere in sight like she went back to hiding once more.

Harley scoured the entire library for any trace her, his original purpose for visiting abandoned, but to no avail. When his Uncle Happy picked him up hours later, he said nothing about the encounter — opting to keep it close and for himself.

He couldn’t let his family relive the despair of chasing a lead that ultimately led to nowhere. Not again.

Chapter Text

Peter was confused why the other customers kept whispering to themselves. Not that whatever they were talking about was any of his business, but he couldn’t help to notice their eyes kept flickering towards the same corner of the shop.

Naturally, it piqued his interest, but he wasn’t about to follow their lead. Him and Uncle Ben came here with one purpose and one purpose alone. And they need to get back before Tasha could catch what they’d be hiding in the apartment.

"You remember what Tasha would like?" Uncle Ben asked him for confirmation, eyes scanning the shop for the item they came there for.

"Yeah," he affirmed while looking around himself. "Maybe it’ll be in that section? It’s an acoustic."

Peter guided his uncle toward the section he pointed, every step with apparent purpose.

Birthdays for him and Tasha were always a surprise, at least ever since the Parkers took them in. Aside from their names, ‘Peter’ and ‘Tasha,’ all he remembered from their lives before were general and non-specific. He knew they came from a family of five with a dad, a mom, and an older brother, but he knew not of their faces nor names. He knew he was born in late summer and she in early fall. By some other parameters he remembered, Agent Fitz helped them determine that his birthday was in August and hers was in September . . . probably.

They didn’t have any clue on what their exact birth days were, so celebrations happen at random each August and September. Although official documents say his birthday was August eight and hers was September twenty-eight, the uncertainty of their nature gave way for celebrations with no set days — making birthday surprises truer in practice. The only way the celebrant knew which date was the chosen one for the year was through the shenanigans that appear once the clock stroke twelve.

For Tasha’s birthday this year, unbelievably her eighth, they decided to do the surprise and celebration in the middle of the week. His birthday last month had been on the weekend, so she might unconsciously expect hers to be around the same part of the week. It wouldn’t be as fun if she anticipated it somehow, so they purposely set the date to catch her completely off-guard.

For this year, Uncle Ben and Aunt May decided to gift her a guitar. They enlisted his help in finding out what type and color she would like. And, to ensure that they got the correct one, Peter volunteered to come along.

"Is there anything else I can help you with today?" The salesperson inquired after answering all their previous questions about his personal recommendation, the maintenance of the instrument, and whatnot.

In lieu of answering directly, Uncle Ben prompted him. "Peter?" It was the shortest way to ask all the questions he probably wanted to ask him. Do you want anything from here? Are we good to go?

"The tuner," he responded in a beat.

"We can grab one on the way to the register if there’s nothing else," the salesperson offered. When Uncle Ben gave an affirmative, he immediately gestured them to follow him. "Awesome. If you guys would just follow me, I’ll help you in the register."

Peter felt the stares that passed over him. As it seemed, whatever — or whoever — the people were watching not-so-subtly had changed locations. He still didn’t care what they were looking at, but he was now curious why they still persisted on looking. Thus, without much internal debate, he followed their line of sight as he neared the register.

His eyes landed on two retreating figures — both heading toward the exit. One was a man with dark hair and a black suit: carrying a guitar case on one hand and opening the door with the other. The other was a woman with strawberry blonde hair, white button-up long sleeves, and black slacks.

Peter was hit with sudden intense feeling that he knew who they were, he just couldn’t pinpoint where. A part of him wanted to will them to look his way, but he swallowed it down. He didn’t know why he wanted a bunch of strangers to see him — or why he wanted to catch a better glimpse of their faces.

Thankfully, the feeling dissipated as soon as the salesperson tasked him to pick out a guitar pick as a freebie for their purchase.

The two faceless figures were completely gone from his mind by the time he and Uncle Ben stepped out of the shop not even five minutes later.

Chapter Text

Harley rounded a corner to read the rows of notifications he just received. He didn’t want to unintentionally block anyone’s way while his attention was taken up by his phone.

However, before he could even comprehend the first text he opened, someone else asked for his attention.

"Excuse me?" He turned to see a boy who looked a few years younger than him. He was donning a hoodie, jeans, and running shoes. The hood of his jacket was on his head, effectively hiding most of his dark brown hair.

The boy looked nervous, at least according to how his framed dark-colored eyes shook lightly.

"Can I help you?" He inquired, his voice as warm as he heard his mother talk whenever someone approached her. (Given that his mother had no reason to dislike them, that was.)

Harley watched the younger one fiddle with the hem of his hoodie. "Do— do you— do you have a sister, an aunt, or—"

He thought of his mom, his younger sister, and his Aunt Natasha. He decided to cut his suffering short, "I do."

"By chance, do you know what— what sanitary pad they use?" The boy’s eyes were suddenly shining, evidently hopeful.

It was only then did Harley realized that the corner he randomly rounded to led him to the feminine products’ aisle. And by sheer luck, they were the only two in there.

"I apologize for coming up to you suddenly like this. I don’t normally go up to strangers because I’ve already learned my lesson about that, but my younger sister just got her first period and I don’t know enough. I would ask our aunt, but she’s still busy at work so she hasn’t returned my calls yet. I just rushed here because I wanted to help my sister get out of the bathroom, but I didn’t know there’d be this many options and now I’m a little overwhelmed." The boy said everything in one breath, his words spilling out one after the other in a rush. Before Harley could even begin to think that he had finished his elaboration, and therefore it was finally his cue to answer, the latter opened his mouth once more. "I was thinking of asking a worker, but I haven’t seen anyone close. And then I saw you and you looked friendly. I don’t know how to explain it but I had this feeling that I could trust you; that you’d be able to help me, so I took the chance. So, yeah, I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, I really just need—"

It was a surprise Harley caught enough to understand the gist of what the boy was saying. And, if whatever he caught was right, then it was imperative that they hurry — for the sake of the girl stuck in their bathroom. Thus, he felt his next actions were more than justified. "Woah, woah. Okay, okay. Take a deep breath." He pocketed his phone without sparing it another glance, his initial reason for even taking it out already forgotten.

He searched for a familiar packaging with his eyes before gesturing the younger one to walk over with him. "Here are the ones my mom use: one for day and one for night, but I suggest just getting the night one for now since your sister doesn’t know how intense the flow will be yet."

"Thank you so much," the boy gratefully accepted the pack he handed with a wide smile.

That should’ve been the end of their interaction. However, Harley couldn’t leave it at that. Something was telling him he had to do more, from one older brother to another.

"Hang on," he halted him from taking another step away. "Do you know your sister’s favorite desserts?" In contrast to how he talked a mile a minute earlier, the boy merely nodded his head. "Make sure to grab some for her before you go. I heard it’s a painful week for them and it helps them feel better if they eat sweets."

The younger boy graced him another smile, "I will. Thank you so much!"

Harley returned the gesture and watched as he disappeared from his sight.

Chapter Text

Peter gestured for Tasha to take the seat near the window before taking the aisle seat next to her.

Riding public transportation without any adult supervision still felt foreign, but it was something they were getting used to the more they did it. Admittedly, it was frightening at first with no familiar adults around, but it helped extremely that no one even spared them a glance.

He supposed New Yorkers had simply seen far worse things — i. e., the alien invasion recently — than two under thirteen children traveling without adult supervision.

Learning how to travel without any adult was a rite of passage for Peter . . . in more ways than one. Especially with his sister in tow. Not only was he watching out for his stop and his pockets, but he was also making sure she wouldn’t get separated from him in a crowd.

Had it been five years ago, his protective instincts would’ve been sent to overdrive. He would’ve been on an obvious constant-vigilance mode at all times — looking over his shoulders, holding onto Tasha like his life depended on it. Now, five years into learning how to tone down and be subtle with his protectiveness, he was just like any older brother tasked to watch his younger sister for the day as he ran some errands.

Peter looked forward as the train’s doors closed and it began moving to its destination.

Uncle Ben and Aunt May both deemed it time to give him this particular level of independence. He had been an independent child growing up, sure, but this was another matter all together: he was only also given a great amount of freedom along with it. And a great responsibility beside the power to go wherever he wished.

However true it was that this experience could’ve easily been just his, as Tasha still had a few years left before she was bestowed the same freedom, he felt like having a travel buddy made the entire experience better. Plus, having her around made him more cautious of his surroundings than he would’ve been otherwise. (Not overly, of course, but enough to not dissociate too much and accidentally miss their stop.)

"I’m fifteen." The scarce number of passengers in the train car was very welcomed, but not unexpected. After all, it was an odd time on a week day — everyone else was elsewhere. Unfortunately, that meant the sound from one corner traveled far. "I can handle taking the subway."

Peter had no plans to eavesdrop on another’s private conversation, but it wasn’t really like he had any choice with the apparent acoustics. "Respectfully, how dare you. I feel very offended."

As fate would have it, the person he was unwillingly eavesdropping on was sat on the opposite side of the train car — where his eyes naturally look when he was thinking of nothing in particular. "Really, Uncle Happy, I’m okay. This isn’t my first time, you know. Stop worrying."

He tried not to stare at the teenager on the call. Which was a challenge because, although he had a hat that covered part of his face, he looked strangely familiar. Like he had seen him somewhere before . . . "Too late for that, I’m already here."

But where? How? When?

"Brother." Brother? "Brother!"

Peter unintentionally jolted when he felt a slightly aggressive tap on his shoulder. He quickly turned his head toward its source’s direction, obviously alarmed, and immediately loosened the tension in his shoulders when he saw — and remembered — that Tasha was next to him. She was the one called and subsequently tapped him when he didn’t respond.

"You scared—" He froze halfway through fixing his glasses, eyes suddenly wide.

He whipped his head back to the teenager, then back to Tasha, and repeat. He almost gave himself a whiplash because of the rapid back-and-forth he did — inside a moving vehicle, no less.

"What are you doing?" Tasha inquired while piercing him with a judging stare. She tried to follow where he kept looking and craned her neck, "Who are you looking at?"

"I think I see him, Tash," he replied in a breathless whisper. "He’s here."

"Who?"

"Brother. Our brother." He didn’t wait for another prompt and just guided her to look at a specific corner in front of them. "He’s right— wait. Where did he go?"

"If you’re referring to the dude with an air force hat, I saw him exit as soon as the door opened," his sister supplied helpfully.

Peter grabbed Tasha’s hand and stood up, determined. "We have to follow him. C’mon."

"No, we don’t," Tasha contradicted behind him. However, since their hands were intertwined, she still had to move despite her contrasting opinion. "Brother, this is crazy — you’re crazy. We can’t just follow a stranger, not after what happened last time—"

"He’s not a stranger," he argued without looking back at her. He tightened his grip on her hand. "He’s our brother."

Peter knew he wasn’t being entirely reasonable. He knew his sister had a valid point. But he also knew this was something he couldn’t just let go.

"How can you be so sure?"

His memories of their life before were merely lingering emotions. There was never a face associated with the rest of the members. And yet, when he caught a glimpse of the fifteen-year-old’s face . . .

"He looked like you."

Chapter Text

Atasha was one lucky kid.

Sure, she was kidnapped when she was merely two, but that had been forever ago now. She could no longer remember what she went through in the kidnappers’ hands. She couldn’t remember why she had faint scars on her wrists and ankles — all of which strangely resembled rope burn marks. She couldn’t remember where her nightmares got their loose inspirations from, either.

The remnants of what she lived through didn’t bother her. Especially since they’re easily coverable by a watch, a hair tie, and a collection of bracelets. Her nightmares were private and only her own, too, so it was easy to pretend they were just as nonsensical and random as everyone else’s.

Atasha had forgotten the worst of her early childhood. Not to mention she apparently narrowly escaped death twice. But those weren’t why she considered herself lucky.

No, Atasha Maybelle Parker was lucky because she still had a family. She lost both of her parents at five years old, so she and her brother fell in the care of their closest paternal relatives. Aunt May and Uncle Ben didn’t want children, but they still willingly took them in. Even with the knowledge that they weren’t related to either of them by blood.

For their unmatched kindness, she was eternally grateful for them. And for her parents, too, of course.

"Oh, it’s done!" She jumped from her spot near the dining table once the distinct sound of the oven toaster rang in the apartment. She ran toward it and promptly jumped in place out of excitement. "Aunt May! The bread’s done!"

"Coming!" There had been a time when she would’ve attempted to take it out herself. Unfortunately, that also resulted in the reason why she wasn’t allowed to climb onto dining chairs anymore. "Thank you, baby."

She ran back to the dining table after handing Aunt May a pair of oven mittens. "Bread! Bread! Bread!" She chanted while waiting for her aunt to take out the tray and place it on the table.

She marveled at the melted butter sprinkled with sugar on top of the toasted bread slices as soon as they were in front of her. She wouldn’t’ve move if not for Aunt May, "Go fetch Peter so we can eat together."

Atasha didn’t mind being an orphan much because, apart from Aunt May and Uncle Ben treating them as their own blood, she always had her brother with her. Sure, she might be a tad biased, but she was a ninety-eight percent certain she got the best brother in the world. (The remaining two percent was a room for error, mostly applicable whenever he pissed her off with all the teasing.)

"Pietro!" That was not her brother’s name. However, ever since Aunt May started teaching them Italian, she developed a habit of using the Italian form of his name as an alternative to his actual name and ‘brother.’ She just thought it suited him well — better than ‘Pete’ which she simply refused to call him by. "Snack time!"

She and her brother weren’t necessarily alike. For one, she had lighter eyes and darker hair than he did. Likewise, their interests didn’t necessarily coincide, either, as her brother liked science-y stuff while she liked art-sy things more. They agreed on math, though, as it came naturally to them both. (As did science, albeit it never held her interest and often made her annoyed.) Nevertheless, people never had any troubles in connecting their relation to each other because they resembled one another in other ways and always topped their respective grade.

"Give me a second," she heard Peter answer once she reached the door to their shared room. "Let me just finish this problem."

If they had one main difference, she would say it was the lifetime he lived before their kidnapping. He might not remember it exactly, but he had a whole different life then — a life where he was a well-loved middle child, not just a dependable older sibling. And, as much as he insisted that she was part of that life, she couldn’t bring herself to care as much as he did. After all, she didn’t have anything to hold onto in that lifetime.

For Atasha specifically, her life started when she was four; when Agent Fitz appeared by the doorway and offered her a lollipop. She couldn’t remember anything before that — and it was probably best if that stayed that way.

She was a Parker in everything that matters and there was that. She didn’t really care about anything that say otherwise.

"Did you see him today?" Regardless of what she personally felt, she never discouraged her brother’s beliefs and feelings. If he wanted to continue longing for their biological family, then so be it. She would support him in any way she could, albeit she was perfectly content with the family they did have within their grasp.

Peter shook his head, "I’ll try again tomorrow."

Atasha merely nodded. It was always difficult to continue a conversation about another older brother she supposedly has.

Chapter Text

Atasha was looking forward to hearing all about her brother’s field trip to OsCorp. That was all he could talk about ever since he was given the permission slip, so she was understandably curious if it met his expectations.

She got home from school before he did, which was expected since his school ended later than hers, so she took an afternoon nap. She had been against afternoon naps when she was younger; but after it was explained to her that naps help her grow taller, she had been taking them in her own will since.

Usually, she’d still know when her brother came back from school even if she was knocked out. He had a habit of kissing the top of her head whenever she was asleep as a ‘sweet dreams’ of sorts and she usually felt it because of how light she tended to sleep.

Since her brother reached junior high, though, he came home later and later because of his extracurricular clubs. So, more often than not, she’d wake up from her afternoon nap with him still not home.

When she didn’t feel any kiss in her sleep, she naturally assumed it was just like any other day. He was still in school, attending his clubs after his field trip.

However, when she woke up from her dreamless nap, there was a cocooned lump on her brother’s bed. Confused as to why she didn’t feel anything in her sleep, she naturally approached it to investigate; just to make sure it was actually him under the blankets. Then, like he often did to her, she planted a kiss on his forehead before wreaking havoc (read: watching Phineas and Ferb) in the living room.

"Ben, can you check if we still have Tylenol?" Atasha heard Aunt May call over Phineas and Ferb’s title sequence, which already played at least three times before. She looked worriedly toward her uncle then, head slightly tilted as she waited if she’d get more information without any prompting. "Peter’s running hot."

She immediately took that as a cue to run to where her aunt was. Her favorite show already forgotten. "I wanna do the face towel!"

"Here, baby, bring this to your room." Aunt May handed her a wash basin with water as soon as she appeared by the bathroom door. "Careful, okay?"

She only made a sound of agreement before focusing all her energy on concentrating. She was determined not to spill any water on her way from the bathroom to their bedroom.

She wasn’t in any way prepared for what waited for her on the other side of the door. Thankfully, she was alert enough to not drop the basin in her shock. She successfully put it down on his bedside table without any spills after moving his Iron Man figure a bit to the side.

Her brother looked undead. He was unusually pale and sweaty. He was barely supporting himself sitting up, even with his hands firmly planned on his bed. He was obviously seconds away from collapsing back into the matress. "Tash," he called her hoarsely. "I don’t need that. I’m just— I’m just really tired. I just need to sleep— sleep it off."

The smile he flashed resembled a grimace. It was totally unconvincing. "Yeah, right." She placed a palm flat on his forehead and immediately took it back a second later. "You’re a stove."

"No, I’m Peter."

Atasha was unimpressed by the quip. She fixed him a stare as she called for their guardians on top of her lungs, "I think we need to bring Peter to the hospital! The fever’s gone to his head!"

They didn’t actually go to the hospital. Partly because, although the fever certainly came from nowhere, it wasn’t exactly severe enough to warrant a hospital visit. Hospital visits weren’t necessarily affordable, either, so they had always been reserved for real emergencies — illnesses that couldn’t be dealt by home remedies and antibiotics. And besides, her brother adamantly insisted that he just looked way worse than he felt. He was just really, really tired from his field trip and his body was simply readjusting to the sudden absence of his excitement that it had to sustain for a whole two weeks.

Thankfully, when morning came, Peter looked extremely rejuvenated. A bit disoriented if anything, but it was like he wasn’t even sick with a high fever and aching muscles the night before. Neither Aunt May nor Uncle Ben let him attend school for the day, though, just in case he wasn’t completely recovered yet.

When Atasha came back from school, her brother was more than happy to fill her in about his field trip to OsCorp.

Chapter Text

Atasha was baffled by the number of customers that commented on her appearance.

Had the comments been something normal, like how they liked her Iron Man shirt or the way she did her hair, she wouldn’t’ve thought anything of them. They would make her day, sure, but she wouldn’t necessarily dwell on them for too long. Even if she kept receiving the same ones throughout the day.

However, as the universe would have it, the comments she kept on getting were nothing of that kind. Nothing was inappropriate, thankfully, but they were incredibly strange nonetheless.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like Pepper Potts?" No one had ever asked her that, at least not until she had to sell chocolate bars for a class fundraiser. She had asked Mr. Delmar if she could set up a table right outside his bodega, which he agreed to as long as she tried to redirect people to buy something in there as well.

"Funny you should mention that." When one of her customers first mentioned it, she had treated it like any other compliment. She said ‘thank you’ and thought nothing of it. "The person before you also said the same thing." And some of those that came before, too. However, as days and customers went by, the more her bafflement solidified.

"It’s true," the customer insisted nonchalantly. "It’s your eyes for sure, but I think the upper half of your face ties the resemblance together."

On the second day of her chocolate sale, after three different people pointed out the same thing, she stared at herself in the mirror and just tried to see the woman strangers seemed to see in her. She stood there until her brother kicked her out of the bathroom so he could use it.

And, still, "I don’t see it, personally." She handed the customer their change and then gestured her head toward the door of Mr. Delmar’s bodega, "You should eat the chocolate after a sandwich from there. They taste better that way."

Atasha was highly convinced people were just seeing things. They were just projecting on her since Pepper Potts was all over the news as of late. Something about the Stark Industries CEO being pregnant with her fourth child. Also about the general public having a divided opinion about it — as if they had a say on how a billionaire should deal with her familial affairs.

Frankly, she couldn’t care any less. She was already preoccupied by sixth grade, her brother acting weird, and whatnot. She just wanted to graduate in peace and with flying colors. She certainly didn’t need any of that. Or any of this bafflement, for that matter.

"Are you related to her?"

"Dude," she looked at the customer, unimpressed, "no."

Atasha couldn’t wait for this fundraiser to be over.

Chapter Text

Atasha was starting to think she was one unlucky kid.

She was kidnapped at two. She lost both her parents at five. Now, at eleven, she lost her only uncle. The very same uncle that cared for her longer than her own father even had the chance to.

She could hardly remember how her parents’ funeral had been. However, if she had to guess, she’d assume that she just stuck to her brother — and did her best to ignore the weight of people’s pity stares. Which, ironically, was what she was doing now.

She didn’t know what else to do. Everything felt wrong somehow. Was she supposed to say ‘thank you’ whenever someone expressed their condolence? Or was it enough to just nod mutely? Who knows. She didn’t even want to be there. She didn’t want to attend a funeral. She didn’t want Uncle Ben to be lying there, inside a casket.

She just wanted him back. Alive and well.

Atasha felt her brother squeeze her hand. She squeezed his back before looking up at him.

At fourteen, Peter Parker had undergone a lot of physical (and mental) changes due to puberty. He lost majority of cheeks and baby fat. His voice had gotten lower. He became slightly conscious of his body as well, often coming home late since he exercises after all his extracurriculars.

And, yet, she was certain no amount of puberty would be able to erase what haunted behind his brown eyes.

He was five when they were taken. He was eight when their adoptive parents died. He was fourteen when he witnessed their uncle’s murder up close. Although it was highly debatable whether he remembered what exactly happened in that dark place, he was undoubtedly old enough to never forget what happened six years and two weeks ago.

Atasha didn’t send a comforting smile his way. She didn’t want him to return it with a fake one because he thought he needed to stay alright for her sake. Thus, instead, she just turned away and rested her head on his shoulder. That way, he didn’t need to pretend; he didn’t need to worry about her.

"You’re annoying, brother," she whispered, only meaning for him to hear.

"What did I do?" He whispered back, confused.

"I can’t cry if you don’t cry." She tried to untangle her hand with his, but he didn’t even let her move an inch. She didn’t try again.

"You shouldn’t base your emotions on me."

"Neither should you," she shot back just as quick. "I wouldn’t love you any less."

Peter didn’t say anything right away. He let the silence talk before he took his turn. She felt him put his head on top of hers, "I love you, too, Tash."

Perhaps Atasha was still lucky to an extent. After all, she still had Aunt May and her brother. She just had to make sure she didn’t lose any of them from here on out. She honestly didn’t think she could handle losing anybody else — especially if that somebody happened to be her older brother.

Chapter Text

Harley watched as a flock of ninth graders from a nearby junior high entered the auditorium.

Today was the high school tour for the junior high students that complete Midtown Tech’s sophomore class for next fall. Included in that tour, which essential aim was to showcase what Midtown Tech had to offer, was club tabling: a chance to interest future recruits early.

For Harley specifically, this tour was a mere chance to get out of class. As he was down to the last month of his senior year, senioritis was in full blast. Add that to the fact that there was nothing else high school could possibly teach him that he didn’t already know, given who he hangs out with outside its walls.

He fought to be one of Academic Decathlon’s representative for the tabling. He never use the last name card if he could help it, but he did it for this one. He was that determined.

"Dude, sit down." Harry, his best friend, disproved of his use of the last name card. "What’s the point of using you and your name to recruit them when you won’t even be here when they actually join the team next year?"

"Does that matter?" He rebutted then. "They can still say they joined the same club as a Stark — and an Osborn."

His best friend scoffed, "Don’t drag me into it, now. We’re literally graduating at the same time."

"Using you two to interest the freshmen to join seems like a disaster in the making." One of their teammates pitched in, seemingly agreeing with Harry. "Just in case you forgot, you both have fanclubs."

"It’ll be a disaster only if you think of it that way." Harley was ready to defend his insistence. "It won’t be the case if we market it as beating me in answering trivias. Anyone will surely jump at the chance to brag that they beat a Stark."

"Your ego is already big enough." Harry was, of course, quick to assess the flaw in his plan. "You’ll intimidate anyone who might actually be interested." And as a true best friend that he was, his insult masked a compliment.

"That’s true," another teammate jumped into the conversation, "but I think that might just work. Only those confident enough will even attempt to go up against a Stark — and y’all know confidence is key whenever we’re in front of the buzzers."

"Exactly!"

It took a bit of convincing, but Harley eventually got want he wanted. Thus, there he was: manning the Academic Decathlon table and, most importantly, skipping his class.

He naturally let his mind wander as the ninth graders took their time to get to where he was. They were only at least two, three years younger than he was, but he was pleasantly surprised with their average heights. For some reason, he completely expected them to be a lot shorter than they actually were — just because they were younger and basically all children in his eyes.

Then came the realization that they were around Pietro’s age. Which could only mean that Pietro should be a freshman in high school now, too.

Frankly, that didn’t sound right. Pietro was five years old when he saw him last. He should be in kindergarten, not in high school — regardless of how much of their dad’s wits he inherited.

But, then again, the last time he saw Pietro was already almost nine years ago now. As much as he’d hate to admit it, it was only right that he was already in his freshman year.

Pietro wouldn’t look like how he did then, especially if his puberty already hit, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t recognize him if they ever crossed paths. He recognized Alia at the library four years ago, so it was only fair to assume that Pietro wouldn’t slip past him undetected either.

"You two should definitely join us when you start Midtown, we’ll be thrilled to have you guys on board." Harley heard the vice president of the Robotics Club tell the two ninth graders in front of their table. They were just one table away from where he was, so eavesdropping didn’t require too much effort. "Do you mind if I note down your names?"

"Not all," one of duo replied. "My name’s Ned Leeds. Uh— L-E-E-D-S. Yes, that’s right."

Harley was just about to tune them out as he noticed people heading his way when his ears picked up something that convinced him otherwise. "I’m Peter."

He knew better than to immediately assume that someone named ‘Peter’ — or ‘Pietro’ — was his long lost brother. However, at the same time, he did just think about his brother. It was only natural that his brain was still clouded with thoughts of him.

"Pietro?" A whisper escaped his lips before he even realized. Before he could be thankful that the auditorium was loud enough to drown out his blurted wonder, though, he saw in his peripheral vision the ninth grader turn in a flash — like he heard him loud and clear.

Harley turned just in time to catch Peter’s eyes widen.

And he was right. He was right! Pietro wouldn’t slip past him undetected.

"Parker." Pietro broke their eye contact to return his attention to the Robotics Club representative, to finish up their conversation. "Sorry— I’m Peter Parker."

Harley finally found him.

Chapter Text

Peter saw him as soon as he entered Midtown Tech’s auditorium.

He wasn’t difficult to miss in the sea of high schoolers and junior high students that scattered around the room. After all, he looked like Tasha.

Peter found it funny. He spent a good year keeping his eyes peeled for another — and better — glimpse of his brother in the subway just for him to appear out of nowhere in the day he least expected him to. He supposed he should’ve seen in coming — after all, that moment in the subway caught him off-guard, too.

He didn’t know if his brother could recognize him — or if he remembered him at all still. He could never blame him if he didn’t though, since he could barely do the same to him. Thus, as much as he wanted to run straight to him, he decided to follow the natural flow of his schoolmates: tables closest to the door first.

He looked toward his brother every so often, though, just to make sure he was still there; just to be sure his brain didn’t make him up.

"Peter, are you okay?" Ned, his best friend since elementary, inquired next to him. He must’ve noticed how he seemed on the edge ever since they entered the auditorium.

Peter hummed in acknowledgment before his brain processed the question he posed. "Oh. Yeah. Totally. I just— I think I see someone familiar."

Ned made a sound of understanding, partnered with a nod. "Who?"

He shook his head at that. "I’ll tell you later."

As they moved closer and closer to where his brother was, the more anxious he got. Although he wouldn’t hold any grudges if his brother did forget him, he wasn’t sure what to do if he actually did. Was he supposed to tell him straight up ‘I’m your long-lost younger brother that you’ve forgotten. Hi.’? ‘I’m the five-year-old that used to follow you around when you were younger until I got taken’? None of those and the rest of his ideas sounded appropriate, as they seemed borderline aggressive — like he was forcing him to recognize him.

He didn’t want any of that. Yet, at the same time, he didn’t know if he could handle just accepting his rejection, either. Especially if his brother kept resembling Tasha whenever he saw more of his face.

"Pietro?" His super-hearing, courtesy of the radioactive spider’s bite during his field trip to OsCorp, didn’t allow him to miss that amidst the noise all around him. And because Tasha occasionally called him that, he naturally responded to it.

He just didn’t expect to be faced with his brother when he turned. Wait, no— scratch that. That wasn’t his brother. It was Harley Stark; the Harley Stark, the heir of Stark Industries.

But Harley Stark was standing exactly where his brother stayed rooted whenever he checked on him in his peripheral. And he was wearing the same clothes, too, except Midtown Tech didn’t have any uniform. Nor a mandated hairstyle. Which, putting all of those together, could only mean—

No. Absolutely not.

He couldn’t be. They couldn’t be.

Harley Stark couldn’t be his brother. The same way he couldn’t be the already-presumed-dead second Stark son. There was just no way.

And yet, Harley Stark’s resemblance to Tasha was undeniable — even under the auditorium lights.

Peter was the first to break the trace they were seemingly trapped in. "Sorry— I’m Peter Parker."

I’m not Peter Stark. I can’t be Peter Stark.

Chapter Text

Harley was surprised by how long it took before JARVIS ultimately snitched on him. He honestly thought he only had a few minutes after he uploaded the video in the system before the AI sends an alert to his dad. However, in reality, it took Dr. Cho’s unfortunate ill timing for JARVIS to spill his whereabouts.

"Do you have something you want to tell your mom and I, Harl?" His dad inquired as soon when he appeared in the Avengers’ common room. Dr. Cho was standing in the middle of the room, unintentionally serving as a midway point between him and his dad — along with some of his so-called extended family. She was already out of her gown and obviously about to clock out for the day.

He felt bad about extending her working hours for a few more minutes, but she was the only one he trusted to handle the situation. And it was imperative that she deliver the outcome as soon as possible — and in person. He’d just have to ask his mom to give Dr. Cho a bonus for following through with his whim later.

"I don’t know," he quickly responded to his dad before turning his attention to the geneticist. "What did it say?"

"Whatever your gut told you is right," Dr. Cho prefaced. "It’s a match."

"For both?"

"For both."

Harley nodded, barely containing a grin from spreading across his face. "Thank you, Dr. Cho. Shall I walk you out?"

"I don’t think they’ll let you walk out without explaining yourself," Dr. Cho declined his offer with a slight chuckle. "If you need help with anything else, you know where to find me."

He repeated his words of gratitude as he watched her exit. It was only once she was out of his sight, did he turn to face his dad and pseudo-extended family. "I guess I do have something to tell you, then."

His dad crossed the room and immediately wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Let’s go up to the penthouse, your mother should already be on her way there."

Before his dad could lead him out, though, he heard his Aunt Natasha call his name. "Congratulations," was all she said with a knowing glint.

He involuntarily squinted his eyes at that; but, nevertheless, he accepted her congratulatory gesture with a nod.

Harley wondered how much his parents already knew about what he had been up to for the past two days. Does he have to start from the very beginning? Or does he just need to fill them in about why he resorted to collecting DNA samples?

How bad did JARVIS beat him from delivering the news?

Frankly, he didn’t need any test to prove what he already knew. However, as his mom taught him, getting others to see his point always turns out better whenever he supports it with evidence.

"Harley Vincent." A shiver suddenly ran down his spine upon hearing his mom use his middle name, too. On instinct, he started going through what he had done recently that might warrant his mother’s disapproval. And, unfortunately for him, he did quite a few in just the last two days. "What’s this I’m hearing about you needing a DNA test?"

Harley opened his mouth to start explaining. However, his dad’s follow-up comment made everything he wanted to say vanish from his brain. "I’m much too young to be a grandpa."

"What?" He looked at his dad, confused and offended all at once. Horror then mixed in once he understood what he just implied. "It wasn’t against my DNA. It was yours."

Color instantly drained from his face, "Mine?"

Harley would’ve enjoyed his dad’s reaction if this had been any other situation. Served him right for implying that he was that irresponsible. "Yeah . . . and mom’s."

"What?" His mom echoed his earlier sentiment.

He fixed his parents a stare, unwilling to miss their reactions for his next words. "I’ve found Pietro."

Chapter Text

Peter, for someone who spent a good year trying to meet his brother again, was hesitant to make a step toward reconnection. Not because his brother didn’t remember him, but because who his brother turned out to be.

He needed a few days to wrap his head around his discovery. Then a few more to confirm it by matching what he could remember with what he could find. There wasn’t much to compare; thus, even if everything did match, there was still enough room for doubt.

And yet, no amount of doubt would be able to erase the fact that Harley Stark was wordlessly, yet desperately holding onto his gaze — like he was frightened that he’d disappear if he blinked.

Then there was the letter. Uncle Ben handed it to him a few days after Agent Parker and Agent Fitz’s funeral. He said it was from them, addressed to him. He didn’t want to read it when the pain of losing them was still fresh, so he set it aside for later.

It was unintentional for ‘later’ to mean six years after.

In Peter’s defense, the letter got buried in the mess of the room — with the moving and whatnot. And since it was out of sight, it was also out of mind . . . until he randomly came across it in the depths of his drawers.

He didn’t think it could be important, either. After all, it was meant to be the eight-year-old him.

Except, as it turned out, the letter actually was important. Like, really important — a life-altering kind. Because it detailed how his adoptive parents arrived at the conclusion that he and Tasha were the missing Starks. And why they fought hard to get those Stark Expo tickets.

Mary and I wanted to give you the choice.

Let us know what you think when we come back from our trip, alright?

"They’re going through a tight wind," Tasha came in their shared room with a song — as she often did. He learned to use that particular habit of hers to his advantage whenever he was doing something he didn’t want her to see, like taking off his Spider-Man suit or reformulating his webs. Or, in this case, staring at a letter he forgot for six years. "The kids are losing their minds."

By the sound of it, the letter was supposed to be given to him before their adoptive parents’ flight. However, the chaos of their flights being moved at an earlier time caused the letter to be forgotten. Not that he was faulting them for that, of course. It wasn’t their fault their flight got changed last minute — nor that they never made it back alive.

Peter knew there was no use in dwelling on the past. It already happened and, unless he had a time machine, nothing could be done to undo it. Thus, all he could do now was make up for it in the present.

He just didn’t know how. Especially not when he openly pretended that he didn’t notice Harley Stark’s silent pleads.

"Tasha." But maybe he could start by telling his sister. "I— Do you wanna rewatch Clone Wars with me?" . . . Or maybe not. At least not without getting a more recent and concrete proof first.

"I literally just lied down."

He was unfazed by her soft, judging glare. "You can lie down next to me."

Peter needed to go back to Midtown Tech. Or visit the Stark Tower. Wherever would be the easiest to reach Harley Stark.

Chapter Text

Harley launched to an explanation without any prompting. He didn’t even bother waiting for his parents to unfreeze — nor checking if they could hear every word.

"JARVIS, put the video I uploaded on the TV, please." His parents both turned their attention to the mounted screen without any coaxing.

"We’re trying to collect footage for our end-of-year montage," Harry’s voice echoed from the speakers. All that was on the screen was the auditorium floor and the occasional shadows that pass through the frame, "specifically one where Stark loses. Is it alright if I record you play?"

"That’s—" Pietro’s voice filled the silence next. As the screen was currently panned downward, his parents didn’t know that was his brother talking, so they had no reaction. "That’s kinda pressuring."

"Don’t worry. It’s just a ‘just in case.’ We can’t not have it cam, if ever."

"That’s a pretty big ‘if,’ but sure. I guess."

Then, with that explicit permission, the camera finally panned upward. And immediately focused on both him and Pietro in one frame.

Harley held his breath as he waited for the realization to dawn upon his parents. Because there was no way they’d miss the similarities between the two teenagers on screen. Nor would they not recognize their son.

"Oh, God, that’s Pietro." And there it was.

"He’s grown." His dad’s eyes stayed glued on the TV, as his mom’s was. He would’ve, too, if he wasn’t more concerned about taking their reactions in.

"He looks just like you." His mom commented, still awestruck and in disbelief. If he looked close enough, he could almost see tears forming at the corner of her eye.

"Dad’s looks aren’t the only thing Pietro inherited," he told them in soft warning just before the video’s audio got more chaotic. Suddenly, there were a bunch of unfinished questions and fast-flying answers from both sides.

Yet, a stark contrast to the mess of the audio was the video itself. Amidst the words that were leaving their mouths in record speed, almost like they were blurted without much thought, were his and Pietro’s relaxed postures and calm expressions. The questions weighed nothing on them, like they were all common knowledge — except most of them really weren’t, as they were either about advanced or niche topics.

The game ended with Harley’s victory. All because he happened to be a tad faster in the last question.

The video ended soon after Pietro accepted the high five Harley offered.

"When was that?" His dad immediately jumped to the logistics. He could practically hear his brain working a mile a minute.

"A couple days ago," he supplied. "He was with the junior high freshmen that toured Midtown."

"How did you collect his DNA?" His mom followed up.

"We were required to compile an interest sheet for AcaDec," Harley started to explain. "I handed him my pen when he signed his name on it. I gave that pen Dr. Cho as soon as I got back, then grabbed something from your shop and office to compare that DNA to.

"That’s what she was referring to earlier. The process took an extra day because she had to eliminate my fingerprints on those things first." He wasn’t sure if that was enough of an explanation. He was aware he barely covered the bare minimum of the basics, but he didn’t know how much detail his parents wanted to hear.

Not that they were processing everything he was saying, which he couldn’t really blame them for. They just had a concrete proof that their son was alive — and it had come from their eldest rather than any of the professionals they involved in the case. Not to mention it had been almost nine years of radio silence and dead ends.

Everything was surreal.

"We’ve got everything we need to get Pietro home," his dad eventually concluded. "We can have JARVIS look through his school records for his address. We can have a court case up and running—"

"—I don’t think—"

"—He remembers me. Kind of." Truthfully, Harley debated on telling his parents about this. Because, albeit there was joy in realizing that his brother remembered him, there was also pain in understanding that he pretended not to. "But something’s— I think dad’s way will just drive him away."

His mom looked at him for a moment, as if she was trying to read his mind, before seemingly agreeing with his line of thinking. "We can’t spring it on him."

"You’re suggesting we wait?" His dad, on the other hand, didn’t seem on board with the idea. "We’ve been waiting. For nine years."

"I want to get him back as soon as you do, but we need to trust Harley on this," his mom reasoned for him. "As much as it pains me to say this, we don’t know Pietro. Harley has met him recently, so we have to trust his judgment of him."

He appreciated his mom for backing him up. Frankly, he didn’t know how he could’ve defended himself — at least not without mentioning his unspeakable theory about his brother not wanting to come back home.

"I have a plan."

Chapter Text

Peter found the entire thing suspicious. When his teacher announced a sudden field trip to Stark Industries, he instantly knew something was up. Perhaps not at Stark Industries itself, but rather those at the top.

After all, who invites the entire ninth grade population of Horizon Junior High to a field trip two weeks before finals and three weeks before graduation? Out of the blue, no less?

Yeah. Definitely suspicious.

Unfortunately for Peter, he seemed to be the only one to think so. And even if some of the staff and faculty perhaps thought so, too, no one wanted to question the motive of the most well-known tech conglomerate in the world (much less deny its invitation) in fear of offending its higher ups. No one really wanted to make an enemy out of a powerful entity — and understandably so, even if Horizon wasn’t a STEM-focused school.

Thus, the process of going on a field trip was considerably expedited. They got two days to return their signed permission slips instead of the usual five, seven days. And, by the end of the week, Peter, Ned, and the rest of the Horizon Junior High’s ninth graders found themselves back in a school bus. This time en route to Stark Industries, rather than Midtown Tech like their last field trip.

"Do you think we’ll get to meet the Avengers?" Ned wondered out loud as the Stark Tower got closer and closer in view.

"I highly doubt it. It’s not like they roam the SI floors just ‘cause."

Frankly, that was the least of his worries. He had planned to catch Harley Stark either outside of Midtown Tech or the Stark Tower to talk, but he hadn’t had the time to yet with all the AP tests he had to take. Now, as it seemed, the universe conspired to help him out. It was just his luck that he still had no idea how to approach the Stark heir — much less bring up the topic.

Even if the Stark heir in question just so happened to be his group’s tour guide. "Oh, hey, Peter. Hi, Ned. Glad to see you guys could make it."

They could only give a squeaky "hi" in response, too surprised that Harley Stark remembered them to collect themselves and act cooler.

However, their uncool-ness didn’t seem to bother anybody else as the point still stood: Harley Stark knew them by both face and name. Not a lot of people could say that about themselves, especially not those outside the Stark heir’s circle. Peter could feel everyone’s envious stares follow him and Ned even as the tour moved on. And, honestly, he could hardly blame them for it.

Peter almost forgot how suspicious he was of the whole field trip invitation because of how enthralled he was by everything he was seeing. Truthfully, he could listen to the employees and interns talk about what they do for hours — provided that he could ask them as much questions as he would like. Simply put, Stark Industries was more than he could’ve ever imagined. Not even the field trip to OsCorp last year could’ve prepared him for the magnificence of SI.

This SI trip was easily replacing that of OsCorp — and it wasn’t even done yet. (To be fair, as long as he doesn’t get bitten by anything radioactive while inside the Stark Tower, he’s pretty much golden. There’d be no competition . . . as much as he loves being Spider-Man.)

If he had to point out a flaw, he’d probably say something about the unnerving, constant feeling of being watched — which his Spidey-sense alerted him of the second the AI in the ceiling announced his name by the entrance. He did his best to ignore it, slightly hoping it’d go away eventually, but it was still there, lingering, by the time lunch arrived.

"Peter, can I borrow you for a minute?" Harley, as he insisted on being called, appeared by his and Ned’s chosen table shortly after Peter finished his lunch.

Peter shared a panicked look with his best friend, but the latter recovered quickly and encouraged him to go on. This is your chance, he seemed to say wordlessly. "Uh— Sure."

He casted Ned one last look, just in time to see him sign: Good luck.

"There’s someone I want you to meet," Harley started as he led him toward an elevator — the one the former explicitly told the tour group to be exclusively for the Avengers, the Head of Security, and the Starks. "I showed them the video from two weeks ago and they were really impressed by how you were able to keep up."

Peter wanted to say something cool in response. Something like "it was nothing" or like "I just tried my best to give you a good match." But no words came out of his mouth.

In his defense, his mind was currently in a state of panic.

He really needed to ask him to confirm his newly resurfaced memories. The ones that came in flashes after he saw him two weeks ago.

And, if the continuously increasing number on the elevator wall was of any indication, he was running out of time.

"Harley, I—" He managed to get out the same second the elevator doors opened, signaling their arrival to their destination floor. "I need to ask you—"

The widest set of doors opened suddenly, effectively interrupting whatever he was about to say. Both him and Harley stopped in their tracks as the doors revealed Pepper Potts-Stark — the most influential woman in the world, Stark Industries’ CEO, and Tony Stark’s wife.

But, strangely, those weren’t the only titles Peter’s mind registered her as. To him, Pepper Potts-Stark was also— "Mom?"

Chapter Text

Harley, in his humble opinion, was a terrible tour guide.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t doing his job right nor was he not taking it seriously. He was. He even went beyond the usual skeleton script and sprinkled in some flavor with his personal knowledge and memories whenever opportunities arose.

It was just— his heart wasn’t completely on board with herding a group and leading them into rooms. He would’ve much rather stick to Pietro and parade him around the departments. (He wouldn’t mind if Ned was with them, too, because he understood they go together — like him and Harry do.) As SI’s representative for the tour group, he felt lacking; he felt like they definitely deserved a guide who wasn’t just there for other agendas.

In his defense, he wasn’t even supposed to be the tour guide for Pietro’s group. Although it was his idea to invite Horizon Junior High for an exclusive field trip, it was his mom who suggested that he guide them around — as his original idea of just tagging along the tour group to chat with brother would be unideal with his natural talent of attracting attention.

Harley only agreed because he didn’t want to ruin his brother’s tour of the Stark Tower. And also because it’d probably make it easier for him to complete the most crucial part of his — and his parents’ — plan.

Really, the whole plan was simple: get Pietro into the Tower, convince him of Stark Industries’ greatness, offer him the position of their dad’s personal intern, and bond with him through that. It was definitely a long game to play, but considering the possibility that his brother didn’t actually want to come back home (which he decidedly kept from his parents), it was necessary.

They can’t force him to come home. But that doesn’t mean they can’t show him that he belongs with them.

Harley was barely keeping it together by the time lunch arrived. He was getting understandably antsy, especially after making considerable effort to not blatantly show his favoritism toward Pietro and Ned throughout the tour so far. Not to mention after seeing the photo his Uncle Clint sent to the Tower Residents group chat: the one that featured Pietro with Morgan.

He really needed the plan to work. It just had to.

Unfortunately, the plan didn’t account for one thing.

"Mom?" Harley almost gave himself a whiplash with how fast he whipped his head around to look at Pietro. What did he—

Pietro slapped a hand over his mouth at the same second their mom stopped dead on her tracks. "Excuse me?"

"I— I am so sorry! It just slipped out! I didn’t— I didn’t mean to—"

Instead of accepting his apology, however, their mom just shook her head. He could see tears starting to form at the corners of her eyes from where he stood frozen. "Do you remember me, Pietro?"

"What?" It was Pietro’s turn to be flabbergasted. For a second his brother just stood there, gears visibly turning, before he met his eyes. "When you were— When we were younger, did you ever tell me off for giving our baby sister Legos?"

Harley released a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. "I did. More than once." He felt tears threatening to fall when he let out a soundless chuckle. "You’d run to Mom, I’d follow you, we’d tell on each other, and Mom—"

"—she’d look at our bare feet, tell us to wear our slippers, and come back," Pietro finished for him.

"Yes." He saw Pietro’s tense posture immediately relax at his verbal confirmation. "We’d do what she told us and—"

"—we’d return with Tasha, too, because we didn’t want to leave her alone for the second time."

Harley’s heart twisted at the reminder that they were still yet to find Alia. "Yeah."

He’d ask their parents to revive the intensity of the search for their eldest daughter later. For now, he’d allow himself — and them — to celebrate the fact that they’ve finally found Pietro. Having one back was better than having neither, after all.

Pietro slowly looked back and forth between him and their mom, almost as if he couldn’t believe what was happening but was, nonetheless, taking it all in. For a moment, there was just silence as he looked at them and they looked back at him.

Then, his younger brother settled his eyes back to their mom. "I remember you . . . kind of. I remember I’m supposed to call you ‘mom.’"

Their mom wiped away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. A smile was now on her lips. "That’s right."

Harley wanted to run to Pietro and hug him. And their mom did, too, as far as he could tell with the way her arms were resting. But they both didn’t know if he would comfortable with that. Especially if he wasn’t done processing everything quite yet. "Did I really drink motor oil—"

"That one was on me." Their dad appeared next to their mom seemingly out of nowhere. "DUM-E thought you were thirsty, so he gave you his special smoothie."

Similar to how he reacted when their mom emerged from the CEO suite’s double doors, Pietro’s eyes shone with recognition as he stared at their dad. ". . . Dad?"

Their dad smiled at him encouragingly. "Hi, Pietro."

Harley had long forgotten how much his brother favored their dad (a tad) more until that moment; until he saw him — fourteen, high school freshman, and almost his height — run into their dad’s arms with fresh tears running down his face.

(And, to their dad’s credit, Tony Stark caught his second eldest — fourteen, high school freshman, and almost his height — like he always did when the latter was still five.)

Chapter Text

Peter, he supposed, should be embarrassed about crying in front of strangers at fourteen years of age. Except the strangers in question weren’t really strangers to him. Sure, he hadn’t seen them in almost a decade, but he still knew them . . . to an extent.

He might not remember them completely, but that doesn’t erase the fact that they were the specific set of people that he had been missing for far longer than he was aware of. So, excuse him for not caring about decorum.

"I’m sorry I forgot about you," he apologized between his sniffles. By that point, his crying had already calmed down, but his tears still wouldn’t stop spilling. "I didn’t mean to. It was only supposed to be temporary."

They were all situated on the couch in the CEO suite, the office where Ms. Potts — Mom — emerged from less than thirty minutes ago. She was to his left, with a handkerchief in one hand which she wiped his tears with. Mr. Stark — Dad — occupied the space to his right and was rubbing his back comfortingly. Harley — his brother — was on the floor, his legs tucked under him. He was originally on a chair he scooted over, but ultimately abandoned it when the distance it put between them was too large for his liking. Thus, in short, Peter was literally surrounded by a human barricade on all sides — and he wasn’t even an ounce bothered by it.

"You don’t have to apologize, bud," he heard Dad say directly on his right.

"It wasn’t your fault," Mom added, agreeing. "None of it was."

"But it was," he insisted. To make them understand what he meant, he started telling them about Agent Parker and Agent Fitz — leaving out the parts that appear in his nightmares and focusing on the things they had help him with, particularly that of a letter best summarized. "If only I opened the letter as soon as it was given, then we could’ve been together six years earlier."

However, still, his family was hearing none of it. "We’re together now, that’s all that matters."

He didn’t know what else to say that could convince them of his shortcomings. Frankly, he didn’t even know why he wanted them to know of such. He just had the need to.

Perhaps it had to do with his unspeakable failure as their son and brother. Something that he didn’t have the energy to unpack right now — nor ever, really — but they deserve to know of regardless.

"I’m sorry if I acted like I didn’t recognize you." Instead of directly pushing the matter again, he tried a more subtle approach. A tactic that might appear a little disconnected, yet still one and the same. "I recognized you as my brother from the auditorium door, but I— I didn’t expect my brother to be you." Undoubtedly, that would sound a little strange to others; but, somehow, he was confident Harley would know exactly what he meant. "I thought I was being delusional."

Harley let out a small, soundless laugh, as though relieved. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that." He gave him a confused look, wordlessly prompting him to elaborate. "I may have thought you didn’t want to come to back home."

Peter made a short sound of understanding. "Sorry," he apologized for the millionth time in the last fifteen, twenty minutes. "I wanted to investigate and make sure first."

"You guys really are brothers," Dad commented, notably amused.

Peter was understandably confused by that. What did he just say to prompt such remark? "Wha—" Unfortunately, his voice died down the second his enhanced hearing picked up a telephone’s initial vibration before its inevitable first ring.

"Excuse me, honey." Mom didn’t bother going around the table and instead just cut through Harley to get to her work desk. "This is Pepper Potts."

He was about to tune out her phone conversation to give her some sort of privacy, but that immediately went out the window when he heard his name on the other end of the line. "Is Mr. Peter Parker with you?"

It was then when he was reminded of how his enhanced hearing could be a curse sometimes. Although it gave him advantage in fights as Spider-Man, it sometimes put his civilian identity in awkward situations.

"He is, yes." He did his best to act natural when Mom glanced at him before she added on, "Is there a problem?"

"His teacher wants to talk to him."

They all heard her hum thoughtfully. "Patch her through. I’ll get him on the phone." She then moved the receiver away from her ear and covered the transmitter with one hand. "Peter, your teacher wants to talk to you."

"What for?" Dad was intrigued, as the rest of them were.

"Sounds like you’re in trouble," his brother teased him lightly as he broke out of the barrier he and Dad made to his left.

(Un)suprisingly, he found it easy to match Harley’s playfulness despite the tears that still stained his cheeks. "Please, all my teachers like me." He flashed a smirk his way before taking the phone from Mom’s awaiting hand with a soft ‘thank you.’ "Hello?"

"Mr. Parker," his teacher greeted him back on the other end. "I just received a call from Forest Hills Elementary."

At the mention of Tasha’s school, color immediately drained from his face. He didn’t need his enhanced senses to tell him that he wouldn’t like her next words at all. "Did something happen?"

And, sure enough, "Your sister has been rushed to the nurse’s office."

Chapter Text

Harley wasn’t privy to what was exchanged over the phone — and neither were their parents. What they did know was, whatever was said on the other end, it caused Pietro great anxiety.

His brother initially bid them farewell, saying something about needing to go back to Queens for an emergency. One of the faculty that chaperoned his school for the field trip was supposed to be accompanying him on the ride back, as they were legally supposed to keep the students safe until they returned to the school.

However, no one wanted to be apart from him so soon, so there they were: their dad in the driver’s seat, their mom in the passenger’s, and them two in the backseat. Just like old times.

The ride to Forest Hills Elementary was silent. Pietro had closed up with the intense tension on his shoulders. Apart from assuring their mom that he was alright when she took note of it, he hadn’t said anything else — nor did he seem to hear anything they were saying after that.

Harley thought of asking who would be waiting at their destination, but ultimately decided to just deduce it himself. He seemed to have enough context clues to do so, anyway, besides the obvious that his brother would probably be mentally absent to actually answer.

He gauged whatever made Pietro so worried concerned someone he cared about a lot. Someone he wouldn’t bear to lose, all based on how he was more than ready to drop everything to be on their side. He was certain his brother would’ve flown back to Queens if he could — especially if it meant he’d arrive there quicker, without the traffic and all.

His brother hadn’t had the chance to talk about his adoptive family yet, besides mentioning his adoptive parents’ deaths. He could only conclude that meant Pietro was now living with a relative of his adoptive parents, as having him in the foster system wouldn’t’ve escaped JARVIS’ reach. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched for him to have an adoptive sibling or cousin that he grew so fond of, despite not sharing the same blood, because he grew up with them.

By the time they parked outside Forest Hills Elementary, Harley was already convinced that his deduction was the only right answer.

It was only proven true when they all heard Pietro greet the staff behind the front desk, "Hi. I got a call about my sister being in the nurse’s office?"

"Remind me of your sister’s name?"

However, his deduction was also debunked just as quick. "Her name’s Tasha. Atasha Parker."

Harley didn’t hear anything else after that. Neither did their parents, if he read their silent conversation with their eyes correctly.

They all followed Pietro’s lead in a trance. They didn’t even register how he didn’t bother making sure they were following him. It was almost like he knew they didn’t have to be told. Or perhaps it was simply because he was too focused on his personal mission to care. Either way, the next thing Harley registered fully was the cot with a bloodied girl on top.

No. It wasn’t just any girl. It was a girl with their mom’s nose and their dad’s mouth; with their mom’s eyebrows and their dad’s hair.

"Brother." It was the girl from the library. She had grown considerably since then, but there was no doubt about it. "You’re here."

Harley almost replied, out of dormant instinct, but Pietro beat him to it. "What happened?"

Alia finally lifted her eyes up, revealing her deep blue eyes — the same pair she shared with him and their mom. She shrugged lightly, "I just got a nosebleed."

"The nurse said you were hysterical." Pietro stated, countering the nonchalance in her voice.

She remained unbothered, as if her extreme reaction hadn’t been a big deal. Or shouldn’t’ve been, at least. "Yeah, well, you know how I feel about blood."

Harley was starting to think there was something the two weren’t saying directly. Especially when their brother engulfed her in a tight hug after zipping his jacket on her. "I’m sorry I wasn’t there."

"I’m sorry they interrupted your field trip for this." Alia hugged back just as tight, with every ounce of familiarity. He didn’t hear Pietro say anything after, but he must’ve did because her next words were her immediate reaction to them. "Ew, Peter, it’s too early to get sappy on me!"

"It’s literally the afternoon," Pietro pointed out as they separated. He messed with her hair playfully with a teasing smile.

"The sun’s still out," Alia countered. She then fixed her hair and sent their brother a playful glare. "No sappy things before nine PM."

Pietro merely hummed in response. For a moment, he just stood there, not saying anything. Then, just when Harley was beginning to wonder when he would introduce them— "There are people I want you to meet."

Harley watched as Alia held Pietro’s stare, seemingly reading his eyes. He unconsciously held his breath. "You found him, didn’t you? Your brother."

He exhaled in silent pain when a sharp twinge suddenly pierced his chest. Your brother?

"He’s your brother, too, Tash," their brother was quick to correct.

However, Alia didn’t seem to care. She merely looked past Pietro and fixed them — him and their parents — an emotionless stare. She gave them a small wave, "Hi."

Harley’s heart immediately dropped when he noticed the warmth she shared with Pietro was nowhere to be found now that she was no longer addressing him. "I’m Atasha Parker."

Chapter Text

Peter couldn’t say he was surprised by the way Tasha was acting. She had always been like that to people she didn’t know — polite and distant, yet conversational.

Of course, there was nothing wrong with that. It was just a little jarring because it was directed to their family. Especially since he personally couldn’t relate; especially since he never felt like they were strangers — not even for a second.

What did surprise him, however, was Tasha outwardly calling Harley as "your brother." Not in a teasing, lighthearted way, but in a complete deadpan and serious one. She meant it.

"So," Tasha filled the silence in the car. He had her sitting in the middle seat, with both him and Harley on either side of her. She had been slightly displeased when she was placed there, but settled down nonetheless. "You’re the reason my— Peter dragged me around the subway station."

Although he told her it was because she was the youngest out of the three of them (which she tried to counter with "‘Middle’ is literally in the name."), he actually put her there because he knew the forced proximity would compel her to try and converse with their brother.

Harley raised one of his eyebrows, notably intrigued. "Why? What happened?"

"It’s nothing," Peter joined the conversation. He figured it’d be better to, so he could help continue if Tasha ran out of topics or if their brother didn’t know what to say next.

Tasha scoffed playfully, "Tell that to my sour patch that fell on the ground because you didn’t give me time to put them away properly."

Her reply caused both him and Harley to let a short laugh escape. "When was that?"

"Two, three years ago, I’m pretty sure," she answered. "Peter just turned twelve then."

He nodded in agreement before adding on, "You were fifteen then. I remember because you were on the phone and you mentioned your age."

Their brother went quiet for a moment, presumably trying to see if he could remember. "No way. You guys were two of the few people in that train car?" He nodded once more, in case his question wasn’t actually rhetorical. "Woah."

"I’m guessing you don’t take the subway often," Tasha commented. He knew immediately how she arrived at that conclusion. After all, no one who rides the subway regularly would be able to differentiate between crowds that quick — if at all — unless something eventful (out of ordinary, more like) happened.

"Yeah, I don’t," Harley confirmed instantly. "Just on special circumstances."

Peter began hoping that she wouldn’t mention anything about his futile attempts to run onto him again. For some reason, he didn’t want their brother — nor their parents up front — to know about that.

Thankfully, Tasha seemed to have heard his silent prayer. "Peter told me he recognized you because you looked like me."

"You do look alike," he defended his stance before their sister could even say anything about not being able to see the resemblance. He just knew her well enough to know that she would definitely follow it up with that.

"He was wearing a rimmed hat!" She protested. “How could you had possibly—" They laughed at her reaction again, which seemed to offend her based on the feigned offended gasp she let out. "I can’t do this. I’m joining Horizon’s debate team. I need to be able to argue better."

That only caused them to laugh louder. When he subtly peeked at her expression, he could see a hint of amusement mixed with the annoyed look she was trying to keep up.

Peter thought then that they’d be alright. Eventually, Tasha would come around and her "your brother" would just be ‘brother’ — as it should be.

"If it’s any consolation, I’d gladly replace your sour patch."

She just needed time. And they just needed to support her until then.

Chapter Text

Atasha thought nothing of everything.

And by ‘everything,’ she meant whatever her brother told her after he uttered the words "There are people I want you to meet" back at the nurse’s office. And also whatever sequentially transpired after.

She thought nothing of the revelation about their biological family being the infamous Starks. She thought nothing of finally meeting the other older brother she supposedly has. She thought nothing of the eventual realization that she wasn’t even the youngest — at least not anymore.

She didn’t care about how their biological family obviously wanted to go in for a hug, either. She planted herself firmly on the cot, half-hidden behind her brother, and kept a tight grip on his arm to keep him there.

What she did care about, however, was maintaining the new sparkle she noticed in Peter’s eyes. She had never seen her brother’s eyes that bright, as a cloud seemed to loom over them for as long as she could remember. Had she not known what could’ve possibly casted that ever-present cloud, she would’ve just assumed her brother’s eyes were just like that.

Upon seeing his clearer eyes, she had decided right there and then that she preferred them. It would’ve been their natural state, after all, had her brother not carried the weight of the world from a young age.

That was how his eyes should’ve always been.

Thus, even if everything meant nothing to her, she tried her best. She couldn’t outright lie because she just knew he’d see right through her; so, instead, she constructed a half one.

She accepted their queries for hugs, albeit she didn’t reciprocate any of the tightness.

She joined their conversations, albeit she didn’t really share substantial information about herself.

She stayed in the same room, albeit she sat at least a feet away from where they were.

"How— How do you have this?" Harley Stark stuttered slightly after he saw what she just handed him. It was an ID card attached to a lanyard, with his name and picture clearly printed on the front.

For a second, Atasha was confused by his utter surprise. "You gave it to me." But, then, she realized, he must’ve forgotten about the whole ordeal — just like she did.

Really, the only reason she even remembered it was because she was stashing new memorabilia inside her memory box. As their sixth grade graduation was next week, her classmates were slowly giving each other gifts. The letters and notes were starting to clutter up her desk, so in the box they went.

It was because of pure chance that she spotted a Stark Expo lanyard poking through the mess of disorganized memories. But it was because of pure, conscious choice that she picked the lanyard up — and ultimately gave it back to its rightful owner.

"I gave this to the kid I swiped from danger during the Expo," he said in disbelief. "You’re saying that little girl was you?"

Atasha shrugged, "I’m afraid so."

Harley Stark laughed soundlessly, almost out of relief. She watched him wipe the corners of his eyes. "You got me grounded."

She offered him a high five, which he accepted without hesitation. "Nice. Me too."

Atasha tried not to think too much about the expression he currently had on. Especially since she had a lot of memories with her brother wearing the same one over the years.

"Can I hug you?"

"Sure," she permitted after a few seconds of reluctance. She couldn’t discern what about their current conversation topic was hug-worthy, but she digressed.

Whatever was running inside his head was his to keep. The same way her thoughts were hers.

Just like their first embrace, Harley Stark held onto her tightly. And just like their first embrace, Atasha Parker merely placed her hands on his upper back.

Chapter Text

Atasha might be afraid of a lot of things, especially those that involved unfamiliar dark rooms and whatever lurked in the shadows, but there was one thing that trumped all those and more. It was being separated from her brother.

She didn’t remember much from her early childhood, but she could vaguely recall excessively trailing behind her bother. She followed him around everywhere they went. She copied everything he did. She only did things if he did them first. There were even times when she parroted whatever he said.

There was a reason she did them, but that knowledge had been lost in time. She used to know exactly why so, but now she had simply filed that behavior as part of younger her’s obnoxiousness.

It was no secret she adored her older brother tremendously. She looked up to him, like he was her personal Iron Man. And, to a certain extent, he really was, considering—

Anyway, the point was: Atasha’s admiration for and trust of Peter included following his footsteps. Back then, at least.

Because now, the pedestal she unknowingly put him on included everything that had already been there — except that.

"Are you sure you don’t want to come along?" Peter asked for the nth time while he packed a duffel bag with his essentials. The Starks had invited them to stay over the weekend at their place and, while he enthusiastically agreed, she politely declined.

She honestly didn’t think she could handle expanding her cordiality for a whole weekend when a few hours of it was already a challenge.

"I’m sure," she confirmed for the nth time.

Atasha had gotten the chance to personally know the Starks in the few hours they spent hanging out in their home as they waited for Aunt May’s return. Although it was undeniable that they were no longer complete strangers to her, she still felt uneasy about the thought of staying with them — even for just a couple of days.

She couldn’t blame her brother for jumping at the chance. After all, he waited almost a decade to be reunited with them. However, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t miss him during their time apart.

"I’m not sure if I should leave you," her brother confessed suddenly. "Maybe—"

"Peter." She didn’t wait for him finish before casting an unimpressed look his way. "Seriously. I’ll be fine here with Aunt May. Don’t worry about me."

"I know, but still."

Truthfully, she also felt uneasy about living separately for the weekend. They have been apart before, yes, namely when they went to camp with their respective sixth grade class and whenever they slept over at their respective best friend’s place, but this one felt different somehow.

She wasn’t sure if it was just her, but this one had some sort of finality to it. Like their paths would diverge from there on forward. Like she was about to lose her brother.

"Don’t even think about changing your mind," she warned him, already knowing where his contemplation was headed. "I’m gonna drag you out the door, Pietro. Don’t try me."

Peter laughed lightly at her threat. "Do you want me gone that bad?"

Atasha only made a noncommittal sound, slightly hoping he took it as a convincing sound of affirmation. "Have fun. Don’t miss me too much."

Chapter Text

Harley was almost convinced that he must be dreaming. For almost nine years, that was the only place where he could interact with his brother. In it, the latter wasn’t perfectly preserved like how he was kept in photographs and home videos, but he actually had a dash of unpredictability in whatever he’d say or do next — like he was actually alive.

Sure, he rarely dreamed of Pietro and Alia — especially as years passed — but he could almost swear he had dreamed of this very moment before. It was just wiped from his memory as soon as he opened his eyes then because, as all the other good dreams, it wasn’t meant to stay — no matter how hard he tried to hold onto them.

And, perhaps, after almost nine years, Harley finally realized why he was never allowed to keep them.

Him and Pietro sat on the floor of the latter’s bedroom, facing one another and legs tucked under. It was a habit they shared, as a result of playing Legos together a lot. It was easier to work together that way, no matter how many times their parents insisted that they should use a table.

Harley would have to admit, there was definitely a sense of relief in noticing that they still shared habits despite the years they spent apart. Even more so when he learned that Pietro still liked pretty much the same things as he did when he was younger.

"I still like Star Wars . . . Legos . . . robots . . ." Pietro blanked on his favorites and preferences when he asked and, rather than painstakingly forcing himself to remember, the former asked him to list his younger self’s. Which his brother then mentally cross-referenced with his vanished list. "But cars . . . not really. I do think Formula One is cool, though."

Harley nodded thoughtfully. "Some of those are Formula One race cars" — he gestured toward the display cases mounted on a wall — "but we can replace all of them with what you actually like."

"Oh, no, no. That’s okay. They can stay there," Pietro was quick to turn down his suggestion. "I don’t mind."

However, he was adamant. "Pietro, this is your room. It should reflect who you currently are, not who you were nine years ago."

"Yeah, but—" And, as it seemed, so was his brother. "You guys worked really hard to make this room. I don’t want to dismiss your efforts just because."

"Nonsense," he waved his hand as if he was physically denying his argument. "It’s overdue for some redecoration, anyway."

Harley almost let it slip that all the current decorations — as well as the others that came before — were always meant to be placeholders. Neither him nor his parents could bear leaving his room undecorated after upgrading the bed, knowing full well that it would be more uncanny than it already was.

Essentially, the redecorations every so often were futile attempts to mask the hollowness of the room. And, with Pietro back, there was no need for the façade to stay.

Pietro eventually sighed, "There’s no winning against you, isn’t there?"

"‘Course not," he responded with a triumphant smirk. "I’m older."

His brother shook his head with a light chuckle. "So this is what Tasha feels whenever I pull that card."

Just like the decorations that were never meant to stay, the dreams were never his to keep. Because his siblings were always meant to come back, alive and well, and everything would be alright.

Chapter Text

Peter, in hindsight, should already be desensitized to the most prominent nightmare that plagued his sleep. After all, it had been tormenting him since he was seven. And, yet, still, its effect on him was unyieldingly strong even after almost seven years.

If he had to point out any changes in his recurring nightmare within those seven years, it’d definitely be the variety it obtained fairly recently. Besides the two alternative versions of his rescue, there was now one about Uncle Ben’s murder and another about Spider-Man’s failure.

Although it was definitely arguable that the latest additions were two separate nightmares that shouldn’t be lumped together with the most prominent one, he personally begged to differ. Especially when all of the above end in very identical ways.

I left Tasha. I killed her. I left Tasha. I killed her. I left Tasha. I killed her. I left Tasha. I killed her. I—

Peter woke up with a start.

On instinct, he turned his head to his sister’s side of the room — just to be greeted by things he couldn’t recognize and no silhouette of his sister.

Where’s Tasha?

His supposedly calming heartbeat immediately picked up its pace once more. With his nightmare still replaying on the back of his eyelids, dread had already begun settling in the pit of his stomach. Even more so when he finally registered that he wasn’t in their shared room to begin with.

Where was he? How did he get there? Was he kid—

"Pietro," a faraway voice called. For a split second, he thought it was Tasha calling him. But he realized a split second later that it was nowhere near being hers. "Pietro," the voice repeated, "look at me."

Peter didn’t want to follow. Although Tasha occasionally referred to him as that, he wasn’t supposed to respond to it for other people as it wasn’t his name. And, yet, there was something about the voice that made him consider otherwise. Somehow, it was almost like the voice — whoever its owner was — was also permitted to call him ‘Pietro.’ He just couldn’t remember why.

No. Figuring out the reason for that wasn’t his current top priority. Locating Tasha was.

"Peter." It was only then did he finally turn toward the owner of the call.

The first thing that registered in his mind was the faint light of an arc reactor. Which was then followed by his recollection of who he associated arc reactors with. "Iron—" He started to say before regaining enough of his mind, "—Dad?"

Right. His dad was Tony Stark. And his legal name was Pietro Stark.

He heard his dad affirm. "Bad dream?"

Peter paused before shaking his head. "Where’s— Where’s Tasha?"

"She’s back in Queens with your Aunt May," Dad responded gently.

He took a moment to recall what he meant. "Right." In his frantic, nightmare-induced haze, he had forgotten that he was staying in Manhattan for the weekend and that he was currently in his room in the Stark Tower. "Sorry. I’m not used to being apart from her."

He exhaled as he willed the tenseness of his body to loosen. He was safe. And so was Tasha, albeit he couldn’t confirm it right that second.

"You’re good," Dad dismissed his apology. There was barely enough light coming into the room, but he could almost swear that the look behind his dad’s eyes shifted ever-so-slightly at what he just admitted. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

This time, Peter didn’t need to hesitate. "No, it’s okay."

The knowledge pertaining the year-and-a-half gap between Pietro and Alia Stark and Peter and Tasha Parker was his and his sister’s burden alone. Neither Uncle Ben nor Aunt May were aware of it — and, now, that simplified list would include their biological family, too.

There was simply no reason for them to know. Nor was there any desire from either of them to open that particular Pandora’s box.

Chapter Text

Harley had prepared himself for this. When he took Pietro up to their mom’s office during his field trip at Stark Industries, he had expected that they’d have to pretend that they didn’t know who he was. He had expected that they’d have to pretend that hearing him say a different name didn’t wound them.

When Pietro’s reintroduction to their parents took an unexpected route they had secretly dreamed of, he breathed easy. There was an instant relief in knowing they wouldn’t have to pretend nor hold back around him. It didn’t matter that he barely had any complete memories of them as long as he recognized them as his family.

Yet, still, the pain of Alia doing the exact things he initially expected from Pietro hurt more than he prepared himself for.

"—And you must be Alia," their Uncle Steve turned to her next after exchanging a few words with their Aunt May.

Alia shyly came out behind their Aunt May, "My name’s Atasha."

There shouldn’t’ve been any harm dealt by that simple fact. That was her name, the one that she identified with the most. And, although he recognized her stand, he found it difficult to stop the pain that came with it.

After all, it wasn’t just her name. There were also other things that factored into whatever he was feeling. Most notably, there was also the distance Alia obviously put between herself and them. No matter what they did, she was always at arm’s length.

Her general indifference to them didn’t help, either. In her eyes, as far as he could tell, they were merely strangers to her. A family friend at best, through Pietro’s connection to them.

Uncle Steve was a little taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Atasha. Right. Sorry."

"For what it’s worth, you aren’t the only one who made that mistake," he heard her attempt to ease the older man’s mind. "Won’t be the last one, too, I’m assuming."

Harley didn’t want to think the worst of it. Pietro had already warned him that Alia would need a lot of time to come into terms with things. Yet, still, he couldn’t help but to feel like she was rejecting him— them.

"For shame, Rogers," their Aunt Natasha joined in the conversation — seemingly out of nowhere. "Her name’s literally a letter away from mine."

"Ms. Tasha!" From where he was, he could see Alia’s face visibly light up. He was quick to note that she never did that whenever she was faced with either him or their parents. Just with Pietro and their Aunt May — and now Aunt Natasha, too, apparently. "We meet again."

"Hello, Tasha," Aunt Natasha greeted back. "How did your school fundraiser go?"

Unbeknownst to the conversing group, their current topic just served Harley another painful reminder.

He might be her brother, but he didn’t know the first thing about her. There were literally people out there — classmates, neighbors, acquaintances — who knew her far better than he did.

Alia had been a mere two-year-old when he saw her last. She hadn’t even started school yet then — not formally, anyway. Yet, suddenly, that same two-year-old had just graduated from six grade and would actually be turning twelve. He literally missed almost a decade of her life.

What was worse, contrast to Pietro who had been five then, Alia’s memory bank hadn’t developed yet when they were taken. Which meant she couldn’t— wouldn't even remember them. At all.

Alia — his own sister — was practically a stranger to him. As he was to her.

Harley didn’t like how painfully bitter that thought was, even more so because it was the truth.

Chapter Text

Peter wasn’t privy to the adults’ conversation that made this possible. Nor was Harley, because or else he would’ve learned everything they talked about through him. In any case, whatever was discussed there led to Tasha also spending the summer in the Stark Tower.

He had half a mind to wonder how their parents and Aunt May got her to agree, but he ultimately decided to leave it be. Whatever bargain his sister struck, he was just thankful it worked as the adults obviously intended.

"Lemme guess," Tasha started when she came back to the day room with a bowl of popcorn in her hands — which she immediately passed onto Harley’s care, "you both picked a Star Wars movie."

"I didn’t know you know us so well," their brother quipped. Dad, who made popcorn with her in the kitchen, temporarily blocked the screen when he passed by with another bowl. "We actually did pick Star Wars."

"Please," she playfully scoffed. "All I needed was one look in both of your rooms and see the lightsabers." Much to his surprise, instead of squeezing herself between him and the couch’s armrest, she actually decided to seat on his other side — putting herself between him and Mom instead. "You both need to watch other movies."

"What do you suggest we watch, then?" He asked before joining Harley on the floor, leaving Tasha on the couch with Mom, Dad, and Morgan.

His sister took a moment to ponder. "How about Big Hero 6? I heard it’s good."

Their brother promptly search for the title she mentioned. "‘A boy genius and his robot team up to save their city,’" he read the synopsis out loud. "That sounds promising, actually."

"We could also do Astro Boy, if they have it there."

Harley did the exact same thing for the second movie, "‘In futuristic Metro City, a brilliant scientist named Tenma builds Astro Boy, a robotic child with super strength, X-ray vision and the ability to fly.’"

"I vote Big Hero 6," Peter expressed his opinion first. "The ‘boy genius’ part intrigues me."

"Same."

"Me, too." Their brother and Dad agreed at the same time.

He heard Mom chuckle somewhere behind him. He unconsciously cracked a small smile upon hearing her laugh. "Of course it does."

"I’m not surprised," Tasha commented. He didn’t have to turn around to see the expression on her face. He already knew there would be an amused glint in her eyes, behind the feigned indifference. "Let’s watch that, then."

Harley didn’t have to be told twice.

As the animated movie played in front of them, Peter couldn’t help but to take in and appreciate the fact that they were all there — all six of them. They were all situated relative close to one another, squeezed in one part of the room despite the vast space they could spread across.

It was one of the first activities they did as a complete family, after nine years of being apart.

Peter was sure that, if someone took a snapshot right there and then, they’d look like any other family enjoying a movie night.

The explosion in the movie was met with a collective gasp. "Did he just—"

When he understood what just happened, he was at Tasha’s side in an instant.

For as long as he could remember, character deaths had always been an effective way to make her tear ducts going — especially if the character happened to be someone she liked. She never really made a big deal out of them but every time they happened, he was always reminded of how devastated she was when Bambi’s mom died. (Her almost inconsolable state then was something that stayed with him.) As such, he made a conscious effort to avail himself for cuddles every time she needed to process a movie character’s death.

That night was no exception. Really, the only difference was the two other people that slowly came to comfort her in their own ways. Harley moved to his spot on the floor to be directly in front of her. Morgan climbed onto his lap from Mom’s and gestured for Tasha to pick her up.

"Mo, no huggies; you gotta watch, too." He heard her whisper before positioning their baby sister to face the screen. He felt her snuggle closer while she wordlessly taught Morgan to play with Harley’s hair.

Peter turned to check up on their parents. Dad was focused on the movie. One of his arms was resting on the back of the couch, his hand just a little short away from his head. Peter leaned a little onto his hand and received a comforting head scratch. Mom, on the other hand, caught his eyes and decided to give him a quick kiss on the forehead. He flashed her a closed lip smile in thanks before turning back to the screen.

The movie finished with Morgan asleep on Dad and the three of them — with Tasha in the middle — on the floor, hogging the two bowls of popcorn.

Chapter Text

Harley wasn’t oblivious. In fact, he was well aware that Alia — Atasha, as he still needed to get used to calling her — was avoiding spending too much time in the Tower.

He and Pietro had privately wondered what their parents and their Aunt May put on the table for her to take the deal. They were both assuming it had to be something tangible, something that wouldn’t disappear easily. Like an electric guitar.

Thankfully, they didn’t have to wait long to find out what Alia— Atasha got in return for subjecting herself to such a mentally- and emotionally-taxing compromise because she used it the minute she was able. It was the ability to travel on her own without adult supervision. An explicit permission to use her metro pass whenever she wished.

"Going out? Again?" Pietro questioned with a raised brow as soon as Alia passed them by to get to the elevator with a guitar case strapped behind her. Alia rolled her eyes and his younger brother was quick to comment on it. "Don’t roll your eyes at me, Atasha."

"Sorry." The attitude oozing out from Alia’s demeanor vanished immediately at Pietro’s stern voice. Harley had to restrain his surprise at the new display of Pietro’s older brother prowess. "It’s literally summer, brother. It’s normal for me to be out and about."

"Sure. But don’t you want to hang out with us?" His brother gestured to the both of them. Harley decidedly stayed out of the conversation and didn’t say anything to add on. He didn’t deem it his place, especially since he was aware Alia didn’t see him as her brother. Yet.

"I hang out with you both every night," she replied in defense. "And Morgan and Pepper and Tony." There it was. Another reminder that their parents weren’t ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ to her, the same way he wasn’t ‘brother’ and Morgan wasn’t ‘sister.’ "Let me hang out with my best friend during the day, at least."

Pietro didn’t reply immediately. When he did, it was started by a sigh, "Gwen’s going to be sick of you coming over almost every day."

"Don’t be a hypocrite," she dismissed his comment easily. "You do the same thing with Ned." She suddenly turned her attention to him, much to his utter surprise. "You probably do the same thing with Harry, Harley, don’t you?"

"Harry’s the one who comes over," Harley admitted.

"Same difference." A triumphant grin immediately spread across her face and Harley couldn’t help but be reminded of their dad. "See? We’re all the same. I rest my case." She began walking away again, toward the elevator. "I’ll see you later. Good luck on that project!"

"Be safe!" Pietro yelled after her. "Text us updates!"

"Yeah! Whatever!"

A comfortable silence settled after as they returned to creating their own Baymax. However, before the silence could stretch further, Pietro had cut it short with a comment. "She’s warming up."

Harley didn’t look up from his StarkPad. "She’s literally avoiding spending a lot of time here."

"Yeah, but," From his peripheral vision, he saw his brother shrug nonchalantly. "she also included you when she said ‘we’re all the same.’"

Understandably, he was unimpressed. "That’s a reach."

In truth, a part of him was ready to believe Pietro. After all, the latter knew Alia best: If he thought that they were finally making progress in getting her acceptance, then there must be some truth to that.

Chapter Text

Peter was concerned. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Tasha; It was more like his senses — not the Spidey one — were insisting that something was up with his sister.

The first week of her stay in the Stark Tower was great. She might always be out and about during the day, but she was still always ready and — for the lack of a better term — excited to spend time with them after. Because of that, he had been positive that Tasha would’ve come around in no time — most likely before summer even ended.

However, that optimistic outlook burned to the ground as soon as the second week arrived. She still went out as she did the first week, but she was suddenly a little more unwilling to spend time with them after. She’d be quiet and visibly exhausted. There’d be days where she’d excuse herself to bed early or, worse, not even come out of her room for dinner.

It came to the point that Peter personally took a moment to feel her forehead, to check her temperature. Much to his relief, she wasn’t coming down with a fever — or feeling unwell in general. However, that also meant he had no clue on why she wasn’t acting like herself — not even the indifferent, cordial, and distant version that she had shown to strangers and their family before. Not to mention even he wasn’t exempted to her self-isolation.

"I’m sorry, Pietro, but Alia specifically instructed me to not let anyone in," JARVIS informed him then. "Not even you."

Whatever optimistic hope he had left completely vanished by the third week. Because Tasha just stayed in Queens — first to sleepover at her best friend Gwen’s place, then to stay with Aunt May for the rest.

In short, it was like they just went back to the beginning. Only this time Peter was shut out as well.

Peter couldn’t live with that. He simply refused to.

So he planned a sleepover at Ned’s place. And, when the sky started to have hints of pink and orange, Spider-Man came out to play.

He had tried his best to patrol as often as he could when he started living at the Stark Tower. It helped that they usually eat dinner late, so he still had time to swing around Queens in late afternoons and be back for dinner preparations. Really, the only days he couldn’t patrol were when he hanged around Harley and/or Dad all day — which was pretty often.

He could’ve just not hang out with them today, sure, but he also missed his best friend, so a sleepover was obviously the only way to go. However, before he could enjoy the much-awaited sleepover, he first needed to locate Tasha.

After all, she might’ve shut Pietro ‘Peter’ Stark, out, but she didn’t say anything about Spider-Man.

"One day, you’ll leave this world behind, so live a life you will remember." Truth be told, he had expectations on where he’d ‘run across’ Tasha while on patrol. Naturally, his first thought was their apartment. And when she wasn’t there when he swung by, his second thought was the Stacys’. But she wasn’t there, either, nor was Gwen or anyone in her family.

Spider-Man never expected to find Tasha in front of a semi-circular crowd. "Don’t forsake this life of yours. I’ll guide you home no matter where you are." Playing her guitar. Singing. Smiling with her eyes.

Peter hadn’t seen her glow like that in all the years he had known her. But then again, he hadn’t witness her perform. He didn’t even know his sister could sing.

Oh, heavens, how could he not know his sister could sing? He practically helped raised her!

Spider-Man clapped along with the crowd, proudly louder than everyone else, albeit he still made sure to not attract too much attention to himself. He smiled under his mask upon seeing the smile that blossomed wider on her face as she bowed and thanked everyone.

"What’s your name, kid?" Someone in the crowd inquired when the applause eventually died down.

"My name’s Atasha," Tasha answered with a smile. "Yeah, I know," she laughed. He didn’t need to turn to realize some members of the crowd gave her the same look she had gotten used to receiving whenever people hear her name. "My parents let my older brother name me, so I love it a lot anyway."

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like Tony Stark?" Someone else asked.

There was suddenly a change in the way her eyes sparkled. It was subtle, but he was certain. Her eyes dimmed a little when she heard Dad’s name.

"No, actually. This is the first time." The smile on her face was replaced by a thoughtful look. "People usually tell me I look like Pepper Potts. I don’t see it, though, personally."

Peter willed himself to not think too much about her reaction to hearing Dad’s name. But it was really hard not to when all he could think about was: Does Tasha hate their biological family?

Chapter Text

Atasha had lived in Queens for the majority of her life. She grew up there. Her whole life was there.

However, that didn’t mean she had expected to cross paths with Queens’ resident arachnid any time soon. Especially not when she hadn’t been in any kind of danger — nor did she require any kind of assistance.

"Do you do that often?" She must admit, she didn’t how to react upon hearing the superhero’s voice for the first time. In the grand scheme of things, it made sense for him to use a voice changer. Yet, still, she was a bit taken aback by the hint of robotic-ness in his voice.

"Not alone, no." Earlier in the afternoon, she had found herself impromptu performing in front of a small crowd that had formed by itself. Much to her surprise, the masked vigilante had apparently been a member of it. "I usually do it with my friends. It’s also usually planned and has a setlist."

"Like busking?" Atasha definitely didn’t invite him to sit on Peter’s usual spot on the fire escape’s floor, but he sat there without even asking her for permission. She debated about kicking him out; about sassing him into leaving, but ultimately decided against doing either.

Without her friends and her . . . siblings around, she had been living like an only child ever since she started staying in Queens again. She probably wouldn’t’ve talked for days straight if she hadn’t waited for Aunt May to come home after her brutal hospital shifts or if she hadn’t wandered around Queens and occasionally did impromptu performances.

"Yeah, pretty much." Thus, even if she wasn’t fond of him claiming Peter’s spot like it was his own, she let their conversation continue.

"Have your families ever watched you guys play?" Spider-Man asked curiously.

She didn’t need to think about her response. "Just my best friend’s dad and my other friend’s older brother."

"Your older brother hasn’t seen you play?"

Although that title belonged to two people now, she had no trouble identifying which one he was referring to. After all, she only referenced to one of the two during her interactions with the crowd. "My brother doesn’t know I have this gig."

The idea to start a band was fairly recent, courtesy of Kamala. Its main purpose for everyone — for all five of them — was to give them something to do over the summer and keep them occupied. It wasn’t something serious, more a ‘just for fun’ sort of thing, but there were definitely some aspects of it that they took more seriously than others.

Nevertheless, Atasha didn’t deem it necessary to inform anyone of her activities. She opted to keep them in the dark by vaguely claiming she spent time with her friends whenever someone asked.

"Sorry," the vigilante apologized suddenly. "With the way you talked about your brother in front of the crowd, I assumed you guys were close."

"We are," she confirmed his assumption immediately. "I just didn’t think it was important for him to know. Or for anyone in my family to know, really."

"Why not?"

Atasha bit her lower lip. The answer to his inquiry was personal. To date, only Aunt May knew about it — and she had begged her to not tell her biological family, especially Peter. Yet, somehow, she was compelled to let the spider-themed vigilante into her secret. Most likely because he was a stranger and didn’t really know who she was. Not to mention it’d probably be the last time they’d interact — unless, of course, she found herself in trouble and he managed to rescue her from it.

"My bio family are . . . science people. I don’t really like science," she started in a lower volume, almost like she was whispering a secret she didn’t want anyone else to hear. "It comes naturally to me, too, but I just— I’m not like them."

She never really minded that her and Peter had completely different — and seemingly opposite — interests. It made their dynamic more interesting since comparisons were impossible to do. At the same time, they still had a middle ground where they interestingly meet.

However, upon finding out their biological family, Atasha eventually realized that she wasn’t just different from her brother. She was actually an odd one out. And, given the gravity of their biological surname and its tight connection to science, it didn’t feel right for her to wear. The same went for staying at the building where the technology of tomorrow was literally being made.

In short, she felt like a fraud.

She told Spider-Man just as much. "—I don’t think they’d understand."

To his credit, Spider-Man had to ponder on his response. "I think you should try to give them the benefit of the doubt first. You never know, they might surprise you."

"You’re suggesting I conduct an experiment?" The sudden bitter taste in her mouth was difficult to ignore, but she tried her best.

"If you want to think of it that way, sure," she saw him shrug in her peripheral vision. "But you can also think of it like . . . composing a new song. You wouldn’t know which chord progressions work best together without trying them out first, right? You might have an idea but you wouldn’t know for sure until you actually try them out."

Atasha almost laughed. The vigilante just broke down the essence of experimenting and used a concrete example he knew she’d most likely relate to. He basically just told her to not think of ‘experimenting’ in terms of science but, rather, in terms of music. Not as a human experiment, but as a search for the right harmony.

As ridiculous as it was, it might just work.

She hummed thoughtfully. "I’ll figure it out."

Chapter Text

Harley was aware how non-linear most things were. He was also aware the non-linearity of most things tend to have patterns; reasons for the way they were.

His relationship with Atasha was no different. Although he had hoped that it progresses linearly (despite the seemingly snail’s pace), he wasn’t entirely surprised when she pulled back just when he started to believe that Pietro had been right; that she was warming up to him— them. However, that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t disheartened by her decision to stay away.

He knew the changes would be the hardest for her, especially given how sudden they were. Although it might not seem like it, she was already doing her best. The best thing they could do in support was follow her lead.

Thus, when she invited them — him, Pietro, Dad, and Mom — to watch a busking in Queens, they dropped everything to go. She didn’t even need to mention why she invited them, the mere fact that she wanted them to do something together was already enough.

They unconsciously assumed that whoever they’d watch perform was Atasha’s favorite local band. However, much to their surprise, their collective assumptions were proven false the second their eyes landed on Atasha in front of the busking band, standing where a band’s frontman usually did.

"Hey guys! We’re still not done workshopping for our permanent name, but right now we’re the Fifths!" Atasha spoke into the microphone standing in front of her. "My name’s Atasha and behind me — from left to right — are Kamala, Kate, Gwen, and America."

It was safe to say that their mom’s video recording of their entire set was filled with their dad’s whistles and his and Pietro’s supportive screams ("That’s our sister!"). (Of course, they also cheered for her bandmates; they just had more variety available for her.)

Something shifted after the Fifths’ busking, both in how he personally saw Atasha and how she regarded them individually and as a unit.

For one, seeing her there — notably immersed in her element — made something click in Harley’s brain. The deeper reason Atasha always insisted on her name, never once claiming ‘Alia’ nor ‘Stark,’ was as unmissable as the way she performed with her heart on her sleeve.

Atasha had a concrete idea about the Stark name. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched to guess that it was identical to the rest of the world’s: science, geniuses, technology, and the likes. And with it, he presumed, sprung another: one where she obviously didn’t fit in with the rest of its name-bearers.

Her invitation to her band’s busking had been an experiment of acceptance. A ‘this is who I am and who I choose to be.’ A ‘do you still want me in your family?’

Harley would never know what she concluded from it nor how she arrived there, but he did know what came after it.

She was more willing to hang out with him, even without Pietro being there, too. As a matter of fact, they were slowly building a habit of playing guitars together. (Essentially an equivalent of his and Pietro’s Baymax Project.) Which was exactly what they’d be doing once she got back with the guitar chords book her bandmates gifted her.

They had only hanged out by themselves a handful of times so far, but Harley could already tell the difference. She wasn’t just politely conversing with him like before, she was also bantering with him now like she often did with Pietro. He was no longer just an extra casualty in her attempts to tease their brother, either.

Sure, she hadn’t call him ‘brother’ yet, nor had she called anyone else by their familial designation, but they’d get there eventually. He was certain of it.

"Atasha has activated the Malibu Beach Protocol," JARVIS’ sudden announcement almost made him drop the peanut butter jar he was holding. Not really because the AI talked out of nowhere, but because his announcement came with sound and light alarms. "Atasha has activated the Malibu Beach Protocol."

"What’s—" The rest of Harley’s question died in his throat the moment JARVIS’ words sinked in.

The Malibu Beach Protocol was named after the place where Pietro and Atasha had been abducted nine years ago. As the name suggests, it handles the terrifying possibility that any of them four is taken unwillingly. It was created soon after their disappearance and further strengthened after they found them.

Dad and Mom had stressed how it was strictly for emergencies only. It wasn’t to be used for any pranks, as a way to escape commitments, and anything that wasn’t life-threatening. As such, Atasha activating it could only mean one thing.

Harley’s heart dropped to his stomach. "No."

Atasha had been kidnapped. Again.

Chapter Text

Peter initially didn’t want to become Spider-Man. When he first discovered his spider-like powers, his first thought wasn’t to become a vigilante. Rather, his bright idea was to use them to earn money; to help Uncle Ben and Aunt May financially.

It just made the most sense in his head. They weren’t exactly swimming in cash, albeit Agent Parker and Agent Fitz did leave them inheritance money. Not to mention he was also the eldest and had that inclination to provide — to help — somehow.

He was only thirteen when he got his powers. As such, he wasn’t legally allowed to work yet. Thus, he had to resort to something — for the lack of a better word — illegal.

Enter the Spider, a masked underground wrestler.

It was surprisingly easy to lie about his after-school shenanigans and hide his wrestling matches. But, then again, his lying skills had been impressively sharpened after years of hiding his prominent nightmares and extreme worries.

He was confident no one caught onto his late afternoon/night job as he did everything to stay on top of his studies. He avoided coming back with highly visible injuries as well, which his accelerated healing helped with tremendously. As for the money, he had decided to be cautiously subtle about giving it to his guardians: may that through slipping a few bills into their wallets, adding onto their emergency cash pouch, or leaving change laying around the apartment to be found — all without any of them knowing.

Peter would’ve been fine continuing to live a double sort of life in that sense. Unfortunately, the criminal he let get away on his way back ended up shooting Uncle Ben while they were getting a tub of ice cream to celebrate his and Tasha’s grades.

His death was on him. Regardless of what Aunt May and the other adults (i.e., the police officers that took his statement) insisted, it was his fault his uncle died. He had the ability — the powers — to stop the criminal the first time and, yet, he didn’t. All because it wasn’t ‘his business.’

Exit the Spider. Enter Spider-Man, Queens’ friendly neighborhood vigilante.

While the Spider’s primary objective was to win wrestling matches to earn the most money, Spider-Man’s primary objective was to protect everyone Peter cares about.

Or, more accurately, Spider-Man exists because Peter wouldn’t be able to continue living if any of his nightmares came true; if Tasha died because he didn’t saved her.

He learned to live with the guilt of causing Uncle Ben’s death, but he knew for certain he wouldn’t be able to do the same if Tasha died.

"Status report, Spider-Man?" Ned’s voice came in the earpiece he stuck in his left ear.

"Still chasing leads from her usual whereabouts," Spider-Man replied before he swung onto another adjacent building. "And you, Player? Find anything?"

"Just about to be done hacking into her StarkWatch," his best friend/guy-in-the-chair responded.

"I’ve been told" — he avoided dropping his older brother’s name, in case someone overhears — "that her watch was turned off shortly after she activated the alarm."

Ned — Player — hummed on the other end. "It might still be handy in case she manages to turn it on again."

"Okay," he found no reason to argue. They needed everything that could help them, after all. "Let me know if you find anything. I’ll continue asking around for her."

"Will do. Be careful."

"Thanks."

He went back to overthinking almost immediately after that. He didn’t really mean to, but it was difficult to stop thinking when he was yet to locate his sister. What if—

"With the Avengers and us two on the case, we’ll find her in no time," Ned interrupted his thoughts. His best friend seemed to have heard his thoughts, or at least figured out where they were headed without hearing a word. "You’ll see Tasha again, Peter."

Peter hoped Ned was right. He needed him to be right.

Chapter Text

Harley had used the age card. He was essentially forced to because, if not, his parents would’ve left him at home. And he certainly didn’t want to be — in fact, that was the least place he wanted to be at the moment.

Especially not when his sister was being forcefully interrogated by the FBI.

As it turned out, their dad had been leaving the FBI on voicemail after telling them once that neither Pietro nor Atasha was ready for an interrogation. And, no, he didn’t care if they were only trying to wrap up their interrogation or following procedure. His main priority was to keep his children — them — comfortable and safe.

They gave Dad time to prepare Pietro and Atasha for an interrogation; to bring them in himself. However, that time ultimately ran out — which apparently forced the FBI to take matters into their own hands.

Needless to say, the FBI agents who thought it was ethically reasonable to snatch an eleven year old off the street after she explicitly told them to get lost received an intense earful from their mom. Harley was sure he overheard "adding to the trauma" and "breaking the law" somewhere in her sermon of fury.

He immediately sent a text to Pietro which let him know that they had located Atasha. He knew, from the moment his brother heard their sister had been taken, that he’d run around looking for her. He didn’t even need to hear him protest and deny their parents’ attempts to bench him — he just knew. He also knew a simple confirmation of Atasha’s current whereabouts wouldn’t be enough to ease him, so he attached their location in his text as well.

"You’re expecting me to remember something that happened when I was two years old?" Atasha’s posture was rigid and defensive. Her crossed arms added to the unimpressed look on her face. "Are you all not aware that a person literally can’t make long-term memories until they’re, like, three or four years old?"

Agent Armstrong shifted his hold on the ice pack he had pressed on his newly formed black eye. Harley had been informed that his sister was the one who gave him that mark, during their scuffle to get her inside their vehicle. "Okay, perhaps not," the adult backtracked. "Can you tell us your earliest memory?"

"Easy," she indirectly agreed. "My mom opened my cell and offered me a lollipop. I was four then."

"Your cell?" Agent Gallagher echoed the same sentiment he — and, certainly, also their parents — had.

When Pietro told them about their adoptive parents, he only vaguely mentioned that they ‘found’ them. He had insisted on how temporary everything was supposed to be. He told them how their adoptive parents did everything in their power to help them find their biological family and how they got really close in reuniting them before their untimely demise.

At that time, Harley hadn’t thought to question when they were found. Perhaps Mom and Dad did, but not him. All he cared then — and until a moment ago — was finally getting his brother back. And, later, his sister, too.

"Uh— Yeah," Atasha affirmed reluctantly. The little spark that appeared when she talked about her adoptive mother was already untraceable. "I— Peter and I were in this dark place before we were adopted by Mom and Dad."

Harley caught Agent Armstrong share a look with Agent Gallagher. "Can you tell us more about the dark place?"

"No," her denial came almost before the agent could even finish his question.

Just with that, his mind was already forming theories about what the "dark place" most likely referred to. Unfortunately, no matter how many he came up with, none of them were ideal. If anything, the next theory always seemed to be worse than the last.

"Was that where you got the marks on your wrists?" Agent Gallagher tried a different approach.

Her question made Atasha loosen her crossed arms, prompting her to look down on her right wrist. And there, bare of the numerous bracelets that always wrapped around it, was a faint burn mark of a braided rope.

Harley stopped breathing then.

"Yeah," he almost missed her response with how low her voice had become. "They’re— They’re around my ankles, too, if that matters."

He heard Mom gasp somewhere on his right. He didn’t need to turn to know she was most likely holding onto Dad now for support.

"Do you have any other marks?"

"I used to. But my parents treated them, so they’re already gone now." There was a sudden hint of nonchalance in her voice, which was thankfully back to normal volume. Her apparent lack of care didn’t ease his breathing — nor their parents’, however. "This one’s just too stubborn."

"I know you already said you can’t tell us anything about that place," Agent Armstrong started cautiously. He could only assume he was threading lightly, afraid to trigger her into closing them out again, "but can you tell us anything about yourself you think that place was responsible for?"

Atasha raised her right eyebrow, shooting the agent a questioning look. "That’s an odd way of asking if I developed any trauma response." Her eyes shifted between the two adults in front of her as she appeared to contemplate. "I don’t like talking about it so, if you really wanna know, that information’s gonna cost you."

Agent Gallagher didn’t hesitate to agree, "Name your price. I’ll see what we can do."

His sister leaned back on her chair, seemingly impressed with the answer she received based on the expression on her face. "I want a cheeseburger."

Chapter Text

Atasha wasn’t liking how her day was progressing at all. Not only was she snatched off the street by people claiming to be FBI agents, she was now forced to think about ‘the during’ also.

She might’ve managed to dissuade them from asking her directly for the specifics, but that didn’t mean anything she couldn’t forget wasn’t put in the forefront of her mind. Really, there was little comfort in knowing she didn’t have to speak about it in detail when she still needed to think about it regardless.

At least, she supposed, she was getting free food for all the inconvenience.

"I’m not a fan of needles— injections." Atasha started off with her most normal-sounding trauma response. "Whenever I get vaccinated, someone always has to hold me down. Same thing whenever I get my blood drawn."

She trusted the two apparently actual FBI agents in front of her, and whoever else was in the room behind the one way mirror, to understand what that meant without her spelling it out. There was only one possible reason for that, after all, based on the hints she had given so far.

"I can’t stand seeing blood," she continued. "The mere sight of it makes me, as the school nurse put it, hysterical. Nauseous, too, if there’s enough blood. Especially—" she stopped short. Did she really want to reveal that? Not really. But they’d press for it, no doubt. "Especially if it’s my brother, uhm, Peter that’s bleeding."

Atasha whispered the last part like a secret. And, in some twisted way, it really was one. As far as she was aware, only four people knew about what she just alluded to — before she basically broadcasted it to more people just now, that was.

Was that the right thing to do? She didn’t know.

She couldn’t think.

All of a sudden, she was back at the dark place: her arms and legs were bounded by a rope and she was locked inside a cell. Her brother was in a cell directly across her, albeit he wasn’t tied up like he was. Not that he was in a better condition than she was, given the red that colored most of his skin. Blood.

"Ha’ley? Whe’e?" Younger her asked innocently. She couldn’t pronounce her R’s just yet.

"What are you talking about?" The faceless person standing between their cells sneered.

"Want b’othe’," she responded earnestly. "Ha’ley."

"You want your brother Harley?" Yes. Right. Big brother Harley who protected her from monsters under her crib; who carried her while he ran because she didn’t want to be left behind.

"No!" Peter protested almost instantly. Younger her didn’t understand why he was against it. Harley could help them get rid of the monsters!

There was a noise and, the next thing she knew, her youngest brother was on the floor. Fresh blood ran down his cheek. "Don’t raise your voice at me, boy!"

"Pete’?" She asked tentatively, voice unsteady. Her eyes stung.

Her brother didn’t pay the person — nor his new wound — any mind. His eyes immediately just focused on her. "I’m okay, Tash," he sent her a weak smile. "Brother’s okay. Don’t worry."

"B’othe’ okay?"

"Uh-huh," he assured her. "Don’t cry."

Young her shook her head. "But Ha’ley?"

"It’s just us, Tasha," his voice broke in the middle. She heard him gasp softly before continuing, "No Harley."

"No Ha’ley?" That couldn’t be right. She had been so sure that there was another brother. One older than Peter. And taller.

"That’s right." But then again, her brother always knew what was best. Maybe she just imagined this Harley brother. "No Harley."

"—Are you still with us?" Atasha’s eyes focused back on Agent Gallagher.

"Sorry," she apologized half-heartedly, "I zoned out for a moment." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "I did tell you this conversation doesn’t interest me."

Unfortunately, even with her unchanging expression, none of the adults appeared to buy her excuse. "Don’t be scared to tell us anything you remember. We’re here to help you."

She shook her head without even considering Agent Armstrong’s words. "I don’t see how knowing my brother was forced to make me forget about our other brother would help with your case."

There was a high chance the younger her — who was probably three years old, if she had to guess — misinterpreted her brother’s words. Perhaps he just meant it like ‘Harley isn’t here’ or ‘Harley can’t be here.’ However, instead, she understood it as ‘Harley doesn’t exist.’ Either way, her interpretation resulted in the presumably desired outcome: her never bringing up Harley ever again.

In all honesty, that memory should’ve stayed unremembered. Because now she felt guilty.

"I would— I would like to leave now, please," she announced the same second she sensed one of the agents was about to talk and ask her to elaborate. "I think I already told you plenty."

The two adults looked at each other, seemingly conversing with just their eyes. Then, eventually, "Just a couple more questions and we’ll save the rest for another day."

Atasha sighed, conceding but not without a glare.

In the end, she was barely managing to keep her tears at bay. Though she didn’t have any problem with crying in front of strangers, she had always felt she was only permitted to do so if her brother was around; otherwise, there’d be some sort of penalty.

She really wanted to cry. Which meant she had to find her brother, stat.

Thankfully, Atasha didn’t have to search the entire room she just entered before relief washed over her. For her eyes immediately met the same deep blues of one Harley Stark.

"Brother!" Her first set of tears already began falling before she could even run toward him. And, for once, she didn’t just place her hands on his back. Atasha actually held onto Harley like she didn’t want him to leave. "I'm— I'm sorry."

Chapter Text

Peter was livid. While he was extremely relieved that Tasha wasn’t taken by people with ill intentions, he was still furious about their decision to force her to come with them — especially when their chosen method of coercion was eerily similar to why they had an open case for him and Tasha in the first place.

He swung to the address his brother Harley sent him, having no patience to sit idle in New York post-lunch traffic. He didn’t have the patience to mind his strength, either, and just lifted his sister — who he probably wouldn’t be able to carry without the spider bite — like she weighed nothing as they hugged.

He immediately fussed over her the second her feet touched the floor once more. He diligently checked her face and her arms, looking for any sign of red, purple, or blue. All he found was her red-rimmed eyes.

Peter didn’t want to separate from her. Unfortunately, it was his turn to get interrogated. He didn’t want her to hear whatever answers he’d give them, in fear of making her remember, so he strongly insisted for her and Harley to stay in the cafeteria while he got his questioning over with. Tasha, of course, argued against it; but, by some miracle, he somehow managed to make her concede.

Thus, there he was: in the same chair Tasha mostly likely sat in before he arrived, facing two FBI agents (and their parents, behind the one way mirror).

"The people who took us from the beach . . . they were child traffickers." Peter started slowly, somewhat reluctant. For one, he hadn’t talked about this before, as the memories associated with the early days of their kidnapping had been inaccessible until recently. "They made us and other kids beg on the streets for money."

"Do you know where they took you?" Agent Gallagher inquired.

He didn’t. However, instead of directly admitting that, he chose to give them a more helpful information instead. "I just know the passersby didn’t really speak English. Or Italian."

"Did you ever try to escape?" Agent Armstrong followed up.

"I did, once. With Tasha." He swallowed. He couldn’t even stomach thinking about how that escape failed spectacularly. "They made me watch while they hurt her."

Peter‘s breathing was suddenly shallow. His failures to protect his sister from harm flashed before his eyes, one after another. There were so many. It was a miracle he hadn’t managed to kill—

He sought her heartbeat in the sea of irrelevant sounds his enhanced hearing was picking up. He needed an anchor to be able to continue. He needed to hear evidence he hadn’t actually failed in doing the one thing Mom asked him to do all those years ago.

"Peter?" When his attention focused back to the adults in front of him, after successfully locating her heartbeat and confirming its steady rhythm, the first thing he noticed was the hint of worry the agents didn’t manage to hide quickly enough. He could only assume that wasn’t the first time they called his name, albeit that was definitely the only call he heard.

"Sorry," he let his reflex to apologize had that one. "What was the question again?"

"Your sister mentioned cells—"

He didn’t let Agent Gallagher finish. "That was at the dark place. We were transferred there shortly after the escape attempt." He mulled over his next words, slightly uncertain. "I’m not really sure what the connection is between the traffickers and them, but I’m assuming it was good enough for the former to share how to— how to get me to obey."

The two FBI agents shared a look. He had to hold back a sigh upon catching it, already knowing what the next prompt would be. "Can you elaborate on that?"

"The traffickers’ focus was money. Those at the dark place . . . They were scientists. Their focus was gathering data from all the tests they were conducting." Peter tried to ignore the noise his enhanced hearing was picking up from behind the one way mirror. He didn’t want to hear how Mom and Dad were reacting to all of these. It was already bad enough that they had to find out what he and Tasha went through. "They never let it slip what they were observing. Just that most tests required my cooperation.

"I wasn’t so willing at first, but they— they took their displeasure with me out on Tasha, too."

It was too late when he registered the pained gasp he heard was from Mom. "My babies."

Peter listened for Tasha’s heartbeat again as an attempt to stop himself from becoming overwhelmed. Thankfully, that tricked work since he also overheard her and Harley bantering. She was completely unaware of his current dilemma, just as he intended. "It took me years to teach Tasha that she didn’t have to wait for me before she reacts; that she could be her own person, independent of me."

His words hung in the silence. His enhanced hearing picked up on the small, almost insignificant sounds Mom and Dad made as they processed his confession. He sent a small smile their way, hoping that it’d ease their hearts.

"What can you tell us about your adoptive parents?" Agent Armstrong eventually shifted the conversation.

Peter was silently thankful for the change. He started with Agent Parker and Agent Fitz’s cover stories — the explanation everyone heard to cover their frequent absences and travels. Then, rightfully, he moved onto the reason for the cover stories: Richard and Mary Parker were actually MI6-turned-Interpol agents who weren’t even supposed to be in the dark place that day because their superiors hadn’t approved the mission yet. "They were placed in probation for running off and doing their own thing, so they were cut off from Interpol resources that they could’ve used to expedite locating Tasha and I’s biological family."

Peter ended his interrogation right after the FBI agents got too brave about suspecting the Parkers of kidnapping them.

Chapter Text

Harley was still coming down from the anxiety of Atasha’s kidnapping even after a few days had already passed.

As such, he became reacquainted with randomly waking up at night and needing a glass of warm milk or mere water before trying to sleep once more. It was a familiar routine, one he was introduced to during the nine years he spent trying to seek Pietro and Atasha in his dreams. It was also the same routine he didn’t expect to go back to when both of his siblings had been finally found. And, yet, there he was.

Despite JARVIS’ assuring response that both Pietro and Atasha (and Morgan, too) were accounted for in the penthouse, he still had difficulties willing sleep to claim him once more. Thus, he let his quiet footsteps lead him toward the kitchen — like they often did during similar nights. However, this time, down the hall was all he reached.

For, this time, Atasha was standing outside her bedroom door. "Nightmare?" He guessed.

He saw her head move in affirmation. "You too?"

"Yeah." He gestured toward the pillow and blanket under her arm, "Where are you going with those?"

His sister looked toward the pile under her arm as though she had forgotten she was carrying it. She took a moment to reply. "Peter’s."

"Ah. Okay." Harley couldn’t dissipate the awkwardness that suddenly hung in the air. He didn’t know what else to say after that. Nightmares weren’t something neither Pietro nor Atasha shared with him. It was their exclusive thing — and that was okay.

He resumed his way to the kitchen without another word. However, before he could turn and vanish from her sight, Atasha made him pause from his tracks. "Brother."

He looked behind him with a hum, "Yeah?" The corners of his mouth still curved upward whenever that address was directed toward him, still admittedly not used to having it back.

Atasha was already holding Peter’s bedroom door slightly open. "Come with me." He hesitated. It was their thing; he didn’t want to impose. "You can sleep on the right."

Yet, if he was being invited in good faith, who was he to decline? Harley certainly wasn’t one to deny anything to any of his siblings, either. "I’m taking the left. I can’t have you falling off the bed."

He heard his sister hmph’ed but, thankfully, she didn’t rescind her offer. "That’s what Peter says, too."

That night, his post-nightmare routine was interrupted by an alternative. Although he had been understandably reluctant to take it, it was unquestionably a welcomed one. It was a perfect ending for his nightmares and, albeit he didn’t know what kept Pietro and Atasha awake on some nights, his siblings’, too.

That night, with Pietro and Atasha near him, sleep claimed him effortlessly. His previous nightmare repeated from the beginning, but its ending wasn’t any of the ones he had memorized over the years. Instead, dream-him and dream-Dad actually found the both of them — Pietro first, then Tasha — giggling, squealing, laughing in their hiding spots.

Harley smiled in his sleep, contented and relieved.

(Unbeknownst to them, their mom had found them in Pietro’s room in the morning and had dutifully taken a quick photo of them all snuggled together.)

Chapter Text

Atasha missed when her feet didn’t touch the ground whenever she sat on a swing. She used to let her feet dangle happily while she squealed to her brother to push the swing harder. Alas, at eleven years old, she was past the target demographic for playgrounds.

She tried to not let her disappointment show with the reminder that she had grown considerably. She was no longer a child dependent on her brother to push her on the swing, but a tween who could use her own feet.

Unfortunately, due to recent events (namely, her abduction-interrogation), she had learned how quick her newfound freedoms could be taken away. Although Tony and Pepper have assured her that Agent Armstrong and Agent Gallagher would never bother her nor Peter again, their countermeasures for possible repeats included suspending her privilege to travel alone until Ms. Tasha finishes teaching her self-defense.

She didn’t mind spending more time with Ms. Tasha as she was the second adult she trusts the most, just second to Aunt May. Ms. Tasha met her when she was just Atasha Parker and she didn’t change how she treated her even after finding out about her real parentage. She really appreciated that, especially during the weeks when no one else seemed to understand why she was just ‘Atasha’ and never ‘Alia.’

Not that she faulted the other adults for taking their time to adjust. However, she wouldn’t deny that Ms. Tasha benefited from the absence of pressure to be someone else in their shared nickname, either.

Atasha dug from her pockets until she grasped what she was looking for. "Here," she handed both her brothers a lollipop. "Thanks for not embarrassing me earlier."

Despite the suspension of her privilege, she wasn’t necessarily discouraged from practicing and busking . . . as long as she brought someone along. It was a hassle asking an adult — or, in Peter’s case, someone older — to accompany her all the time. Thankfully, her brothers were available and willing to do so more often than not. (She’d like to think they just liked going to Queens with her so they could also bother their respective best friends, but she knew they had a more fundamental reason she didn’t like thinking about.)

"When did we embarrass you?" Peter’s feigned offense cracked slightly with the triumphant smirk he was failing to hide. He wasted no time to unwrap the candy after a quick "thank you."

"Every time we’re out in public, pretty much," she shrugged to amplify her act. She passed her own lollipop to her second brother when her lollipop’s wrapping was proven to be wounded too tight.

"We’re in public right now," Harley reminded them of the obvious while trying to swing himself in spite of his height being obviously too tall for the contraption. His own lollipop was already in his mouth. "Are we embarrassing you right now?"

Atasha shot him a silent ‘are you seriously asking me that’ before plopping her newly-opened lollipop in her mouth. "Yes. I mean" — she removed the lollipop momentarily so her speech would sound clearer — "you’re literally wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses and the sun isn’t even out."

"It was out earlier."

"That’s his disguise." Her brothers responded at the same time, both tones sounding slightly defensive.

A short laugh escaped from her throat. "Ms. Tasha is literally right there and yet you sought Cap’s advice on staying incognito?"

"If it works, it works," Harley shrugged. He looked past her and his gaze suddenly bore a slight hint of worry, "Careful there, Peter, I wouldn’t know how to explain to Mom and Dad that you fell off the swing without laughing."

She followed his eyes which led her attention to Peter balancing on the swing: his feet were planted on seat and his hands were gripping the rusty metal tightly. The swing creaked every time he straightened more of his body. "I’ll be fine."

"I think the swing is saying otherwise," she commented as it creaked again. She couldn’t stop her amusement from leaking through her voice and expression.

Atasha didn’t tell them, but she had a deeper reason for handing them each a lollipop. It was a reminiscent of her earliest memory, sans the earlier one she barely remembered recently. The one where her mom offered her a lollipop after she opened her cell.

"Why do you want two more, love?" Mom asked her then while she dug into her vest pocket for more of what she was asking for.

Four-year-old her only gave a toothy grin, "Brother."

She eventually gave two of the three to Peter (the other one at a much later point), but a part of her had been slightly convinced that the third one wasn’t supposed to be his as well. She just didn’t know then why she must really have two for ‘brother’.

It wasn’t until seven years later did she finally learn the answer.

(Someday, when she’s old enough for one, Atasha would give Morgan a lollipop, too. And maybe something else with it because she’d be dealing with the same two brothers she was.)

Chapter Text

Peter was still getting used to breathing fresh, unpolluted air. The relative calmness and quietness of the world around was also unfamiliar and strange. For someone who grew up in an urban area and its constant noise, everything felt off somehow — like he was transported to another world.

It was difficult to believe he was still in New York.

Mom and Dad deemed it best for all of them to retreat to their family cabin upstate for a bit. He would’ve naturally assumed it was because of the FBI’s forceful investigation, but he had overheard — curse his enhanced hearing — that their parents were actually warming him and Tasha up for a conversation about their living situation for the upcoming school term and their reintroduction to the public eye.

In another world, Mom and Dad wouldn’t’ve anything to worry about that. Alas, in this world, there were many to keep in mind — including those that they weren’t necessarily aware of (i.e., Spider-Man).

Peter, for one, wasn’t looking forward to how that conversation would pan out. Just merely thinking about it — specifically his concerns — was already stressing him out. He didn’t even want to get a head start on the worries Tasha would surely have. Thankfully, that was a problem for the future-him.

The present-him just needed the selection process to play out in his favor.

"Yes!" Tasha celebrated as soon as she comprehended that she was selected as the ‘it’ of their game. As it seemed, while he was hoping to not get picked, his sister had hoped for the opposite. "Are we doing one to one hundred? Or two hundred?"

He wasn’t sure why she preferred to seek since he personally found hiding much more fun. But, whatever, to each their own.

"Two hundred seems too long," he commented. "Do a hundred."

Harley seconded his answer. "Mo might get bored."

"Alright," she accepted their suggestion without a fuss. She then headed toward the tree they all christened as their base. "Wait ‘til I start counting."

And because she found the need to say that, Peter quickly moved away to have a head start. Mom and Dad gave them complete reign over the entire property, after all, so he had a lot of ground to cover. It wasn’t surprising to notice that Harley — and Morgan, since he was carrying her for the round — apparently had the same idea.

Tasha, who heard Morgan’s surprised reaction to Harley’s sudden and quick movement, turned around. She shook her head upon seeing the distance they had already managed to put between them.

"Start counting!" He urged while motioning her to turn back around and face the tree. He was itching to move and start.

"C’mon, Tash!"

"Alright, alright. Jeez." Tasha rested her forearms on the tree and leaned her forehead against them, taking the posture of a seeker effortlessly. "One—"

With that, they were off.

Laughter rang out periodically as the four of them continued to play, changing who sought everyone and who hid with their youngest. It just came easy with the safeness they collectively felt under the trees and their parents’ fond gaze from the porch.

Peter would hold this moment close to his heart. It was a stronger proof that him and Tasha made it out — and everything worked out, somehow.

Chapter Text

Peter had been letting Tasha approach things her way. ‘Her way’ definitely required a whole lot of patience and understanding, but the results had been promising thus far. Granted, it only had results for Harley (and, to an extent, Morgan, too) at the moment, but progress was progress.

He was fine with not intervening. After all, he had done minimal intervention for Harley’s case. He figured it was only a matter of time before Tasha accepted their parents as her own, without any obvious push from him.

However, as they inched closer to the four-month mark since his Stark Industries field trip, he belatedly realized that he might not achieve the same results with the same method. Simply because it was one thing to add siblings (and aunts and uncles) in one’s family tree and another to change who one saw as their parents — especially if the current holders of such titles showed nothing but love and kindness.

As far as Peter was aware, the progress on Tasha accepting Mom and Dad as such had been stagnant: still at the stage where they started at all those months ago. She never really said ‘your mom’ or ‘your dad’ when talking about them in his presence, which he was thankful for but couldn’t really celebrate. He supposed her insistence on only calling them ‘Pepper’ and ‘Tony’ was miles better, as some kids regularly refer to their parents by their names, except he could tell Mom and Dad only gave her an exception because she wasn’t comfortable addressing them as their biological stations relative to her.

(He remembered hearing their hearts stop and figuratively fall the moment she addressed them as ‘Ms. Potts’ and ‘Mr. Stark’ back at the nurse’s office.)

He understood where Tasha was coming from. After all, he, too, refused to call Agent Parker and Agent Fitz anything aside from their work names. But he would like to argue that his choice was justified — more than Tasha’s, at least — because they both knew their stay with the Parkers was only temporary. Addressing their adoptive parents by their permanent station just made more sense.

Unfortunately, what was done was done. All Peter could do now was to tweak his strategy for their parents’ sakes. He didn’t need his Spidey-sense to tell him that Tasha’s continued usage of their names was slowly killing them — figuratively, of course, but painful just the same.

Thus, there he was: on a mission to enact his newly brainstormed, not-thoroughly-thought-out tactic.

Peter just didn’t expect to hear his sister’s voice inside the same room as Dad.

Truthfully, he avoided using his enhanced hearing to listen in on people’s conversations as much as possible. However, it was very curious that Tasha seemed to be alone with Dad at the moment. As far as he could recall, she hadn’t approach any of their parents first — nor had she initiated a conversation without him or Harley being in the room as well. (An obviously flawed observation, but his point still stood: she hadn’t initiated any chance for Mom and Dad to get to know her.)

"Is it okay if I stay here?" He heard Tasha inquire. He didn’t catch the beginning of their conversation but, just purely based on the first thing he overheard, he readily assumed it was Tasha who went to Dad in his lab. "I just wanna finish the song that’s playing."

"Of course. Stay as long as you’d like." He could hear the smile in Dad’s voice, albeit it was debatable if he was showing that emotion outwardly. "You can sit on the bean bag over there, if you want."

"Thanks," she responded after a pause. He could only assume she needed to contemplate Dad’s offer before ultimately accepting. "Why do you have a bean bag in your lab?"

"Your mom— Pepper reads there sometimes, whenever she wants to accompany me while I tinker."

"Ah." Peter didn’t have to be in the room with them to feel the awkwardness that followed suit. "Okay."

Fortunately, Dad seemed well-trained to maneuver around awkward situations. "So, you like AC/DC?"

"Sure," Tasha answered nonchalantly. "I like rock songs in general, really."

His hum sounded deceivingly indifferent, but Peter knew better than to take it at face value. He was certain their dad was actually taking a mental note of whatever she was sharing. "Got a favorite?"

She copied his hum, "‘Sweet Child O’ Mine.’"

Peter thanked the relative quietness of the family cabin for letting him hear that moment. He wouldn’t’ve heard it had they been back at the Stark Tower and, as such, he would’ve insisted on lending an unnecessary hand.

However apologetic he was for not giving them privacy during such a precious moment, he couldn’t regret it, either. Especially not when "Sweet Child O’ Mine" and Tasha’s other favorite rock songs started to play more frequently in Dad’s workshop playlist.

Chapter Text

Peter wasn’t a stranger to assembling photo albums; with filling empty pages of photographs that may or may not be taken on the same day. He had helped Aunt May complete multiple ones over the years — some with just his photos or Tasha’s like an exclusive personal album of sorts, some with photographs of everyone all together.

When Aunt May and Tasha (and, by extension, him, too) got into scrapbooking, he had been put in charge of sticking the photographs down. He just did it the best out of the three of them, with the placements the straightest and handled with utmost precision. Tasha was in charge of decorating, as she was the only one who could create a comprehensive mess out of nothing and turn it into an art form. Aunt May wrote the captions for the pages that needed one since neither him nor his sister wanted to lend their handwriting for different reasons — the latter was insecure about her handwriting, while he rarely wrote legibly as his brain worked faster than his hands.

He was more than happy to lend his effortlessly meticulous hand at sticking photographs down on an album if it meant spending some alone time with Mom.

Peter stared at the last photo on the left page, which was directly across the slot he was working on. It was of Uncle Rhodey with a younger Morgan. Uncle Rhodey positioned her to face the camera, a strong arm around her middle. They were both smiling, with Morgan mid-clap. The short caption next to the photograph read: Morgan Estelle (4 months) with Uncle Rhodey.

He unconsciously traced the name that followed ‘Morgan.’ "Morgan’s middle name is ‘Estelle’?"

"It is," Mom hummed in response. Her eyes didn’t leave the album she was writing captions on.

"What’s Tasha’s?"

"‘Dashielle,’" she answered just as quick. "Tasha’s ‘Alia Dashielle.’"

Peter made a sound of understanding. He tested both names on his tongue, noting the similar-sounding endings. He wasn’t sure yet if they’d get to choose which names to keep, but he was almost certain Tasha would insist on keeping her current name. She was particularly attached to it, most especially to the part he gave. "I’m sorry," he heard himself apologize in a whisper. "I couldn’t remember ‘Alia’ . . . Just the ‘ah’ sound and ‘Tasha,’ that’s why she ended up being ‘Atasha.’"

"You don’t have to apologize, Pietro." Mom stopped writing to hold his gaze. She gave him the same warm look she always regarded them with, even when she was dragging him, Harley, and Dad out of the workshop. "We love you no matter what names you and Tasha prefer. Your return is more important to us than your names."

Her response warmed his heart, "Love you, too, Mom." It also made him less nervous about picking which name he’d like to stick with, in case Mom and Dad did give them the choice. He returned the encouraging smile she sent his way. "How were we named? Were we named after someone—?"

"Each one of you shares an initial with either me or your dad." She went back to her task at hand, prompting him to do the same. "Harley’s ‘Vincent’ from ‘Virginia’; your ‘Pietro’ from ‘Pepper’; Atasha’s ‘Alia’ from ‘Anthony’; and Morgan’s ‘Estelle’ from ‘Edward.’"

Peter hummed thoughtfully in acknowledgment, "That’s cool." Based on her answer, they’d only have to consider a letter — ‘P’ for him, ‘A’ for Tasha — in their respective names. Which, really, was a great relief: he didn’t want to disrespect anyone if ever he ended up not keeping either ‘Pietro’ or ‘Cassidy’ in his birth certificate.

He picked up the next photograph from the pile: a solo one with Morgan in the same lavender dress he met her in during his field trip. She wasn’t looking at the camera this time; rather, her attention was focused on a brown stuffed bunny with long ears. The caption read: Morgan Estelle (5 months) with Bunbun.

Seeing the photo bubbled up another question in his throat. And, without meaning to, he ultimately turned their updating albums session into one with a forgotten childhood Q-and-A as well.

Mom, for her part, didn’t seem bothered by reliving the past. If anything, she seemed excited to talk about her memories of before. Peter was just happy to indulge her.

Chapter Text

Peter took in the current situation inside Dad’s lab at the family cabin. He and Harley were crowded on one table, deep in thought about the finishing touches of their own Baymax. Dad was on another table, busy with his own project. Tasha was comfortable on the bean bag, immersed in the world between the book’s pages.

The lab at the family cabin wasn’t as grand nor spacious as the workshop back at the Tower, but it still didn’t seem overcrowded even with four people currently in it. He suspected even if Mom came in after her emergency online meeting for SI and Morgan woke up from her afternoon nap, there’d still be plenty of space for them to move around and do whatever they wanted to do individually.

The last notes of Tasha’s current song obsession faded out and he was almost certain she didn’t hear a word of it with how engrossed she was in the book between her hands. Not that he could blame her. He only heard the latter half of the song and none of the previous ones because he had been too absorbed by the problem in front of him.

The Stark version of Baymax was designed like a smaller Hulkbuster with the animated character’s main function and overall attitude. Him and Harley debated about keeping the latter as it didn’t seem essential (a sarcastic and annoying one would probably work best in the household it’d operate in), but they ultimately decided for it because the original softness and innocence seemed fun to interact with. They have yet to come up with its official name, but they have already incorporated everything they wanted in the design’s blueprints — including where their Baymax would store its lollipop stash.

Yet, still, looking at the project’s basically completed blueprint, Peter couldn’t help but feel unsatisfied; like something was missing.

He was aware they could just add whatever it was that was missing at a later date, specifically during an update, but Harley also had the same concern. His brother, too, didn’t want to proceed with the prototype building until they pinpoint whatever it was and address it. The only problem was, he had no clue why he felt unsatisfied with the design, either.

Peter heard his older brother sigh. "Atasha, can you come here for a second?"

"Wait," Tasha straightened her pointer finger to signal her response. A moment later, her book — The Land of Stories, as the largest font read — closed with a sound.

He took in the slight crease of her forehead and the faraway look in her eyes when she walked closer to their work table, her book lied abandoned on the bean bag. "Why do you look like that?" He questioned, curious and worried all at once.

She shook her head, dismissing his worry, "The main characters got tricked so, now, I’m—" She stopped short, unwilling to explain any further. "Never mind that. What do you need me for?"

"Critique these," Harley angled the blueprints her way. "Pietro and I think there’s a problem, but we can’t figure out what."

Tasha hummed as she looked over the prints. "Who do you have in mind for your Baymax to help?"

"Us four and the Avengers," Peter answered. "Mom and Uncle Happy, too, in case they also need patch-ups."

"Is it meant to replace Medbay visits?"

"Just for quick fixes and first aid," it was their older brother’s turn to respond. "Initial diagnosis for anything beyond that, at most."

"I see," she accepted thoughtfully. She stayed silent as she viewed the rest of the pages and, for the life of him, he couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing.

Here was the thing about Atasha, the thing that set her apart: she might not have the passion for anything science-related like they did, but she still had the talent for it that was almost on-par with theirs. (Sure, her science skills weren’t as sharp, but it was arguably still far better than most.) Her mind wasn’t boxed to think scientifically and, thus, she could see and view things in a light they couldn’t — making her a great third opinion on projects.

"Are you commercializing this or it is strictly for personal use?" She inquired eventually after she reached the end of the blueprints.

"Just personal use," Peter replied. "One for the top floors and probably a second one for the Medbay, too. Maybe."

Tasha hummed again albeit that time, it was followed by her notes. "I think your software design idea is fine as it is. I like how you basically kept the original Baymax’s programming and just built onto it. But—" She paused as she flipped through the blueprints and only continued once she located the page she was looking for, "—I’m not really a fan of making it completely metal, to be honest. It feels impersonal and uncomforting . . . Not very Baymax."

"Right," Harley nodded thoughtfully. "To make it entirely of metal is the same as making it an armor, caging whatever warmth it has inside."

"The armor may make it invincible from attacks, but it’d also hinder it from emotionally connecting with anyone," Peter added on in agreement.

"Exactly," she approved of their train of thought, as though she knew they were approaching the same station hers was. "Since it’d only be for Tower use, I don’t see why you can’t make your Baymax like a cuddly marshmallow, too. You can’t get sued for bringing an animated character to life for personal use."

She only received a thoughtful hum in acknowledgement and a belated "You’re a genius, Tash" as both Peter and Harley immediately dived back into work and discovered what she brought to their attention was the problem they had been trying to find all along.

(Tasha didn’t like the compliment, but they both stood by it.)

Chapter Text

Peter, at the ripe age of fifteen, knew he was way past his tucked-into-bed-by-a-parent days. However, he also knew Mom and Dad were still trying to make up for lost time. Thus, he had long accepted his night fate ever since they retreated to the family cabin upstate.

In fact, since they insisted on tucking him in, he decided that he should get the entire bedtime experience — complete with a bedtime story.

"Are you telling a story tonight or am I?" Dad couldn’t continue telling his original go-to bedtime stories when he was younger since he had already learned what makes up the universe, in one form or another. Rather than borrowing Morgan’s storybooks, he settled for stories of his childhood.

The memories his parents held onto for nine years became his bedtime stories. However, upon recognizing that they missed more of it than he had forgotten, he started trading those tales from the first five years of his life with that of the recent nine.

In lieu of answering directly, Peter opted to ask one of his own questions to lead his story. "Dad, remember how Harley met Tasha back at a Stark Expo?"

"Yeah?" Dad response sounded uncertain, like he couldn’t tell where he was going; where he was leading him to.

He couldn’t stop the yawn that escaped him. It had been a productive day. They tinkered in the lab to work on their Baymax’s new design. They ran around the property to encourage Morgan to move more on her walker. (She ran over their feet multiple times, but they still had fun.) His energy was spent.

"We met at one, too." He snuggled closer to his blanket, enjoying how soft the material felt on his skin. "The same expo."

Dad made a sound from his throat. He wasn’t sure if it sounded strangled or if it was just of utter surprise and curiosity.

Peter took it as a prompt to continue. "You saved me from a killer android," he murmured, "and carried me to the paramedics. You said they’d help me find my family."

"I—" He started to say but seemingly decided against it, having thought better of whatever he was about to say. "The kid— With an Iron Man mask— That was you?"

He studied Dad’s expression. However, even with his enhanced senses picking up cues others would’ve surely missed, he couldn’t identify what feeling the older man was conveying with his face. He wasn’t sure if it was just his sleepy-ness impairing his ability to read expressions or if Dad really donned an unreadable one.

Nevertheless, he hummed in affirmation, "Flying with you was awesome."

Dad let the silence stretch as he opted to watch him first with shaking eyes. Peter was reminded of how the former seemingly took in how much he had changed in a span of nine years after he jumped into his arms.

He wasn’t sure why his dad reacted that way to his story. It was one of his most favorite memories from his childhood! He talked about it numerous times before, almost every time the chance presented itself. He couldn’t understand why it’d prompt—

He knew he could just ask. But, somehow, he had a feeling Dad’s response would be something he couldn’t deal with in his current state, with him barely fighting to stay awake and all. He’d just have to file it for another day.

"Your mom would kill me if I take you out for a joyride," Dad eventually commented with a small smile. His eyes suddenly shone under the lamplight.

"It’s okay," Peter accepted the indirect apology. He wasn’t comfortable adding more onto Mom’s stress, anyway, as Spider-Man would most likely maximize her quota for him once she learned. I like swinging better, anyway, he almost wanted to add. "You’ll still be my favorite Avenger even if you can’t take me flying."

His bedtime closed with a forehead kiss that lasted longer than usual and an affectionate "Good night" and "Love you tons."

Peter didn’t dream in his sleep.