Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Mr. Stark? I don’t--I don’t understand. What’s happening? What happened to them?” Peter can hear his own voice rising in panic, but he can’t find it in him to be embarrassed. Drax, Mantis, Big Peter, even Dr. Strange, they’ve turned to literal dust before his eyes, their remains rising like ash against the orange sky.  

“I don’t know, kid,” Mr. Stark whispers, before pulling him into a tight hug. “I don’t know.” 

Peter hugs Mr. Stark back so hard it will probably bruise, just hoping, willing the man to stay warm and whole, grounding him to this strange earth.  

“Are you okay?” Mr. Stark says into his hair. “Peter, do you feel okay?” Mr. Stark pulls away when Peter fails to respond.  

“Peter!” Mr. Stark gasps out, urgently this time, hands on the side of Peter’s face.  

“I’m fine,” Peter finally says, tears welling in his eyes as he stares at the foreign landscape; the massive rubble, the orange-red sky, the gravity just so slightly off from the planet he’s happily called home for sixteen years.  

The dust still rising.  

“I feel fine, Mr. Stark.”  

000 

“He did it,” Nebula whispers later, her voice an odd mixture of reverence and horror.  

“What exactly did he do?” Mr. Stark bites out, hand still in an unceasing grip on Peter’s wrist.  

Nebula takes a deep breath. “Thanos retrieved all the stones. He snapped his gauntlet and willed half of the living universe out of existence." 

That’s about when Peter loses it. 

000 

“Kid,” Mr. Stark says softly, once Peter’s finally able to understand his garbled voice, his terrified face swimming before Peter’s own. “Pete. Peter, deep breaths, okay? In and out. Just in and out, it’s okay. You’re okay, Peter. We’re going to be fine, we’ll be just fine. It’s okay, kiddo. We’re getting home, I promise. I’ll get you home. I’ll look after you, kid, you know I always will. We’re gonna be okay.” 

Peter goes from hyperventilating to sobbing pretty quick. Mr. Stark wraps him up in another hug, and Peter just cries harder.  

Nothing is okay.  

Nothing at all.  

000 

Nebula, Peter and Tony spend the next three weeks playing FIKI football and contemplating their continued existence.  

“Why us?” Peter finally finds the guts to ask Tony, the borrowed spaceship humming around them, the cosmos spread beyond the window. “Why are we still here?”  

Nebula responds first. “It was completely random. Above all else, Thanos valued everyone having a fair chance at life.” 

Peter’s stomach roils at the thought. They won the lottery, made the cutoff. They’re all alive by chance. They were lucky.  

Or very, very unlucky.  

“Death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints,” Tony says, nodding his head thoughtfully, and Peter can’t hold back a startled snort. Who would’ve thought Tony Stark was a Hamilton fan? 

Tony’s lips quirk up in a smile for the first time since they left Earth, and Peter lets himself laugh all the way.  

“It takes and it takes and it takes.” 

000 

They’re nearly out of water. Out of food.  

Out of air.  

Tony approaches Peter, face gaunt and hollowed, and grips his hand tight. “I’ve been—,” Tony’s voice is a rasp. “I’ve been recording messages for Pepper if...” he trails off. “I don’t know if anybody will ever find them, if they’ll get to her but,” Tony looks down, tears in his eyes. “If you want—for May.” He finishes quietly, head still down, hand gripping Peter’s own.  

Peter knows at this rate, he’ll probably outlive Tony, what with the spider bite and the lack of a stab wound still healing in his abdomen, but it won’t be by long. Surprisingly enough, the lack of food has impacted Peter the most. Tony hypothesizes it’s due to his increased metabolism.  

Whatever the reason, these days Peter can barely find it in him to move he’s so exhausted.  

And hungry. He’s so hungry.  

“Okay,” Peter whispers, and Tony reaches down, helps him sit up and settles his own helmet before Peter.  

“Just say what you need to say, kiddo,” Tony says, brushing a hand through Peter’s hair before limping off to give him privacy.  

“Hi May,” Peter begins, tears already filling his eyes. “I--um, I miss you. I hope—God, I hope you’re still there. I hope you made it.  

“I’m so sorry,” Peter gasps around his tears, “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you when it happened, I’m sorry I’m not there now. You are the best person I know, and I’m so lucky, so privileged to have a mom like you. You’d fight the world for me if I asked. God, I miss you.” 

Peter sniffs. “Just know that I love you. Know that I’m thinking of you, and that you’re with me always.  

“And I--,” Peter’s throat tightens, “I’m with you too.” Peter taps his heart. “Just like Ben is. And Mom and Dad. And all the people Thanos stole away from us.  

“I larb you, May.”  

000 

Peter wakes from his nap to see a beautiful woman in red and blue pushing their previously aimless spaceship to salvation.  

“I knew it.” Peter whispers out in awe.  

Tony looks at him sharply. “Knew what?”  

“God is a woman.” 

000 

The spaceship finally lands, and Nebula, Peter and Tony end up banded together, hands about each other’s shoulders, holding one another up as they exit the craft like an awkward four-legged chain.  

Captain America is the first to reach them, sprinting up the ramp and catching Tony as he stumbles. 

“Couldn’t stop him.” Tony says quietly.  

“Neither could I.”  

“The kid,” Tony mumbles into Cap’s shoulder, “You gotta—kid’s starving, take the kid.” Tony’s hand at the small of Peter’s back gently shoves him forward. “Pep, is she still--,” 

“Tony!” a woman’s voice shouts beyond Cap’s shoulder. A blur of red hair flies up the ramp, and Tony collapses in her arms.  

“Oh God, oh my God, Tony,”  Ms. Potts gasps. Beyond her, others are gathering. Peter spies Thor, Black Widow, Dr. Banner, and Colonel Rhodes. From the side approaches the red-blue woman Peter is still pretty sure might be God and-- 

That's it.  

That’s all that is left of Earth’s mightiest heroes.  

“Ms. Potts?” Peter finally rasps out, and all conversation around him ceases. Tony and Pepper both turn to look at him. Peter realizes Nebula has stepped away, is standing next to a—a raccoon?—and the arm around his shoulders holding him up belongs to Steve Rogers. “Ms. Potts, my aunt...” 

During their trek through space, their twenty-day voyage of the cosmos, this is the question that haunted Peter most often. He wondered about his friends, his teachers, his neighbors. The president, the rest of the Avengers, the actors on his favorite TV shows. And during the whole voyage, the answer was both yes and no, the worst and cruelest and truest example of Schrodinger and his stupid cats that Peter has ever had the misfortune to encounter.  

Until he knew, until Peter heard that they had vanished, they had. And they hadn’t. And there was a fifty percent chance either way he was right.  

But God in heaven, Peter had really, really hoped that May was still there.  

Then, of course, of course, Ms. Potts’ eyes grow wide and her mouth trembles, and Peter has his answer without the need for words.  

“No.” It comes out in a moan, and the tired, trembling legs below him finally just collapse. “No.”  

Hasn’t he already lost enough? 

The last thing Peter is aware of is Captain America sweeping him into his arms and running for the bright lights of the compound before everything goes mercifully dark.  

000 

The remaining Avengers go after Thanos, to kill him and use the stones to bring everyone back.  

They kill Thanos.  

But the stones-- 

--just like May and Ned and MJ and Ben and Mom and Dad and Happy and Flash and Mrs. Leeds and Principal Morita and MJ’s sweet little kitten and the churro lady and Mr. Delmar-- 

They’re gone.  

000 

“We need to talk, kid,” Tony says, settling on the edge of Peter’s bed. He opens and closes his mouth about four times before simply presenting Peter with the folder in his hands.  

Forms for Guardianship of a Minor  

“Oh,” is all Peter can think to say.  

Tony takes a deep breath. “If I could bring her back for you, if there was any way I could undo all of this, I’d do it in a heartbeat, Peter. But I can’t.” Tony’s voice breaks. “I can’t bring them back.”  

Tony wipes an irritated hand beneath both eyes. “What I can do is take care of you. I promised you I would and I—I want to, kiddo. Pepper wants to. 

“You’ve lost so much. Too much.” Tony takes a shuddering breath. “But I—God help me, I don’t know what I’d do if you were—if I had to watch--,” He can’t continue.  

“Tony,” Peter whispers. Tony puts a hand on his shoulder.  

“When we lose, we don’t forget. We never forget. But we have to remember what we have, the people the world’s let us keep and hold them close. Keep them safe. Will you let me do this for you Peter? For me? Please?”  

There was a time, not so long ago, that Peter Parker would have paid money to simply get a picture with Tony Stark. A time when aliens were bedtime stories, space travel was an outlandish dream and the death of Uncle Ben felt like the absolute end of the universe.  

But that was then.  

“Do I—,” Peter clears his throat, “do I need to sign?” he asks, indicating the forms now in his lap.  

Instead of answering, Tony pulls him into a hug.  

000

Chapter Text

Two years later  

“Yo, Pete!” Tony shouts out the window, “Come set the table, it’s chow time!” Tony watches Peter scoop a giggling Morgan off her blanket in the grass and come bounding up the porch stairs.  

“Preparing for landing. In three, two one,  whoosh!” Peter says, settling Morgan in the highchair with a kiss to the top of her head before buckling her in and turning to grab the plates from Tony’s arms.  

“Successful flight?” Tony asks wryly, and Peter smirks.  

“Not quite. I’ll have her saying ‘Peter’ soon enough, though.”  

“Da!” Morgan shouts from her chair, making grabby hands at the mashed bananas she’s already spied in the bowl in Tony’s hand. “Dadadadadadad--,” 

“Well, at least she knows the most important words already.” Peter rolls his eyes and goes about setting the table.  

He gets to the fourth plate and looks back up at Tony, eyebrows raised in question.  

“Rhodey’s coming over,” Tony answers, and Peter shrugs, setting the fourth place at their dinner table.  

“He hasn’t been ‘round for a while.” 

This time Tony shrugs. “Busy I s’pose.” Busy with the Air Force and the government and the Avengers. Busy with all the things Tony could have (should have) been helping with, desperately trying to the piece the broken world back together.  

“Da!” Morgan shouts urgently, angry hand slamming her tray. “Nanas! Mmm nanas!” 

Peter laughs. “Yeah Dad, where are the effing nanas?”  

“Eff nanas! Pee eff nanas! Pee nanas!” Morgan yelps, now grabbing her fists at Peter, whose mouth is dropped open in shock.  

“What have I done?”  

“Oh, Peter, what have you done?”  

Peter drops his head in his hands as Tony watches on, crowing with laughter.  

“Nanas! Pee-er nanas!” 

As Tony looks at his laughing children, at the loud and happy kitchen and the life they’ve built from literal ashes, he can’t find any room for guilt or regret. Tony was busy, too.  

000 

“How is work, James?” Pepper asks, picking up the bottle of red and topping off Rhodey’s glass when he nods his head.  

“Thanks, Pep. Work it’s—well, it’s work,” He says ruefully. “Never ends, really. Hey, Tones, remember those kids in LA from a few years ago, the ones who exposed their parents’ weird-ass cult?  

“Called themselves the Runaways?”  

Rhodey nods. “Most of them made it through the snap. They’ve been working on the ground, keeping peace through LA. Finally decided to approach us and officially work together now that the youngest of their bunch turned eighteen.” 

Peter tilts his head thoughtfully, lips a thin line. “How old are the rest of them?” he asks. Tony’s heart stutters.  

“Twenty to twenty-one, for the most part. Molly, the youngest one, she’s got super strength. Her birthday was last week, so the Stein kid finally put their hideout back on the radar.” 

Peter is pointedly silent. Rhodey seems to realize he’s reopened a sore (read: fucking raw) subject, and quickly changes it.  

“How’s school going, Peter?”  

Tony takes a deep breath, shares a worried, knowing glance with Pepper.  

Not well, is the kind answer. Peter Parker, for probably the first time in his life, detests going to school, and it fucking breaks Tony’s heart because above all else, the kid loves to learn.  

After the snap, Tony and Pepper had offered to relocate to the Manhattan penthouse full-time so Peter could continue attending Midtown. But nearly all of Peter’s friends are gone, along with many of the teachers he enjoyed and the principal he respected.  

“I think I need to get away from New York for a while,” Peter had whispered. Tony and Pepper had agreed.  

Now, Peter attends Wexley Academy. It’s a premier prep school, not far from the quaint lake house they call home. A prep school full of blazers and ties, teachers wearing tweed and spoiled rich children.  

Peter hates it. 

Peter clears his throat. “Fine. It’s just--,” the baby monitor goes off, alerting them to a crying Morgan in her room upstairs, “I’ll take care of her. Nice to see you, James.” 

And he’s gone.  

Rhodey lets out a whistle. “Kid not a fan of school?”  

Pepper sighs. “He asked if he could just get his GED last month. That was not a....fun discussion.” 

Tony snorts. It had been a fucking explosion. “GED isn’t enough to get him into MIT,” he adds, finality evident in his voice.  

“Is MIT what Peter wants?” Rhodey asks, eyes shrewd.  

“Of course, he doesn’t have to go to MIT,” Pepper concedes, “We would, however, very much like him to go to a good college. Harvard or Yale, maybe? Cornell wouldn’t be too far away--,” 

“Kid’s too smart not to. I’ll be damned if we sit back and watch potential like that go to waste,” Tony interrupts. 

Over the baby monitor, Peter’s soft voice carries into the conversation. “Hi, sweetie pie,” A creaking as Peter picks Morgan up from the crib, “You wanna read a story?”  

Rhodey takes a sip from his wine glass. “Maybe that’s not the only potential Peter’s worried about going to waste.” 

“Early one morning,” They hear Peter read, “The wind blew a spider across the field.”  

Tony doesn’t respond.  

000 

Tony thinks he can feel his blood actually boiling as he and Pepper walk the halls of Wexley Academy, Morgan bouncing on his hip.  

“A fight. I can’t believe the kid actually got into a fu—freaking fight.” 

Pepper takes a deep breath. “Don’t judge until we know the whole story. Peter’s a good kid, he’s smart, you can’t go in there guns blazing and assume--,” 

“You and I both know he doesn't take this place seriously. He’s smart enough that he doesn’t have to try, but getting involved in fights? It’s like he’s just looking for trouble.”  

“I wonder where he learned that,” Pepper mutters, nodding her head as the secretary ushers them into the headmaster’s office.  

Peter is slumped in a chair across from his principal, tie loose around his neck, sporting the beginnings of a rather fantastic black eye.  

Sitting next to Peter is who Tony confidently guesses is the captain of the Wexley lacrosse team. Tall and muscular, blond hair and cold blue eyes, with a split lip and his own magnificent shiner.  

“I won’t stand for this,” lacrosse captain’s clone from thirty years in the future says snidely, standing behind his son, large hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Evan shouldn’t have to share classes with this violent delinquent. I expect suspension at the very--,”  

“Whoa, whoa, what the hell?” Tony says, and all eyes turn to him in doorway. Lacrosse dad’s mouth drops open in shock, and his son’s eyes widen comically.  

Peter’s expression doesn’t change.  

“Since when do parents get to decide the punishment of other children at the school? You’re making it sound like I need to bring in a lawyer for Peter. What even happened?”  

The headmaster clears his throat and stands. “Mr. Stark, Mr. Parker and Mr. Daniels were involved in an—altercation in the parking lot after school today. According to Mr. Daniels, Mr. Parker punched him unexpectedly and without any prompting.” 

“And what do you say happened, Peter?” Pepper asks.  

Peter shrugs, head still bowed, face unchanging.  

Tony huffs out a breath, and silently apologizes to his father and mother for all the similar grief he caused them throughout his schooling. Luckily, the prior experiences and his father’s solution leave Tony knowing exactly what to do.  

“Look, Headmaster...” Tony checks the nameplate on the desk, “Phillips. Do we really have to do this? Peter won’t do it again. On an unrelated note, I really think this school could use an upgraded robotics lab, perhaps a new football field, and we would be very interested in helping Wexlely realize its full potential. Ranked number three in the the state this year for private schools, correct, Mr. Phillips? Why not number one? Shoot for the stars and all that sh—stuff.” 

Pepper and Peter roll their eyes simultaneously.  

Nothing gets put on Peter’s permanent record.  

000 

“Whoa, no, hold your horses, kid,” Tony says, grabbing the collar of Peter’s blazer as the kid tries to run off to his room once they get home. “We need to talk.”  

Peter falls gracelessly to the couch. Pepper sits down beside him, Morgan in her lap.  

Tony continues to stand.  

“Peter, what’s going on? What happened today with Evan?”  

Peter shrugs. “I punched him.”  

“Why did you punch him?”  

“He was being an ass. He’s always an ass to me. I got tired of it today, and I punched him.” 

Tony runs a tired hand down his face. “That doesn’t mean you can punch him, Peter. You could’ve really hurt him. You know better than this.” 

At that, Peter finally looks up.  

He’s fuming.  

“Yeah, Tony, I know what I can do. I know exactly what I can do, I know I can control it, I know that I can help people. I know that I’m powerful. What I don’t fucking know, is why I’m still sitting here, living this pretend life like my powers don’t even exist .”  

Pepper puts a gentle hand on his arm. “Peter, we’ve talked about this--,” 

“No, we haven’t!” Peter shouts, jumping up and throwing Pep’s hand away. “No, we’ve talked about school, about how important it is, and why college matters and how I need a good job, need to learn and grow.  

“We absolutely have not talked about the suits Tony keeps locked up in the garage. We don’t talk about the Avengers, we don’t talk about the increasing crime rates in Queens--” 

“You’re too young,” Tony bites out. “You don’t need to worry about those things.” 

“I wasn’t too young when you took me to Germany, Tony.” Peter says quietly. “I wasn’t too young when you weren’t the one in charge of me.”  

Tony wishes the kid would just punch him in the face instead.  

He takes a deep breath. “Well, now I am. We both are,” Tony says, nodding his head to Pepper. “And we think your safety and education are the most important things.” 

“Only ‘til I’m eighteen.” 

And on that ominous note, Peter leaves the room.  

000 

There are ups, and there are downs. Peter gets into MIT on his own merit. He graduates from Wexley Academy with highest honors. 

Not long after the fight with Evan, Pepper takes Peter out for the day. She doesn’t tell Tony where they’re going or how long they’ll be gone, but when they return Peter has a small smile on his face, and Pepper shares that he’s agreed to try college out for at least a year, see how it goes.  

Pepper is a dangerous, dangerous person, and Tony will be forever grateful to have her by his side.  

The next August, just a week after Peter’s eighteenth birthday, they all make the trip to Boston to drop him off at MIT.  Everything about the event is bittersweet.  

Because it should be May Parker here, hell, it should be Ben Parker too. In a perfect world it would be Mary and Richard Parker.  

Instead it’s Tony Stark trying and failing to put together the IKEA shelves as Peter laughs. It’s Pepper making Peter’s bed and helping him put away his clothes, reminding him to separate his whites and darks in the laundry.  

It’s Tony and Pepper and Morgan who meet Peter’s roommate Drake, a soft-spoken boy from Texas being dropped off by his aunt and cousins.  

“I wish his parents could see this,” Drake’s Aunt Linda says to Tony, “They’d be so proud of him.”  

“I know what you mean,” Tony responds. Because he does.  

Pepper is the first one to start crying. “If you ever need anything,” Pepper whispers as she hugs Peter tight, “Anything at all, you just call, okay?” 

Peter sniffs and nods into her shoulder.  

“You’re extraordinary, sweetheart,” Pepper kisses his cheek. “And we love you very, very much.”  

“Love you, too, Pepper. Thank you for—for everything. I don’t know what I would have--,” 

Pepper pulls him into another hug. “You don’t owe us anything, honey. Just do your best and be happy, okay?”  

Peter sniffs again and nods, pulling away to grab the drowsy child in Tony’s arms.  

“Hey, my Morgie,” Peter says softly, holding her close, “Just wanted to say goodbye,” Peter’s voice breaks. “But I won’t be too far away, and I’ll FaceTime all the time and--,” 

Morgan tilts up her head and kisses Peter’s cheek. “Love you, Peter.” Except Morgan still can't do her L’s or R’s, so it sounds like ‘wuv you, Petah,’ and Tony is going to fucking cry the day she learns to speak correctly because her lisps are adorable.  

“Love you, too, Morgie.” Peter runs a hand over her hair, then turns to face Tony. Pepper grabs Morgan, and Tony pulls the kid (his kid, their  kid) into a hug.  

“So, we’re there?” Peter jokes, and Tony just holds him tighter, thinking about the tiny fifteen-year-old in his car in Queens, the kid who annoyed Happy (God, he misses Happy) to no end, the child with the shiny eyes and goals and dreams who just wanted to be an Avenger.  

“I’m proud of you, Peter,” Tony says, hand to the back of the kid’s head. “I’m so, so proud of you. I always will be.” 

“Thank you, Tony.” 

Pepper cracks open the tissues she bought for Peter’s desk, and they all blow their noses, each give Peter one last hug and slide on their sunglasses to hide their reddened eyes from the world.  

“Peter,” Morgan questions as they’re walking out the dorm building's front door. “Peter, come home.”  

“Baby, we talked about this,” Pepper says softly, “Peter has to go to school. We’re dropping him off.” 

“Peter? No, Peter home.”  

“Peter will come visit soon, Morgie. And we’ll talk all the time. It’s okay sweetheart.” 

Morgan still cries. She kicks and wails and screams all the way back to the car, because Peter needs to come home.  

A small part of Tony wishes he could do the same.  

000 

Peter ends his freshman year at MIT with a 4.0.  

After his last final, Peter walks into the registrar’s office and drops out.  

2 new messages  

Natasha Romanoff: He’s here.   

***  

Peter: I’m sorry.   

Chapter Text

The first time Steve meets Spider-Man is Germany.  

“You got heart, kid. Where you from?”  

“Queens,” the kid gasps, fighting to keep the jet bridge over his head.  

And Steve can’t help but smirk. The kid is certainly smart and sarcastic, and definitely strong but-- 

--he still hasn’t realized he can let the walkway drop without being crushed. It’ll rest on an angle. Steve isn’t about to kill a kid.  

Especially Tony Stark’s kid.  

“Brooklyn.” He says finally, taking one last look at the boy, decked out in red and blue spandex with bright, reflective white eyes.  

Spider-Man is short and stubborn and strong, fighting for what he believes his right, even if he is wrong. He’s got faith in the system, faith in people.  

Steve shakes his head quickly and runs back to the fight.  

He doesn’t have time today for ghosts.  

000 

The first time Steve meets Peter Parker is twenty-two days post-Snap. 

“Incoming,” Carol’s staticky voice proclaims, after five days of radio silence. Natasha, who had been asleep on the couch, bolts upright and sprints for the comm unit in the lab. Steve sprints after her.  

“Who’s alive?” Nat barks out, interrupting Thor and Bruce’s quiet conversation.  

“I’ve had eyes on three, windows are tinted so it’s hard to tell who. Haven’t been inside yet. They’re in pretty dire need of oxygen, and I didn’t want to waste time.” 

Three. According to Rocket the Raccoon (because Jesus Christ, what the fuck is his life), Dr. Strange, Spider-Man and Tony most likely ran into the rest of the Guardians on the way to Titan.  

Only three return.  

“We’re landing in about thirty seconds. Get ready, they’re gonna need help.”  

Steve leads the charge out the door. He runs immediately up the ramp of the foreign spaceship and catches Tony Stark as he stumbles.

Steve finds himself, for the first time in a very long time, saying a prayer. Because if Tony Stark is still alive, they may all just have a shot at surviving.   

“Couldn’t stop him,” Tony whispers, contradicting Steve's own grateful invocations.   

“Neither could I.”  

“The kid,” Tony mumbles into his shoulder, “You gotta—kid’s starving, take the kid.” Tony reaches behind him, gently shoving the smaller figure into Steve’s arms. “Pep, is she still--,” 

The sounds of Tony and Pepper’s reunion are muted from shock. Because Steve knows of Peter Parker. He knows the boy is Spider-Man, a sixteen-year-old Sophomore at Midtown School of Science and Technology with a genius level IQ and a heart bigger than his brain. An orphan, raised by his dead uncle and now Vanished aunt in Queens, New York.  

Steve knows of Peter Parker because there’s been very little to do but talk the past 22 days. 

Not without Tony.   

But now the kid (the hero, the child) is in his arms, covered in the familiar red and blue spandex and a maroon jacket much too large for his lithe frame. He’s shivering and starving, and Steve can feel all the knobs of the kid’s spine through the jacket and-- 

“Ms. Potts,” Peter rasps, and God, his voice sounds even younger than Steve remembers. “Ms. Potts, my aunt...” 

Steve tightens his arms around the kid, prepared when the inevitable and heartbreaking whispers of “No. No.” slip out of the kid’s mouth at Pepper’s lack of response, and his shaking legs finally collapse.  

Steve is running for the compound, an unconscious Spider-Man cradled in his arms and Nat and Bruce close at his heels before he even has time to think again.  

000 

“He doesn’t have anybody left,” Tony whispers, hand covering his mouth, elbow resting hard on the armrest of the wheelchair. The other hand clutches the still unconscious Peter’s in a bruising grip.  

Tony’s eyes won’t leave the kid, looking painfully small and thin in the bed, but he must know it’s Steve in the doorway.  

Tony always knows.  

“His aunt, all his friends, hell, his principal, Jim Morita, your friend Morita’s grandson, did you know that? Peter’s fucking principal is your friend’s grandson. The world is weird. And small, it’s fucking small, and I would’ve introduced you to him, he’s literally a clone of the guy in all Dad’s old pictures of the Commandos from the war—well he was. He’s gone now. He’s gone, like half the people in the fucking universe, and Peter’s--he doesn’t--,” 

Tony moves the hand from his mouth to cover his eyes. 

Steve moves from the doorway to stand at the end of Peter’s bed.  

The kid looks awful, face pale and gaunt with dark shadows underneath both eyes. His skin is brittle, hair tangled and too long, emphasizing the sharpness of his cheekbones.  

He looks terribly young.  

“Just--just don’t, Steve.” Tony says, finally looking up and meeting Steve’s eyes. “I don’t need a lecture from you about how young he is. I know. He shouldn’t have been there, he shouldn’t fucking be doing any of this, I know, I know--,”  

“I was sixteen when I tried to enlist the first time.”  

Tony quiets.  

“I’m not in a position to give you any lectures, Tony. I never have been, and I don’t want to now.” Steve swallows thickly. “I remember being young and powerless. And I remember waking up one day with more power than I ever could have imagined. If his first instinct after that was to help people, you weren’t wrong to encourage him.  

“He’s not alone, Tony. Peter has you.” 

000 

Steve doesn’t get to truly talk to Peter Parker for another few weeks. He’s just driven back from the city after paying the security deposit for his new apartment in Brooklyn. He’s back at the compound to pick up the last of his things when he runs into the spider himself, curled up on the couch in front of the rec room TV.  

“Hey, Peter,” Steve whispers when he approaches behind the kid, because enhanced senses can be a bitch sometimes and he knows Peter will hear him. 

“Hi, Cap,” the kid murmurs from his nest of blankets.  

“You know where Tony is?” 

Peter shrugs. “I think he and Pepper are setting up one of his lake houses for us to live in full-time. They think I need to be away from the city for a while.” 

Steve hums, and takes a seat next to Peter on the couch.  

“What are you watching?”  

Peter raises an eyebrow at him in an eerily apt mimicry of Tony Stark. “Uh--It’s Star Wars. A New Hope, aka the beginning of the best movie series ever created. Have you—Steve, have you never seen Star Wars?” 

And, for the first time in nearly two months, Steve laughs.  

“Nope. It’s been on my list for about seven years. Just never got around to that one. Can I watch with you?”  

Peter’s mouth tilts up in a smile for a moment, before suddenly screwing up in a grimace.  

“My friend Ned would be flipping his shit right now if he knew I was watching Star Wars with Captain America.” Peter wipes his eyes in his elbow and looks away.  

“Watch your fucking language kid.”  

“You’re a lot better than the PSAs.” 

“I try.”  

000 

“He’s his father? What the fuck?” 

“Honestly, I didn’t think I could ever be this happy again, thank you, Captain America.” 

000 

Steve wakes to crash and muffled curses in the kitchen. He nearly bolts upright, before remembering the sleeping teenager currently using his shoulder as a pillow, and looks across the room to see Pepper Potts’ soft smile.  

“Have a good nap?” Pepper asks. Steve glances at his watch and realizes he’s been asleep for six hours.  

It’s the most he’s slept in weeks.  

“Yeah,” he answers, voice gruff as he side-eyes Peter’s scraggly brown hair and finally relaxed face.  

Spider-Man is short and stubborn and strong, fighting for what he believes his right, even if he is wrong. He’s got faith in the system, faith in people. 

Peter Parker is a kid. He’s small and smart and a little bit broken. The world has knocked him down and down and down again.  

But Peter Parker is the one who always gets back up.  

000 

Steve: Hey, Pepper gave me your number. Call me if you ever need to talk.   

Steve: Anytime.   

Steve: And when you’re ready to come back to the city, let me know.   

…  

…  

Peter: Thanks  

000 

Of course, Steve meant what he said.  

He just didn’t really expect Peter to take him up on it.  

“Hey, hi hi hi, um, okay, sooo I just dropped out of college and then I went to the compound and Natasha caught me because of course she did and I explained the situation to her so now I have my back-up Spider-suit, and I meant to go back to the apartment, I really did, because Queens is my neighborhood, y’know, and I was the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and all that. And Tony kept the apartment, bought the whole building 'cause of course he did, and everything looks the same and I got really sad then I went and smelled May’s pillow and I started crying and I--” 

Peter finally stops for breath. “Can I sleep on your couch?”  

It is two in the morning. Steve is standing in the doorway of his apartment wearing a pair of boxers and an old t-shirt with two holes in the collar. Peter Parker is standing before him, a duffel on one shoulder, a loaded backpack on the other; the sleeve of his Spider-suit is hanging out of the top of his backpack. 

“Yeah, kid. ‘Course you can.” 

“It’ll just be for tonight.” 

000 

SPIDER-MAN RETURNS? The news ticker reads across the bottom of the TV. Steve watches intently as he folds the laundry before him.  

“Has Queens’ friendly neighborhood hero really come home? Or has our web-slinging super-friend been replaced by another?  And what’s with all the Spider-Man sightings in Brooklyn? These answers and more, at six.” 

Peter clicks off the TV and pulls the carton of milk out of the fridge.  

“Use a glass, heathen,” Steve yells, “And what the hell were you thinking, putting your suit in with a load of whites? All our socks are pink now!” 

Peter just grins.  

000 

Chapter Text

“Are there any Peter pictures today?” Morgan asks around her oatmeal, standing up in her seat to look at the newspaper over Pepper’s shoulder.  

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Pepper admonishes, before dragging their daughter into her lap and allowing her to scan the paper with her for familiar faces.  

The Daily Bugle.  

Peter Parker, high school class valedictorian, MIT dropout, verified genius and heir-apparent to Stark Industries, is a photographer for The Daily Bugle. 

A printed newspaper. 

Just the thought makes Tony cringe.  

“Oooohh, there he is!” Morgan squeals, the paper crinkling as Pepper turns the page, “There’s the Spider-Man!” Morgan slaps her sticky fingers against the paper, squinting her eyes and leaning forward as she points to the photo credit line.  

“P-E-T-E-R, Peter!” Morgan proudly reads. Tony watches as Pepper smiles and kisses the top of her head.  

Tony finally makes his way around the table to see the photo for himself, scoffing and shaking his head all the while. The photo is, admittedly, rather incredible, one of Spidey swinging himself toward the “photographer”, using the expansion joints of the Brooklyn Bridge as pivot points while the sun sets in the distance.  

It may say Peter’s name in the byline, but Tony is one of few who know that ‘Droney’ deserves artistic credit. 

“It says here Spider-man assisted the NYPD in dissolving a drug trafficking ring in Brooklyn,” Pepper relays. “Two officers were injured in the final bust, would have died without Spider-Man's help.” 

Tony frowns.  

He desperately wishes he had the authority to re-install the Baby Monitor protocols.  

“Daddy,” Morgan pipes up, her sticky fingers now lightly slapping Tony’s arm. “Daddy, they got Peter’s name wrong.”  

“I mean, I don’t know what you expected, sweetheart, it’s the Bugle...” Pepper rolls her eyes, and Morgan looks adorably confused, so Tony still leans down and reads the photo credit line.  

Photo by Peter B. Parker  

“That looks right to me, Maguna, what do you think is wrong with it?”  

Morgan scrunches up her nose. “It says his last name starts with ‘p’, but it’s s’posed to start with ‘s’. That’s not how you spell Stark, Daddy.”  

Tony’s eyes find Pepper’s, as they always inevitably seem to whenever he flounders. Pepper turns Morgan around on her lap to face her, and motions for Tony to sit in the chair next to them.  

“Peter wasn’t always--,” Pepper begins, before closing her eyes and stopping herself. She takes a deep breath, before opening her eyes to continue. “Peter had another mommy and daddy before we were his parents, Morgan. His parents’ last name was Parker, so that’s Peter’s last name, too.” 

Morgan tilts her head to the side. “Where did Peter’s first mommy and daddy go?”  

“They died.” Pepper says the words gently, but Tony still feels them like a knife to his chest.  

“What does that mean?”  

Half of Tony wishes they could lie, could sugarcoat the tale and let Morgan believe that old puppies move away to live on farms and flushing fish down the toilet brings them back to their friends in the ocean. Half of Tony wishes their child was unintelligent and naïve, that they could wrap Morgan up and shield her from the worst the universe has to offer.  

But Pepper says when children start asking questions is when they’re old enough to learn.  

Morgan has many questions.  

And Tony doesn’t want to jinx them all by asking what worse things the universe could inflict upon them. 

“Do you remember when you asked me what infinity means?” Tony asks, before Pepper has a chance to respond. “When we were watching Toy Story?”  

Morgan nods. “It means it goes on forever and ever and ever and never ends. Like space and numbers and apple pie.” 

“Pi, P-I, not pie--never mind that, but yes, that’s right, of course you’re right, because you’re my super awesome smarty little star.” Morgan beams.  

Tony looks to Pepper, sees the soft look in her eyes and the fond smile on her lips before she nods at him to continue.  

“People aren’t infinite, Morgan. People have a beginning, and they have an end.” 

“Like books?” 

“Yeah, baby. Like books. And we hope that everyone’s books will be interesting and full and long, but sometimes they’re shorter than expected.” And sometimes there are fires that burn half the library to ash. “Peter’s parents had short books.” 

“Oh.” Morgan frowns, and snuggles in closer to Pepper. “You and Mommy have real long books, right? Like, like, three thousand pages long?”  

Tony snaps his mouth shut, throat burning.  

“Nobody knows for sure, Morgan,” Pepper takes over, voice soft. “Nobody knows how long their book will be until it’s over. All we can do is be smart and kind to one another, and tell the people we love just how much we love them every chance we get.”  

“What happens when it’s over?”  

Tony swallows the lump in his throat. “A new adventure, I guess. Nobody knows that either.”  

Morgan, unused to either of them simply not having answers to her questions, harrumphs. “You gotta have a hypo—hyper—hyopmesis.” Tony finally can’t help but smile.  

“Maybe that’s when we get to be infinite.” 

“Like space and numbers and apple pie?”  

“Yep.” Tony responds, popping his mouth on the ‘p’. “That’s my hypothesis.” 

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, if true infinity awaited them all. A great irony, if the stones that had already stolen so much away from them, derived their power from the hope of peace beyond this life.   

Morgan hums thoughtfully. “Peter’s still my brother, right? He’s still our family?” 

Tony’s eyes widen, as he’s brought back to the snowball that had started this avalanche.  

“Of course, he is.” Pepper says firmly, “Peter will always be your brother.”  

“Okay. Can I go play?”  

Pepper and Tony both sigh in relief as Morgan rushes out of the kitchen and down the hall, her sticky fingers dragging along the wall, new messy artwork left in her wake. Tony laughs and shakes his head; Pepper just smiles after their daughter and grabs Tony’s hand tightly.  

Kids are so fucking weird.  

It took having his own for Tony to understand why people call them miracles.  

000 

It’s three in the morning when FRIDAY wakes them.  

“Boss, you’ve got a call from the compound.”  

Tony turns over to his nightstand, blinking away sleep, as Pepper continuously pats him on the shoulder to pick up the phone.  

“I got it, Pep, I got it—Hello?” He grunts into the phone.  

“It’s Peter,” Steve says breathlessly, voice rough. “You gotta get here, It’s bad, Tony, he’s not—I'm so sorry, Tony, I’m sorry, it’s really bad--,” 

It is not often that Steve Rogers lets himself sound terrified. 

Tony sprints to the garage and unlocks his old suit for the first time in three years. 

000 

“He calls himself the Green Goblin,” Steve rasps, unable to pull his eyes away from the operating theatre and meet Tony’s own. “He was planning an attack on Times Square. Pete managed to track him down before Osborn could even attempt it, but--,” 

“--got himself gutted in the process.” Tony whispers, his gaze locked on Peter’s lax head, the long lashes brushing his cheeks, the clunky tubes forced into his mouth and nose. “Where’s Osborn now?”  

“Rikers.”  

Tony would prefer the Raft, honestly Hell is too good for Norman Osborn at this point, but Rikers will have to do.  

For now.  

“They say he went insane after—after his son, Harry--,” 

“Bullshit.” Tony’s hand close into fists, his nails biting into his palms. “Everyone lost someone, Steve, it’s impossible not to have. The rest of the world isn’t blowing up overrated tourist attractions in fits of rage. That’s bullshit.” Tony can feel himself shaking.  

Steve finally tears his eyes away from the operating room. Tony sees him staring out of the corner of his eye. He still can’t bring himself to stop watching Peter.  

He’s too still to be sleeping. Peter rolls around when he sleeps, his covers end up on the ground most mornings. He snores and he mumbles (and screams and cries with his nightmares). Even in rest, Peter Parker is lively.  

Not today. This is not real rest.  

Steve sighs. “People are crazy when it comes to their kids, Tony.”  

Tony thinks about the twelve very intricate revenge plots he’s already formulated for Norman Osborn in the last five minutes. He looks at the boy (the man, God, Peter is nineteen already, when did that happen) on the operating table, his guts being sewn back inside by the frenetic doctors and nurses surrounding him, this boy who has made him both laugh harder and cry more than perhaps any other person Tony has ever met. 

Instead of answering Steve, Tony hums and looks away, steps back and slumps into one of the seats behind them.  

“He needs to turn the monitors back on in his suit. This is too dangerous, he can’t keep--,” 

“You think I haven’t tried telling him that already?” Steve laughs mirthlessly, and begins to pace before the window. “God, he can be such an idiot sometimes. He’s stupidly reckless and stubborn to a fault and--,” 

“Yes, well, he has always reminded me of you.”  

Steve halts his pacing and looks up. “Funny, I think he’s your spitting image.”  

Tony fights to quell the burning behind his eyes by staring at the water stain on the ceiling tiles. “He’s better than me,” Tony whispers, swallowing the lump in his throat.  

Steve finally takes a seat next to him. “I get it now. I understand why—I get what you saw in him. What you see. He’ll be the best of us all.” 

Tony nods. And for the next two hours, he and Steve Rogers sit quietly and keep vigil over Peter’s operating room. And when it is over and Peter is still alive and stable and Tony is brushing away his tears and Steve finishes hastily crossing himself, he turns to Tony and asks if he still takes cream in his coffee or if he wants it black and-- 

Tony is tired of being angry. Life is not infinite and the world is not fair.  

There are worse friends he could have than Steve Rogers.  

000 

Tony is gently clicking the door to the guest room Morgan now occupies shut when he feels the presence behind him.  

“Hey, Nat.” He turns around to face her. She’s leaned up against the wall, still in her suit. Her once blonde hair is long and streaked through with red, pulled back in a high ponytail. There’s dried blood and mud and bruises marring her face and neck, and she’s holding her arm like it’s stiff.  

Natasha Romanoff, more than anyone else, reminds Tony of the beauty and peace that can be found in chaos.  

“There was a situation in Wakanda. I got back as soon as I could.” Natasha leans her muddy boot behind her against the wall. She looks relaxed; Tony wonders idly if it’s the only thing keeping her upright. “He going to be alright?”  

“He’s stable. Pepper’s been sitting with him.”  

Natasha nods. Tony looks down at his watch for something to do.  

She’ll say what she needs to when she’s ready.  

“You need to forgive him.”  

Tony looks back up sharply at that, eyes slits. “Osborn? Are you shitting me, Nat? I really hope you’re shitting me, he fucking stabbed my child--,”  

Natasha scoffs, “God, no. I’ve got my own plans for that slimy green bastard. Peter. You need to forgive Peter.”  

“What are you talking about? Peter and I are fine,” Tony answers, genuinely confused. Peter comes around every couple weeks for Sunday dinner. He Skypes with Morgan all the time. Just last week he’d made a special trip to watch Morgan be an angel and recite exactly one line for her preschool Christmas play.  

Yes, they’d had their disagreements when Peter dropped out of school, but that was months ago. And yeah, maybe Tony didn’t react as well as he could’ve when Peter became roommates with former public enemy number 2. Perhaps Tony hasn’t done a stellar job of hiding his displeasure at the fact that Peter’s picked up the superhero mantle once again. And well, he hasn’t exactly supportive of Peter’s new career path per se, but-- 

“Ah, fuck.” Tony whispers.  

No wonder the kid won’t turn on the Baby Monitor protocols.  

God, Tony needs to think of a new name for those.  

“You’re kind of an asshole,” Natasha supplements his epiphany. “If we’re gonna keep him alive, he needs to trust you. That won’t happen until you trust him, Tony.”  

“He’s just a kid.”  

“He’s nineteen. Same age you were when you became CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Same age Steve was when he got shot up with experimental super-soldier serum. Same age I was—well,” she says ruefully, “I don’t know that you really want to know what I was up to when I was nineteen, but you get the idea.”  

Tony could go online and find exactly what Natasha Romanoff was up to at the age of nineteen due to the SHIELD dump.  

He won’t.  

“What on earth do I have to forgive him of, though? If anything, I need to apologize--,”  

“He thinks he disappointed you. It’s eating him up inside.”  

Before Tony can respond to that happy bit of news, FRIDAY pipes up to share her own. “Hey Boss, Missus Boss asked me to let you know that Peter is awake.”  

Natasha smiles softly. “Don’t be an asshole, Tony.”  

“You say that like it’s easy!” Tony shouts behind him as he runs down the hall. “The docs are still here, have someone reset your shoulder!”  

There’s a thud, a grunt, and an ominous pop that occur simultaneously behind him. “No need!” Nat yells back cheerily. Tony shakes his head and continues his sprint to medical.  

000 

“Would you like to help us be Santa Claus?” Pepper asks Peter softly, after she and Tony return from putting Morgan to bed. Peter nods and smiles, pulling himself up gingerly up from his seat on the couch. Tony slings a supportive arm around his shoulders as they make their way to the garage.  

“Why all the locks?” Peter asks, as he watches Tony completing a final retinal scan to open the secret cupboard in the garage where they’ve stored Morgan’s presents. “It’s probably easier to break into Fort Knox.”  

Tony scoffs. “Have you met Morgan? That child is an evil genius in the making. It will take all of our powers combined to ensure our baby remains on the side of good.” 

“Today she gave me a Build-A-Bear Spider-Man and told me the wish she made on the heart inside was that my owie wouldn’t hurt anymore.” Peter responds, eyebrow raised.  

“Yes, well, we all know she loves you best.”  

“That’s true.”  

It takes the three of them a few trips to move the wrapped presents from the garage to the living room, mostly because Pepper refuses to allow Peter to carry more than one package at a time.  

“I’m fine, Pepper, really,” Peter protests. 

“Indulge me.” And Peter does.  

“We’re terrible parents,” Pepper says a few moments later, adjusting the bow around the neck of the giant teddy bear in the corner one last time as the three of them survey the mountain of gifts under the tree. “Morgan is very spoiled. We’ve failed spectacularly.”  

Tony laughs. “I don’t give a shit. I just do this to see the look on her face tomorrow morning. If anything, we’re being selfish. The spoiling is just a side effect.” Pepper rolls her eyes and pulls him in for a kiss.  

“Good night. Merry Christmas,” she whispers, pulling away to kiss the top of Peter’s head and say the same. “Don’t stay up too late. I wouldn’t be surprised if Morgan gives us all an early wake-up call tomorrow.”  

Tony and Peter both slump on the couch, quiet as they watch the tree, the twinkling lights reflecting against the dark windows, the snow falling lightly outside just barely visible.  

“You want a drink?” Tony asks.  

“Yeah, sure.” Tony gets up and pads to the kitchen, nearly pulls out the eggnog before reaching up to the cabinet above the fridge, and pulling out a bottle. He pours two fingers for the both of them and walks back into the quiet living room.  

Peter’s eyes widen a bit at the offering, but he doesn’t say anything, just grabs the glass and takes a small sip, wincing slightly at the burn in his throat.  

“I’m not twenty-one yet,” Peter says idly, eyes still on the tree.  

Tony grins. “You went to college for a year kid. I won’t believe you if you tell me this is your first drink.”  

Peter shrugs. “They weren’t serving anything this expensive in red solo cups,” he says, and Tony laughs.  

“I have a present for you.” Tony reaches to his feet and picks up the package he’d purposefully wrapped with a red bow instead of the green of Morgan’s gifts. Peter sets down his glass and looks thoughtfully at the box before slowly leaning forward, careful of his stitches, and bringing the present to his lap.  

“Oh,” he breathes out when he finally rips off the paper. With slightly trembling hands, Peter lifts up the black and red suit from the box.  

“I made some upgrades. Some new versions of the instant kill mode, depending on the situation you’re in, if you’re on water, in the air, that kind of thing. And I imbibed the material with nanites. Whatever part of you is targeted, the suit will recognize it and protect you, make the area impen—Oh.” 

Tony gets cut off by a hug.  

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers into his shoulder. Tony runs a comforting hand up and down his back. “I’m sorry, Tony.” 

Tony presses a kiss to the kid’s temple. “I’m sorry, too, Peter. I’ve been a bit of an asshole, lately.” 

After a while, Peter pulls back, wipes his eyes, and folds the suit up reverently before placing it back in the box.  

“I have something for you, too.” Peter jumps up and digs under the tree for a bit before returning with a lumpy package. “It’s not that great...” Peter trails off, simply watching as Tony rips open the paper.  

It’s a gray t-shirt, the front of which is dominated by a circle of “Fe+2”.  

“It’s--,” 

“A ferrous wheel!” Peter says happily.  

Tony doesn’t stop laughing for a long, long time.  

Chapter Text

Peter looks up from his laptop when the door slams open. He watches Steve swipe the errant sweat from his forehead before stalking to the fridge and pulling out the pitcher of water. The refrigerator rattles when Steve shuts the door.  

It’s One of Those Days.  

“How was support group?” Peter finally asks, not taking his eyes away from his laptop screen, from the new article he’s attempting to proofread before he submits.  

Steve just grunts. The glasses in the cabinets clink as he draws one out and begins pouring his water.  

“How many punching bags did you break today?” Peter asks. The ruckus in the kitchen finally silences.  

Steve sighs. “Three.”  

Peter looks up and closes his laptop. Steve is leaned against the kitchen door, his knuckles white around the glass in his hand.  

“You wanna go visit Nat?”  

“Yeah.”  

000 

“Oh, holy shit, what the hell is that?” Peter asks, watching the rippling surface of the Hudson out his passenger window with bated breath. Monster, it’s a monster, aliens maybe, Pacific Rim was right, oh god, oh god-- 

“It’s a pod of whales,” Steve answers calmly, barely looking away from the road before them as he drives. “I saw one the other day on my run. Less pollution in the river now, I guess. Fewer boats, too.” 

“Huh.” Peter pulls out his phone, takes a video of the whales breaching the surface. One of them even spouts as he records. “I’d still rather have the Mets.”  

Steve snorts. “You and me both, kid.” 

000 

They arrive at the compound a few hours later, and Peter discovers that Steve is not the only person having One of Those Days. Natasha is in tears, her feet propped up on the desk before her and her Wonder bread peanut butter sandwich is untouched on the plate and already looking stale.  

“I’ll make some tea,” Peter mumbles at the sight, backtracking to the kitchen to give Steve and Nat privacy. He knows Nat likes him, but she trusts Steve. They both need each other more in this moment than either of them needs Peter, of that he is sure.  

Also, though Peter is loath to admit it, seeing Natasha Romanoff cry has firmly slotted itself in at number seven on the top ten scariest things Peter’s ever seen, and he doesn’t want to watch it any more.  

Peter walks to the kitchen, footsteps echoing hollowly around him. The compound is empty now besides Natasha, their headquarters, once so full of life and people and hope, standing barren, a ruin of what once was.  

Determined to avoid having One of Those Days himself, Peter banishes the depressing thoughts from his mind and goes about brewing Nat’s tea. Once it’s ready, he runs to the cabinet and grabs a nearly empty jar of raspberry jam before making his way back to the office.  

“Hey,” Peter announces himself as he walks back into the office. Both Steve and Natasha are rubbing their eyes, “I made you tea.”  

Nat shoots him a smile before grabbing the mug. “Spasibo, Petya,” she answers, making to stand once the mug is set down on the desk.  

“Where are you going?” Steve asks. 

“Well, I actually like--,” Nat begins, before Peter hands her the jam jar and spoon still left in his hands. Nat sits back down, a genuine grin on her face. “You’re the best.” 

Before Peter can respond, though, he’s interrupted by screens lighting up behind him.  

Someone is at the door.  

“Hi--HI! Is anyone home? It’s Scott Lang, we met a few years ago at the airport! Germany? I was the guy that got really big, I had a mask on, you wouldn’t recognize me. Ant-Man? Ant-Man, I know you know that--,” 

Peter, Steve and Nat are all on their feet simultaneously.  

“Is this an old message?” Steve whispers.  

Nat shakes her head, wonder in her voice. “It’s the front gate.” 

000 

“I know it sounds crazy--,” Scott Lang says breathlessly, Nat’s peanut butter sandwich crumpled in his hand.  

“Scott, I get emails from a raccoon. Nothing sounds crazy anymore.”  

Scott’s breath leaves him in a long huff. “Okay. Okay then. So, who do we talk to about this?” 

“Tony,” Peter says quickly, “Tony can help.”  

Steve frowns. “Peter, I don’t know--,” 

“Are you kidding?” Peter scoffs, “Who else even has a chance of creating time travel? Tony can do it, he’s a genius, he can--,” 

“There’s a difference between can and will, malen'kiy pauk,” Natasha says softly.  

“He’ll do it if I ask,” Peter says firmly. He will. He has to. Tony promised him.  

“Uh--are we talking about Tony Stark here? Iron Man? Same guy who chucked me in jail after I fought with-slash-against you guys at the previously mentioned airport battle in Germany? Who are you, by the way?” Scott asks, pointing both his index fingers at Peter.  

“Oh, I’m Peter Parker.” Scott tilts his head. Peter sighs. “Spider-Man.” 

“No shit? So, you’re the kid who went full on Empire Strikes Back on me? That was badass, pleasure to meet you,” Scott says, sticking out the hand not still holding Nat’s squished sandwich. Peter shakes it.  

“So--uh, it’s probably not my place to know, but why will Tony Stark create a time machine if you ask him? That’s a pretty huge favor he must owe you.”  

“Oh--,” 

“He’s Tony’s kid,” Nat says over her shoulder, already walking to the door. “I’m gonna go change. We’ll meet at the car in ten minutes, you’re driving, Steve.”  

Scott nods knowingly. “Makes sense. I mean, he’s Tony Stark, it’d be more difficult to believe he didn’t have a secret love-child out in the world--,” 

Peter feels himself blushing. “He’s not—I mean, I am—it's just--,” 

“Peter’s adopted, Scott.” Steve says, finally cutting in to save him.  

“Oh,” Scott hums. “Sorry, that was rude of me. My brain to mouth filter malfunctions a lot. It’s been One of Those Days.”  

“Join the club.”  

000 

“Peter’s home!” Morgan squeals, pushing away from Tony and forcing him to let her down so she can run to the car. Peter barely has the chance to shut the car door before she attempts to take out his legs.  

“Hey, my Morgie,” Peter says with a grin, scooping her up in his arms.  

“Hi! Mommy said you were coming home tomorrow, and that’s so long, but now it’s today and you’re here! Are you sleeping over? Will you watch Tangled with me? I want long hair, don’t you think I would look pretty with really, really long hair? Who is he?” Morgan finally stops for a breath, pointing at Scott.  

“It’s rude to point, Morgan,” Peter says gently, lowering her hand with his own. “This is Scott.” Scott punctuates the introduction with a wave and a smile.  

“Daddy, come meet Scott!” Morgan shouts over her shoulder. Tony is still at the porch, staring open-mouthed at the very much presumed deceased Scott Lang. He shakes his head finally, and meets Peter’s eyes. Peter bites his lip and nods.  

Tony jerks his head back and turns around, beckoning them all to follow.  

000 

“Are you seriously telling me your plan to save the universe is based on Back to the Future?” Tony asks, as he leans forward toward his clasped hands.  

“We have to take a stand,” Natasha whispers.  

“We did stand,” Tony counters, “And yet, here we are.” Nat turns away. Steve frowns.  

Peter’s heart is fucking racing, his throat dry in the wake of Tony’s words.  

He promised. He promised.   

“I know you’ve got a lot on the line. A wife, kids,” Peter sees Scott’s eyes flick quickly to him, “But I lost somebody very important to me. A lot of people did. And now, now  we have a chance to bring her back, to bring everyone back and you’re telling me that you won’t even--,”  

“That’s right, Scott,” Tony interrupts, voice soft. “I won’t even. I can’t--,”  

“Bullshit.” All eyes turn to Peter suddenly, who’s been quiet and forgotten to Steve’s right in the wake of the discussion. “You told me that day, you said if you could bring her back, if there was any way you could undo this, you’d do it in a heartbeat. You promised me, Tony.” Peter’s voice breaks.  

“Pete--,” 

“Was it all just a lie? Just something to say to make me feel better?” 

“No, no, Pete, I wasn’t lying, I wouldn’t lie to you, kid.” Tony stands, and reaches out his hand. Peter takes a step back. The hand drops. “This isn’t a solution, this is a cockamamie theory built on a miracle--,”  

“It wouldn’t be if you helped us. It wouldn’t be if you tried, Tony. You know, you know you could make this work, you built a fucking arc reactor in a cave in Afghanistan. You could do this and you know it and it scares you.”  

For a moment, the only sound is the wind in the trees.  

“It terrifies me.” Tony whispers. “What if we make it worse?”  

“Well, what if it’s one of the two? Dr. Strange said two in fourteen million. What if we just found one of them?” 

Tony turns away. Morgan suddenly rushes out the screen door and hugs Peter’s leg.  

“Mommy told me to ask how many plates I should set for lunch,” She mumbles, looking up at him. Peter stares, open-mouthed at his silent companions, searching for an answer until-- 

“Seven,” Tony says quietly, turning to look Peter hard in the eye. “We have some planning to do.” 

000 

Steve, Nat and Scott depart after lunch to begin assembling the remaining Avengers. Peter makes to go with them before Tony holds him back.  

“So, you’re just gonna leave me to do all the hard work myself?” Tony asks, eyebrow raised.  

“I don’t know quantum physics, Tony. I’m a college dropout, remember?”  

“A dropout from MIT. If anything, that’s just a sign of genius, fuck boundaries and the establishment and all that jazz.” Peter rolls his eyes, but has trouble hiding his grin.  

So, Peter and Tony spend the rest of the day at his work table, discussing quantum fluctuations and their impact on the Planck scale, the triggering of the Deutsch proposition and debating the factor of particle decomposition.  

It is exhausting. It is enlightening. Most of it soars completely over Peter’s head, waves hello and goodbye in one fell swoop.  

But not all of it. Because Tony’s greatest asset may be his brain, but his greatest talent is his ability to make anything, from the most mundane to the severely complex, interesting.  

Peter wonders sometimes if Tony has ever considered becoming a professor.  

“Okay,” Tony finally says, the sky in the window behind him darkened by the already setting sun. He has one hand in his hair, the other crunching the crust of the last slice of pizza he and Peter ordered hours ago for dinner. “Okay, one more sim tonight, then we’ll call it a day. Let’s do the shape of a mobius strip....Give us the eigenvalue of that particle, factoring in spectral decomp....” 

“You’ve already tried that one, Boss,” FRIDAY responds. “The model failed.”  

Tony frowns. “But it should--,” 

“Invert it,” Peter says suddenly, “Try inverting the mobius strip.” 

“A mobius strip only has one surface, Peter.” Tony says patiently. “Inverting it will give you the same structure.” 

“Not to the particle,” Peter contradicts. “The mobius we have will become a collection of multiple different states originally identical to our own closed time loop. We have to remember that we’re pushing the particle through time, not time through the particle, and the point of origin is going to matter. Inverting the structure should theoretically make the particle’s path more stable.”  

“So, you have been paying attention,” Tony says, grinning warmly at Peter across the table. “You heard the kid, FRI, invert the mobius strip, please and thank you.”  

MODEL SUCCESSFUL the red letters announce across the top of their holographic structure a few seconds later. Tony falls into a nearby chair, hand on his mouth.  

“Shit--,”  

“Holy shit--,” 

“Shit!” a young voice yelps from the stairs behind them. Morgan is sitting at the bottom in her pajamas, looking entirely too please with herself.  

“I think,” Peter begins, walking toward the stairs, “If you don’t tell Mom we said bad words and we don’t tell Mom that you’re still awake, we can all go have juice pops right now and everyone will go to bed happy. How’s that sound?”  

Peter sticks out his hand. Morgan takes it immediately.  

“Can I have an orange one?”  

“Not if I take them all first!” Tony shouts, plucking Morgan up and throwing her over his shoulder as he runs to the kitchen.  

Peter looks back over his shoulder before exiting the room, the words MODEL SUCCESSFUL burning red across his retinas even when he blinks.  

This is what he wanted. This is what’s supposed to happen. They’re going to bring them all back, they’re going to save the universe and this, this is the first step.  

Morgan’s giggles and Tony’s laughter mingle and echo down the hallway from the kitchen, and something in Peter’s heart freezes fast.  

“It terrifies me,” Tony whispers. “What if we make it worse?”  

000 

Pepper finds Peter on the couch in the living room, hugging a pillow to his chest.  

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Pepper asks, sitting beside him and resting her new composting book on the coffee table.  

“We did it, Pepper. Tony and I—well, mostly Tony, basically all Tony, he’ll probably want to tell you himself, I mean, it’s groundbreaking really, we’re really truly living in all sci-fi movies ever at this point—but we--,”  

“Peter,” Pepper says gently, resting a hand on his knee, “take a breath.” 

“Time travel,” Peter finally says. “We did it, Pepper, we figured it out. We can go back and undo—everything. Everything. We can finally fix it.” 

Pepper is lost for words.  

“But so many things could go wrong,” Peter continues, his heart rate rising. “We could lose again. Somebody could die, we could—Jesus, we could erase people existences, get stuck in another time period forever, we could--,”  

“Honey, you have to try,” Pepper whispers. “You’ll never be able to rest until you do.”  

“That’s what I said, I told Tony we have to try, we have to at least give it a go, we owe it to all of them, the people we lost, but now—God, Tony tried to tell me, but I wasn’t thinking, Pepper, I didn’t even think about it, but he was right, he was right, and now we solved it and--,” 

“I just thought you’d both like to know, Morgan loves me three thousand,” Tony announces as he waltzes into the living room, “You both fell somewhere in the six to nine hundred—Pete?” Tony questions as he approaches the couch, sees Pepper’s hand on his knee and the tears in Peter’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”  

The tears finally fall down Peter’s cheeks and he hugs the pillow tighter to his chest. “What if you’re right, Tony? We should just put the model in a lockbox and throw it in the lake. This was stupid, what if everything goes wrong, things are just starting to make sense again, people are moving on what if we--,” 

“Peter,” Tony says, sitting on his other side and slinging an arm around his shoulders. “You were right. I was being a coward.” 

“But what if--,” 

“Life is full of what if’s, kiddo. It’s also full of opportunities. And we’re not gonna get another one like this.” 

“Plus,” Tony adds, using the arm across Peter’s shoulders to squeeze Pepper’s hand, “You and I just figured out time travel in literally one day. Saving the world is going to be a piece of cake with the two of us working together, trust me.”  

Peter takes a deep breath and leans back into the couch. He sits in the living room of the home he once never expected to find again, squished between the parents he never could have fathomed he would love so much.  

“I do.”  

Chapter Text

“Whoa.” Peter whispers, stopping dead in his tracks. Steve quickly places his hands on Peter’s shoulders to avoid running him down.  

“Whoa what?” Steve asks. Peter is staring into the conference room before them, looking awestruck.  

Steve is unsure what exactly he sees could be striking awe at the moment. Tony’s sitting at the head, legs already propped up on the table, coffee in one hand and his phone in the other, thumb scrolling. Bruce is sitting to Tony’s right, looking comically big while typing on his laptop. Natasha’s staring down the screens on the wall, the ones displaying the infinity stones they need to retrieve, already diligently taking her own notes.  

Clint is standing in the corner behind her, cleaning his nails with a wickedly sharp knife Steve watched him slide out of his boot. And Thor is, of course, asleep in the far corner, hand halfway down his pajama pants, looking dead to the world.  

Steve’s about to shout behind them to Rhodey, in the kitchen still with Scott, Nebula and Rocket, and ask the man to grab Thor some coffee as well, maybe a banana, too, when-- 

“This is—you guys are it. This is the original Avengers.” There’s a reverence in Peter’s voice Steve doesn’t know how to process. He’s speaking softly, eyes still so wide. “I remember sitting under the kitchen table with my aunt and uncle when the aliens attacked New York. We were watching the little TV on the counter, watching you guys save the world....” Peter trails off.  

Steve remembers being barely a month out of the ice, 24 and 93 years old simultaneously, terrified and angry and hurt and lost, thrust into a world more alien than the monsters attacking them. He remembers meeting both Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, a couple of murder assassin twins, a god who wasn’t God, and Howard’s son. He remembers being ferried around in a ship in the sky, the memories of his own horrific death still fresh.  

“You’re all together again. This is just—sorry, this is a lot. I had your action figures. I know the world is shit and everything but—wow.” 

Affection swells in Steve’s chest, makes his throat grow tight. He slings his arm around Peter’s shoulders and ruffles his curls. “Welcome to the club, Spider-Man.”  

Peter’s breath leaves him in a huff. “Whoa.”  

000 

000 

000 

“Oh crap, it’s Wednesday!” Peter yelps as he scrolls through his emails. “Oh my God, I’m dead. I haven’t been to work in three days, I never even told any of them, shit, SHIT!”  

Mr. Jameson is personally going to find him and murder him. It will be slow, and it will be painful, of this Peter’s sure.  

Tony looks up from his noodles and rolls his eyes. “Why do you even have that job, kid? You have a trust fund. If I die in this venture, you’re set to inherit billions--,” 

“Shut up, Tony.” Peter grunts. Tony shuts up.  

“Does anyone know how to politely quit a job, effective immediately? Or like, I don’t know, ask for a leave of absence? Is that a thing? How does one do that? What do I say?” Peter looks up at the table at large, at his heroes, and finds open mouths and blank stares. “Anybody?”  

“I’ve been in the Air Force since--,” 

“--army--,” 

“The KGB really didn’t--,” 

“I just killed--,” 

“--then they arrested--,”  

“My father made me--,” 

“Okay, then,” Peter interrupts. “Guess I’m winging it.”  

Mr. J. Jonah Jameson’s email says that Peter will be fired if he isn’t at work today. Peter can hear faint echoes of the man’s voice screaming in his ear as he reads.  

Peter asks for a leave of absence (he uses an email template he found on the internet). In return, Peter promises Jameson and the Bugle the story of a lifetime.  

000 

Peter is fired.  

He plans to write the story anyway.  

The Times will eat it up.  

000 

000 

000 

“Hey, wait, I didn’t get an assignment,” Peter exclaims from his seat next to Natasha; Tony can’t help but scoff internally at his raised hand. “Where am I going? Which team am I on?”  

Tony takes a deep breath. “Someone,” He begins, with a pointed look at Scott, “Wasted one of our trial runs. We don’t have enough Pym particles for a round trip for all of us.”  

Peter cocks his head and bites his lip. “So, you, in your infinite wisdom, have decided that I’m the one who should stay behind?” Clint lets out a low whistle at the kid’s tone.  

“Yes, I have.”  

“I think that is a very stupid decision.” Peter replies, before going into specific detail as to why it is such a stupid decision.  

Tony listens to Peter explain to the table at large that he grew up in New York, knows the city like the back of his hand. He was eleven and barricaded with his family in their apartment in Queens during the attack in 2012, there’s no worry of a doppelganger mix-up. If anyone should stay behind and man the controls for the quantum portal, it should be Tony or Bruce, Scott even, who understand the technology best and would be most useful.  

If Peter joins the New York team, he calmly says, he could avoid the battle entirely, be at the Sorcerer Supreme’s house in the Village in less than five minutes with his webs.  

He wants to replace Bruce. And Bruce, based on the apologetic glance he shoots Tony’s way, agrees.  

Part of Tony can’t help but be proud. Just a few years ago, Peter would have yelled and whined about how unfair it all was that he had miss out. He would have taken the easy dig at Thor, who has yet to be sober since he arrived at the compound, going back in time instead of him. He’d make some joke about looking like Marty McFly in that “really old movie, Mr. Stark.” Peter would have done his best to appeal to Tony’s feelings.  

And Tony would have had no trouble saying no.  

But Peter is older now—he's always been smart, but now he’s wised-up, too. Instead of complaining about the outcome, Peter has stood before the heroes of his childhood and given a well-reasoned argument as to why he would be an asset.  

Part of Tony is extremely proud.  

The other part is, predictably, terrified out of his mind.  

“He’s got a point, Tony,” Bruce finally says, when Peter finishes his appeal. “I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb in 2012. And Peter has more experience with Strange than I do. I think he should go.”  

All eyes in the room are on Tony now, but Tony only has eyes for one.  

Peter looks calm. His hands rest lazily on the knee popped up by his crossed legs. He looks thoughtful and serious, his brown eyes meeting Tony’s, one eyebrow raised in question.  

Funny, I think he’s your spitting image.  

“Fine. Fine. We’re pulling up Parker from the JV bench for Banner. Great. Parker’s making his play for Rookie of the Year. Okay.” 

Peter smiles.  

What a little shit.  

000 

000 

000 

“So, we’re all agreed. Oh-eight-hundred hours tomorrow is go-time. Be at the compound no later than seven to get suited up and take care of any last-minute prep,” Steve instructs.  

“Hear that, Pirate Angel?” Rocket asks, jumping up on the table and walking over to Thor. “Be there by SEVEN. SEVEN O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING. You are NOT leaving me to hunt down the princess in the weird-ass space castle by myself. Capiche?” 

Thor rolls his blue eye and stands to leave the room. “Yes, yes, silly rabbit, I will be there on time.” Steve makes a mental note to himself to ensure Thor’s awake tomorrow morning as he watches the god and raccoon exit.   

“Let us go,” Nebula commands from the other side of the room, and Rhodey, Clint and Natasha make to follow her out the door.  

“She’s having us go through how the ship’s controls work again, just in case the autopilot malfunctions,” Nat says at Steve questioning glance.  

“Oh, that’s--smart.” It is smart. And thoughtful. Nebula is much more than Steve ever expected.  

“Alright kid,” Tony says, rising from his seat with a groan, “You ready to go? Pep says dinner should be ready by the time we get there. She made that tiramisu with the berries you like.”  

Peter swings his backpack over his shoulder. “You mean with the berries Gerald didn’t already eat?”  

Tony laughs. “Don’t knock my alpaca, child. Gerald has never done anything wrong, ever in his life.” 

“I know this, and I love him,” Peter says, nodding solemnly. “See you tomorrow, Steve!” Peter calls back with a wave. Tony nods at Steve, slight smile on his face, before wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulder and steering him to the garage.  

And Steve is alone.  

000 

Steve gets in his car and he drives, complete unsure of where or why or what he’s doing until he finds himself in the parking lot of a nearby church.  

St. Stephen the Martyr Catholic Church  

Steve can’t help but laugh as he opens the door.  

He dips his hand in the holy water, crosses himself and walks to a pew in the back of the echoing, empty cathedral, before genuflecting to the tabernacle in the front and taking a seat. He gives himself a moment to really look at the church, the stained glass of the saints painting the room in rainbows with the sunset, the everlasting suffering of Jesus staring at him from the paintings up and down the aisles. Mary before him, soft smile on her face as she looks down, hands beckoning him forward.  

All churches are the same in their differences. This church, St. Stephen’s, is traditional and beautiful and old. It should feel haunting, the big open spaces, the darkness but for the flickering of the candles by the altar, but Steve can’t find room for more fear.  

Either he is alone in this House of God, or he is not.  

That in mind, Steve lowers the kneeler and bows his head to pray.  

000 

It is truly dark when Steve opens his eyes again. Only the candles light his way back up the aisle and out of the church. He dips his hand in the holy water at the door once more and crosses himself as he leaves, stopping in his tracks at the sight that greets him.  

Natasha is leaned lazily against the side of his car, motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm. Steve’s own bike is parked haphazardly next to the car, extra helmet on the seat.  

“How’d you find me?”  

Nat holds up her phone and shakes it. “I didn’t realize you were religious.” 

Steve shrugs. “There’s a reason the long pass in football is called a Hail Mary.” 

“It sounds like you’re confusing faith with desperation.”  

“I definitely am. We going for a ride?” Steve asks, reaching for the helmet Nat holds out to him.  

“You drive,” Natasha commands, nudging him to get on the bike first. Steve complies, settling himself on the bike seat as Nat takes the other helmet and neatly sits behind him, wrapping her arms tightly around his chest.  

About a mile down the road, Steve feels Nat’s head gently rest on his back. He’d be worried she was falling asleep, but her grip on him hasn’t faltered. If anything, it strengthens, growing tighter as she hugs him closer with every turn and bend in the dark road before them.  

After a couple hours of riding and a near empty tank, Steve finally pulls back up the drive of the compound. He waits for Nat to dismount before sliding off himself, pulling off his helmet when-- 

“Ah shit, I forgot about my car.” 

“We’ll get it tomorrow.” Nat says firmly, grabbing his hand and leading him back inside. Steve swallows thickly.  

“Is that a promise?”  Natasha bites her lip and looks away, gripping his hand more tightly as they walk through the ground floor of the compound, up the stairs to the bedrooms. She stops when they both reach her door. She looks up, straight into his eyes, her own green and wide and honest.  

“It’s a hope.”  

Natasha opens her door with her free hand and walks inside without looking back.  

Steve follows, just like she knew he would.  

000 

000 

000 

“Goodnight, my Morgie,” Peter whispers, sitting down on the edge of her bed and leaning forward to wrap the tiny girl in a hug. “I love you.” He kisses the top of her head.  

Morgan pulls away after a while and looks up, eyes thoughtful. “Is something bad gonna happen tomorrow?”  

Peter runs a hand down her hair. “Not bad, Morgie, just—just important. Dad and I have an important job, and we’re nervous, that’s all.”  

“Will you die?”  

Peter nearly chokes. Where the hell did Morgan learn about  death ? “Not if we can help it, kiddo. We have a good plan. And when it’s all over, after everything is fixed, I’m gonna take you to a Mets game. Rosario will be back on Short, Fraizer on third, he’s my favorite. DeGrom will take the mound, and Cano will hit a homerun for us. We’ll get the cheapest seats you can, up in the bleachers in left field, and I’ll buy you the biggest, greasiest hotdog I can find. How’s that sound?” 

Morgan tilts her head and hugs her blanket close to her chest. “Is Spider-Man helping you?” Morgan Stark is not one to be distracted.  

Peter sighs, then nods, and Morgan grins brightly. “Then you’ll win. Spider-Man is the best, he can do anything in the whole world. Will you read me a story?” Morgan asks quickly, barely giving Peter time to hold back the tears that have sprung in the corners of his eyes.  

“Yeah,” Peter says gruffly, “Yeah, of course I will. Which one?” He asks playfully, and Morgan rolls her eyes before handing Peter the worn storybook on her bedside table.  

Peter turns around and settles himself against Morgan’s headboard, pulling his sister into his lap.  

“Early one morning,” Peter reads, “The wind blew a spider across the field.” 

000 

Peter passes Tony in the hallway on his way out of Morgan’s room.  

“She’s still awake,” Peter whispers. The relief on Tony’s face makes something in Peter’s chest seize.  

“I’ll just...” Tony begins, before squeezing Peter’s shoulder and walking past and through the door to his daughter’s room.  

Peter makes his way to the kitchen, where Pepper is putting away leftovers.  

“Hey, sweetheart, there’s still some tiramisu left if--,” Pepper says idly before being cut off by Peter’s hug. Her arm slips around his shoulders, her hand on the back of his head immediately.  

“I love you,” Peter whispers into her shoulder, his words muffled by her sweater. Pepper kisses the top of his head before pulling away. She rests her hands gently on his cheeks, forcing him to look her in the eye.  

“I know this isn’t the life you imagined for yourself, Peter. You’ve suffered and you’ve lost and I—this is going to sound selfish, but I need to say it.” Pepper takes a deep breath before smiling at him, eyes warm. “You are the best thing that ever happened to us, Peter. And no matter what happens tomorrow, no matter who you gain or lose or wherever you go, I will always love you. And I will always count myself incredibly privileged to call you my son.”  

Peter finds himself lurching forward again to hug Pepper, this time staining the shoulder of her sweater with his tears.  

Over Pepper’s shoulder, Peter watches as the stove clock switches to 8:00. The little green numbers seem to mock him in their banality.  

Twelve more hours.  

Twelve more hours until they make or break the universe.  

Chapter Text

“Pete, you awake?” Tony asks softly. Peter lifts his head up from its resting place on the cool window, watching the sun rise beyond the trees, and turns to look at Tony in the driver’s seat.  

“Yeah,” Peter says, swallowing thickly. Tony looks relaxed, one hand steering while the other drapes idly behind Peter’s seat. His sunglasses sit comfortably on his nose, and his eyes don’t leave the road.  

Peter can’t help but notice the knuckles of the hand steering are white.  

“If something goes--,” Tony takes a deep breath, eyes still glued to the windshield. “If for some reason I end up off the grid for longer than forty-eight hours, FRIDAY is going to automatically pull up a new file. There’s some...things I don’t want left unsaid. It’s--,” Tony clears his throat. “The password is your birthday. Just—yeah.”  

Peter looks down at his hands clasped in his lap, watches himself twirl his thumbs as he blinks quickly.  

“Isn’t your kid’s birthday just about the worst password you can choose?” Peter asks finally, tone light. “Aren’t you worried about being hacked?” 

Tony scoffs, his mouth quirking up at the corner. “My systems have firewalls and moats and particle barriers and a fucking dragon. It’s the digital version of a medieval fortress. I don’t get hacked, kiddo, I do the hacking. Besides, I think the honor of worst password you could possibly choose goes to pet’s names.”  

“Guess I’ll just have to try ‘Gerald one-oh-one' next time FRI locks me out of a file,” Peter says, and Tony chuckles. They both sit in silence for a bit, the car vibrating beneath them. The nearly risen sun paints the sky orange.  

“My sock drawer has a false bottom,” Peter says softly as he looks out the window. He feels more than sees Tony turn to finally stare at him. “The one in my room at home. Just in case.”  

“Just in case.” Tony repeats, his eyes back on the road.  

Peter leans forward and turns on the stereo. He’s not sure what to think when “Highway to Hell” starts blasting through the speakers.  

000 

“Everybody suited up?” Peter asks, glancing from one person to the next, their sleek white and red time travel suits all buckled and ready to go. “Great, okay, go stand in the front of the time machine. I’m taking a picture.”  

“Seriously?” 

“Jesus, Petey, c’mon, we don’t exactly have time--,” 

“We got places to--,” 

“Dudes, this is literally history being made. This picture will be like—like Neil Armstrong on the moon huge. Like the Wright brothers flying on Kitty Hawk beach huge. Like the Marines raising the flag on Iwo Jima huge. Like....like--,” 

“We get it, kiddo,” Tony says, patting his back and smiling warmly. “You want some photos for your expose when you go groveling back to the Bugle--,” 

“It’s for the Times now. The Bugle can suck it,” Peter responds quickly, and Tony’s smile widens. “But honestly, I may just end up saving this story all for myself and making a documentary. You’ve seen my Civil War movie, Tony, you know I’ve got a talent. I think movie-making may just be my passion--,” 

“You are killing me, child.” Tony shakes his head. He’s still grinning. “Well, you heard him, line it up, team. Lebowski, you’re in the back next to the BFG, somebody put the rodent on their shoulder so he doesn’t get lost in the fray--,” Rocket flips Tony the bird, “Where you at, Droney?” Tony calls, snapping his finger a couple times to call a drone to the front.  

“Everyone, say ‘Time Heist’!” Peter calls out. 

“Time Heist!” Scott shouts immediately. He’s the only one. Peter gives the drone a few seconds before asking FRIDAY to pull up the photos on the nearest screen.  

 Peter’s squished between Scott and Tony in the front row of the picture. Tony’s on the end, peace sign held up with the hand not squeezing Peter’s shoulder. Natasha’s smirking next to Scott, one hand lazily draped around Nebula’s waist. On Nebula’s opposite shoulder sits Rocket, still giving the camera the bird.  

Bruce is centered in the back row, holding out a thumbs up. Thor is beside him, his sunglasses settled on his head for the sake picture, his beer held out of frame. Rhodey, already in his suit, is taller than Thor standing beside him, and uses the advantage to errantly tap Thor on the back of his head, sly grin playing on his lips. Steve is to the other side of Bruce, grim smile on his face, his shoulders back, hands clasped firmly at his waist. Clint’s on Steve’s right, his own elbow cocked out, resting comfortably on Steve’s shoulder, bow leaning precariously on his side.  

“Looks about right,” Tony says with a laugh as the rest of the Avengers disperse.  

“As good as I could’ve hoped for,” Peter agrees with a shrug. “Hey, why do you always hold up a peace sign? You do it in like, every picture I’ve ever seen of you.”  

Tony’s mouth opens, then quickly snaps shut before he shakes his head, an emotion Peter can’t name rising behind his eyes. “That’s a story for tomorrow.”  

000 

“This is the fight of our lives. And we’re going to win. Whatever it takes. Good luck.” Steve finishes, and sticks out his fist to the center of the circle.  

“He’s pretty good at that,” Rocket begrudgingly admits.  

“Right?” Scott agrees. 

“Chills.” Peter says, shaking his head, “I have literal chills right now.”  

“You get chills when Morgan swaps the salt and sugar shakers,” Tony scoffs, but he, too, adds his fist to the huddle, looking impressed by Steve’s pep talk. “Alright, you heard the man,” he shouts back to Bruce at the controls, “Stroke those keys, Jolly Green.” 

As they all take their positions on the platform, Natasha leans over from her place to Peter’s right. “You ready for this, Petya?”  

Peter swallows thickly. “I think I’m gonna puke.”  

“Everything will be fine,” Natasha promises, with a smile that makes it to her eyes. “It will all work out the way it should. And besides,” she adds, turning to Steve and smirking. “I’ll see you in a minute.”  

Bruce holds a thumbs up from the base of the platform. At once, their helmets begin materializing and locking around each of their heads. Only their eyes are visible through the face plates.  

Natasha turns to Peter winks.  

In another blink, they are gone.  

000 

The second they land in 2012, in a back alley in Midtown as the battle rages before them, Tony’s hands are on Peter’s shoulders.  

“You good, kid? Four limbs, ten fingers, ten toes? You didn’t splinch yourself?” Tony asks, before removing one arm to snap his fingers directly in Peter’s face, “Eyes are tracking, pupils aren’t blown--,” 

“Jesus, Tony, I’m fine,” Peter stresses, shoving the hands out of his face, unable to keep the slight grin from his face. He knew Tony was a closet Harry Potter fan. “You’re actually completely being ridiculous. And we all just time traveled for the first time, why aren’t you checking out those two?”  

Tony rolls his eyes. “Those two can go jump in a pit, they aren’t my children--,” 

“Wow. Harsh. I really thought we had something special, Tony. You were finally willing to truly let me into your heart--,” 

“Hasn’t happened yet, Tiny--,” 

Steve clears his throat loudly. “We all have our assignments. Meet back here to regroup once you have your stone. Nobody gets left behind.”  

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Tony says with a sarcastic salute, before turning back to Peter. “What’s the address?”  

“One seventy-seven A Bleeker Street,” Peter rattles off. He tries to make his voice sounds bored; he’s not sure he completely keeps it from shaking. “In the Village. Where I need to go. Right now, so I don’t get eaten by aliens.”  

Tony lets out a deep breath. “Yes. Okay. Good. Okay.” He pulls Peter in for a hug, kisses the side of his head. “Be safe.”  

“I will. You, too.” Tony bobs his head in agreement.  

Peter takes one last second to look at Steve and Scott before sliding on his mask. Steve nods grimly. Scott waves.  

“Good luck!” Peter calls out, before shooting out his web and swinging away.  

000 

Peter lands on the roof of the Sanctum Sanctorum ten minutes later, where he finds a very regal looking bald person wearing yellow robes and fighting off the attacking Chitauri.  

They’re also wearing Dr. Strange’s pendant.  

Shit.  

Shit.   

It’s not a scenario they’d even thought to plan for, the idea that Dr. Strange may not yet have the Time stone. Maybe he hadn’t yet reached that level of study in 2012? Does he have to win the Time stone from this person in a duel? Does he steal it? Is this god-like emperor person evil? Is Dr. Strange actually evil? Has he not yet passed his O.W.L.s? Do-- 

“You can come out now, Peter Parker.” Her voice is light, with a British-sounding accent. Definitely a woman. Definitely not someone to mess with.  

With an audible gulp, Peter swings down from his hiding place behind the water tower and slips off his mask.  

“You find me at a disadvantage, ma’am. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”  

She smiles lightly. “One as old as I know not to give out one’s name so freely,” she says simply, striding toward Peter. “Why are you here? You are meant to be at home with your aunt and uncle on Ingram street in Queens.” She looks him up and down. “You’re also meant to be eleven.”  

Peter gulps again. “I was looking for Dr. Strange--,” 

“You’re about five years too early. Stephen Strange is currently performing surgery about twenty blocks that way,” She interrupts, pointing her hand beyond Peter’s shoulder. “What do you want from him?”  

Peter bites his lip, takes a deep breath, and points to the gold pendant resting on her chest. “That actually.”  

“Ah,” she exhales, looking down. When she looks back up, something has hardened in the back of her green eyes. “I’m afraid not.”  

Peter takes a shuddering breath. “Because it’s the duty of the Sorcerer Supreme to protect the Time stone,” Peter recites, and the woman’s eyes widen. “I know. Strange told me. 

“What I’d really like to understand, then,” Peter continues, voice ice, “Is why Strange so willingly gave it away and doomed us all.”  

The woman leans back on the brick wall behind her, face white. “I fear we have much to discuss, Mr. Parker.”  

000 

Peter stares down at the tiny green stone cupped in his hands, feels the compressed power thrumming against his fingers, heating them to a point just shy of unbearable.  

“Thank you,” he whispers, looking up at the towering woman before him, then tucking the stone safely into the special container on his belt. When he looks up again, she grabs his right hand.  

“You have more power than you realize, Peter Parker.” She raises the hand to her lips and presses a chaste kiss there. “But with great power, there must also come great responsibility. Do not forget this.”  

Peter’s feet feel glued to the floor, his gaze captivated, awed by the mighty sorcerer before him, by the words his uncle had told him so long ago. “I won’t.” He finally rasps.  

She nods and lets his hand go. “I’m counting on you Peter. We all are.”  

Peter nods solemnly, before stepping up on the ledge and finally swinging away.  

He looks back only once, and finds the sorcerer still standing on the roof, her hand raised in farewell.  

000 

Disappointment is heavy in the air when Peter drops down into the alley in Midtown.  

“You said that we had one shot!” Scott rants. “This was our shot. We shot it. It’s shot. Six stones or nothing--,” 

“You’re repeating yourself, you know that? You’re repeating yourself--,” 

“You’re repeating yourself, you’re repeating yourself--,” 

“Whoa, Lin Manuel Miranda, what the fuck happened?” Peter finally interrupts. Scott turns to him eyes aflame.  

“Your idiot father ruined the Time Heist. The Tesseract is just—it's gone! It’s fucking gone, we’re all fucked to hell--,”  

Peter turns to Tony, heart in his throat. Tony isn’t able to meet his eyes.  

Peter sits on ground of the dirty alley and rests his head in his hands.  

“Are there any other options with the Tesseract?” Steve asks, voice brittle.  

Scott scoffs, “No, no, no, no, no. There’s no other options!” Scott slams the car door shut. “There’s no do-overs, we’re not going anywhere else. We have one particle left each! That’s it, alright!” 

Scott continues ranting, but Peter only has eyes for Tony, whose head has risen in sudden wonder.  

He has an idea.  

“Yeah well if we don’t try,” Steve bites out, “then no one else is going home, either.”  

“I got it. There's another way. To retake the Tesseract and acquire new particles.” Tony says suddenly, quickly exiting the car. “We'll stroll down memory lane. Military installation, Garden State.” 

New Jersey? What the fuck? 

Steve looks hesitant, “When were they both there?” 

“I’ve got a vaguely exact idea,” Tony replies, and Peter stands.  

“What are you talking about,” Scott asks, “Where are we going?”  

Tony whirls around to face them both. “You’re both going back. Protect the stones we already have.” Steve steps forward and hands the scepter to Scott.  

“Tony--,” Peter begins.  

“No.” He says shortly, before turning back to Steve and holding up his GPS. “Oh four, oh four...uhh...oh seven.” He says, voice rising in question at the end. “One nine seven zero.”  

Steve types the numbers into his GPS. “Are you sure? Cap. Captain. Steve, sorry, America. Rogers.” Scott shakes his head. “Look, if you do this, and this doesn't work, you're not coming back.” 

“Tony,” Peter steps forward. He feels like he’s going to hurl. “Tony, please--,” The fear builds in Peter, dark and visceral. Tony could get stuck. Tony could die. Tony could leave him behind, move on without him. Add himself to the ever-growing list of parents Peter Parker has lost.  

Tony lurches forward and pulls Peter into his arms. “I’ll come back. I will. I promise you, Peter, I will.”  

“We’ll see you in a minute, Pete,” Steve adds, soft grin on his face.  

“Get him back, Scott. Now. Get him and get those stones home,” Tony commands, before he and Steve both press their wrists and vanish into thin air.  

“Ready, kid?” Scott asks quietly beside him. Peter leans down and checks for the tenth time that the stone is still safety on his belt before he nods.  

“Let’s go home.” 

000 

Peter lands on the platform with a thud, and immediately darts his eyes around as his suit retracts.  

“Did you get them all?” Bruce asks hopefully from the controls.  

The lack of protest brings a smile to Rhodey’s face. “Are you telling me this actually worked?”  

Peter’s eyes finally find Tony’s, a wide grin on his face, ugly old tie around his neck and a black briefcase in his hands. Peter nearly slumps from the relief of it all. He did it. They did it. They have the stones, they all made it-- 

“Clint, where’s Nat?”  

Peter is wrong.  

They did not all make it home.  

000 

Chapter Text

When Tony is finally alone, he pulls out his phone and calls Pepper. He sits down on the bed in one of the many spare bedrooms of the compound, runs a shaking hand through his hair still wet from the shower, and waits.

She picks up on the first ring.

“Tony! Oh, thank God,” Pepper answers breathlessly. “Are you alright, is Peter--,”

“Peter’s fine,” he interrupts, voice hoarse. “We’re both...” he almost says okay. Then, he remembers the zombie –like boy he’d quietly walked to the bedroom next door, the kid he’d gently prodded toward the shower as he looked around idly, dazed by grief, just fifteen minutes ago. “We’re both here. We made it.”

“Who didn’t?”

Pepper’s always been impeccable at reading between his lines.

Tony swallows thickly and looks up at the white popcorn ceiling, his eyes hot. “Natasha’s dead.” It hurts to even say it, to hear the words spoken aloud. The finality of them make his skin crawl.

There’s a thump on the end of the line, and a harsh intake of breath,

“Fuck,” Pepper finally says. A few staticky, shuddering inhales, “God fucking damnit.”

“Yeah.”

“How--,”

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Pep. I’m sorry, I just--,” Tony closes his eyes, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as his imagination runs into overdrive. Natasha, a sly smirk that doesn’t meet her eyes, bolting past Clint while her long red braid flies with the wind. Nat jumping gracefully, an Olympic-worthy swan dive to her death. Silent as she falls, the wind whistling in her ears. Her body hitting the bottom with a crack that echoes through the mountains, lying in the bed of the ravine, eyes still open and green and unseeing, her head broken like a fucking egg. Blood that matches her hair, pooling and spreading around her, the red the only warmth to be found for miles.

She’s all alone.

“Okay,” Pepper whispers. They’re both silent for a moment, simply content to listen to each other breathe. “Did you get them all?” Pepper finally asks. “Did it work?”

“Yeah,” Tony nods his head to no one with the word. “Yeah, we got them. We’re--uh, we’re making the final adjustments on the gauntlet this afternoon. We want to do the snap before the end of the day.” Get these stupid fucking stones as far the fuck away from him and his family and each other as he possibly can, before they have the chance to take away anything else he loves.

“I’m going to call the sitter. I want to be there--,”

“Pep--,”

“Just nearby,” Pepper elaborates. “I don’t need to be in the compound, I just—something doesn’t feel right, Tony. I just want to be close, be on standby in case you need backup.”

“Okay,” Tony agrees, even though it was never a question. “In the garage, there’s--,”

“Morgan showed me already,” Pepper confesses, and Tony can hear the small, sad grin in her voice. “I like the color.”

“I miss you,” Tony says softly, before biting his lip to keep it from trembling. It doesn’t matter that he just saw his wife last night. Any distance, any time between them is too much, will always be too much, because Tony will never be his best without Pepper by his side. She is everything good about him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Tony wipes his eyes with the heel of his hands and sniffs, before finally pulling himself together enough to uncurl from his ball on the edge of the bed and move. “Give our little miss a kiss from me.”

“Always, Tony.”

000

Tony finds Peter lying on the bed, freshly showered, wearing ragged black sweatpants and a black and white striped hoodie. The sweatshirt is worn and well-loved, and it’s a bit too small on Peter.

Natasha gave it to him four days after they returned to Earth, nearly five years ago. Peter had been so sick and tired and fucking small then, and Natasha had taken one look at the kid, turned and dug around in the tiny duffel filled with literally all her worldly possessions, pulled out the hoodie, and handed it to Peter.

“Put it on. It’ll make you feel better.”

Peter never gave it back. Natasha, to Tony’s knowledge, never asked for it back either, just smiled knowingly every time she saw Peter wearing it.

Tony sits on the edge of Peter’s bed and run’s his hand through Peter’s curls. Peter turns into the touch and opens his eyes.

They’re nearly swollen shut, red with tears.

“I can’t believe she’s gone.” Peter whispers. Another tear slips down his cheek.

“I know,” Tony agrees with a shuddering breath, “Neither can I.”

000

Eventually, Tony and Peter make their way down to the dock on the edge of the pond where Steve, Bruce, Thor and Clint have already gathered. They’re all showered and changed besides Clint; his hands are still bloody and raw from the cliffs of Vormir.

Peter sits himself on the bench next to Steve and leans his head down on Steve’s shoulder. Steve reaches a hand behind Peter and pats his back.

Tony clears away the near permanent lump in his throat and breaks the oppressive silence. “Do we know if she had family?” Peter looks up at him, uncharacteristic disgust on his face, like Tony has just spit the filthiest curse word imaginable.

“Yeah,” Steve responds quietly. “Us.”

“What?” Thor asks, walking toward Tony, looking highly agitated.

“I was just asking a question--,” Tony tries to defend himself, but Thor is not ready or willing to hear it.

“You’re acting like she’s dead, why are we acting like she’s dead? We have the stones, right? As long as we have the stones, Cap,” the god gives Steve a pointed look. “We can bring her back, isn’t that right? So, stop with this shit. We’re the Avengers, get it together.”

Tony can’t help but think the words are rich, coming from Thor of all people, greasy blond locks and maroon velour tracksuit nonwithstanding.

“We can’t get her back,” Clint says quietly, looking somberly across the pond.

“What--,”

“It can’t be undone.” The finality with which the words are said sends shivers up Tony’s spine. Clint turns to face them; his eyes are hollow. “It can’t.”

Thor laughs then, madly and mirthlessly. “I'm sorry. No offense, but you're a very earthly being. Okay? We're talking about space magic. And ‘can't’ seems very definitive don't you think?”

“Look, I know that I’m way outside of my paygrade here, but she still isn’t here, is she?”

“No, that’s my point!” Thor says, throwing up his hands.

“It can't... be undone. Or that's at least what the red floating guy had to say!” Clint shouts, finally standing up and stalking toward Thor. “Maybe you wanna go talk to him? Okay? Go grab your hammer, and you go fly and you talk to him. It was supposed to be me.” Clint’s voice breaks, his anger draining as swiftly as it had come. “She sacrificed her life for that goddamned stone. She bet her life on it.”

Bruce grunts as he picks up the bench and promptly throws it across the pond “She’s not coming back,” he says, finally turning to face them. “We have to make it worth it. We have to.”

“We will,” Steve whispers, before they all fall to silence.

“Where did everyone else go?” Peter finally asks, voice raspy from lack of use.

Steve sniffs. “Rhodey, Rocket and Nebula were going to call Okoye, try to get ahold of Carol, too, let them know...” Steve trails off.

Tony can’t help the guilt that rises in him in the wake of the words. Those five are the Avengers, really, the true heroes of the last five years. Led by Natasha, they fought so hard, so desperately and tirelessly to save the people who still remained in the universe, to help them find life and hope and love in a cold and foreign world, stricken by grief.

Where the rest of them gave up, Natasha forged on. She was the epitome of selfless to the very end.

“We should probably start thinking about—about a funeral,” Bruce begins, but Clint quickly cuts him off with a mirthless laugh.

“And bury what?” He asks, voice sharp, “Her body’s at the bottom of that goddamn ravine in twenty-fourteen.”

“We’ll get her body back,” Peter says firmly, and all eyes turn to him. He’s still huddled into Steve’s side, his hands curled up in fists, thumbs worrying the frayed hem of Natasha’s hoodie. “The Sorcerer Supreme, she told me--,”

“She--?,”

“It wasn’t Strange yet in twenty-twelve,” Peter says idly, meeting Tony’s eyes. “She made me promise we would bring the stones back to the moment we took them. Said taking an infinity stone out of time creates an alternate reality, and her branched timeline would be doomed without the time stone. It’s the only way she let me have the stone. After this is all over, we have to take them back. And when we go to Vormir--,”

“We’ll bring Nat back with us,” Steve finishes. “We’ll give her the rest she deserves.”

The thought of any of them time traveling again makes bile rise up in Tony’s throat, but it seems inevitable. The reasoning is sound, and the thought of Natasha, alone and decaying at the bottom of the ravine, her blood the only warmth for miles--

It’s worse.

000

“I want you in the Iron Spider for this one, Peter,” Tony says, tearing his eyes away from the glass case before them as the team gathers for the snap.

Peter nods, and turns to walk out the door, before Rhodey adds, “If you run into Nebula, let her know we’re starting. I think she’ll want to be here. She’s been...quiet...” Rhodey trails off. “She’ll probably be glad to know we’re actually doing the snap today.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees. Once he’s out of the room and down the hall, the team begins discussing who should actually perform the snap. Peter rolls his eyes internally; Tony sent him away so he had no chance to volunteer.

Tony need not have feared. There is no part of Peter that wants to snap the gauntlet, as selfish as it may sound. Just having one stone in his pocket for less than an hour made Peter antsy. The stones are like nuclear bombs, infinitely worse than nuclear bombs, really, and they’ve brought six of those things together in close quarters. It’s Chernobyl just waiting to happen on a universal scale.

No, Peter doesn’t want to snap.

Peter eventually reaches the armory, and directs FRIDAY to let him into the Iron Spider suit.

“You with me, Karen?” Peter asks as the mask closes around his face.

“Right here, Peter.” Peter flexes his fingers, hops from toe to toe before doing a standing tuck to get used to the unfamiliar suit.

“Any idea where Nebula is?”

“Scanners show her in the atrium, Peter.”

The atrium? That’s...odd. Peter starts into a quick jog, both to warm himself up and to cross the compound more quickly. What could Nebula possibly need in the atrium? The time travel is finished, has been since the morning. She should really be more focused on the stones, the gauntlet, as she’s their best resource for--

“Neb?” Peter asks, stopping short and tilting his head to the side in question. The atrium before him is bathed in reds and oranges from the sun, setting through the wall of windows. Nebula’s back is to him, and she’s standing before the controls of the quantum portal. “What are you--?,”

All of Peter’s hairs stand on end.

He catches the knife just before it can collide with his throat.

“Oh, fuck,” Peter whispers, sprinting forward and springing into action. He shoots web after web around Nebula as he runs, trying desperately to pull her away from the controls. She cuts through the webs as quickly as he shoots them, growling as she leans forward, attempting to press the final button and open the portal once again. Peter flips over Nebula, after finally putting enough distance between her and the controls, and plants himself before the quantum tunnel as the final defense.

“Where’s our Nebula?” Peter snarls, hopping back to avoid another knife as it whizzes past his ear. “What have you done with her?” He shoots one web at the doppelganger Nebula, another into the rafters, and swings in a circle, binding her arms to her sides. Once she’s secured, Peter lands beside her and kicks her to the ground.

“That traitor will suffer a fate worse than death. And I shall smile, as Father rewards me for benefitting from all of your pitiful mistakes.” Evil Nebula smiles then, a horrible grimace like she doesn’t know how.

Peter turns around, mouth open in shock, as the controls light up and the quantum tunnel opens. “What! How--,”

It wasn’t a knife Nebula had thrown past his head. It was one of her fingers. And as they fought each other, the finger dragged its way over to the final button and booted up the controls.

Before Peter can even blink, an enormous gray blur bursts from the tunnel and breaks through the atrium ceiling.

“FRIDAY, Barn Door Protocol,” Peter screams, dragging the still bound Nebula from the falling debris of the atrium. “Patch me through to Tony!”

“Kid, where are--,”

“DO IT NOW!” Peter yells, eyes widening at the ship he watches materialize above them just before the windows seal themselves. “SNAP, YOU HAVE TO SNAP! THANOS IS FUCKING HERE!”

“Where--,” Tony begins urgently. Peter sprints down the hallways to the lab, Nebula still dragging behind him.

“WE BROUGHT BACK THE WRONG NEBULA, TWENTY-FOURTEEN THANOS IS HERE, HE’S IN A SHIP RIGHT ABOVE US, YOU HAVE TO--,”

Then, many things happen at once.

Thanos’ missiles begin bombarding the compound. The walls hold strong with their fortifications, but based on the shakes and thuds and falling dust, they will not last against the continuous blitz.

A wave of energy, hot air in his face and electricity up and down his spine, blows Peter onto his ass, meters back from the still downed Nebula. Peter lays back for a moment, too dazed to move, breath pulling in and out of his aching chest in heaving gasps. At first, he thinks one of the bombs has made it through the barricade. Then, an incoming call shows in the corner of his eye.

It’s from May.

“Peter,” the familiar voice gasps out desperately, and the tears come unbidden and immediately to his eyes. Five years. It’s been five years since he’s heard his aunt’s voice. “Peter, what the hell is happening? Are you alright? Are you still in space? Oh my god, baby, please be okay--,”

“May,” Peter sobs, but it all he gets to say. Because suddenly Nebula is on top of him, knife at his throat, and Tony is screaming in his ear to come in are you still there Pete, Pete, and the barn door protocols finally fail. Thanos’ bombs explode around them and everything goes black.

000

“Kid.” Peter wakes to a gentle but insistent hand tapping on his cheek. “Kiddo, c’mon, get up. We gotta get out of here.”

Peter groans and rolls over, finally opening his eyes. Everything is dark and craggy, surrounded by rubble. Somewhere behind him a red light is flashing. There are exposed and broken pipes all around, water trickling underneath his body. There’s a crackling sound running up and down the weird tunnel he finds himself in with--

“Clint.” Peter swallows thickly. “Where is everyone?”

“Dunno,” Clint admits grimly, and Peter’s eyes widen as he watches the man hike the infinity gauntlet under his arm in a better grip. Clint offers his other hand and Peter takes it, hauling himself up. Peter tries his comms, but the connection has been disrupted. All he gets is static

“Hold this,” Clint commands suddenly, thrusting the gauntlet into Peter’s hands. In a blink, he’s drawn an arrow, shooting a light down the tunnel behind them.

It’s fucking filled with aliens.

“Time to run, kid.”

For once, Peter does as he’s told.

000

It is a battle unlike any Peter has ever seen, or could have ever even imagined.

“AVENGERS!” Steve calls out to the army behind him, materializing from portals all across the universe. Thor’s hammer flies into his hand.

Hope rises in Peter, so hot and fast and overwhelming that he feels like he’s going to choke. His eyes dart from Sam to Bucky to T’Challa and Shuri. To Strange and Big Peter and Drax and Wanda and so many more. They’re here. They’re back. They’re all alive and fighting once again. “Assemble.”

Peter’s so hopped up on adrenaline and fear and pure joy, he doesn’t even feel the hits that come his way. There is no fatigue, there is no pain. There is no option but to win.

Because it they don’t, if Thanos defeats them again, there truly will be nothing left.

This is the endgame.

000

“Cap,” Clint shouts beside him as they sprint through the battlefield. The comms are back. “Cap, what do you want us to do with this damn thing?” The gauntlet is still in Peter’s arms, hugged to his chest as they run. Clint’s been watching his six, shooting arrows left, right and center to make sure he and the gauntlet are protected.

“Get those stones as far away as possible!” Steve shouts.

“No!” Bruce interjects, “We need to get them back where they came from. Peter said so!”

“No way to get ‘em back,” Tony reminds them all. “Thanos destroyed the quantum tunnel.”

“Hold on!” There’s a weird whooshing sound over the comms before Scott continues. “That wasn’t our only time machine!”

The echoing, annoying strains of “La Cucaracha” rise above the sounds of battle.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Clint pants. Peter can’t help but agree.

“Anyone see an ugly brown van out there?” Steve asks.

“Yes,” A British-accent answers. “But you‘re not going to like where it’s parked.”

“Scott, how long you need to get that thing working?” Tony asks.

“Maybe ten minutes?” It sounds like a question.

“Get it started,” Steve commands. “We’ll get the stones to you.”

“We’re on it, Cap,” an unfamiliar woman answers.

“Well, then,” Clint says, with a pointed look at Peter, “You heard the captain. Let’s go find that ugly-ass Ford.”

“Karen,” Peter whispers, as he looks at the aliens running toward them, one last salute to Clint before his mask closes around his face again. “Instant-kill mode.”

000

“I got this,” Peter says to himself as Karen spears the honestly ridiculous number of aliens mobbing him. “I got this.” He repeats. The aliens lift him up from the ground. “Okay, I don’t got this. Help! Somebody help!”

“Pete, heads up!” Steve shouts, before launching Mjolnir straight towards him. Peter catches it on his web, lets himself fly with the hammer, up and away from the fray.

It’s all working out really well. Until, of course, one of the tractor beams disintegrates his web and he starts falling back down to the world below.

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” Pepper says as she catches him, arm gripped tightly around his own, before she throws him up to the lady on the flying horse.

“Nice to meet you—OH MY GOD!” Peter shouts as they dive bomb the battlefield on a fucking pegasus, zigging and zagging rapidly to avoid the missiles raining on them from above.

Then, they too are hit and Peter is falling falling falling, the only real thing in the world the gauntlet clenched in his hands. The van, where’s the fucking van?

He hits the ground with a crunch, ribs groaning in protest. Peter rolls and dives to avoid being hit, scuttling like the arachnid he so callously named himself for, until finally curling around the gauntlet, hidden in the debris.

“Peter, where are you? Do you still have the gauntlet?”

“Yeah,” Peter groans back, “Yeah, I’m--,”

He’s interrupted by Carol fucking Danvers entering the atmosphere, completely decimating Thanos’ ship, and landing before him, not a hair out of place.

“Oh, thank you, God,” Peter whispers. He can’t even imagine what he looks like, curled up in a ball under a rock, bloody and sweaty and gross, gauntlet clutched protectively next to his face.

“I prefer ‘Carol’, but you’re welcome,” Carol says with a smirk, and offers a hand to pull Peter up. “You look like you’ve had quite the day, Peter Parker. I hear you have something for me?”

Peter gratefully hands away the gauntlet, before looking up at the gathered army before them, standing unflinchingly between them and the van. “I don’t know how you’re gonna get through all that, Cap.”

“Don’t worry,” Wanda says, landing at Peter’s side. The most powerful women in the universe gather around him, eyes grim and focused and ready to kill.

“She’s got help.”

000

The van is gone.

Steve is down.

Tony is down.

Carol is down.

Thanos has the gauntlet.

“No!” Peter shrieks as the man raises his hand to snap them all to dust. He webs Thanos’ arm, pulls it backward as tight as he can before throwing himself on Thanos’ back. His own hands grope frantically for the gauntlet, struggling for purchase as he tries to slip it off the man’s wrist.

Peter senses before he sees the great purple fist about to slam into his head. It is fast enough that he’ll probably be knocked unconscious when it makes contact. It could even break his neck.

If Peter doesn’t get these stones away and stop Thanos right the fuck now, the universe is literally going to end.

How the hell did he end up with this reality?

You have more power than you realize, Peter Parker.

The gauntlet won’t budge and the fist is coming closer and Peter suddenly remembers the trick Thanos pulled with Carol and the power stone. He realizes he doesn’t need all the stones to stop the snap in this moment.

He just needs one.

000

Steve wakes to the sound of a horrible moan. With a grunt, he sits up and turns around to see Tony a few feet away, his arms cradling Peter to his chest. Peter’s eyes are wide and unseeing, his neck lolling at an odd angle.

He looks tiny in death. Incredibly young.

“No,” Tony moans. “Please, Peter, please, please, no. No.” It is the most awful, the most heartbreaking sound Steve has ever had the misfortune to hear.

“He was a foolish child,” Thanos says, gauntlet once again on his wrist, arm raised to snap. “It is a waste of time to fight against the inevitable.”

Steve is mustering what strength he has left to rise, locking away his own ineffable grief and preparing to take his last stand when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye.

It’s....Peter?

But...

Steve looks quickly from the living Peter to the dead one in Tony’s arms, and notices the red tinge surrounding the dead Peter. The same red tinge, he realizes, is around the gauntlet on Thanos’ arm.

Living Peter has the gauntlet in one hand, the reality stone in the other. As Thanos makes to snap his fingers with the imaginary gauntlet, Peter’s face screws up in a grimace and he takes a heaving breath.

Peter’s going to use the gauntlet, make Thanos and his army vanish.

Steve remembers the burns up and down Bruce’s arm and face, the agony in his eyes, the way he’d fallen to the ground in shock when it was over.

The Hulk barely survived snapping the gauntlet.

Peter won’t.

Steve doesn’t question how or why he can see beyond the reality stone’s powers. Maybe it’s the serum. Maybe it’s the hammer in his hands, the god-like power it has given him. Maybe there is just some part of Peter Parker that wants to been seen, to be stopped. To be saved.

Whatever the reason, Steve points Mjolnir forward and flies to where Peter has hidden himself. He snatches the gauntlet and the stone easily from Peter’s trembling hands and lands next to him, before replacing the reality stone in the gauntlet and slipping it immediately on his right hand.

The power of it brings Steve to his knees. He’s reminded viscerally of being injected with the serum and his own transformation so long ago.

“Sorry, Queens,” Steve bites out, looking up into Peter’s shocked face. Beyond Peter’s shoulder, Thanos is running toward them, outrage and terror warring in his features. Steve meets the monster’s horrified gaze. “Fuck you, Thanos.”

Steve snaps.

000

Chapter Text

000 

Steve opens his eyes and everything is orange.  

He’s standing instead of kneeling, still in his uniform, arm still raised to snap, but the gauntlet is simply gone. He flexes his finger at the lack of constriction then cricks his neck from side to side. He feels oddly...good. Peaceful.  

Steve looks across the orange expanse and suddenly finds himself sprinting, splashing through the odd water that seems to make up the surface of this strange place. Because Nat is there, she’s right there, standing before him, arms relaxed, hair long and red, wearing jeans and the old hoodie Peter had put on just this morning.  

He hesitates for a moment once he reaches her, suddenly terrified that it’s all in his head. She’s not here, his arms will pass through her like a ghost, an apparition of the wish in his heart.  

Natasha smiles that smile, the happy and honest one that makes her eyes crinkle with mirth, reaches out her hand and grips his forearm, like she knew exactly what he was thinking. Her hand is warm.  

Steve lets out a strangled sound, half a laugh, half a sob, before throwing his arms around her and hugging her close.  

“So, you did it, huh?” Natasha asks softly into his chest. Steve swallows thickly and buries his face in her hair. It smells like honey, like the shampoo she always used. He’s holding her so tightly it must hurt, it has to, but Nat doesn’t comment, just looks up at him expectantly.  

“Yes.” Steve says finally. “I did.” 

Natasha pulls away then, and Steve nearly protests, before both of her warm hands reach to cup his face.  

“What did it cost?” 

Steve looks down into her green eyes and blinks back his tears. He and Nat had a good thing going. They’ve spent years looking after each other, watching one another’s backs.  

Saving each other.  

But life is not infinite and the world is not fair. All good things must come to an end.  

Steve leans his head down, rests his forehead against Natasha’s, and closes his eyes.  

“Us.”  

000 

000 

000 

000 

000 

Steve blinks and he is back on his knees, back in the dirt, right fist raised in a snap before him.  

Then, the agony hits, and Steve crumples to his side, body curled completely around the gauntleted wrist clutched to his chest. He gags as the smells of scorched hair, of burned flesh reach his nose.  

It’s him, he realizes suddenly. The gauntlet is melting into his arm.  

The realization ratchets up the pain exponentially and Steve’s mouth opens in a soundless scream.  

The fire is spreading through his body, licking up and down his veins, a thin wretched mockery of the serum that once changed his life so irrevocably. This fire travels quickly, like a disease, an infestation of the soul, lighting up every organ and nerve and cell in his body, wrecking him. Destroying all that he is.  

Steve is not Thanos. Steve is not the Hulk.  

Steve is human. He is fragile and breakable and finite, but for the serum the stones seem to be so effortless burning away.  

He’s dying.  

“Steve. Steve,” Peter gasps out, turning him over onto his back. Steve can’t help strangled moan he emits. Every hand on his body, every tiny movement feels like touching a livewire.  

Peter takes one look at the gauntlet on Steve’s right hand, resting now on the ground beside him, and swallows thickly, holding back his gag. He places both hands gently of either side of Steve’s head and turns his gaze away from the mangled, melting arm. Beyond Peter’s head, Steve can see ashes once again rising in the sky.  

“You did it,” Peter rasps, eyes watery, face bloody and dusty and alive. Peter is alive. Peter is still here. “We won, Steve. You did it. You did it. Why did you do it?” he gasps, a tear finally cutting through the dirt on his face. “Why, Steve? I was going to--,” 

“You’re gonna be the best of us, Pete.” Steve’s voice is soft, barely a whisper. His throat feels like it, too, is coated in ash. He lifts up his left hand and weakly grabs at Peter’s wrist. Peter lets out a soft sob at the touch. “You already are. The world needs you, kiddo.” 

More than it needs me. Steve thinks. He’s done his part.  

“Steve,” Peter sobs. “You’ll be okay, we’ll fix it, we can, Tony—Tony!” Peter shouts desperately behind him, and suddenly Tony is there, holding Steve’s head while Peter grips his hand with a fist like iron.  

“Jesus Christ,” Tony breathes, idly brushing a hand through Steve’s hair, avoiding the burns on the side of his face. “Okay,” Tony finally says, voice strangled, “It’s okay—we'll, we’ll, Strange can help, and Cho will be back now, we can take you to—,” 

“Tony--,” 

“To Wakanda, they’ll be able to patch you up, it’ll all be just fine, buddy--,” 

“Tony--,” 

“Don’t worry about a thing--,” 

“Tony.” Steve tries to say his name firmly, but it ends up sounding more like a wheeze. He looks up again, to find Strange standing at Peter’s shoulder. The man meets his eyes and nods once solemnly. Steve swallows thickly, accepting. “You gotta let me go, Tony.” 

Tony lets out a choked laugh. “Don’t be stupid, you’ll be fine, Cap, we can--,” 

“I-it’s burning through the serum, I can feel it.” Steve stops to cough wetly. Tony’s eyes widen at the moisture on his lips. Peter’s hand grips his even tighter. “You can’t save me.” The tears that have been threatening since he left Nat behind finally fall. “Y-you have to let me go. Tony--,” Then Steve’s chest is on fire, too, his heart is racing like a steam engine, his lungs are working too hard, like the asthma is back and his arm is ready to just fall off, he wishes it would, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much, maybe he should just close his eyes and stop and-- 

“Okay,” Tony soothes. Steve realizes he’s been saying that for a while, running his hand through Steve’s hair the whole time. “Okay, Steve. It’s--it’s okay.” Tony’s voice breaks.  

“Sam,” Steve asks suddenly. “Where’s--where’s Sam?”  

“Right here, buddy,” Sam says quietly to his right, wings retracted as he crouches beside him. His goggles are on his head, revealing his wide, wet eyes. His hand is on Steve’s right knee, alternating between patting and rubbing comforting circles with his thumb.  

He's here. He’s alive.  

“I missed you,” Steve confesses, and Sam looks to the sky to stave off his tears. “Shield, I-I, I need my shield--,”  

“It broke--,” Peter says softly to his left, but Tony shushes him.  

“We’ll make you a new one, Cap, don’t worry about it. Shiny and perfect, get some more vibranium from your friend, T’Challa,” Tony interrupts, voice forcedly chipper. 

“Give it to Sam,” Steve commands, adding all the strength he can muster to his voice. 

“Steve--,” the hand on his knee is nearly painful.  

“It should b-be you,” Steve explains softly, head rolling back to Sam. “N-not a perfect solder. A good--good man.”  

Sam bows his head for a moment, before finally looking up to meet his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”   

“That’s why it’s yours,” Steve gasps, before arching his back as another wave of fire hits. Tony holds his head steady so it never hits the ground. “Buck--,” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Pepper wraps her arms around Peter from behind and gently drags him back. Bucky takes up Peter’s post, grips Steve’s hand just as tight.  

“Hey, Stevie.”  

God, when is the last time anybody called him ‘Stevie’?  

Only Bucky. Always Bucky.  

“’m sorry, Bucky, I’m so sorry--,” 

“None of that now,” Bucky interrupts with a sniff, reaching his metal arm to wipe the tears off Steve’s face. “No apologies, and no goodbyes between us. Don’t you go breaking the streak.” 

“Can you—next to Ma?” Steve asks breathlessly. It’s getting harder to talk, harder to breathe.  

The world is going white around the edges.  

“Of course, buddy. ‘Course we will. I’ll make sure of it.” 

Steve closes his eyes. “I think this is the end of the line.” 

The metal hand moves from his face to rest over the star on his heart. “Nah, I’ll see you again.” Steve opens his eyes to find a sad smile on Bucky’s face. “We always end up finding each other. I thought you learned that by now.” 

The world is growing soft and white. Steve can’t see Peter or Pepper or his mangled arm or the ashes of their foe rising up to the skies, just like their friends so long ago. He can’t see Strange bowing his head, or Thor crying or Clint falling to his knees. He can’t see Scott clutching Hope van Dyne’s arm simply to keep himself upright, or T’Challa wrapping up his little sister in a hug.  

There’s only Bucky, Bucky’s grim smile, his blue eyes, his hand in Steve’s. There’s Sam’s comforting hand on his knee and Tony’s continuous brush through his hair.  

It’s much easier to die when you’re not alone.  

Somewhere behind him, the faint sound of trumpets rises from a record player.  

“Bucky,” Steve breathes.  

“I’ll be okay, Stevie.” Bucky says it softly, but his voice is firm. Warm. Bucky has always been so warm. “We’ll all be okay. You can rest now.” 

And then there are voices all at once and not at all You’re late my darling Oh my sweet Steve It‘s a hope I’m proud of you son I made the right choice   

You’re late  

You’re late  

You’re late  

And the world is white then the blue of the sky matches the blue of Bucky’s eyes and nothing really makes sense but everything does and the trumpets are blaring and it feels like a hug like a friend like a kiss like the sun like love love love and the world no long hurts and for the first time in a very long time 

Steve Rogers is not afraid.  

000 

000 

000 

000 

000 

Tony watches silently, heart in his throat, as the light fades from Steve Rogers’ eyes.  

“Life functions at zero, Boss,” FRIDAY finally reports. It’s his vision, Tony suddenly realizes. This was his vision from Wanda, all those years ago. Steve, dead in the rubble, eyes unseeing, body bloody and broken, his shield cracked at his side.  

Tony shifts his hand down from Steve’s hair and shuts his eyes.  

Beside him, Bucky Barnes bows his head, one hand still on Steve’s heart while the other grips his hand. “Requiem aeternam dona, Steven,” he whispers, “Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ei. Requiescat in pace. Amen.” 

“Eternal rest grant unto, Steven, Oh Lord,” Carol translates from behind Sam, “Let the perpetual light shine upon him. May his soul, and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God rest in peace.” 

“Amen,” Sam mumbles, looking shell-shocked, hand still on Steve’s knee.  

The reflections of the fires around them dance and wink on the gauntlet, molded to Steve’s right hand. Mocking them all.  

“He wants to be buried by his ma,” Bucky finally says, not looking away from Steve’s face. “His dad, too. They’re in—it's,” Bucky face screws up in a grimace. “I can’t remember. Shit, shit, I just fucking promised, I can’t, I can’t--Jesus fucking Christ--,”  

“Holy Cross,” Peter says softly, resting a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “They’re buried in Holy Cross Cemetery in Brooklyn.”  

Tony watches as something in Bucky finally breaks at the sight of Peter, this scrap of a boy wearing red and blue, with his gentle voice and fists of steel. He bows forward to Steve’s unmoving chest, head in his hands and starts to cry.  

Tony can’t blame him; Peter has always reminded him of Steve, too. 

000 

000 

000 

000 

000 

Eventually, someone decides that Tony and Pepper’s house is the most logical place to reconvene and regroup. Peter supposes it makes sense; the rest of them don’t have any life-threatening injuries and all major hospitals are probably overrun by people coming back from the snap. The lake house has lots of space, both inside and out, it’s very private and out of the way, and it has Tony’s lab.  

Because they still need to figure out how to get the gauntlet and infinity stones safely off Steve’s....off Steve.  

The only reason that matters to Peter, though, is standing in her rainbow fish pajamas on the porch with her shocked babysitter when they all cross through Dr. Strange’s portal.  

“Morgan!” Peter yelps, finally breaking away from Pepper’s iron-like grip, and sprinting to the porch, “Morgan,” he breathes when he reaches her, crouching down to her level. She makes no move to hug him, though, eyes wide. Peter suddenly realizes how frightening he must look, covered in dirt and blood and bruises.  

“I knew it,” Morgan whispers, clutching her stuffed rabbit closer to her chest. “I knew you had to be Spider-Man. He’s the best, and you’re the best, I knew it had to be you.” 

Then Peter is sitting on the porch with Morgan in his lap, hugging her close as he cries into her hair. Then Pepper’s sitting on the porch, too, with her arms wrapped around them both, alternating between kissing their heads. Then Tony is there, kneeling on the other side of Peter, one hand on Peter’s cheek, the other on Morgan’s, holding them like they are precious, like they’re the best things that ever happened to him. Then-- 

A familiar Audi pulls up in the commotion of the rest of the Avengers, the once sleek black surface covered in dust and water stains. From the passenger door emerges a frantic May Parker. Happy is not far behind her.  

“Peter!” May shouts, pushing and shoving her way through the remains of Earth’s mightiest heroes. “Oh, Peter,” she breathes, when she finally gets to the porch, sees him huddled on the ground with the family he found in her absence.  

Peter cannot speak around the lump in his throat. He can barely see May through the tears in his eyes. Instead, he reaches up a hand to May and pulls her down to join the hug.  

For the first time in five years, Peter Parker feels complete.  

Chapter Text

“Are you ready?” Bruce asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he looks up from the control station.  

Peter checks in his belt once more; the emerald green of the time stone glints back at him, same as it did when he last checked it a minute ago. He looks up at the team surrounding him, so similar to the original, yet stark in its differences.  

Rocket and Nebula have opted to abstain from this temporal voyage, leaving Thor and Rhodey to bring back the reality and power stones alone. Thor swings his hammer once before giving Bruce a thumbs up. Rhodey just rolls his eyes at the show.  

Scott grins, Loki’s scepter, the mind stone already replaced, clutched firmly in his hand. Tony sighs to Peter’s right, ugly old tie back on and briefcase in hand. “As I’ll ever be,” he mutters, his knuckles on the briefcase handle white.  

Across from Peter, Sam gives a stiff nod, before turning to his left and facing Clint. “You sure you want to do this? I can--,” 

“I’m coming,” Clint says firmly. “I want to be there to bring her home.”  

Peter swallows thickly, his throat dry. The last time they did this, it had been the beginning, full of terror, yet brimming with hope.  

Now, it is the end. This is the cleanup of their mess, the clipping of the branched realities they’ve unwillingly created.  

There is no pep talk from Steve. There is no wink from Natasha. There is only the resolve to finally finish what they all started so long ago.  

“Let’s do this,” Peter finally says, and their helmets materialize around their heads.  

In a blink, they are gone. 

000 

“I had hoped you would be one to keep your promises,” the Sorcerer Supreme says lightly, before turning away from the boy swinging back to Midtown to face him.  

With careful fingers, Peter picks the time stone out of his pocket and offers it up. He watches silently as the stone flies through the air between them and is locked back away in the amulet.  

“I told you we would win.”  

The sorcerer tilts her head, eyeing him critically. Whatever she finds makes her eyes soften.  

“But you have also lost. I am sorry, Peter.” 

There is no pity in her voice or her eyes. Only sympathy and deep, tangible sense of understanding. Peter swallows thickly and looks away, back to the smoke rising over Midtown. She steps forward, and grips his shoulder with one of her slim hands.  

“Strange his back,” Peter says finally, still unable to meet her eyes. “He--we were right. This was one of the two possibilities to win. We did it right.” 

Peter doesn’t want to talk about the other outcome. Just the thought of it will give him nightmares the rest of his life. He’s still angry with Strange for even telling him.  

He’s furious with Strange for telling Tony.  

“Just so,” she says simply.  

“You saved my life.” Peter looks up again, meets the striking, impassive face head-on. “Thank you.”  

The hand on his shoulder squeezes again, tight but gentle. “The world needs you, Peter Parker. It is nowhere near finished with you yet.”  

000 

Peter lands with a thud back on the platform in the woods, and sucks in his first full breath of the day as he takes stock of the people surrounding him. He watches as Tony’s frantic eyes find his own, before his shoulders sag in relief. They all made it this time. 

Even Natasha.  

Small is never a word Peter would think to use to describe Natasha Romanoff. She was always larger than life, stronger, faster and smarter than any of them could even comprehend. But she looks small now, small and broken, cradled limply in Clint’s arms. The blood on her head would be hidden by her hair, if not for the drops falling steadily on the platform.   

Peter looks up at the tree boughs rustling with the wind, trying and failing to stave off his tears.  

Tony’s arms are around him, pulling him into a hug before the tears have a chance to fall.  

000 

Steve’s funeral had a been a grand affair, held just ten days after the final battle. Congress had immediately approved that Captain America be given the honor of lying in state at the Capitol. All eyes had turned to Peter at the announcement, who found himself unexpectedly and shockingly named official executor of Steve’s will and estate in the wake of Natasha’s death.  

“I don’t--,” Bucky had coughed, his eyes bright. “I don’t think Steve would want to leave New York again.”  

“Then he won’t.” Peter said simply.   

That didn’t stop Steve’s funeral from becoming a spectacle. It was held in St. Patrick’s cathedral, officiated by the cardinal. Fifth avenue had to be shut down, packed for blocks both ways with mourners in the streets. President Ellis delivered Captain America’s eulogy.  

Sam Wilson delivered Steve’s.  

Then, when the service finally ended, Peter found himself riding behind a hearse for the third time in his young life, Aunt May clutching his hand tightly as she had for the first two times. Tony, Morgan and Pepper sat to his left, with Bucky, Sam, and Thor across from them in the limo.  

The trip had been silent to Holy Cross, the streets shut down by police officers and lined all the way with people. People holding American flags, people holding replica shields. Children on parents’ shoulders dressed in red white and blue with stars over their hearts. Men and women in uniform offering one last salute to America’s best and most famous captain.  

At the cemetery, there had been a 21-gun salute. A troop of bagpipers had played Amazing Grace. The cardinal said more prayers, Pepper recited a poem, Sam, Carol and Rhodey stepped forward to join the honor guard and fold the flag, which they had presented to Bucky. Off in the distance, someone played a haunting rendition of Taps.  

Then, Thor had stood, voice booming, and informed them all that Steve was now feasting in the halls of Valhalla, for he had died a good and honorable death. A warrior’s death. There had been unpleasant rumblings from the priests and cardinals present at the god’s proclamation. To Peter’s right, Tony had hastily stifled a snigger with a loud cough.  

Much too soon, Peter had been prodded forward. A kindly groundskeeper pointed him to the pile of dirt left of the hole in the ground. Peter had sniffed loudly and grimaced, and the tears he’d been fighting back all day began to fall. He’d crouched down and picked up a handful of loose dirt.  

“Bye, Brooklyn.” Peter had whispered, listening as the clods of dirt landed with a resounding thud on the coffin’s lid below.  

As he walked back to his family, tears trailing down his cheeks, Peter had been stopped by a warm hand on his arm. The President of the United States had squeezed Peter’s shoulder comfortingly and handed him his handkerchief.  

Not even that could make Peter smile.  

000 

Natasha’s funeral is the polar opposite of Steve’s.  

They bury her on the Barton’s farm, in a field of wildflowers. Little Nathaniel Barton sings a song he wrote himself about his favorite Auntie Nat. Morgan joins in, making up the words as she goes along, and Nathaniel smiles.  

Lila, Cooper and Clint line up by a nearby pond and shoot flaming arrows into a makeshift funeral barge. Thor nods his head approvingly.  

Nick Fury delivers the eulogy. Peter swears he sees a tear slip down from under the eye patch.  

They all go inside the farmhouse, get drunk on Nat’s favorite vodka, and tell their best stories about her, laughing and crying in equal measure.  

Clint finally reveals to them all what really happened in Budapest.  

Late into the night, the Guardians go outside and shoot off fireworks. Princess Shuri eagerly joins in once she realizes what they’re doing, adding her own explosives and lasers to the show.  

They all sit in the grass, Natasha Romanoff’s friends, her family, and watch the display in her honor explode against the night sky.  

Peter had been angry earlier. Angry that Natasha was not getting the recognition Steve had been given, the recognition she deserved. Angry that the world didn’t seem to understand how good and brave and selfless Natasha Romanoff had been, how much the universe owed her.  

But as he sees the crowd gathered in the lawn watching the fireworks above them, all the people she loved together again because of her sacrifice, Peter knows this is exactly the sendoff Natasha would have wanted.  

It’s what Steve would have wanted, too. 

000 

Peter wakes up earlier than usual the next morning, and pads down the stairs into the kitchen to arguing voices.  

“I know you have it, Stark,” Dr. Strange bites out, his anthropomorphic cape whipping merrily around his shoulders. “And I’d like to make a trade.” 

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about there, Gandalf,” Tony says as he pours his coffee. “You want some?” He asks, holding out the carafe to Strange. “Some OJ maybe? Blood of a virgin? I’m not sure what you like to drink in the morning.” 

Strange rolls his eyes. “I’m not a vampire, Stark. Now, give me the Tesseract.”  

“What?” Peter gasps from the doorway, eyes wide. “Tony, you didn’t--why didn’t you--,” 

Tony’s face screws up in a grimace. “I did return the Tesseract we stole, took it back to Lehigh in seventy. But then....” 

“He stole another from nineteen forty-three,” Strange finishes. “I thought you might like to know the results of your meddling,” he adds, indicating a small wooden box sat on the counter. “This showed up at my house last night. The letter inside is addressed to you.”  

“I’m not giving you the Tesseract,” Tony says firmly. “I’m going to ask Wanda to destroy it.” 

“But--,” 

“Steve always said we should have left it in the ocean. Said it was more trouble than it was worth. He was right. Any good you hope will come from that thing is going to bite you in the ass, Strange.” 

Strange and Tony proceed to have a staring contest across the counter. Strange breaks eye-contact first; Tony smiles.  

“Fine.” he growls, before pushing the wooden box forward. “Here, just take it, it’s yours.” he says, before turning around and swiftly leaving the kitchen. The cape flares dramatically behind him.  

Peter waits a moment before running after him.  

“Hey, wait! Dr. Strange, wait, wait up, you--,” Peter nearly runs into the man’s back when he opens the door to the porch. “Hey.” he says stupidly. Dr. Strange steps back and raises an eyebrow.  

“I met the Sorcerer Supreme with the yellow robes, the one before you in twenty-twelve, she gave me the time stone,” Peter says breathlessly. Dr. Strange’s other eyebrow raises. He tilts his head.  

 “Yes...?” Peter takes a deep breath and refrains from rolling his eyes. This guy is such an asshole.  

“Look she just—she said that you were meant to be the best of them all. I figured it might—I don’t know, I thought you might like to hear it. She believed in you, even when you weren’t...well, you yet.”  

Peter looks up finally, and is astonished to find Dr. Strange’s eyes bright with tears. He rubs his face with a scarred, shaking hand.  

“Thank you, Peter.” Strange takes a shuddering breath. “I hope you realize, in both realities where we won, you...You’re the linchpin Peter. You, the relationships you have, the people you love who love you back so dearly—it's the only reason we’re all here. None of this would have been possible without you.” 

Peter stands on the porch long after Strange opens a portal and disappears, lost in thought.  

000 

Peter eventually returns to the kitchen and finds Tony sitting on a stool at the counter, his head in his hands. There’s a stack of papers resting in his lap. 

“Tony,” Peter gasps out, racing to him, “Tony, what’s--,” 

Peter stops abruptly when Tony looks up, tears in his eyes and a wide grin on his face. “Read it,” he rasps, handing Peter the paper from the top of the stack. It’s a letter.   

Peter’s breath catches in his throat; he knows the handwriting better than his own. It’s the handwriting on the shopping list stuck with a magnet to the fridge in their Brooklyn apartment, the one Peter hasn’t yet mustered the courage to enter again. It’s the handwriting of the note inscribed on the front cover of the book Peter got last Christmas, the neat cursive that signs the rent checks because I don’t trust that Venmo bullshit, Pete, It's the handwriting in his birthday cards, on the notes beside the phone, the post-its reminding him they’re out of milk it’s-- 

Dear Tony,   

Dr. Strange says when you read this, it will only be a few  days  after we parted.   

For you, at least. For me, it has been a lifetime.   

I know now that it was you, Tony, who saved me from that icy grave. For the longest time, I really believed you were something otherworldly, an avenging angel sent to re-write the mistakes of the universe.   

I suppose I wasn’t completely wrong.   

Imagine my surprise, though, as I watched my own godson slowly grow to resemble the man who’d changed my fate. Imagine my shock, when he showed me the first prototype of the Iron Man suit. We live in a universe bigger than any of us could have comprehended, in an age full of miracles. The idea of time travel is not so strange anymore. If anyone can solve the mysteries of time and space, it’s you.   

You always were such an extraordinary child, Tony. You’re an extraordinary man, too, an extraordinary father, brother, mentor and friend. I’m incredibly proud of you. I can’t imagine that changing from one universe to the next.   

I know you didn’t do this for me. You did this for the Steve you lost, the man who went into the ice and wasn’t found for seventy years. He is not me and, because of you, I am not him. But still, I must thank you. Thank you for loving your friend enough to save me. Thank you for the beautiful life you allowed me to live.    

I promise you, I didn’t waste it.   

Love Always,   

Steve  

“You went back,” Peter croaks, “You saved him from the ice.” 

Tony licks his lips, nods his head. “I told him Bucky was alive. I uh—I told him Natasha Romanoff was important, that he had to protect her. Told him never to trust Zola. And then I--,” 

“Took the Tesseract to create a new reality,” Peter whispers, unable to contain the awe in his voice. 

Tony grins again. “He sent pictures.”  

The first is a black and white photograph of a wedding party. Steve looks young and happy and in love, standing in his dress uniform, staring down adoringly at a beautiful woman with dark hair, her lips pulled up in smirk, eyes crinkling as she laughs.  

Peter does a double-take when he realizes the handsome dark-haired man in dress uniform with one empty sleeve, his hair cropped short and a grin on his face, standing in as Steve’s best man is none other than Bucky Barnes. 

Steve and Peggy’s wedding, June 1946 the back of the photo reads.  

The second picture must’ve been taken a few years later, because it’s a family portrait. Steve and Peggy are seated on a couch. Steve has a dark-haired toddler boy sitting on his lap. Peggy is cradling a baby with curly black hair in her arms.  

A little blonde-haired girl with freckles across her nose and two braids in her hair grins widely at the camera as she stands in the middle of the couch, an arm slung around both her parents’ necks. She’s missing her two front teeth.  

The Rogers family, October 1952  

Steve, Peggy, Sarah, Michael and Jimmy  

Some time has passed for Steve from the family portrait to the next in the stack. It’s a color photo this time, showing off the gray streaks in Steve’s hair, the smile lines around his mouth and eyes. He’s holding another tiny boy with dark curly hair; the toddler has one hand tightly bunched in the sleeve of Steve’s shirt, the other arm waving about a tiny plastic Captain America shield.  

Peter wonders for a moment if the boy is one of Steve’s grandchildren, until Tony sees the photo, gasps, then barks out a laugh.  

“Oh my God,” he whispers. Peter flips over the picture.  

Tony and Uncle Steve, Summer 1972  

Peter laughs so hard tears spring in his eyes. Tony slings an arm around his shoulder.  

The next photo is actually part of a newspaper clipping. It’s from the Times, showing a ballerina in a perfect arabesque, her tutu white against the black background, her bright red hair, tied back in a neat bun, the only color. “Natasha Stark named principal ballerina of the American Ballet Theatre”. 

Natasha Stark, daughter of billionaire Howard Stark and his wife, Maria, has been named the youngest ever principal ballerina of the prestigious American Ballet Theatre....  

Peter has to read the headline twice before he fully comprehends it.  

“My parents must have adopted her,” Tony rasps, his finger unthinkingly tracing the name, “Dad said he wanted a little girl...” Tony trails off.  

...An extraordinary father, brother, mentor and friend.  

The last photo is of a large group, obviously taken within the last decade or two, based on the picture quality. A much older looking Steve and Peggy sit in chairs at the center, holding hands and smiling widely. They both have gray hair.  

They’re surrounded by a multitude of people; Peter doesn’t recognize half of them, but the smiles, the curls, the dimples and noses make it easy to realize they must be Steve and Peggy’s family. And the rest-- 

“We’re all there,” Peter whispers. “All of us. How...” he trails off, staring at the familiar faces. Natasha, Tony, Pepper, Morgan, Thor, Rhodey, Bruce, Clint and his family, Sam, the Guardians, Dr. Strange, Wong, Fury, Scott, the Pyms, Wanda, T’Challa, Shuri, Okoye, and so many others. And, just left of center-- 

“Oh,” Peter breathes, tears welling in his eyes. “Oh.” he whispers, pointing a shaking finger to the family of three just off Steve’s shoulder. “That’s--,” 

“Your parents.” Tony finishes softly, before flipping the picture over.  

Director Carter’s 90th birthday party, April 9, 2011  

“How is it—How do we all...” Peter trails off.  

“Maybe,” Tony says, gently stacking the pictures and gingerly placing them back in the box on the counter, “Some things are just universal constants.” 

Peter knows that the letter, the pictures and the happiness and well-wishes sent are not from their Steve. Their Steve is dead and gone, just like Natasha, and nothing is going to change that in this universe.  

But Peter cannot lie and say that knowing there is a universe where Steve and Natasha (and his parents) are alive and happy and loved the way they always should have been does not give him peace.  

000 

Life moves on. There are ups, and there are downs. Bringing everyone back does not suddenly make the world perfect.  

But the world has never been perfect. Now, there is just more life. More joy. More love and hope and noise and dreams.  

The world is loud and full and has just as many problems as it did before.  

Yet now, there are twice as many heads, twice as many hearts to solve them.  

000 

Aunt May is very displeased when she discovers that Peter dropped out of MIT after one year.  

“You WHAT?” she screeches. Tony and Pepper have the gall to look smug. Peter rolls his eyes.  

“I’ll go back soon,” Peter promises with a shrug to his shoulders. “There are just some things I need to do first.” 

000 

Seeing Ned and MJ is harder than Peter ever expected. Peter had missed them horribly, had thought about them every day of their absence and yet... 

Seeing them makes him feel very old.  

“Is it true you and Captain America were roommates? I still can’t believe you got adopted by Tony Stark, dude.” Ned continues immediately, awe in his voice as he looks up at Peter, “And you’re taller than MJ now, oh my God, it’s not like you’re tall, but you’re like...average at least.” 

“Just what every guy wants to hear, thanks buddy,” Peter says, smirking at MJ.  

MJ blushes.  

She blushes.   

Something in Peter’s heart freezes fast and sinks to the ground. Because he’s twenty, nearly twenty-one now, and Ned and MJ are still sixteen. They’ve got years of high school still ahead of them, driver’s tests and decathlons and SATs. They have milestones before them, memories to make, dances to go to, books to read and people to meet, and Peter’s already done all of it miserably without them.  

They will always be friends. Peter promises himself that, carves a little place in his heart for it as he fumbles his way through the secret handshake with Ned he hasn’t done in five years.  

They will always be friends. Peter holds MJ close and feels tears on his shoulder that she tries to hide from Ned because MJ understands. She’s come to the same realization as Peter.  

They will always be friends.  

But it will never be the same.  

000 

Bucky, Sam, Pepper and May help Peter go through Steve’s things. Morgan is also there, but she’s mostly moral support.  

Steve’s things end up in three piles: Donate, save for themselves, and Smithsonian.  

Not for the first time, Peter realizes he has an extraordinarily odd life.  

As they move and sort, Bucky tells stories of stickball in the street, Christmas trees with candles, back alley fights, and the cartoons Steve used to draw for him.  

Sam talks about his maddening morning jogs with Steve, their escapades across Europe, searching for Bucky. The time they tried to make apple cake on Steve’s birthday and ended up setting Sam’s mother’s kitchen on fire.  

Peter adds his own stories to the mix, of morning jogs that turned into races through the park, their petty arguments over who did the laundry. He informs them of Steve’s love of pad thai and cold brew and ‘The Office’, of the trips they took once a month on Sunday afternoons, first to the florist, then to visit each of their parents.  

When Peter tells them about Steve’s support group at the VA, Sam starts to cry.  

Morgan and May find a lockbox stuffed between Steve’s mattress and box spring. It’s filled with $245,637 in cold hard cash. Pepper counts it twice.  

“Jesus Christ.” 

“What did you expect? We grew up during the Depression, he wouldn’t put all his money in the bank. Plus, he was prepared if he ever had to run,” Bucky says knowingly.  

Everyone is silent for a minute at that.  

Finally, Pepper breaks the silence and hands the box off to Peter. “Technically, it’s yours.” Peter’s eyes widen, and he pushes the box toward Bucky and Sam.  

“He’d want you to have it. You would have it if you hadn’t been...well, you know....”  

“Remembering we were dust, so to dust we did return?”  

“Yeah.”  

Bucky pulls the box securely into his hands. Sam raises his eyebrows.  

“Just because I wasn’t making grabby hands for the cash doesn’t mean I don’t expect my cut, Barnes.” 

Bucky flips him off with his metal hand, and begins to count the cash with the other hand for himself. Peter covers Morgan’s eyes and smiles.   

000 

“I was so worried about teaching you how to shave,” May mutters one night as they sit on the porch, just the two of them. Fireflies light up the lawn as they watch, the sky turning a pretty purple with the nearly set sun.  

“I knew Ben already had the whole birds and bees stuff done with you, we talked about it, but shaving...” May trails off, swills her wine around her glass before taking a sip. “Ben didn’t cover that.  

“I mean, you were so tiny, Peter, seemed like you were never gonna hit puberty. I probably had more hair on my upper lip than you when you were fourteen. Then Ben died, and one of the first things I thought, it’s so stupid, but one of the first realizations I had was shit. Who is going to teach this kid how to shave his face?”  

“I mean, honestly, I definitely have a higher quantity of experience shaving, most women do, with the legs and the armpits and the...other things. But there’s a finesse to shaving a face, a system. Ben had this like—ritual. He didn’t even want to shave, no matter how scruffy, if he ran out of his special soap, it was so stupid.” May sniffs, runs a hand underneath her nose.  

“I watched some YouTube videos on it. Read reviews on good soaps and creams to use so you wouldn’t break out. I didn’t want you to ever be that kid with the stupid uneven rat whiskers, but I also really didn’t want you to be the kid with the uncomfortable red razor bumps.” 

May snorts suddenly, and takes another gulp of wine. “And then Tony Stark waltzes into your life, and I’m like, hey, he’s got a nice beard. This guy knows how to shave. Maybe he’ll be able to help Peter when the time comes.” 

Peter doesn’t say anything. He just sits beside May, arm around her shoulder, and listens.  

“It feels like one of those whiny country songs. ‘Don’t blink, or five years will pass and you’ll miss your child become an adult. It’ll be the most heartbreaking experience of your life and it’s not your fault.” May rests her head on Peter’s shoulder. She might be a little drunk.  

“I’m glad you weren’t alone, Peter,” May whispers into the night. Peter leans his cheek to meet the top of her head. “I’m glad Tony taught you how to shave. I’m glad you finally got that younger sibling you always wanted. I’m glad you have a home.” 

Peter startles at that, sits up and finally turns to face his aunt, hands on her shoulders. “You’re my home, too, May. You always will be.” 

Something in May breaks at the statement. She puts her wine down for good and grips one of his hands in both of hers, rests her head back on his shoulder. And they sit and cry, together in silence, and watch the stars come out.  

000 

Life continues, as it so often does.  

May starts dating Happy, which is weird, and yet, not.  

Morgan begins Pre-K, with her new best friend Nathaniel Barton. Pepper returns to Stark Industries full-time to help onboard the influx of returned employees.  

Tony and Wanda destroy the extra Tesseract.  

Peter finds himself kind of...aimless. Sure, he’s busy. There’s rebuilding to help with, Nat and Steve’s estates to sort out. There are long and tiring debriefings with the FBI, the CIA, Department of Defense, NASA, the United Nations, etc.  

On free afternoons, Peter often walks around outside at parks, shops, the lake house, and cemeteries, camera in hand to capture the little moments. He finds himself stopped often on these treks, by passerby asking for autographs, asking for photos of their own, because people know he’s Spider-Man now, and that’s weird, too.  

Peter steals a familiar blue cap and a pair of aviators from Steve’s old things and continues his walks.  

Tony finally asks him about it one clear September day. They’re at the sink, doing the dishes from dinner, working in companionable silence when-- 

“What do you want, Peter?” Tony asks it simply. Not unkindly, voice just honest and curious.  

“I think...” Peter begins, voice soft. Tony tilt his head and listens. “I think I want to write the story.” 

All lines of communication to them have been bombarded since the second snap, television networks, magazines, newspapers, even movie studios asking them to tell their story.  

Tony’s ignored them all.  

“I know I said it like a joke back then, maybe it was, I don’t know. And it feels weird, with Nat and Steve and Vision even, not here to tell their parts, but--,” 

“All the more reason for you to tell it.” Tony flicks the dishrag over his shoulder and pulls Peter into a hug. “They would’ve trusted you with it, Peter. I trust you with it. I’d trust you with anything, kid, you know that.” 

Tony drops a kiss on the crown of his head, and they both smile, before turning back to the dishes.  

000 

That night, Peter opens a new word doc on his laptop.  

“’Mr. Stark? I don’t--I don’t understand. What’s happening? What happened to them?’ I could hear my own voice rising in panic, but I couldn’t find it in myself to be embarrassed. Drax, Mantis, Big Peter, even Dr. Strange, they’d turned to literal dust before our eyes, their remains rising like ash against the orange sky....”  

000 

(Peter Parker wins a Pulitzer Prize for his New York Times article Whatever It Takes: The Avengers’ Endgame. He receives job offers from the Times, the Journal, the Post, the Tribune, and pleas from all major publishers across the globe to sign a book deal with them.  

He even receives a call from his former boss, Mr. J. Jonah Jameson, begrudgingly offering him his job back.  

Peter thanks Jameson, apologizes to him for being an admittedly shitty employee, and informs the man he’ll be starting his sophomore year at MIT next semester.) 

fin