Archive of Our Own ^beta

Peter isn’t easily irritated. He likes to think he just goes with flow. A chill, easygoing kind of guy.

Well, maybe except for when people talked too slow. Or walked too slow. Or thought too slow. Or—

Okay, maybe some things irritated Peter.

But none of that compared to the irritation he feels now. And the cause of that irritation?

His father, of all people.

Everything had been going smoothly ever since he told Erik the truth. As smoothly as he could have ever hoped for, he supposes. It had taken months for Peter to gather the courage to tell Erik he was his son, spurred only by Erik’s announcement that he’d be staying at the school indefinitely.

It wasn’t the grand reveal Peter had always dreamed of. There were no magical embraces, no tearful professions of love, no heartfelt apologies. But Peter could have sworn there’d been something in Erik’s eyes that day—warmth, surprise, maybe even a hint of tears.

Nah… he thought to himself, Magneto didn’t cry. Not over something like this.

“I understand if you aren’t… happy,” Peter remembers saying easily, feigning nonchalance as if his heart wasn’t shattering in his chest. “We can just pretend this never happened and never speak again. That’s fine too—”

“And why would we ever do that?” Erik had asked, sounding bewildered at the statement. He placed a hand on Peter’s cheek then, and alright, Peter would be lying if he said he hadn’t leaned into the touch a little. Erik’s gaze softened with something Peter couldn’t quite place. “You’re my… you’re my son.”

The pure wonder in his voice steadied Peter’s racing heart, wrapping him in an unfamiliar warmth. Nobody had ever looked at him like that before—like he was the best thing in the world.

Peter decided he liked that feeling very much.

And as time went on, their relationship blossomed. Peter even got the hug he’d always dreamed of, though not in the way he’d imagined.

It had been a relatively normal day. Erik and Raven had been sent undercover to investigate a facility rumored to be imprisoning mutant children. The mission was supposed to be quick, just a few hours of reconnaissance. But hours stretched into the night, and Peter’s worry grew unbearable.

“They’ll be alright, Peter,” Charles had assured as Peter stared at his untouched dinner.

But Peter saw through Charles immediately. “You can’t sense them, can you.”

Charles hesitated before replying, “I can sense Raven.” And Peter knew. Peter knew that of course in some cruel twist of fate his dad left, again, and he was probably dead and he would never get to tell him—

“Although I advised against it,” Charles added gently, “it’s possible he’s wearing the helmet.”

Peter clung to that hope through a sleepless night.

Luckily, his father was in fact very much alive. A jet had arrived the following morning and while Charles bickered with Raven on why she had been ignoring him the entirety of the mission, Peter stared at the second figure retreating the jet.

Without even meaning to, he slipped into super-speed, scanning every inch of Erik’s body to make sure he was okay. Peter was surprised but comforted to find his father practically void of any injuries.

He slipped back into regular speed, a sigh of relief hitting his chest as he enveloped his father into a hug. 

Peter almost immediately regretted it as soon as he realized Erik would not be returning the embrace, arms limp at his sides in an awkward manner.

He pulled away sheepishly, thoughts of why would you do that, you idiot, and he’s really not going to like you now running through his mind frantically. He ran a hand through his mussed hair, trying to look anywhere but Erik.

“Sorry, I didn’t—I just, I was scared, you were late and I didn’t know if…”

Peter’s sentence trailed off as Erik suddenly stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Peter, an embrace so secure it felt like nothing in the world could ever break him away. 

His mother’s hugs were fierce. She hugged in a way that could sometimes make Peter feel claustrophobic, but not in a bad way. Lorna’s hugs were soft and quick, short but sweet.

Erik’s hugs were different. They were soft and fierce all at once. There was a warmth that came with it, hitting Peter’s chest in a soft flurry.

“I had no intention of scaring you,” Erik said softly into his hair. “I apologize.”

And it was then Peter knew he would never—could never—forget this moment, because not only had Erik apologized (for something that technically wasn’t even really his fault) but he had actually hugged him.

And what can he say? It was a really great hug.

After that day, it was as if something in their relationship had shifted. Erik seemed less closed off, more at ease. There were instances of casual affection; a ruffle of his hair when they passed by each other at dinner, amused smiles when Peter would tell an especially good joke, an occasional hand on his shoulder.

Peter had even told him his real name.

Erik had been taken aback at first, before looking at him in confusion. “Why did you change it? Your name?”

Peter shrugged. “Moving to America in the middle of a war with a ‘weird’ name doesn’t exactly make people like you. So mom had it changed.”

Peter could tell there was an angry heat in Erik’s gaze, (not directed towards Peter of course) but thankfully he didn’t act on it. “And which do you prefer?”

Peter didn't really know. He’d gone by Peter for most of his life, and he hadn’t heard anyone call him by his actual name in years. Not even his mother used it. It was a special sort of thing, like a secret.

And it was then he decided. “You can call me Pietro.”

So yeah, he loves his dad. He doesn’t know if he will ever say it aloud, but he loves him.

But as of lately, it’s getting more difficult to love the guy.

Because—and man, he can’t believe he’s saying this—Erik is… sort of being an asshole.

He begged to go on missions. To be a part of the X-Men, to do anything other than sit around and pretend like he’s doing homework.

But each time Peter asks, Erik always replies with a firm and resounding ‘no.’

It’s one morning Peter decides he’s had enough.

Peter’s sitting at the table for breakfast, settled in between Scott and Kurt and directly across from Erik. They’re discussing an upcoming mission to the same facility from weeks ago. It’s only to extract more details for the upcoming infiltration, but Peter wants to help.

“I think I should come,” Peter says boldly after anxiously (but patiently, he’ll add)  waiting for his father to finish his sentence. 

An awkward silence settles over the room, everyone’s eyes on Erik, awaiting a response.

And here it was. One… two… three…

“No.”

Shocker.

Erik blinks once in finality and then opens his mouth to continue talking once more, but Peter isn’t finished.

“I don’t understand why you won’t let me go,” Peter continues. “I’m sixteen. I’m old enough to handle myself.”

“Exactly,” Erik replies, everyone’s gazes suddenly fixated on the floor. “You're sixteen. You’re still a child.”

“Scott and Jean are sixteen!” 

“Scott and Jean don’t have parents to speak for them,” Erik replies matter-of-factly, the bluntness of his statement causing his friends to wince. “You do. And I say no.”

Peter opens his mouth to argue, but Erik cuts him off. “This matter is done.”

There’s a firmness in his tone that Peter rarely hears directed towards him, and it catches him off guard for a moment before he huffs and leaves the table. 

“I don’t get it!”

Charles sighs while Peter paces the office, his features exhausted. “He’s only worried, Peter.”

“It’s not fair.” Peter ignores the professor. “Scott and Jean are younger than me and they get to be X-Men! And I have better powers too! Well, maybe not better than Jean’s, but way better than Scott’s!”

Charles rolls his eyes at the remark. “Peter, Erik is your father and whether you like it or not, he does have more authority in this situation.”

Wow. And here he was thinking Charles was going to be on his side.

“I don’t have sides,” the man says, causing Peter to curse under his breath. Stupid telepaths. “Have you tried talking to him about this?”

“Uh, yeah! Loads of times! And he always says—”

“I don’t mean have you argued,"  Charles interrupts with a pointed look. “I mean talk. A sincere, civil conversation.”

Peter thinks about lying before he remembers who he is sitting in front of. “I guess not… but—”

“I suggest you try it,” Charles says with a tone that implies the conversation is over. “Now, I apologize, Peter, but I have a class to attend to…”

Peter doesn’t talk to Erik. Not immediately, anyway. He stalls for a bit, because although he doesn’t want to admit it, he’s slightly nervous.

But his anger trumps over that eventually, because a day later he’s sitting beside his father in the common room.

“I wanted to talk…” Peter starts, thinking of ways to make everything 'sincere'  and 'civil' like Charles said. 

“I think I already have an idea of what this might be about.”

Peter swallows, trying to gather what emotions are settling over his father’s face. “Yeah. I, um. I wanted to talk to you about… going on missions.”

Why was he so nervous?

When his father doesn’t make any notion of replying, Peter clears his throat. “I would just like a chance to prove myself, is all. I’ve helped in the past, I saved everyone in this mansion when it blew up, remember? And the Pentagon, that was no big deal for me. And I’ve done so much more and if I could just use my gift for something, instead of wasting around in here like some loser—”

“You are many things, Pietro,” Erik cuts in with a shake of his head. “But a ‘loser’ is not one of them.”

In any other circumstance Peter might have warmed at the assurance, but today he is feeling especially impatient.

“Right, thanks. It’s just…” Peter trails off, feeling even worse under Erik’s probing gaze. He takes a deep breath. Just say it. “What I’m trying to say is I want you to give me a chance. Charles said that you might be scared, but I’m not a little kid anymore and—”

“Charles said what, exactly?” Erik interrupts, a sudden sharpness in his tone that only makes Peter grow more irritated. Can’t he just let me talk? “That I’m scared?”

Peter fights the urge to roll his eyes. “No, it’s not like that. He just said… well, never mind what he said. I just want you to hear what I say."

Erik looks like he wants to argue but thankfully only sighs in response, his eyes growing softer. “Pietro, I know you want to fight.”

“Great! So why won’t you let me?”

Erik is quiet for a moment before finally responding. “You’re too young. Too… inexperienced.”

Wow. Ouch. 

Erik had said it in a careful tone, but it doesn’t stop the words from hurting. He broke his dad out of the freaking Pentagon, for hell’s sake. 

And as the words echo in his head, he realizes he’s angry. He’s angry because his own dad can’t see his potential. He’s angry because he had just said—with absolutely no remorse—that he was a disappointment, when Peter had only ever shown him otherwise.

“You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me,” Peter snaps suddenly, the words rushing from his mouth as they usually do when he gets angry. Erik’s eyes widen in surprise, but Peter ignores him and stands from the sofa in defiance. “I’m the one who broke you out of that stupid prison. I saved people from being blown up from something that was your fault!”

Erik’s surprise quickly turns into seething fury. And Peter realizes that until now, he has never seen this fury directed towards him before. He sees it sometimes when Erik is describing something particularly brutal from a mission, and he visualizes it when he imagines his father’s Nazi hunting days, but him? Never him.

Peter finds that despite it all, he doesn’t feel afraid. 

He just feels rage.

“What did you just say to me?” Erik’s voice is cold and harsh.

“I think you heard me.”

“I am your father, Pietro. I will not have you speak to me that way—”

“I don’t care! I’m sick of you treating me like a baby—”

“I’m only trying to—”

“I wish I had never told you!”

The room is suddenly coated in a sharp silence at the exclamation, Peter’s chest heaving with fierceness as Erik’s mouth forms a tight line.

“Never told me what?” He asks quietly, but he knows. Peter knows he knows.

“That you are my father,” Peter finishes with confidence, his mouth moving faster than his brain at this point. “Because then maybe for once you could leave me alone!"

Peter almost—almost—regrets it when he sees the flicker of emotion in Erik’s eyes, a wave of hurt and sorrow so deep it cuts through like a knife. But then, as quickly as it appears, it’s shadowed with a coldness that makes Peter almost shiver. 

“Fine,” he says, an unsettling lack of emotion in his voice. “If you would prefer me out of your life, then I can only respect your wishes.”

Peter doesn’t say anything in response as Erik turns and without another glance—as if Peter doesn’t even exist—exits the room.

And it’s only afterward that everything hits him and with his head in his hands, he realizes just what he’s done.

The days following their… disagreement (Peter is trying to find other words than ‘complete and utter shitshow’), they avoided each other. On the rare occasion they would make eye contact, Erik would turn his eyes away as if Peter was undeserving of his attention (which made Peter feel more disappointed than he would like to admit) or Peter would whip around and try to ease his racing heart.

It’s on the third day that Charles pulls him aside.

“I heard about your… argument.” Maybe Charles is trying to find other words than ‘shitshow’, too.

“There’s nothing to say,” Peter shrugs with an air of nonchalance he always carries in situations like these. “So does that mean I can join the X-Men now?”

Charles only gives him a disappointed look, and Peter is startled to feel a wave of shame. Peter has always wondered what it would be like to see Charles angry but he decides at this moment that a disappointed Charles has to be far, far worse.

And it’s not like he doesn’t blame him. Peter had brought it up, but after everything he isn’t even sure he wants to be an X-Man. For one thing, that meant him being near Erik and for another… he hadn't even really thought about the X-Men at all since their fight. 

Peter decides suddenly that he doesn’t care if he’s an X-Man or not. 

No, all he really wants is his dad back.

“You’re projecting again,” Charles says softly, a pained smile tugging his lips. “For what it’s worth, Erik misses you too.”

“How would you know? I thought you didn’t read minds.”

“I just know,” is all Charles says. 

It’s a week later that it happens.

Peter’s taking another jog because he needs air. He usually runs around the school (it’s large enough, which makes Peter realize Charles is a lot wealthier than he originally thought) but it’s that evening his thoughts just take over—thoughts surrounding his dad and that night and he just has to be somewhere else, anywhere else.

So, Walkman in hand and Pink Floyd blasting in his ears, Peter runs to the nearest town and decides to gorge himself on McDonalds that tastes utterly fantastic and he nearly groans as he inhales his burger.

Charles is a stickler on wholesome food and they almost never get take out—with the exception of an occasional pizza order, one of which occurred on Peter’s birthday weeks ago. He suddenly remembers the way Erik ruffled his hair and smiled as he blew out his candles. He remembers the nervousness in his eyes when he gave Peter his gift, a silver watch. He remembers the softness in his tone.

“It’s metal,” Erik pointed out. “So we’re connected.”

He had told Peter about his daughter—Nina—and how she had a locket (which he realizes is what must be hung around Erik’s neck) and how his son deserved something too.

It all hurts, especially when he realizes he still hasn’t taken the watch off. He doesn’t know if he ever will.

He wonders if Erik wants him to.

Peter sets his burger down and for once, doesn’t feel hungry anymore.

He gets up and starts to leave the building when he catches something in the corner of his eye.

Almost on instinct, he slips into super-speed and turns his vision toward the male figure standing outside the door, his clothing dark and a hood shielding his face.

Peter shrugs and decides it’s probably best if he gets the hell out of there before he realizes he can’t move. His body feels sluggish, and in paralyzing fear, watches as he slips out of super-speed and lands at the man’s feet.

“Check your food next time,” is all the voice says before Peter slips into darkness.

When Peter wakes, his head is throbbing and his body aches in a way he hasn’t felt since Cairo.

After what feels like years he manages to get his eyes to open, making out a small room that almost looks like… a prison cell.

And what’s worse is when Peter reaches for his neck, he finds a metal collar in its place.

Dread fills Peter’s body as he realizes what this is. He’s heard about these collars, from when he eavesdropped on mission briefings. He heard Raven talking about how the collars block mutants from using their powers and Peter remembers shrugging it off because, he's too fast for anyone anyway.

But now he’s sitting in this cold cell, the collar very much clamped around his neck and he’s stuck. His body is slow, though his body aches to move, and Peter begins to feel very, very afraid.

“Good, you’re awake.”

Peter whips around at the sound, finding a man standing outside of his cell. Peter doesn’t know if it’s the same man who abducted him, but there is an air of authority about him that makes Peter think he has someone else do his dirty work.

“Sure. Do I get breakfast?”

The man doesn’t look amused. “Here is what is going to happen. I am going to put you through a series of experiments and you are going to remain cooperative or there will be consequences.”

“Sounds like a blast,” Peter deadpans. “And what will these consequences consist of? Time out corner, maybe?”

The man—who Peter just decides to internally dub Mustache Man because of his… well, mustache—huffs. “Let’s just say you don’t want to find out.”

Peter finds himself shaking as the doors suddenly open and a wave of guards come to grab him. Mustache Man steps in front of him, an eerie look in his eyes. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Peter discovers very quickly that the consequences do not indeed consist of a time out corner.

It’s during one particular experiment as he’s lying on a medical bed as a scientist pokes and prods him with needles that pierce his skin, causing him to cry out. It’s not long before Mustache Man appears in front of him. 

“Should we sedate him, sir?” Someone asks as Peter continues to cry out in pain. His veins feel like he’s on fire. It burns his skin in a way Peter can only imagine to be straight up lava flowing through his body.

“No,” Mustache Man replies, and through teary eyes he can make out a twisted look of joy in a way that sends a chill down his spine. “No. I want to see him hurt.”

And even though he’s in a lot of pain, Peter can still understand just how freaking creepy that sounds.

He jerks away as another needle makes contact with his skin, thrashing until Mustache Man steps closer and twists his arm harshly, resulting in more pained screams.

Mustache Man smiles cruelly. “I don’t care if you’re in pieces when I do my experiments. So I suggest you stay still and obey.” 

And Peter does. Sometimes he can’t help but cry out when something digs at his skin or fire burns his bones, and he always receives more pain in return. But he tries.

It’s during the brief breaks of when Peter slumps in between consciousness that he wonders if he’s going to be stuck here forever. His mind drifts to Erik, before a sharp reminder follows. 

Of course Erik isn’t going to rescue him. He told him he didn’t even want him in his life, why would he come rescue a shit son like him?

And it hurts, it hurts so much, because Peter wonders how he managed to lose his dad just as soon as he got him.

And how he might die here, die knowing his dad probably doesn’t care.

Peter wakes after an especially harsh experiment, his body wet with something he can only assume is blood based on the ache covering his body. He reaches a hand to his face, wincing as he only finds pain.

He wonders how long he’s been stuck here. It feels like it’s been months. That thought looms heavily over him until he forces it away and continues to lie there, waiting in fear for when the scientists will appear again until he sees a figure in the center of his vision, blurry and tall.

Peter freezes in complete fear, the figure growing closer and closer until he can make out the face by his side.

A mustache-less face.

“E-Erik?”

His father’s eyes are so soft and warm and Peter just wants to cry because his father hasn’t looked at him like this in forever. He just wants to sob and cling to the man and he doesn’t care if that makes him look like a baby because shit, he’s been through enough at this point to justify it, right?

And most of all he wonders why Erik could possibly be looking at him like that when he said the things he did. Why Erik would even be here at all…

…Unless he’s hallucinating. Which he very well could be, seeing as he probably had loads of drugs in his system right now—

A hand comes to his cheek, a hand that feels very real, and Peter recoils slightly at the touch because for a while the only touch he had known was needles and knives and pain but this touch doesn’t feel like any of that. It’s familiar and warm and everything that Mustache Man isn’t.

“You’re alive,” Erik breathes, and he really has to be a hallucination because are those tears in his eyes?

“Are you real?” Peter finds himself whispering, his voice hoarse.

Erik looks alarmed before placing another hand on the other side of his face, cupping his head gently and it’s then Peter finds he doesn’t really care if this isn’t real at all because Erik is here and doesn’t hate him. “Of course I’m real. And I’m going to bring you home.”

Home. Home sounds nice, he thinks. He knows it isn’t going to happen, but Peter allows himself to close his eyes and pretend like it will.

He hears a frantic voice as he begins to doze off, but it’s muffled and Peter doesn’t care because he doesn’t want to leave the dream yet.

Except he doesn’t dream. All he feels is someone picking him up, and he can’t do anything but cry out because everything hurts, and he hears a voice—that same voice—telling him something, but he can’t quite hear because everything hurts too much. 

After a while Peter must have passed out because the next thing he remembers is waking up, this time on a much softer bed and when he opens his eyes he is surprised to find himself covered in bandages and soft blankets and a chair at his side. A chair seating not the Mustache Man, but Erik Lehnsherr.

And it’s then it all hits Peter. None of what happened was a dream, it was real. 

His dad came for him.

Erik seems to notice Peter has finally awoken, because he turns to his side immediately. “You’re awake.”

'Good, you’re awake.' For a split second Peter is transported back to Mustache Man and the memories come rushing back, the experiments and his screams and thoughts of nobody coming to save him—

“Pietro, breath.” He feels a solid hand on his back, leaning him forward as his chest burns with fire. After a few moments it slows and Peter can only see Erik in front of him, a worried expression etched into his features.

His dad is worried. Not mad, but… worried.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Peter finally whispers, and Peter doesn’t mean to say it—doesn’t even remember thinking it—but it’s the truth nonetheless. 

A wave of hurt flashes over Erik’s eyes. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Peter opens his mouth, but for once can’t really find anything to say. Why was Erik acting like this? Peter had said such cruel things and now he was acting as if nothing had happened. 

“I thought… I thought you hated me.” A million emotions enter Peter’s mind at the admission. He’s ashamed to feel hot tears brimming his vision but he also feels as if a weight has been lifted from his chest. Because although it hurts, it really hurts, Peter needed to say those words. Because after all this time, that’s what he had slowly come to think. After all, why wouldn’t Erik hate him? After all he had done?

His father practically flinched in response, drawing back as if Peter had hit him.

“All those things I said… I didn’t mean any of them, I swear,” Peter continues, his voice shaking but it’s not something he can prevent. “I would give up anything, really, just to…”

Peter swallows, a stray tear falling down his cheek. “Just to have my dad back.”

And then, as if everything wasn’t humiliating enough, he starts crying.

Not just crying, but actual pathetic, baby sobs.

It isn’t long before Erik raises a hand to his cheek, cupping his face with a tenderness that only makes Peter cry harder. “Oh, Pietro. Is that what this is about?”

Uh, yeah? Peter wants to say. He wants to know why his father is being so calm about everything, when he really shouldn’t be.

A sad smile tugs at Erik’s lips as he strokes a tear from Peter’s cheek. “Nothing you could ever do or say would ever make me hate you.”

It’s just words, really. But there is an assurance in his tone and a look in his eyes that makes Peter shiver, and he finally realizes.

His father doesn’t hate him.

Even after saying those mean things, after yelling and screaming in his face, even after everything…

Erik loved him.

“I should also apologize,” Erik adds suddenly. “I was wrong for not letting you participate in missions and for not listening to you properly. You deserve my utmost attention. I know you are perfectly capable and I don’t want you to think otherwise. I only wanted to protect you. Ever since…”

Ever since Nina, Peter finishes in his head. 

“I have lost many of the ones I love,” Erik finally says after some time, his eyes glassy. “And I did not want that to happen to you. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Peter freezes for a moment, not quite knowing what to say. He feels his cheeks warm at the profession. 

“But I know you’re older and that you are accomplished,” Erik finishes with a small smile and a hand on his shoulder. “And if you would like to participate on a mission once you’re healed, well then… we can talk.”

This was the moment he had been waiting for. In any other circumstance he might have whooped in victory and thanked his dad profusely or maybe even boasted his triumph to his friends, but now?

Right now he was just really happy to see his dad.

Peter gives him a smile as he eases back against his pillows, feeling very exhausted all of the sudden. Maybe it was due to the crying. 

“Thanks, Dad,” Peter whispers, so quiet it sounds like nothing more than a soft breath. But Erik must have heard it because through closed eyes he feels a hand comb through his hair, and only seconds later, a ghost of a kiss pressed against his forehead.

“Ich liebe dich für die Ewigkeit, mein Sohn.”