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To Tony’s surprise and irritation, it turned out that when Rogers didn’t want to talk about something, the star-spangled asshole could make himself conveniently unavailable.

He tapped his foot repeatedly against the marble floors below him, sitting in his office with documents laid out on his desk that he really wasn’t happy to be looking at. The sound distracted him, kept his boiling temperament at bay.

It had to; it wasn’t like he could take it out on the source.

“FRIDAY...” Tony stared straight ahead, the wall easier to look at than the ‘Steve Rogers: Request for leave of absence. Location, Wakanda’ forms that taunted him. “I want to be notified the instant he steps back into this building. Not a second later.”

His AI was dutiful in his request. A few weeks later he received word that Rogers had returned to the compound — on the day of Peter’s belated birthday celebration.

He was with the catering company when the notice came through.

“Cake goes in the kitchen, talk to Pepper if you have any questions,” Tony explained in one rushed breath, pushing past the decorators in his hurry.

Storming to the exit with his jaw clenched tightly, he nearly knocked into the ladder someone stood on, the person too busy hanging red and blue garland across the ceiling to notice.

The balloons he kicked around settled to the ground just as he came to a startling halt at the doorway, eyes locking dead-center on Steve.

It took Tony’s brain a moment to catch up with his eyes, to realize that he wasn’t imagining things. Because there was no possible way Steve had decided to approach him here — let alone now of all times. That would be outrageous, even by Rogers’ standards.

And yet here he was. Steve stood diffidently in the doorway, holding a colorful gift-wrapped box underneath his arm. Had he a clear mind, Tony might possibly say the soldier looked guilty, a weight on his shoulders that carried the aura of shame.

He didn’t notice, too busy restraining himself from ripping Steve’s face off — Iron Man repulsors not needed.

“Conference room,” Tony snarled, his voice low. “Now.”

Steve gave one shake of his head. “I just bumped into Pepper. She said Peter’s about to arrive any second now.”

“Good. She can distract him for me.” Tony could feel his words waver with instability, his tone darkening with unbridled anger. “Don’t think for a second that you’re off the hook from this.”

“I don’t. And I’m not saying that I should be,” Steve’s voice had his own sense of unsteadiness to it. “I agree, we need to talk —”

“No.” Tony took a step closer, his shoulders pulled back tautly. “I need to talk, you need to shut your goddamn mouth and listen.”

Steve swallowed thickly. The Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed with the movement.

It only managed to further piss Tony off, a sign that Rogers knew what he did was wrong, that he knew he was guilty. Christ, if it weren’t for King T’Challa having insisted they keep any personal arguments off his soil, he’d have flown to Wakanda days ago and given both Steve and his damn buddy-ol-pal a piece of his mind.

Steve gently sat his present aside on the nearest end-table, going to lift his hands in the air placatingly.

“I know you’re angry —”

“Oh, angry doesn’t begin to cover it.”

Tony’s chest was heaving at this point, his breaths coming in shallow and fast, fists clenching dangerously tight at his sides. His knuckles began to tingle the longer he held the grip, the tension in his muscles shooting an aching strain up his forearms. The feeling was all secondary to the betrayal, the deception that rolled through him like a crumbling avalanche.

The room began to clear out, the decorators finished and the caterers having laid out their abundance of food. Despite being in their way, Tony never budged an inch from the exit, letting them instead walk around him.

Steve politely took a step away from the door, further entering the room. It put him closer to Tony, now barely a foot apart.

He took a deep breath in. “Hear me out —”

“I did,” Tony bluntly retorted. “In Siberia.”

Steve furrowed his brows, his expression caught between offended and torn. The words hit home.

For a brief moment, it was all that stood between the two of them, pulling them down with a heavy weight and a doubtful silence.

“We got him pardoned, exonerated —” Tony snapped, a cold glare preceding his question. “What more did you want?”

Steve wasn’t oblivious. He could see the conflict raging behind Tony’s eyes, the fire in his words that he barely managed to suppress. Like a twisted merry-go-round thriving off their misery, they were back at odds with each other, standing on different ends of the spectrum.

Back at where they started.

“I wanted him home,” Steve slowly explained. “And living under SHIELD’s roof was the only way they’d let him back into the states. You know that.”

Tony nodded scathingly, teeth gritting hard. “So that’s how you, Barton and Romanoff got off scot-free. You finally used that bargaining chip of yours.”

Steve sighed. “Tony —”

“If you had just let me help —”

“We couldn’t involve you!” Steve swallowed hard before speaking again. “Come on, Tony. If we had gotten you involved, they’d have taken you away from Peter. They’d deem you irresponsible to even be involved in his life. We handled it, the best that we could.”

“No,” Tony bit back lowly, shaking his head. “You made a deal is what you did. A deal that if they let you free, you’d finally give them what they want — you’d give them Barnes.”

Steve’s face answered the question long before his words were actually spoken.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice noticeably small. “I told them if they let us go and forgot all about everything that happened with Peter, I’d surrender Bucky to SHIELD.”

Tony knew the answer. He had known it for weeks, since before Peter had been discharged from the infirmary and sent back home to Queens. He couldn’t understand why it bothered him so much now, why it knocked the wind straight out of his lungs.

He realized that somehow, hearing it straight from the source dug a darker hole, a greater sense of distress that not even the weeks of limbo waiting for this very conversation had done to him.

“Unreal,” Tony scoffed, stricken. He looked away, not able to fathom staring Steve down right now, every ounce of his body resisting the urge to punch out each of his goddamn perfect teeth.

Despite the obvious tension, Steve stepped forward. Tony’s head snapped towards him as he did.

“It’s not like Bucky’s happy about this,” he tried to reason. “He’s just as furious, he doesn’t want to work under SHIELD as much as you don’t want him living here.”

Tony barked a laugh, dry and hollow with no traces of humor. “Oh, that’s better, that makes this all okay.”

The indignation poured out of Tony like a broken dam, and Steve frowned as he felt the animosity curdle, knowing he was the cause.

“Listen, it’ll be months before he even arrives. There’s still time to get used to this, they still have to finish rehabilitating him—”

“He’s not even rehabilitated yet?” Tony hissed, stiffening from the roots of anxiety planted deep in his spine.

Steve paused, deflated.

“No.” He barely managed to jump back in before Tony could go off the rails. “They’re close, though! A few more cycles, just a few more treatments. King T’Challa’s sister Shuri is insistent that —”

“Why weren't you happy just taking the Quinjet out to Wakanda? Visitation not enough, you had to be greedy for more?” Tony’s face remained stern, even as he pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. He didn’t chance to look at Rogers for too long, the risk of being swayed by his crystal blue eyes always somehow greater in the middle of an argument.

“Tony,” Steve persisted. “He’s better now, they’ve helped him, he—”

Tony snapped his head up. “Doesn’t belong here.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue, only to stay silent. The retaliation visibly caught him off-guard, his jaw hanging loose, his shoulders slumping like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Long after Tony had said the words and the sting remained in the air, sharp and painful like a laceration across his skin.

When he finally found his voice, it was much quieter, more reserved.

“I thought you...” Steve shook his head, confused. “After what you said...I thought you were okay with him.”

The memories of freezing cold water roaring through Tony’s ears brought alongside the sound of his own voice, broken and pleading for forgiveness at the anticipation of death.

His breaths deepened as his anger lessened, his resentment replaced with disappointment — disappointment in Rogers.

“So did I,” Tony admitted.

Disappointment in himself.

Steve’s expression seemed to crumble, a loss of composure in his face so rarely seen that it took Tony by surprise. Each line that etched into the contours of his skin seemed to bring anew the age he never showed, displaying the wars he fought through and the men he had lost along the way.

Tony wouldn’t admit to it, but he felt like a dick at that moment.

The one thing that brought Rogers the smallest amount of peace and he felt the need to pick a fight about it. Weeks of stewing anger seemed to quell at the realization, especially as he remembered how he'd finally come to understand that similar solace himself.

It was hypocritical of him to ask anything different from his team, and yet here he was doing as much.

Pounding footsteps, the kind that was both light and heavy at the same time, quaked through their resonating silence.

“Hey,” Natasha whispered harshly, her wide-lipped grin not matching the tone of her voice. “Can you two save your little martial spat for after the kid leaves?”

Both Tony and Steve looked to their right, slightly startled by her presence. She wasn’t alone. A group of familiar faces began to walk up the stairway, first Clint — who looked as aggravated as she did at the two of them, followed by Bruce, Vision, Happy —

“Kid, why is your face so sweaty!?” Happy grimaced as he led Peter into the room, both his large hands covering the boy’s eyes while they walked slowly up the stairs.

“I don’t know — because I’m nervous?!” Peter had a laugh in his voice, even as he tripped on the final step leading up. “I think the better question here is — why do your hands smell like a cheesy gordita crunch from taco bell?”

The room came back into unrelenting, brutal focus and Tony’s vision cleared way of his red, heated anger, showcasing instead the reality of the situation.

It was Peter’s birthday party. And Peter had arrived.

Happy paused, deadpanned. “You know, you’re lucky that I’m too busy with interviews to stick around.”

Peter frowned. “Stick around for…?”

Happy removed his hands from Peter’s eyes before he could finish the question, immediately wiping them against his dress pants with a disgusted scoff.

There was a beat when Peter looked around. Wide, starry eyes roamed the room that had been decked out in red and blue, the colors covering nearly every corner from hanging garland to floating balloons.

He was in awe taking in the sight.

Tony snapped his head back over to Steve, scowling as if to say ‘You just had to wait until now to talk about this.’

From the stairway, Clint and Bruce exchanged a nervous glance, clearly sensing the tension.

Across the room, Natasha stared at Tony and Steve, having walked in on the two looking to be a second away from a possible fist fight.

With a shrug and a bitten back sigh, Clint forced out an exaggeratedly excited, “Happy birthday!”, followed by staring daggers down at the three instigators.

After all, this was not what they had planned.

The gravity of the situation didn’t go untouched. Natasha seemed irritated enough by their arguing that the stress in her words could invoke a quiet aneurysm — in who was yet to be determined.

“Save it for later,” she hissed lowly, around the same time Peter exclaimed with rapt excitement, “This is so cool!”

“Oh,” Vision spoke up, adjusting his sweater vest. “Was that the cue Mr. Banner spoke about? I apologize. As they say...happy birthday, Peter.”

Clint rolled his eyes, blowing into two different party horns that squawked out a noise even Vision was annoyed by.

Peter grinned even wider, kicking through a floor of balloons as he walked into the communal area. Bruce hastily followed suit, side-eyeing the three across the way to make sure they didn’t get too close.

“We, uh, we have a cake..for you, Peter. Here, in the kitchen,” Bruce hurried to gain Peter’s attention, laying his hand against the small his back while they walked together.

Tony and Steve locked eyes. The unspoken lingering between them had an obvious cause.

They both knew Tony would go off to Peter, someone he considered to be his protegee, someone who he nearly gave his own life for and expected everyone to do the same — and yet he would carry resentment for Steve wanting to try and bring back his equivalent.

They’d talk about it later, they always did. But in the interim, nothing was resolved, nothing was fixed.

And yet still, Steve nodded his head, encouraging Tony to go. Their confrontation could wait another day.

It felt wrong.

And just like that, after staring in Steve’s ridiculously blue eyes for too long, Tony felt guilty.

Luckily for him, he was the master of pushing emotions aside, an expert of slipping on a mask to cover the ugly truth. Years, decades even spent living under the scrutiny of the public eye meant learning how to switch off at a whim.

With a deep breath, a deeper exhale, and a sharp roll of his neck and shoulders, Tony approached the group. All smiles, no traces of worry.

“Happy sixteenth, spiderling!”

Cool, calm, collected. Like nothing had happened.

While the others looked at him with knowing eyes, Peter seemed oblivious to the stress and tension they had walked in on. And that’s all that mattered for Tony.

“Mr. Stark, this is —!” Peter looked around the room, ecstatic. “This is awesome! I can’t believe — holy cow!”

Clint, busy strapping a cone-shaped birthday hat onto his head, snorted at Tony’s flippancy.

Happy mimicked a similar scoff, pointing his thumb down the staircase as he told Tony, “I’m heading out. Pepper has me booked for thirty-six interviews today.”

Tony shrugged. “And who did that to themselves?” he asked as he approached the others in the kitchen.

Happy glared.

Tony smiled, popping off the top to one of his beer bottles and going so far as to take a swig before Happy left.

Straightening his tie, the man retreated down the stairway muttering something about “five months” and “security breaches” and “I didn’t think I had to do the interviews if I fired them all.”

In the kitchen, Peter fought a losing battle at shutting his widely-open jaw, his eyes glued to the cake sitting in front of him that he imagined had to cost what his aunt paid monthly in rent, if not double that.

Bruce was already cutting slices into the top layer, the bright colors bringing life to the modern designed kitchen. It had red and blue with black webbing laced through-out — it was every bit Spider-Man, all the way down to the white curved eyes mimicking his infamous masks lenses.

“Mr. Stark, this is — I mean — what is this?”

“It’s a surprise party, squirt.” Tony slung his arm around Peter’s shoulder. “What, you’ve never had one before?”

“Not like this!” Peter gawked, struggling to remove his backpack, practically tossing it to the ground with excitement “Oh my god, this is the coolest thing ever!”

“Got the cake!”

Sam’s announcement was distant, coming from the bottom of the stairway. The group, confused, turned to look as he approached the top, a rectangular sheet cake barely the length of his body held in both hands.

“Uhm...no,” Natasha bluntly said, head cocked towards the five-tier masterpiece sitting in front of them. “I believe we have the cake here, Sam.”

Despite her obvious correction, Sam’s grin never lessened, even as he approached the kitchen and set down his cheaply made cake directly next Tony’s.

Peter, who had been taking a dozen or so photos with his cell phone, only stopped when seeing Sam place the cake on the counter.

“Yes, but mine,” Sam gestured with both hands, “is much better.”

The group hovered over the kitchen counter, frowning at the purple frosted Barney The Dinosaur cake in front of them. The price sticker of twenty-two dollars was still on the plastic dome.

Bruce took one look at it before continuing to cut the Spider-Man cake into pieces, laying out slices on individual plates.

Tony shook his head. “You do understand I’m not reimbursing you for that, correct?”

Sam shrugged, his smile locked in place. “Totally worth it.”

Stuffing his cell phone way, Peter shrugged himself, still bouncing on his feet. “I don’t mind! Double the cake, double the yum!”

“Not the reaction I was going for, but I’ll take it!” Sam began to pop the plastic dome off the sheet-cake, ignoring the protests from the others as he did.

For what it was worth, Peter really didn’t mind having two cakes. Whether he ate Sam’s out of pity or not stood to be debated. And in all fairness, Tony’s cake was so professionally baked that he actually felt a tad bit bad about eating it, the design so immaculate and perfect that he wanted to keep it around forever.

Until he actually ate a piece, anyway.

“Holy crap!” Peter muffled through a mouthful of frosting.“This is amazing!”

“It’s not that great,” Sam huffed, all but pouting.

Clint, sucking the helium out of one of the nearby balloons, managed a high-pitch, “It’s delicious and you know it.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Keep that up and you’ll kill what little brain cells you have left.”

Clint, deadpanned, sucked in another breath of helium, looking her dead-square in the eyes as he responded, “Maybe then I can actually retire for good, vegetable or not.”

If there was one thing Tony was great at doing, it was throwing a party. There was no shortage of food lining up the kitchen counters, to the point where Peter was sure he’d end up in either a sugar coma or sodium-induced heart attack.

Stuffing his mouth with a handful of pigs-in-a-blanket, he decided either would be a good way to go.

“Alright, I’m getting another drink. Anyone?” Sam asked, standing from the sofa.

Clint handed his plate towards him. “Get me another slice?”

Sam took the plate with a furrow of his brows. “Dude, that’s like your seventh slice.”

“Yeah…” he drawled out. “And I’m the only one eating your Trader Joe’s cake, so…?”

Sam side-eyed him with a glare that contained no real threat, especially as he walked into the kitchen to smack another crudely designed slice of cake onto his plate.

Natasha crossed her legs and eyed him suspiciously. “Clint, how the hell do you manage to stay fit eating all this crap?”

“That is an excellent question!” Clint wagged his purple-frosted covered fork at her, crumbs falling into his lap. “I could have sworn my metabolism would be shot once I hit thirty. Never happened. Still waiting for my dad bod. Until then —”

The unexpected sound of sharp, crisp crackling interrupted their conversation, a bright orange glow illuminating the room’s walls with a familiarity they had become accustomed to. Those with their backs turned barely paid attention to the vivid light as the portal came to a close, sparks dropping to the floor like extinguished fireworks.

Peter, on the other hand, watched with wide-eyes, and a single potato chip falling out of his mouth.

“Holy sh —”

“I don’t know how I feel about you bypassing my security like that.” Tony circled a finger in the direction of the disappearing portal and the occupants who stood in front of it. “Apparently you failed to get the whole gist of security breaches when we took down an impostor who infiltrated my company.”

Stephen broke into a smile, as small as it may have been.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” he said, gesturing behind him in a way that rustled his red cloak. “I have somebody here who wanted to —”

“Peter!” Wanda ran forward the moment she caught sight of the boy, who was too busy standing frozen in shock to register her presence. She tackled him into a hug, nearly knocking the two of them onto the sofa he stood in front of.

“Ompfh!” he grunted, startled by the skinny arms that wrapped tightly around him. Before he could consider what to do with his own hands – hug back? Keep them at his sides? Seriously, when it came to girls he was a lost tourist in NYC without their GPS – she had pulled away, grinning ear-to-ear.

“I missed you so much, my rebenok pauk!” Wanda placed both her hands to his cheeks, smushing them in a way that puffed his lips forward. “I am so happy to see how much better you are!”

Peter nodded, eyes still wide as saucers. “Thanks, I —”

“I have spent every day checking with Steve to see how you have been,” she continued, moving her hands down from his face onto his shoulders. “I was so happy to hear you are home again. I'm even happier to be here with you now!”

From nearby on the couches, Sam arched an eyebrow high enough to reach the ceiling and Clint snorted a laugh into his fork covered with cake. The others watched silently, with both confusion and mild interest.

Wanda had never been one to be so open, so talkative. It was the exact opposite of her normal behavior, shy and reserved, almost always off in a corner conversing quietly with Vision.

Still, it was hard not to enjoy how happy she seemed. They could all agree that after everything she’d been through, it was well deserved.

“Uhm, yeah,” Peter stammered, “it’s great to see —”

“I heard it was your birthday!” Her excitement was only matched by his teenage-boy confusion.

“Uh, sorta?” Peter gulped heavily, touching his cheek where she had put her hands. It felt warm, and not just from the contact of her skin. There was a fizzle to it, like static electricity. “It was my birthday a couple weeks ago—”

“Look!” Wanda had already pulled out a slim, white device from her jean pockets, holding it up for him to see. “Doctor Strange has shown me his entire collection of music, so I have been adding songs to the playlist. I believe you will like what you see.”

Peter reached out to grab the iPod, thumb already scrolling across the touchscreen. They began to walk towards the kitchen while he did.

“Whoa, super retro,” he could be heard saying as she gathered him a plate of food. “Awesome!”

From the living room, Stephen looked towards Tony, quirking an eyebrow high.

“Retro?” he repeated.

Tony snorted, patting him on the back. “Hurts to be reminded of your mortal age, don’t it?”

Stephen narrowed his eyes and Tony smirked. The grin fell flat as soon as the corner of the red cloak reached up towards him, aiming for his hand.

He jerked away, a finger going to point sharply at the fabric.

“That thing needs to behave as long as you’re in my house.”

Before Stephen could manage a retort, Peter had come walking out of the kitchen, his footsteps shy and timid. From behind them, Wanda could be heard kindly ushering orders to Vision, something about the potato chip dip needing more spices while he rummaged through the cabinets for her.

“I...I feel like I’ve seen you before,” Peter was quiet, unsure if he really wanted the oddly dressed man to hear him or not.

Stephen smiled at him, much more warmth in his facial features than what he originally arrived with.

“That is very well possible,” he settled on saying. 

His answer only further confused Peter, who continued to stare at him with a look of bewilderment so intense it almost had Tony laughing.

“Peter, magical wizard,” Tony went on to introduce, gesturing towards each of them with an open palm. “Magical wizard, Peter.”

“Please,” Stephen said, reaching forward to shake Peter’s hand. The kid wiped his palm against his pants before latching onto his grip. “Don’t ever call me that.”

They shook hands for much longer than needed, Peter only realizing how awkward the moment had become once Stephen lifted an eyebrow high against his hairline.

“Oh wow.” Peter swallowed nervously, abruptly letting go of handshake “You’re...you’re real.”

Stephen cocked his head to the side, somewhat insulted, mostly puzzled.

“I mean, I knew that you were...you were real,” Peter tried to correct, only managing to further steer himself off the cliff that he liked to call mountain of embarrassment. “But you’re...you’re real–real. Like, really here. Like, holy crap you just teleported here? How — that’s so — I mean — wow.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Despite the incredibly limited vocabulary you may be hearing now, I ensure you Peter is actually top of his class at a highly sought after prestigious STEM high-school.”

Stephen’s lips curled up in a soft smile and Peter rubbed ferociously at the nape of his neck, barely keeping himself from cringing under Tony’s stare.

It was like the man was mentally begging him not to make an embarrassment of himself in front of the magical wizard, of which he had clearly already managed to do.

“Sorry, sorry,” Peter muttered, noticeably chewing on his lower lip. “Thank you, Mr—Doctor Strange. You know, for uh...for saving me and all.”

“Of course, Peter.” Stephen had placed both his hands deep inside his blue tunic, the red cloak oddly mimicking his action by hugging its corners to his hips. “It’s nice to see you up and about. You’ve made quite a recovery.”

Peter nodded with more force than what felt natural, too busy eyeing Stephen with words resting on the tip of his tongue, never making it out in his fit of confusion.

His finger pointed towards him, eyes narrow with a recognition he couldn’t place.

“I really do feel like I’ve met you before —”

“Peter, come!” Wanda appeared suddenly from behind, tugging on his arm and guiding him to the sofas. “I have so much to talk with you about!”

Practically ushered away from the adults, Peter shot a sideways glance at the sorcerer as Wanda dragged him across the room, unsure if their conversation should come to an end so suddenly.

Stephen gave one soft nod, as if telling the teenager that it was okay.

The two plopped down on the couch together, Wanda eagerly pointing out the different songs he browsed through on the iPod while he listened patiently to her excited rambling.

“And then he took me to another realm. It was beautiful, Peter! So gorgeous. You should have seen it – no, you will see it, we will take you there one day! And then, as we practiced the art of energy projection...”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest, standing at Strange’s side while they both eyed the young ones from afar.

“The little witch been treating you okay?” he asked, careful to sound casual.

Stephen spared a glance towards him, almost smirking at the question.

“As okay as it appears you’ve been treating Peter...” he hummed, looking around at the room’s decorations. “Not your ward, huh?”

Tony shook his head, his eyes straight ahead. “Not my ward.”

And with that, Stephen chuckled, his shoulders shaking at the humor only he found in Tony’s denial.

“Regardless,” Stephen turned slightly to face the billionaire, “I’m glad everything’s been working out in your favor.”

“You knew that though, didn’t you?” Tony hunched his shoulders, turning inwards enough to be facing Strange head-on. “Your magical spirits told you this would all work out in the end, that everything would be hunky dory and you could end up taking one of my team members to train them the ways of Houdini.”

Stephen hesitated, lips pursed as he fought off a rising debate. It didn’t take him long to figure out that magic and Tony Stark didn’t get along too well; he was a man of science, someone who needed concrete proof for his foundation of belief. There was nothing Stephen could do to change that.

“The time stone is a...finicky object, Stark,” he explained. “It is not always reliable. The future changes and alters with every decision we make. This future was not one the Vishanti chose to show me.”

Peter’s sudden laugh took them both by surprise, the kid bent over and gasping for air. Clint had since joined in on his conversation with Wanda, leaning over the back of the couch and saying something hushed to them both. Wanda had stuffed her face into a pillow, failing to contain her own laughter, gently trying to slap Clint away.

Stephen smiled. “This future is in your hands.”

Tony shifted slightly on his feet, his hands still tucked firmly underneath his armpits. He cleared his throat more than once, licked his lips, sniffed a few times – he found himself doing everything possible to keep his own outrageously joyful smile at by.

“You know, speaking of hands,” he began, eyes focusing somewhere ahead on a blank wall. “With the advancements I’ve made on nano-tech lately, and how far ahead SI has gotten with biomedical engineering, I could have something whipped up to help with those tremors of yours. Similar to the stabilizing devices Parkinson patients are using these days. Discrete, flexible, no one would ever notice a thing.”

Stephen nodded with a hum.

“Your thoughtfulness is appreciated. Trust me, the wish for a cure is seductive. It captives...it charms. But not everything broken needs fixed.” Though Tony failed to look his way, Stephen locked eyes on him. “Sometimes it’s how we handle the brokenness that makes us who we are.”

Tony kept his eyes trained ahead, not daring to meet the gaze that pierced through him. The worlds had done enough of that as it was.

It resonated with him, deeper than he expected. He hadn’t realized how heavy the need to fix things had been on his mind, especially just in the last handful of weeks. It had become a poisonous mentality, embedded in him like the arc reactor once residing inside his chest.

Tony hummed, only realizing his throat had made the noise shortly after it entered his own ears. “Well, I’m not too sure if I ever properly thanked you or not, but uh...yeah. Thanks.”

The rushed attempt at gratitude was met with physical contact, one Tony nearly backed away from. He turned to see Strange ith his hand against his arm, chin tilted low, and eyes solemn.

“Tony, I meant what I said when this all first started,” his tone held a heavy weight. “You will play an integral part in all of our futures, however, and whenever that may be. I have no doubt we’ll be seeing each other again.”

Tony turned his attention back ahead, watching as Sam and Clint both argued over the sofa where Peter and Wanda sat. Something about whether Pink Floyd or Garfunkel and Oates were the better bands; Tony couldn’t quite hear and he wasn’t paying much attention.

“So does that mean you want to pass on a phone number, or…?”

The rush of wind blew through his hair before he could finish the thought. Snapping his head to the side, Tony furrowed his brows, surprised at the empty space next to him where Strange once stood.

“Alright then,” he muttered.

Despite everything they had gone through, magic was still something he couldn’t get a handle on. Tony found himself chuckling, returning to the group with a smile he finally couldn’t resist.

Of course, he snatched a handful of pretzels from Bruce’s plate first before collapsing onto the couch.

“The kitchen is right there.” Bruce sighed.

Tony crunched on a mouthful of pretzels. “Yes, but your plate was right there. C’mon Brucey, how long we been doing this shindig? You haven’t been out of the game that long.”

The afternoon turned into evening long before any of them could realize how quickly time was passing, their conversations easy and lighthearted. It never failed to amaze Tony how vast their spread of topics could be.

One moment they were talking about the difference between analog and nano-tech web-shooters, the very next someone was explaining to Vision why balloons were used to celebrate birthdays.

“Do not over-complicate it, Vis,” Wanda assured him, her hand gentle against his. “It is just something we do for fun.”

Vision nodded, still appearing confused. “For...fun. I think I understand.”

It was around the time the sun had set, the starry night beginning to shine through the skylight ceiling, that Tony had stepped away to make a brief phone call.

When he returned — not even a full ten minutes later — the group had huddled towards the largest wall of the room, having taped up his once framed and favorite Iron Man poster.

The imitation design of the ‘Obama Hope’ campaign stuck out like a sore thumb against the sleek, gray walls, yet almost blended in perfectly with the bright red and blue garland hanging down from the ceilings.

A few feet in front of it, Sam was spinning Clint in a circle, the archer blind-folded with Bruce’s green striped necktie.

Tony's eyes nearly bulged out of his head at the sight, his hand barely managing to stuff his cell phone back into his blazer pocket.

“Hey!” Tony shouted, storming forward. “What’s this? What the hell is going on?”

Sam’s grin was all teeth, his hands firm on Clint’s shoulder as he forced him to come to a stop.

“Pin the tail on the Iron Man,” he explained with such nonchalance that Tony almost doubted his own hearing, going so far as to dig his index finger around inside his ear.

It took a beat for him to realize they were serious, even after he loosened the built-up wax that may have made him imagine such an absurd thing.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Tony muttered, affronted. “Should I even ask how you managed to get your hands on this?”

Natasha grinned at Tony’s disgruntlement, crossing her legs and letting her heel sit against Bruce’s thigh. “Pepper was gracious enough to offer it up as a party favor.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot up with a sense of shock he couldn’t articulate. Instead, he looked between the red, yellow, and blue Iron Man poster to back at Natasha.

She smiled sweetly at him.

He turned to stare incredulously at Bruce, who — for someone who appeared highly entertained by the game — shrugged with remorse. Tony could see through his poorly concealed veil as if it were sheer lace; after all, it wasn’t like the others would risk a code-green by bullying his dress tie off of him.

“Alright, count of three.” Clint teetered his hand back, the dart clenched tightly between his fingers. “One...two...”

Tony snatched the feathered-tip dart before he could throw it. “You even think about it, Barton...”

Clint pulled the makeshift blindfold from his eyes, frowning with little heat behind the expression. If anything, he looked to be holding back a smirk that Tony was sure he could easily wipe off his face with one blast of his repulsor beam.

“That,” Tony gestured to the poster with the dart, “is a piece of art not having been created for your childish amusement.”

“Art, vanity—” Clint shrugged, snatching the dart back. “Do you even know the difference?”

Tony glared.

Clint smiled, the cocky smirk he had clearly been resisting finally pulling at his lips. Before Tony could even blink, he threw the dart forward, never once even looking at the wall as he did. To no one’s surprise, it hit dead-center on the poster.

To Tony’s annoyance, the archer blew a puff of air at his fingers, further cultivating his air of arrogance.

“Okay,” Bruce got up from the sofa with a grunt, leaning his hands on his knees before standing tall. “That’s enough of that.”

Tony waved his hand towards his friend. “Thank you —!”

“Clint stole my turn two rounds ago, it’s time I get a shot at this.” Bruce smiled stupidly, enjoying the moment far more than expected when Sam wrapped the tie around his eyes.

It took an alarming amount of effort on Tony’s part to stonewall the argument, let alone resist the urge to tear down his poster so he could hang it over Pepper’s side of the bed later in the evening. The latter he still wasn’t one hundred percent positive he wouldn’t do once the party came to an end.

He settled on rolling his eyes, relishing in Bruce’s horrible aim when the dart he threw hit way above the top of the poster. He didn’t understand what it was about having the kid around that turned the rest of them into immature brats, but had to admit that there was no desire to fight it.

If silly games made them happy, who was he to put a stop to that?

It was then Tony noticed the kid was strangely absent from the group and their childish shenanigans.

It didn’t take long to find him, sitting quietly on a love-sofa towards the corner of the room. On the glass table in front of him were numerous textbooks, and he chewed on a yellow pencil in-between his teeth with harsh concentration. It appeared he had been left alone, what with Wanda and Vision catching up away from everyone else, and said everyone else preoccupied tearing holes into the large print of Iron Man’s face.

Natasha cheered loudly as her dart hit square in the eye-slit. “Ten points for me!”

“Wait, we’re doing points?” Clint sat up straighter on the couch, frowning. “No one told me there was a point system.”

Sam scribbled something down on the nearest notepad, never looking up at Clint as he answered, “There’s a point system. You’re excluded from it.”

With the others distracted and Peter off by himself, Tony decided there wouldn’t be a better time to bite the bullet and get his gift-giving over with. From one of the nearest bookshelves, he retrieved the shiny, glossed wrapped box he had stored away earlier, careful not to rip the blue bows off the top before stuffing it under his arm.

“Hey, spider-brat,” Tony teased, gaining his attention. Peter shot his head up at record speed, the pencil nearly falling from between his teeth. “You do realize this is your party, right?”

For a moment, Peter’s face was blank, as if he didn’t understand what he had been asked. He looked around, wondering if it was a trick question. It wasn’t until he looked back at Tony that it clicked — he chuckled, going to remove the pencil from his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I just missed so much homework while I was...you know, dead.” The finger quotations he gave couldn’t be any more exaggerated, only matched by the humored grin on his face.

Tony sighed, subconsciously clenching the box harder underneath his arm.

“Scoot,” he demanded, waiting until Peter wiggled to the side before plopping down on the couch next to him. “You were never officially or legally dead, kiddo. Stick to the Paris story.”

Peter nodded enough times that Tony was sure his head would roll off his shoulders.

“Right, right...”

They sat side-by-side, Peter with an open textbook in his lap, Tony with a square wrapped box settled near the sofa’s armrest. For longer than he knew could have been comfortable, Tony stared ahead with unfocused eyes, his only movement the jittery tapping from his foot to the floor.

It got to the point where Peter tried to figure out what was so interesting about the stairway banister he was looking at, curiously craning his neck forward to get a better view.

Just when he opened his mouth to speak, Tony swiftly and wordlessly swapped out his textbook for the gift box, tossing the offensive World History textbook on the coffee table.

“What’s this?” Peter frowned, hands hovering over the box.

“I believe they call this a birthday present,” Tony said wryly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes by instead running his hand through his goatee.

Peter’s eyes widened with shock. “Mr. Stark, you didn’t have to —”

“Kid, keep it up and you’re going to give me an aneurysm. I can feel the blood vessels in my brain weakening as we speak.” Tony turned to face him, pointing his hand towards the red box. “Open it.”

Despite the instructions, Peter didn’t move to unwrap the gift. His hands hovered over it tentatively like it was porcelain glass, afraid it would break.

Only after Tony once again gestured to the gift with eyebrows raised high did Peter begin to unwrap it, and Jesus, was this kid saving the wrapping paper to sell on E-bay? He unfolded each edge with an annoyingly slow precision that had Tony’s blood pressure skyrocketing through the roof.

By the time Peter had folded the glossy red wrapping paper in a neat little square and set it aside, Tony had popped the lid off the box for him. God only knew how long that would have taken him otherwise.

Peter stared down below at his lap with an expression that made it look like he had stepped straight into Narnia.

“Holy sh—”

“Don’t curse in front of Rogers, he’s got a thing about bad language.”

The joke fell flat, especially considering how little Steve had been present throughout most the evening. Tony did a quick glance around; the soldier seemed to have stepped outside, again.

Tony couldn’t help the twinge of guilt that settled in his stomach, knowing he was the reason why.

He turned his attention back to Peter, willing himself to stay in the moment.

“Mr. Stark, this is — I can’t accept this,” Peter stammered, in true Parker nature. “This is — I can’t — this cost — this is —”

“The Canon EOS-1DX Mark II?” Tony interrupted airily, nodding. “Yep, that’s what it is. It’s yours now, treat it well.”

Peter kept shaking his head, to the point where Tony worried he might rattle his skull loose.

“I can’t. Take it back.” Peter pushed the box towards him, refusing to look at it. “Please, take it back.”

“Mhmm, no can do.” Tony swiped his thumb across his nose, giving a hard sniff as he refused to take the box Peter held out for him. “You see, I sorta have this thing about people handing me stuff so..it’s all yours now.”

He was sure to follow his words up with a smile, all charm.

Peter looked to be one second away from screaming or passing out, Tony wasn’t sure which. The last time he saw the kid so excited had to be the day he revealed the Iron Spider suit to him.

There was no denying how much he loved that look, the sparkle in his eyes, the struggle to speak a single coherent sentence. It felt even greater knowing he was the reason for it.

Peter kept shaking his head, his brown locks falling right in front of his eyes. “Mr. Stark —”

“Pete, please,” Tony said, finally taking the box from him only to plop it right back down into Peter's lap again. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you snapping pictures all the time with that dingy little thing you call a phone. You have a knack for photography, not to mention an interest in it. And you know me — I have an irresistible urge to nurture potential. Take the camera, take some damn photos with it, have fun. It’s honest to God the least you could do for me.”

Peter gulped hard, looking down at the box and back up at Tony once more. He still seemed timid as he grabbed the camera into his hands, acting as if its weight was too heavy for even his spider super-strength. Holding the object seemed to perk him up a little though, and he finally let his shoulders relax with a bit more delight.

“You’re the best, Mr. Stark.” Peter grinned, his words laced with an airiness normally reserved for when he had been hopped up on Cho’s good drugs.

Tony chuckled – even sober this kid acted like anything he did for him was extraordinarily superior.

“That’s debatable,” he muttered, leaning back into the sofa with a shake of his head.

“Can I...” Peter lifted the camera shyly, sitting forward a bit further on the couch. “For my first picture?”

Tony shook his head, deadpanned, looking straight ahead as he answered, “I don’t do selfies.”

“Oh, uhm...” Peter lowered the camera slowly, eyes glued to the floor. “Right, sorry, that’s stupid —”

“I’m kidding,” Tony said with a little more firmness than necessary. “Christ, you’re like a kicked puppy. Come here, bring it in.”

All traces of offense vanished from Peter’s face as soon as they had come, his smile widening each time Tony motioned for him to scoot closer. He fiddled with the camera for a brief moment, setting up a timer and proper ISO before holding the device out in front of them both.

Tony wrapped his hand around his back, pulling him in. It was too late for Peter to notice he had taken the opportunity to throw up bunny ears behind his head of hair; the camera flashed and the moment the photo popped up on the display, Tony was snickering like a mad man.

Peter wasn’t insulted, if anything he grinned wider. Besides, there would be plenty of opportunities to get him back.

“Awesome!” Peter looked satisfied as he reviewed the display of the DSLR camera. “You know, I’ve been thinking about taking some candid photos of Spidey, maybe selling some to the Daily Bugle for some extra cash—”

“Alright, hand it back over,” Tony waved his hands in a ‘give me’ motion, “it’s mine again.”

Peter broke out with surprising laughter, even as Tony relentlessly stared him on.

“Okay, okay! Jeeze,” he chuckled, setting the camera aside on the coffee table, bending over to place the box underneath.

“Hold up.” Tony stopped him, his hand outstretched before he could go any further. “You might want to look a little further in that box first.”

Bent over with the box between both hands, Peter craned his head up at Tony, his brows furrowed. Tony had gone back to staring at the stairway banister, the attempt at managing his discomfort more than obvious.

Slowly and cautiously, Peter sat up straight, letting the box rest against his thighs. The two lapsed into silence as he rummaged around the bundles of red and blue tissue paper, his fingers scraping the bottom of the cardboard. He froze when he finally gripped onto the additional item inside, carefully and slowly bringing it out to see.

It was a sleek, thin black watch — or at least, it looked that way. But there was no case to the band, no circular or even square window where a clock could be displayed and time could be shown.

Peter tilted his head to the side, turning the bracelet over in his hands. “What's this?”

Tony cleared his throat, sniffed his nose in a way that sounded painful, drummed his fingers against the armrest of the sofa — all the things he normally did when uncomfortable. He even went to push up the sunglasses he hadn’t been wearing, his hand smoothing back his hair to cover for the mistake.

“I was inspired by that little Starkbits illusion you had going on,” he eventually explained.

Peter frowned, glancing up at Tony before looking back down at the thin, metal bracelet. He vaguely recalled the memory, most of the details having come second-hand from sources like Mr. Stark and Bruce, the two sharing the story with a hearty chuckle.

Still, those had been high-tech casts for his broken wrists. Bone stabilizing devices, Tony had called them. What could this possibly be —?

“It’s a panic watch, directly connected to me,” Tony answered, as if reading his thoughts. He lifted his arm, showing off the same sleek, black bracelet strapped around his wrist. “So if anything happens to you — earth, wind, rain or shine, you can reach out to me.”

The information floored Peter, his throat tightening in a way that made it hard to speak.

“Wow, this is...I-I don’t know what to say...” his voice cracked, forcing him to swallow hard before looking up at Tony. “Why?”

“Why?” Tony echoed.

Peter quickly shook his head.

“Not that I’m not flattered! Or-or appreciative, ‘cause I am. Like, this is awesome, really. I’m just...confused,” his tone swirled in the same pattern that his head spun. “You can monitor the suit, right? Or is this about that nanite mist in the base? Would this even work with that nanite mist? Or is this —”

Tony held a hand in the air, desperate to stop the rapid-fire onslaught of words.

“I’m going to give this to you straight, Pete. No chaser. You good, you able to handle that?” Tony didn’t even let the kid respond before jumping right back in. “Good, that’s what I thought.”

With one fluid motion, he lifted his arm in the air again, his other hand tapping on his own wrist bracelet.

“This works both ways,” he diligently explained. “It’s not just about me keeping tabs on you — you hit a dead ringer, we got the suit for that. This is for non-Spider-Man business. If you’re in trouble, it reaches out to me. And if I’m in trouble, it’ll reach out to you. I want you to feel a part of the team, to feel safe. And I don’t mean that solely to the physical concern.”

The recognition seemed to hit Peter long before Tony had finished, his eyes clouding over in a way Tony could really only describe as shame. He almost wanted to hit the metaphorical back button, undo what he had said and go back to laughing at stupid bunny ear photos.

And yet Wilson, the naggy little shit he was, pestered relentlessness in his ear that this needed to be done, these things needed to be said.

Peter seemed to take it a like a champ, and exactly how Tony expected him to — by deflecting.

“Oh! That’s — I’m-I’m good, Mr. Stark,” he insisted, still twirling the bracelet in his hands. “I’m fine, really. Everyone’s been, ya know...checkin’ up on me. I’m fine, really.”

Tony nodded, firmly. He pretended not to notice the bob in Peter’s throat, or the way he fidgeted with the bracelet as he fidgeted with anything else he could get his hands on during times of high anxiety.

There was no point in calling him out on it right now — it was his birthday, or so they celebrated the day as such.

Wilson was right, the kid needed to go at this on his own pace. Tony searched Peter’s eyes, those wide, absurdly trusting eyes that stared back at him as if he could solve all the problems in the world.

“That’s okay, that’s great. If you’re fine today, that’s great. But on the days you’re not, I’m here to help. We all are.” Tony dipped his chin low, hand braced against Peter’s arm to gain his attention. “And I’m not the best listener, Peter. But I’m here. I understand.”

The words came out with more ease than Tony ever could have anticipated, much smoother than the numerous practice talks he had with FRIDAY in his lab. He distantly wondered if it was premature to declare how natural this felt for him now, this whole mentor nonsense he took on finally gaining the right trajectory it had needed.

For the sake of not jinxing things, Tony decided to push the thought away. He was just happy the bout of nerves he'd itially felt when beginning the conversation seemed to vanish, or at the very most transfer over to Peter.

The kid nodded with a sense of insecurity pouring through every fiber of his begin.

“Thanks. Really, thanks, that...it means a lot.” Peter’s mouth upturned slightly, his gaze fixed on Tony. “I just...I kinda just want things to go back to normal though. Ya know?”

Tony nodded, patting his arm before pulling away. “Well, that’s going to be kinda hard. What with your training and you staying here on the weekends —”

“Wait, what?” Peter nearly dropped the panic watch, fumbling to gather it back into his hands. “What – what are you talking about?”

“Training,” Tony repeated with a pop of his lips, leaning casually back onto the sofa. “We got to get you up to par with the others. Plus you’re pretty useful in the lab and mentoring you from upstate is just exhausting.”

Peter let out a nervous chuckle, waving him off. “Ah that’s – that’s okay Mr. Stark, you don’t need to do that.”

“I’m sorry, did you think this was up for negotiation?” Tony crossed his arms over his chest and his leg over his other knee. “‘Cause it’s not. You know why? It was all Aunt Hotties idea.”

Peter gaped. He had been home with May for weeks, they had talked about all sorts of things together – he couldn’t believe she hadn’t mentioned this of all things to him yet.

Of course, she was the better of the two of them at keeping secrets.

He rubbed at the nape of his neck, tucking that memory away in his ‘do not access embarrassing moments’ folder.

“I still don’t know if I’m...” his voice oscillated somewhere enthused and uncertain, muttered under his breath while he gnawed on his lip. “Ya know, ready. To be an Avenger.”

Tony patted the back of his hand playfully against his arm.

“Good thing you’re PRN, then. As needed, remember?” He fiddled with the functions to his own watch, scrolling through a couple holographic menus while he spoke. “Plus, you’ve got your quarters here. Can’t let that space go to waste.”

Before Peter could respond, the panic watch in his hands lit up, syncing simultaneously with Tony’s. Both devices chirped, beeped, and blinked a red light before dimming away with soft blue, eventually returning to their sleek black state altogether.

Peter grinned, eagerly strapping it around his own wrist. It fit perfectly, snug yet comfortable. He couldn’t help but think about how much Ned was going to flip when he saw this.

“Consider it partial custody, kid,” Tony said, hand clasping on his shoulder. “You’re ours now.”

Peter looked up at him, all smiles.

Tony smiled back, at least until his eyes focused away from Peter and to the doorway behind him. Despite his best efforts, the grin fell off his face when Rhodey came walking into the common room, dressed in his military blues with his cap tucked underneath his arm.

“Hey,” Tony said, never once looking away from the doorway, “you mind grabbing me a piece of cake before Hawkeye over there becomes an endangered species at the hands of diabetes?”

Peter nodded, still fascinated with his new wrist device to notice anything was amiss. He departed for the kitchen and Tony shot up from the sofa, quick to cross the path of the room where Rhodey stood.

“Looking handsome as ever, Honey Bear,” Tony complimented, motioning with a casual wave to the crisp, iron-pressed military blues Rhodey wore. His demeanor, however, grew serious. “What’d you find out?”

Rhodey loosened his black tie a smidgen, shaking his head. “C’mon, Tones. Not here, not in front of the kid.”

Still staring at Rhodey, Tony lifted his hand and snapped his fingers to the side, right as Wanda walked by. The girl was carrying a plate overloaded with food, surely for Peter.

“Wanda,” he turned to look at her, “do us a favor?”

His eyes did the talking for him. He looked from Wanda to the kitchen where Peter stood, busy talking with Vision.

She opened her mouth in protest, but got the hint rather quickly. Though less than pleased, she nodded and retreated towards the kitchen to keep Peter distracted.

Rhodey’s eye twitched in a way only Tony’s incessant annoyance could cause. “You have the patience of a toddler.”

“While I don’t disagree with you on that particular observation,” Natasha approached them, her expression solemn. “I have to admit I’m eager myself to hear what the bastards had to say.”

Rhodey and Tony looked to their left, Natasha taking long strides in her walk with the entire group hot on her tail, even Steve having rejoined. They converged together towards the room’s entrance in a clearly unconspicuous way.

Steve shot a look into the kitchen, eyebrows dipping in worry. Though Wanda seemed to be doing a decent job at distracting Peter, he knew the whole enhanced-hearing deal made it difficult for private conversations. Plus, even he could feel the strung-out, high electricity tension building between them all.

Peter was a smart kid, there was no keeping him in the dark for long.

“Guys, we should discuss this at a later time,” Steve pressed.

“You’re right,” Tony said, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re absolutely right, we should definitely discuss the nitty gritty details at a later time. But for now — and please pardon my impatience building on the anticipation of the United States Air Force weapons procurement liaison division filing a subpoena against OsCorp industries so that they could explain, on the record, how their increasingly dangerous experiments are justified under research standards — I’d like to hear what the court had to say.”

Rhodey bit back his response, all the eyes staring his way putting him at a brief loss. Even Bruce was seemingly curious for an answer.

Though he wanted to say something about Tony expending all the air that inflated his ego down to his lungs for such a ramble, Rhodey instead let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

“The case was thrown out. It’s in their favor.”

Tony physically balked, his body practically jolting forward. “What do you mean it’s in their favor?”

“That’s messed up,” Clint muttered.

Tony shook his head. “You’re telling me I get grade-a shit for building the Iron Man armor and yet these ass-wipes are free to create sentient beings like the damn rock android, no repercussions whatsoever? Not to mention SHIELD knew they were performing highly illegal experimentation’s like Klum’s teleportation abilities and the flying Chitauri heads. How —”

Rhodey held two hands in the air. “The judge declared that the indictment we sought out doesn’t have grounds for reason. OsCorp claims they’ve reconstructed their projects into a more educational stand-point.”

Bruce scoffed. “Gotta give them points for thinking on their feet,” he said, removing his glasses to clean the lenses with the bottom hem of his shirt.

“That’s horse shit,” Tony hissed. “You can’t just slap an ‘educational’ sticker on something and call it a day.”

Rhodey nodded. “I don’t disagree. But they have a valid point, we don’t have ground to stand on. Everything we have against them is mostly hearsay, those documents you found are word of mouth. No solid evidence.”

“Tony has a point,” Natasha chimed in, ignoring Tony’s exaggerated look of shock towards her agreement. “What about the rock android nearly destroying the Collar City Bridge, or the reassembled Chitauri heads that blew a hole near Main Street Park? That should be enough cause for concern.”

Clint winced, half-shrugging. “Think about it, though. The most damage those freaky flying Chitauri heads managed to do was blow up St. Annes, which was already an abandoned building.”

“Yeah, thanks to us,” Sam reminded them, his tone indignant. “We contained that catastrophe before it blew up all of Brooklyn Heights.”

Bruce slid his glasses back onto his face. “And OsCorp proceeded to pay the damages and fines caused by Awesome Android. Not to mention, SHIELD still hasn’t come out and said one way or the other who stole and reassembled the Chitauri heads.”

“Rhodey and Bruce are right.” Steve sighed, his chin low to his chest. “According to Doctor Strange, Francis Klum was sent to another dimension. And we all know what happened to Dmitri. They’re getting away with this on the same grounds we got away with lying to SHIELD about the undersea bunker rescue mission. There’s no proof.”

Rhodey pessimistically nodded, no happier than the others at what he had to say. “Scientific research. That’s what they’re calling it. Nothing they’re doing right now can be deemed illegal.”

“But risky,” Peter spoke up.

Everyone turned to look at him, all seemingly at once.

Peter had stepped forward, Wanda not far behind. Her expression fell guilty, silently speaking an apology to Tony for not being able to hold him back.

Even if he wanted to, Tony didn’t have time to berate her. Steve was already crossing the path to the kitchen, failing stupendously at acting nonchalant.

“Hey, champ, why don’t you —”

“My class went on a field trip there. To OsCorp.” Peter came closer to the threshold, fingers fidgeting together. “They uh, they are actually...pretty educational. Showed us a whole bunch of stuff. Regenerative cloning of animal limbs, unlimited solar energy, bio-cable mechanisms…radioactive spiders.”

Tony shot his head over fast enough to give himself whiplash.

Steve froze in his steps, head cocking to the side at the realization. “That’s how you got your abilities.”

Peter nodded, the small movement timid and jerky. “One of them got loose. Bit me.”

Tony’s jaw clenched painfully tight, the words giving him pause.

“OsCorp gave you these powers?”

The unwelcome bitter edge that coated his question had Peter suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Even from the distance they stood, Tony’s barely contained anger emitted a heat only matched by his sharp glare.

Peter knew he wasn’t directly mad at him, yet he couldn’t help but feel guilty nonetheless.

“The spider they were experimenting on did, anyway,” he explained shyly, head down low. “It’s uh...it’s dead now.”

The conversation died out briefly, a blanket of tense silence piercing through the room.

Clint brought his festive, colorfully fringed party horn to his mouth, a second away from blowing into the toy. Natasha smacked his hand down before he could.

To Tony’s credit, he managed to suppress the increasing urge that wanted him to focus only on the new and very unsettling information he had just heard. His subconscious told him to wait, or perhaps that was Rhodey harshly whispering his name — he could never tell the difference, they both sounded alike.

“Trust me, we’re going to discuss that later, in excruciating detail.” Tony turned away from Peter and back towards Rhodey. “Did you at least get any more information on the Oz Formula I told you about?”

Sam’s brow wrinkled with confusion. “Oz Formula?”

“Barton,” Tony snapped his fingers twice at Clint, “you remember that green glowing tank we came across?”

“I know what you’re talking about!” Peter excitedly spoke up before anyone else could.

They turned to look at him, baffled.

He shrunk a little under their gaze.

“The..tank, anyway. Came across it. Didn’t know what was in it.” Peter kicked his shoe against the floor, his voice low as he murmured, “Fun times.”

Rhodey went from side-eyeing Peter to looking directly at Tony.

“They were willing to tell us that it’s something originating from their epidemiology department. In fact, most of their funding has gone into this project since the beginning of the year. They call it ‘the next cure for any human malignancy or ailment modern medicine has yet to come across.’ You ask me though?” Rhodey shifted on his feet. “Sounds like a humble way of dodging how dangerously close they are to reaching Strucker levels of science.”

“Why do you say that?” Natasha asked, frowning.

Rhodey turned to look at her. “Because the way they proceeded to explain it — ‘man would become immune to even the destruction of his own molecular structure’ — they made it seem like they’re out to create the next Captain America.”

“You think they’re trying to recreate the super soldier serum that I received?” Steve stiffened, paling at the mere possibility.

Rhodey shrugged. “Hard to say without more information.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, warding off the migraine threatening to sneak up towards the back of his skull. With a rattled sigh, his hand moved into his hair as he managed quite well at keeping his breathing even and calm. It was a feat for him, considering how his insides felt like they were being ripped apart organ by organ, slowly consumed by the monster that was his anxiety.

He had known for weeks now that they were approaching a troublesome juncture with OsCorp, long before Peter’s kidnapping, around the same time he witnessed the Hulk take on a sentiment rock being that the twisted corporation had birthed to life. This only intensified the feeling in his gut that screamed a crisis would soon culminate.

And if there was one lesson he valued the most in his life, it was to trust his gut when something seemed wrong.

Tony took a deep inhale, back ramrod straight as he said, “Looks like we have our work cut out for his, ladies and gentlemen.”

“You sure about this, Tony?” Steve took a step towards him, hesitate to get too close. “We could be starting a war here.”

Tony turned on his heels to face him, brow creased, lips pressed in a firm line. He fixed his gaze squarely to the blue eyes reflecting back at him.

“Possibly. But whatever Norman Osborn is up to, it can’t be good. The depravity is clear as day and proof or not, we’ve come across enough evidence to know that he’s heading down a path of destruction. It’s time somebody puts a stop to his mad scientist game before more people get hurt.”

The pause that followed came with heavy contemplation. The team surrounding the two glanced between both men, awaiting a response.

Finally, Steve nodded, outstretching his hand to bridge the gap between them.

“Okay, you’re right,” he acquiesced. “We’ll follow you on this one.”

Despite the bubbling anger that still sat deep underneath his skin, Tony gripped firmly onto Steve’s hand, giving it a hard shake.

It felt enough to be able to put aside their differences. They still had things to discuss — ‘ many things to discuss,’ Tony mused with a scowl — but they both understood that at the end of the day, no matter what came between them, they were teammates. Leaders.

They had to be, for the sake of those relying on them. After all, it was vital that they never forgot the disaster the Accords nearly created for them.

Steve let go of his grip, nodding curtly. Tony managed the same.

“Aww,” Clint’s voice broke through, “back to the missions like the good ‘ol days. And it feels like just yesterday we were mopping up Hydra’s mess.”

Bruce hummed. “Well, this should be a lot easier than that.”

On his way back to the couches, Clint slapped Bruce against the back of his head. “You jinxed it, you big green goof!”

The common room of the facility, normally much too large with walls that echoed conversations, seemed to suddenly shrink with the presence of only ten people. Tony absolutely hated the term domestic, but it was hard not to think of the word as he observed the evening go on.

Wanda proceeded to guide Peter back into the kitchen, shoving a plate full of food towards him as she showed him how to properly spice her homeland salsa dip. Tony couldn’t help but smile as Vision loomed over them both, studying the act with more intensity than the two combined.

The others retreated to the couches, their activities calm and uneventful. Bruce and Natasha kept to themselves on the love sofa while Clint, Sam, Rhodey and Steve drank over discussions that never really held much weight, rather kept the comradery alive.

It was around ten o’clock that most of the team had retired for bed. It was also around that same time Clint had passed out on the shortest sofa in the room, his feet dangling over the edge, red frosting smeared against the corner of his lips.

“Take this in, kid,” Tony grunted as he sat down next to Peter, gesturing ahead. “It’s not every day you get to see an Avenger fall into a food coma.”

Peter chuckled, retrieving his new camera from where it laid on the couch so that it rested on his thigh.

“I may have...” He inched the camera closer to Tony, the candid photo of Clint passed out on the sofa, cupcake frosting glory and all brightening the display screen.

Tony smirked, patting Peter on the shoulder. “That’s why I keep you around.”

Peter turned the camera off with a smile, setting it aside so that he could relax on the sofa. The room had gone quiet, what with half of the team gone and one visibly asleep.

Still, he didn’t feel the urge to bring out his phone and his textbooks had been long since abandoned, letting him enjoy the moment for what it was.

Mr. Stark appeared to be doing the same, leaning back into the cushions of the couch and staring ahead at nothing particular. For the longest time, it was just their breathing that filled up the space.

Until Peter finally cleared his throat to speak.

“Can I ask you a question, Mr. Stark?” he managed around the squeak in his voice.

Tony quirked an eyebrow at him, silently urging him on.

“Why all this?” Peter’s ears visibly reddened as he hastily corrected himself. “Not that this isn’t great, it’s fantastic, really. I had a blast and I can’t thank you enough —”

“As much as I would love to see how long you can go without coming up for air, of which I believe your record is a minute and fifty seconds if FRIDAY timed correctly —”

“One minute and fifty-three seconds, boss.” The AI’s voice boomed from overhead, yet barely startled Clint, the archer fast asleep across the room.

Tony smirked. “Good girl.”

Peter frowned with confusion. “When was that —?”

“I’m going to answer your question in the simplest terms possible and I ask that in return you keep the rising level of emotions to barely above average, capiche?” Tony crossed his arms and tilted his chin low, tired eyes meeting Peter’s.

Peter nodded a little too fast, rapt with eagerness.

Tony hesitated, taking a moment to reel himself back in. He was dangerously close to backing out, coming up with some pathetic excuse that he was sure Peter would buy in a heartbeat.

But it wouldn’t do him any good, he had to remind himself of that.

This whole thing he felt going on — the ever-incessant ‘more than mentorship’ deal everyone called him out on — it was a two-way street. If he wanted to be better than Howard, he needed to put himself out there. He needed to be better than his own father if he had a shot at this.

It wouldn’t come easily. But then again, nothing good ever did.

It was that realization that pushed Tony forward, breaking through the walls he had built for himself, if only a smidgen.

“Growing up, my dad didn’t give me a lot of support. He was cold. He was calculating. Never told me he loved me, never even told me he liked me.” Tony took a deep breath in, his chest visibly rising. “What I’m trying to say here, kid, is that I don’t have the best first-hand experience with this sort of...stuff. Christ, the world’s lucky Pepper doesn’t even want children, can you imagine how badly I’d screw up a child?”

Peter smiled so softly, with such a gentle glow that Tony almost felt bad for dumping a load of pessimism on him.

“I think you’d make a great dad, Mr. Stark,” he said, the happy lift in his tone enough to break through even the iciest of hearts.

Tony smiled in a way he wasn’t initially sure he had been capable of doing. The kid was too pure for his own good, He couldn’t help the burning blaspheme at thanking whatever higher being was out there protecting that innocence.

Even with weeks building a gap between believing the kid was dead and holding him alive in his arms, Tony’s gratitude hadn’t diminished. He still felt the same, immense indebtedness that Peter was getting a second chance at things.

That they were getting a second chance at things.

All and all, he still felt like it was a miracle to be here, in the now, with Peter by his side. He hoped to never lose that feeling.

“You’re a great kid, Pete. And not just because you’ve decided to run around New York a skin-tight suit putting yourself in harm’s way every chance you can get.” Tony cleared his throat, working to rid the raw emotion that laced his words. “So seeing as I’m not good with the whole touchy-feely sort of dialogue happening here, I’m going to say this once and you better listen good because I can’t promise I’ll ever repeat it." Tony took a breath in only to hold it for some time. "You’re...well, I’ll just say it. You’re like a son to me. I don’t ever want to entertain the idea of losing you again, not because it’ll be heavy on my conscience...but because you have a lot to offer this world, and in the grand scheme of things, you’ve barely begun.”

Peter stared at Tony for a long time, at a loss for what to say. The understanding seemed to crash into him in waves, each staggering in a series of what had been the past year and a half.

Germany, Toomes, Homecoming night, frequent 'internship' visits, the Chameleon helmet, the burning building, the undersea bunker, Dmitri...each event began to stack on top of the other, building into something completely new.

He had always felt like Mr. Stark had been the anchor to his otherwise turbulent super-hero life. He had just never expected that side of him to transition into other aspects.

Personal aspects.

And just like that, Peter’s throat began to tighten once he realized how much that truly meant to him.

“I...I don’t know what to...”

“Don’t. C’mon, learn to feel the room, you’ll ruin the moment.” Tony waved his hand, motioning for him to come closer. “Just bring it in before I regret this.”

Peter didn’t have much say in the interaction. Tony had already wrapped his arm around his shoulder, pulling him in tightly, so close that Peter could rest his chin against the crook of the man’s neck.

His embrace was warm, albeit surprising. Peter’s eyes widened enough that he worried they might pop right out of his sockets. And though he relished at the contact, he did little other than lay a hand gently against Tony’s back to reciprocate. Part of him couldn’t tell if this was real or not. In his defense, the last time he assumed they were hugging, Mr. Stark was just trying to open the door for him.

When the touch wasn’t grounding enough for him, the scent was. It was hard not to notice the smell of his cologne, different from the usual musky, smokey scents he found most older men wore. Mr. Stark smelt light, fresh, reminding him a lot of the familiar smell he often encountered while recovering in the infirmary.

It made Peter feel safe. It occurred to him a beat later why that was.

Just when his muscles began to loosen, allowing him to fully enjoy the moment —

“Mr. Stark, this isn’t…this isn’t a hug, is it?” Peter joked, resisting a smirk. “I thought we weren’t there yet?”

The words were delivered with such intense sincerity that it took Tony a few seconds to even register them. When he did, he pulled away abruptly, his face stern even once being greeted with Peter’s million dollar smile.

“See what you just did there? That was ruining it. Never do that again.” Tony waved him an open palm. “Proud of yourself?”

Peter laughed.

Tony warmed up to a smile.

They both relaxed on the sofa together, the cushions sinking in against their combined weight. It was a little closer than what Tony would normally tolerate, Peter’s shoulder leaning against him and his own leg pushing up against Peter’s. Neither of them seemed to care.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter said with a tone Tony wasn’t prepared to hear. “I know you said I keep saying that but...I mean it.”

“I know you do,” Tony airily responded, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “And we gotta work on you calling me Tony. Because seriously, you’re adding a gray hair to my beard every time you say Mr. Stark.”

“Sure,” Peter chuckled under his breath. “That’s what that is.”

Tony shifted his gaze to the communal area in front of them. Beer bottles and dirty plates scattered along the tables and kitchen counters in a way that made the room look like more than just a housing area for the team. It started to look like a home.

He couldn’t help but wonder when that had happened.

Peter adjusted on the couch next to him, his arm brushing up against his. He was pretty sure he knew the answer.

In the midst of his eyes wandering, he caught sight of Steve, far off in the corner sitting in one of the cushioned armchairs. An open sketchbook laid out in his lap, his pencil moving fast against the paper.

Like the perceptive man he was, he somehow noticed the eyes boring into him, looking up to meet Tony’s gaze.

Against his initial instinct, Tony managed a small form of a smile, splintering the part of him he had been ready to leave behind for quite some time now.

Steve nodded, returning the gesture.

For a fleeting moment, Tony wondered if they had finally reached a place where despite any argument or disagreement they came into, they could still be friends. Perhaps they had finally grown enough so that not every problem would break them apart.

It was hard to say without truly hashing out the details of Barnes’ moving in. He didn’t feel that same sinking, overwhelming black hole threatening to consume him at the very thought, though. That was progress, right?

He looked over to Peter, silently thankful that of all things in this world, he had been the one to help them make that progress.

Tony crossed his ankles over one another, rattling a beer bottle nearby. “Hey, Pete?”

“Hm?” Peter hummed, the small notion tapering off into a slur of exhaustion.

“What’s something you want to do that you haven’t done yet?” Tony laid further back into the sofa, crossing his arms against his chest. His elbows bumped up against Peter’s upper arms, the kid too lost in thought to even notice.

“I...I really can’t think of anything,” Peter mused, staring ahead with a smile wide enough to show even his back teeth. “Honestly, Mr. Stark? This all feels like a dream come true. Hashtag blessed.”

Tony nearly facepalmed. “Parker, I swear —”

“Okay, okay!” Peter chuckled, a warmth swelling in his chest. His voice was surprisingly unguarded when he spoke again. “For real...I think I could die tomorrow and be happy. My life feels complete right about now.”

A familiar, calming wave fell over them, the domestic atmosphere of the room somehow intensifying even with most of the group being gone.

While Peter looked ahead, surely still in awe at his oddly evolved yet completely awesome life with the Avengers, Tony had turned to look at him, a quiet grin in place.

“No, kid…” he said, his voice soft. “Your life is just beginning.”

Peter met his gaze, a winning smile lighting up the room.

Drowsy from the day’s activities, Tony slung his arm around Peter’s shoulder, his sigh loud yet lighthearted. He let the kid relax against his side, unable to keep himself from doing the same.

A distant, quiet hum coming from the various technology ingrained in the walls took the place of any conversation, accompanied by the occasional snore from Clint across the way, and the fast sketching of Steve's pencil further than that.

Tony would later retire to his personal quarters and Peter to his. Although, while Tony slept peacefully next to Pepper, Peter would proceed to send an unreasonable amount of texts to his friends until a little past midnight.

Still, they both slept soundly throughout the night in spite of all the troubles they had weighing them down, tomorrows concerns a worry for another time.

For now, they let themselves be, enjoying each other’s companionship for what it was. Present, and very much alive.

 

 

---

 

Cross over, turn back, tuck underneath, wrap the narrow end, pull the wide end —

“— and in turn, the synthetic silk, mimicking that of a spiders web, has embed antibiotic molecules containing salicylic acid, toluene, methanol, L-Heptane, carbon tetrachloride, potassium carbonate, ethyl acetate, creating a biodegradable mesh for the treatment of slow-healing wounds. Because the webs are extremely rich in Vitamin K, which helps with clotting of the blood, and biologically neutral with antiseptic and anti-fungal properties, the chances of infections are minimal as long as —”

“Whoa, kiddo,” Tony laughs, pulling Peter’s black polyester tie snugly before looking him straight in the face. “You gotta take a breath between all these words.”

Peter lets out a chuckle, one that releases a cool puff of spearmint from the dozen or so mints he insisted on popping into his mouth. He had demolished the tin of Altoids within the hour, despite being reminded no one would be able to smell his breath from up on stage.

“Sorry, sorry!” Peter tugs at his fitted suit jacket, pulling at the seams until Tony gently slaps his hands away. His nervous ticks were understandable, but Armani was still Armani. “I just...I can’t believe this is really happening. This is insane! A presentation in front of the MIT Educational Council and Offices of Admissions and Alumni? This is crazy, this is...jeeze, this could determine my entire future, my whole life, my — everything! This is so cool!”

Tony smooths out the wrinkles around his shoulders — creating a crisp, clean look on the dark blue blazer. Once, twice, three times before laying his hands to rest near his collarbones.

“Okay, deep breath,” he instructs, waiting until Peter inhales deeply, his posture pulling back tautly with the action. He then grips both shoulders, standing eye level with the kid. When did he get so tall? Matching height was never in his game-plan. “Now...what’s the most important thing for you to remember out there?”

Peter blinks at him, his lips curving up into a coy smirk. “That imagining everyone in their underwear will only freak me out more?”

“Pete —”

“Professor Benjamin Wyatt focuses on the potential for an open mind, always seeking new students who seem to be willing to grow, not stunted in the knowledge they already have. Director of Admissions Catherine Kaiser looks at personality, she likes diversity and turns a blind eye to anyone who appears like a cardboard cut out of last years enrollments. And Vice Chair Member Douglas Hagan is a former STEM professor himself, he craves originality and creativity in ideas. Don’t mention movie references around him, he’s a snob.” Peter smiles, the grin all teeth. “I remember everything you told me. I got this.”

The velvet presentation curtain from behind them ruffles as a body ducks underneath. Hands swat the red drapes away and muttered curses could be heard when a large frame struggled to arrive backstage with them.

Tony quirked an amused eyebrow as Happy managed to free himself from the heavy fabric.

“Sure you do, rascal.” Happy had his hands in Peter’s hair before he could notice, ruffling the gel-backed locks with a twisted grin.

“Ah! Hap! Not the hair, dude.” Peter ducks low, barely managing to further protect the hair he spent all morning perfecting. Literally — all morning. Tony wants to mention that not even he was that vain about his appearance, but the kid had to get it from someone.

One hand goes to smooth back the newly created cow-licks while the other pushes Happy away. “God, you are the worst uncle ever.”

Happy scoffs, pulling index-cards out of his blazer pocket and handing them off to Peter.

“You only say that because Rhodey bought you a computerized telescope for Christmas.”

The curtain call lifts again, this time with much more grace and ease than before. It’s followed up with the sound of high-heels clicking against marble floors.

“That was ten years ago, Happy,” Pepper kindly says, letting the red fabric drop down behind her. “Let it go.”

Tony smiles as Happy fumbles for a retort, Peter much too busy reviewing his cue-cards to engage in witty comeback. Before anyone can toss around words, the speakers from the hidden stage behind them fizzle to life, a microphone echoing the sound of someone clearing their throat.

“Good afternoon, and thank you to everyone for coming. It is with great pleasure that I introduce today one of the brightest candidates elected to our science, technology, engineering, and mathematics department —”

“Okay, that’s you.” Tony pats Peter on the shoulder one last time, evening out the wrinkles he was sure wouldn’t go away before letting his hands drop down to his side. “You’re up, pal. Break a leg.”

Though still obviously a bundle of nervous energy, Peter nods enthusiastically, his face lit up with an excitement comparable only to a child. His dress-shoes squeak as he spins on his heels, heading to the presentation curtain with deep breaths.

“Metaphorically speaking, please!” Pepper hollers out, noticeably cringing.

Tony turns to stare at her, lips half-pursed and eyes narrowed. The speaker behind the curtains continues on with his announcement and in front of them, Peter hops from one leg to the other, eagerly awaiting to begin his presentation.

“What? He’s a tad bit of a clutz.” Pepper airily defends, standing side-by-side with her husband. She crosses her arms, the diamond rock wrapped around her left ring finger noticeable even under the dim backstage lights of the auditorium. “I worry about him. After all...I see a lot of you in him.”

Tony hums. “Yeah? You do?”

“I do.” Pepper leans in, laying a kiss on his cheek that felt as smooth as butter. She lingers there for a brief moment until pulling away with a smirk. “I see about...twelve percent.”

Tony shoots her a playful scowl, one breath away from responding when shoes squeak noticeably against the floors.

“Wait! Hold up, hold on!” Peter swivels around, running back towards them both, gripping his cue-cards tightly. “I forgot something!”

Tony gaped, gesturing ahead. “Peter, they’re about to call your name, you need to — ompfh!”

The weight of a muscular sixteen-year-old teenager smacks into him, his breath nearly knocked out of his chest before he can finish. With eyes comically wide, Tony stumbles back, Peter’s arms wrapping tightly around his waist.

“Love ya, dad.” A huge grin spreads across Peter’s face, his head tucked deep in the crook of Tony’s neck.

“Love you too, son.” Tony returned the gesture with a squeeze that may have been twice as enthusiastic as Peter’s. He only pulls away once the announcer calls Peter by name, going to pat him on the back before ushering him away.

Peter nods quickly, giving Pepper a toothy smile before turning his back on them both.

The red velvet curtains begins to draw upwards, inching towards the high ceilings with a whir that could barely be heard over the announcer’s voice booming from the surround sound. As soon as he stopped speaking, the crowd began to clap, a harsh echo of their greeting bouncing off the walls of the large concert hall.

With his shoulders pulled back tight and his hands nervously rubbing together, Peter spares Tony one more look, his grin brighter than the lights that began to flood in from the auditorium stage. His grin spoke it all — the audience could be a million strong and Peter would only ever care about one person’s opinion, only ever care about his number one fan.

Tony could feel his heart soar out of his chest from that look, overflowing with pride.

The stage lights seep in as the curtains pull up, casting an overwhelming bright halo where Peter stood. It eclipses around him, highlights him as he begins to walk on stage until eventually, Tony can see nothing but white.

 

 

---

 

He opened his eyes to the same.

“Tony?” Pepper’s voice seemed distant, but her hand was firm on his shoulder, grounding him to reality. “Tony, are you okay?”

Tony blinked, his every thought in high definition, his mind seemingly caught between then and now. The crisp white colors to his bed-sheets filled his vision, his eyes slowly coming into focus until eventually he could see even the finer crinkles from his own pillowcase.

The overhead lights to their bedroom were bright from above, harsh in comparison to the gently rising orange sun coming from the room’s window. Pepper’s warm body was settled next to his, a weight that dipped the mattress low.

“Hey...” she softly said, leaning further into his vision. “Another nightmare?”

Tony shook his head, his mouth dry, slacked open. His heart beat fast in his chest despite never having been jolted awake, never having woken up with a scream or a shout.

He slowly managed to sit up from his resting position on his side, the goosebumps that traveled up his arms razor sharp.

“No. It was...” Tony shook his head, his hand running down the length of his face. “I had a dream.”

There was a heavy silence that fell between them, the rhythm of Pepper sweeping her hand across his arm the only indicator that time still existed. The fluorescent lights from above began to dim away, allowing the sunrise from outside to cast a golden ray of copper hues into the room, bringing with it a brand new day.

He took a shallow breath in as she stared at him, exhorted him silently, softly and without any words.

“We had a kid,” Tony explained, swallowing hard. “It felt so real.”