Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Leeds family was awfully big. At least, that’s what Peter thought. They had a little girl, a little boy, two parents, even some uncle’s whose wedding they were coming back from. Compared to Peter and his father, that sure was a lot.

The boy was Peter’s age, but his dad wouldn’t let Peter show him how to shoot, which he found odd. “We’re from the city,” he’d said, like that explained everything. Peter didn’t get it, personally. Him and his father had gone into towns before, and everyone seemed to have a gun. But maybe it was different in the city.

“You don’t even have to worry about food,” Ned told him. “You just go down the street and Mr. Delmar has fresh meat at the deli.”

Peter had stared in awe. His father had taught him how to trap and harvest as soon as he could walk. They brought their goat, Clover, every time they moved so they could have milk. She was getting pretty old though. They’d probably have to get a new one.

Lila giggled as the goat nibbled at her fingers. “It tickles!” she cried.

“Be careful, honey,” Mrs. Leeds said. “Watch your fingers.”

“She can’t eat her fingers,” Peter told them. “She’s only got teeth on the bottom.”

Their mother gave Peter a strange smile, but didn’t say anything else. City folk were weird. But Peter still kind of hoped his father would let them visit, when it got warmer out. They’d never lived so close, and there were already way more towns out this way.

Maybe he could teach the deli man about goats.

“Peter, bring me the gun,” his father called, from the front of the group. The boy dashed forward, slinging the shotgun off his shoulder and crawling up the mound to hand it to the man.

“What ya got?” he asked. His father pointed down the knob at a pheasant bathing its wings in a puddle. His father held up the gun and Peter turned his head away as he fired. His ears still rang, though, and Lila screeched, dropping Clover’s lead and ducking behind her mother’s skirts. Her brother scrambled to grab the goat before she could escape, nearly getting headbutt in the process. Peter didn’t know she’d let go, it wasn’t like his father had shot her.

The boy dashed down the hillside and grabbed the bird by its neck. One of its wings was half gone now, and it was bleeding from the new hole in his chest. Peter felt bad that he hadn’t finished his bath, so he patted down its damp body as he returned to his father.

“Are we under attack?” Mr. Leeds called. Peter trampled back down onto the road and frowned.

“No, silly,” he said. “It’s just a pheasant. They’re good eatin’.”

The older man’s brow did a funny thing as he looked down at Peter.

“Do we gotta eat the feathers, too?” Lila cried, peaking around her mother with tears in her eyes.

“That’s dumb,” Peter frowned. Mrs. Leeds glared at him.

“Forgive the boy,” his father said. “He’s grown up like this.”

He said it like he meant more than just Peter’s understanding of bird hunting. “But Quintin,” he pouted.

His father didn’t like it when Peter called him ‘dad’. He’d done it when he was little, but as he’d grown, the man made him use his first name. “You’re almost a grown man,” his father had said. “You should treat me with more respect.” Peter was only ten, he didn’t feel grown. And Ned was ten too, and he called his father ‘dad’. But maybe it was different for city folk.

Sometimes, when his dad was real mad, he’d make Peter call him ‘Mr. Beck’. The first time he’d done it, Peter had frowned and reminded him that he’d never had to do that before. His father had frowned and cuffed the backside of his head, telling Peter that’s how it had always been. Peter hadn’t bothered to correct him a second time.

His father frowned again, and Peter looked down at his feet. He muttered an apology to the Leeds that he didn’t really mean. He just didn’t want his father to be mad at him.

“We’ll skin the bird before we roast it a campfire,” his father explained.

“Is it big enough for all of us?” Ned asked. Clover pushed against his legs and he hopped back. Peter took the lead back.

“We’ll be on the train by then, honey,” Mrs. Leeds told her son.

“And best get a move on,” Peter’s father said. “A storm is blowing in, don’t want your nice clothes getting soaked.”

Lila groaned as her boots landed in another puddle of mud. Peter could sympathize. He didn’t like wearing shoes either. Though, he supposed, the little girl was probably more mad about the mud than the shoes.

“Why did it have to rain?” she cried.

“It’s just the weather, darling,” her mother said. “There’s not much we can do about it.”

“Y’all shoulda stayed inside another day,” Peter told them, having to raise his voice to be heard.

“Well why aren’t you inside?” Ned asked.

“Rain don’t bother us,” Peter grinned. He didn’t remind the other boy that they had nowhere to stay. Not till they reached the cabin.

“We weren’t expecting such a storm,” Mr. Leeds said.

“This is awfully strong for the season,” his father agreed.

“Well I hate it,” Lila said. Peter didn’t want to admit that he was starting to agree with her. Thunder roared across the sky, and the boy curled his shoulders up to his ears. Storms were always so loud. He wasn’t sure why they didn’t bother people more.

The group came upon a bridge, old and wooden. The water underneath may have been a creek in the dry months, but now it was rushing with the wind and rain. Clover bucked against Peter’s hands, so his father took her lead and handed Peter the gun.

The bridge was creaky and Peter felt suddenly nervous. It smelled like rot. The boards were moldy. If Peter looked up, he could see the next town in the distance. He felt as though he could hear the train from here. Everything was loud and he couldn’t breathe.

He grabbed Lila and Ned’s hands and pulled them back as the boards began to crack. Ahead of them the parents rushed forward and made it to the far bank as the bridge crumbled. The rotted boards washed away with the stream and Lila called out in alarm. Peter felt Ned’s hand squeeze his, and he couldn’t stop himself from squeezing back.

He fought to keep his breath from heaving as his father called across the gap.

“Everyone okay?”

“Yes, sir!” Peter called back.

“What do we do?” Ned cried. Lila tucked herself behind the two boys.

“There’s a narrow part of the creek up the ways, about a mile that way,” his father pointed. “You think you can handle that, Peter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Mrs. Leeds cried over the wind, looking at the thick treeline that followed the water’s edge.

“Peter’s got a gun, he’ll be fine. There aren’t many animals that’ll be out in this weather anyways. We’ll meet them there,” his father said. Peter nodded firmly before walking towards the brush, pulling the Leeds children along.

It was growing darker faster and faster, and the thick underbrush and cloud coverage was doing nothing to help. Peter huffed as he hobbled over a fallen log, reaching out a hand to help Lila climb over. Ned hoisted himself along side her.

“I thought it was only a mile,” he said.

“It is,” Peter said. “But that’s still a good half hour walk. Plus there’s all these trees. Could be worse. In the warmer seasons there’s a bunch of leaves and vines. Snakes too.”

“Snakes?” Lila cried.

“I thought you said you and your father have never been this far south before. How does he know there’s a crossing?” Ned asked.

“I said I’ve never been down here before. He’s way older than me, I’m sure he’s been here before.”

“Are you guys moving to the city then?” Lila asked, lifting her skirts to sludge through slick mud. A grimace grew on her face.

“Nope,” Peter chirped.

“Why bother then?”

“‘Cause it’s cold, up north.”

“Why would you move up north then?” the other boy asked. Peter didn’t understand the point of this conversation.

“Why didn’t y’all say the bridge was rotten?” he asked, instead. “You were up here earlier this month.”

“It wasn’t that bad then,” Ned shrugged.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t know, it just wasn’t. I wasn’t paying that close of attention.”

“You should always be paying close attention,” Peter frowned.

“Well I’m not a country bumpkin who knows everything, am I?” Ned growled. Lila tugged on his arm.

“What’s your problem?” Peter asked.

“I’m wet, and cold and it’s dark,” Ned groaned, trying to shake mud off his shoes but to no avail. Lila tugged on his arm harder. “And now I’m away from my family in the middle of the woods and some kid is acting like he knows better than me!”

“We’re the same age!” Peter sniped. Lila reached up to swat at his mouth. Peter pushed the little girl away and frowned.

“Shush,” she said, raising a finger to her lips. “I saw something in the woods.”

“Probably just a badger,” Peter shrugged.

“Probably,” Ned sneered.

“No!” Lila cried, before lowering her voice again. “It was really big. What if it was a tiger?”

This time even Ned frowned, “Tiger’s don’t live here.”

“It’s fine,” Peter assured. “We’re almost to the crossing. And I’ve got my gun, so I can shoot anythin’ that-“

He stopped, the hairs on his arms suddenly rising against his skin. He begin to itch and he felt a pull towards something something over the Leeds’ shoulders. Something strong and big. A twig snapped, and he heard it through all the noise.

“Quickly,” he said, grabbing the other children’s hands and pushing forward through the wood. Lila began to whimper as she struggled to keep up. Ned’s head began to swivel, but Peter could feel eyes on the back of his neck. His heart raced through his chest.

The crossing was still to far. He ducked under a root torn hill, pushing the others into the makeshift canopy. He slung the gun free from his shoulder backed in behind them. He checked the barrels, turning back to shush them. He felt like he couldn’t breathe and everything was too loud and bright. He hoped whatever it was would pass them by.

The children waited, eyes peering into the darkness. Peter felt Ned begin to relax against his back before another stick crunched in the night, closer this time. Lila yelped, slapping a hand over her mouth. Ned added his own for extra measure. Peter raised his gun just as a large canine rounded the bend.

The wolf was only a few feet away, and it stared at them with bright blue eyes. Peter thought they would be yellow. The wolf was the color of hay, and he was large, larger than any dog Peter had ever seen. Lila began to cry as the wolf sniffed the air. Peter watched as it stepped forward, its muscles tightening. There were scars across his muzzle and down his back.

Peter knew he should shoot. He had a clear shot. Even if he didn’t hit it, maybe the wolf would get scared and leave. Or maybe it would get angry and gut them.

But, no, it wouldn’t get angry. This didn’t look like an animal that got angry. It stared at Peter, and Peter stared back. He couldn’t get himself to ready the gun. He couldn’t get himself to lower it. They were going to die and it was going to be his fault. They weren’t going to die at all.

The wolf sniffed again, before leaping away back into the brush. Peter felt as those a haze had been lifted from his mind. His eyes began to water, but he didn’t cry like Lila. He never cried and he wasn’t even scared. Ned breathed out behind him, and Peter could hear his voice shake.

“Is it gone?” he whispered.

Peter breathed. He could breathe again. He could breathe better than before. “Yeah.”

The children rushed across the narrow creek bed as soon as they could see their parents. Lila didn’t even complain about the water getting over her dress.

“A wolf!” she cried. “We saw a wolf!”

“What?” her mother asked, looking startled as she bent down to tuck her children against her.

“A big giant wolf!” the little girl said. “It’s snarled and tried to eat us!”

“It did not try and eat us,” her brother said.

“Are you children all right?” Mr. Leeds asked. He patted his children down, even turning to glance at Peter. Strange. He had it handled.

“Didn’t even have to shoot,” he said. His father held out his hand, and Peter returned the shotgun. Clover pushed against his legs. He pet her between her horns. His father unfolded the gun and checked inside the barrel. He hummed.

“How did you get away?” Mrs. Leeds asked, looking like she wanted to cry.

“It didn’t really do nothin’,” Peter said. “Just looked.”

“Some say wolves are more scared of men then we are of them,” Mr. Leeds said. Peter’s father hummed again.

“Best not believe everything you here, mister. Wolves are savage creatures.”

The man grimaced. Mrs. Leeds whimpered and tucked her children closer still.

“Now come along,” his father said. “I feel we can get you folks onto the evening train.”

The rain had let up by the time the group reached the station. There was another hour yet till the train left for the city, so Mr. Leeds saw about getting towels as his wife led the children over to the bench.

She breathed deep once they were all sat, and looked up at Peter who stood nearby. “Thank you for being with my children. You were brave to protect them.”

Peter’s eyes widened and he looked down at his feet. “I didn’t even do anythin’.”

“Perhaps not,” the woman said. “Frankly, I’m glad you didn’t have to. What a frightening situation. We are so very lucky.”

Peter shrugged. He felt weird inside. It didn’t help that the haze behind his eyes still lingered.

His father approached and handed him a towel. It was small, meant for train use, but it was better than nothing. Peter wiped at his face and shook out his sopping curls. He wanted to take his shoes off, walk barefoot on the dry deck. But he expected that the fancy city folk wouldn’t like that very much.

“It would be best for you to travel earlier in the day, from here on out,” Peter’s father said. “Especially in the darker months.”

“This weather caught us all off guard, I think,” Mr. Leeds said. “Got dark quick.”

Peter’s father hummed. Peter shook out his curls one more time, before handing the towel back.

“Here,” Mr. Leeds said, stepping forward and digging into his pocket. “Let me pay for a hotel room for the night.”

“That’s quite all right,” Peter’s father said. “We’re used to the back country.”

“At least use it for a stage coach?” Mrs. Leeds suggested.

“No need. I think if we push through we’ll get there before the day changes.”

“Well, regardless,” Mr. Leeds said, pushing two dollar bills into his father’s hand. “Thank you for keeping us company,” he then handed Peter a dollar, “and for keeping us safe.”

The boy stared down at the dollar, eyes wide. He nodded back at the man furiously before stuffing the bill into his pocket. He hoped his dad let him keep it. He’d buy them something nice.

As they said their goodbyes, Ned stood and fiddled with his fingers.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said. “You were nice most of the time and you were a good guide.”

Peter blinked. No one had hardly ever apologized to him before, especially not rich and fancy city folk. Though the Leeds were still looking a bit damp.

“It’s alright,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry if I was being mean.”

“You were, just a little bit. Mainly just annoying,” Ned said, grinning. “But I’ve been told I can be pretty annoying, too.”

Mrs. Leeds sighed. Peter’s father began to descend from the platform.

“Alright,” Peter repeated, smiling back. “Just watch out for wolves.”

“There are no wolves in New York City,” Ned laughed. Peter stuck his tongue out and waved, tugging Clover along behind his father.

They made it to the cabin some hours later. The sky was that pitch black it only got in the wee hours of the morning. Peter was still full from their dinner of pheasant and his body was tired and achy. He wanted to go to bed.

He wanted to take his shoes off.

“Tie up the goat,” his father said, marching up the stairs. “We’ll see about fixing her up a pen later this week.”

Peter led Clover towards a nearby tree, before pausing. He could hardly see without the moon, and his father’s lantern was getting further away.

“What is it, boy?”

“I don’t know, isn’t it dangerous?”

“You’ve tied her up before.”

“Yeah, but it’s dark. And…and there’s wolves…”

“We’ve left that beast’s hunting grounds by now,” his father said. “Don’t baby her, she’s an animal. She stays outside.”

“Yes, Quintin,” the boy mumbled. His father remained outside just long enough for Peter to tie her up before his lantern disappeared inside. The boy patted their goat on the head before tripping his way up the stairs.

Inside, his father was using the last of his lantern to set the fireplace ablaze. The tall table near the stove and the dining table near the window were stacked with their belongings, which wasn’t much. They’d moved a couple of times, and Peter’s father always said it was better to start fresh than lug about their belongings. He’d paid extra for their goods to be brought ahead this time, and the cabin had come prefurnished.

“That’s your bed by the door,” his father said, pointing at the small wooden bunk by the door. “Go ahead and sleep, we’ll finish unpacking in the morning.”

Peter nodded, taking off his shoes and his coat. He thought about digging around for one of his softer shirts, but he found he didn’t have the energy. His socks were still wet and slushy, so he took those off and left them near the fire. His bed already had a straw mat, a blanket and a pillow, so Peter tugged himself in, watching through lidded eyes as his father shuffled around in the fire light.

“Seems we can’t escape these beasts,” his father said, staring down at their trap. Their was a fox there. Or what used to be a fox, as it was all turn to bits now. It was gory and messy and Peter was already feeling sick. He’d had a headache all morning, his clothes felt tight, and the gun over his shoulder heavy.

They’d laid the trap earlier that week, the first morning in their new home. They’d laid several, and there’d been a gutted animal yesterday too, on the other side of the property. At least the others seemed to be doing fine.

“We’ll need to go hunting, if this keeps up,” the man said. Peter groaned. It was getting colder with every day, and he’d been waking with aches and pains each morning. He wondered if he could buy a nice mattress with his money.

“Don’t complain, boy, that won’t make anything better,” his father grumbled. “Come, let’s check the rest of them.”

Peter wavered as his father walked away. He felt dizzy, the smell of blood rising to his nostrils. The scent made his stomach gurgle and his eyes grew hazy. His heart began to speed up, and he felt like he was going to hurl.

A noise came from his right, and he turned, gun raised. Before him stood a tawny shewolf. She stared down with green eyes, an elegance in her body that he hadn’t seen on the wolf from before. Peter breathed through his mouth, trying to avoid the stench rising from the carcass. The canine stared at him, unmoving. Her ears flicked forward and Peter wondered if she could hear his heartbeat. He wondered if she was a soft as she looked.

He was going to throw up.

“Peter!”

His father’s call forced the boy to turn, and he heard the shewolf flee into the brush.

“What are you doing?” his father asked.

“There was a wolf,” Peter said. He felt weak and dizzy.

The man looked where Peter pointed. “Was there?”

“Swear it.”

“And why didn’t you shoot? Those barrels are loaded.”

Peter blinked. “I-“

“From now on,” his father said, pulling at the gun in Peter’s hands enough to jostle him. It felt like his brain was sloshing around in his skull. “You see a wolf, you shoot it. I don’t care what it’s doing. I don’t want them on my property. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Beck,” he whispered.

“Good,” the man let go of the gun. Peter shook. “Now let’s go.”

That night, as Peter sat at the dining room table, skinning a fresh rabbit, he looked out the foggy window to the yard ahead. Clover was still tied to her tree, as they hadn’t gotten enough wood yet for a pen. He’d have to feed her soon. Ahead, so faded he almost couldn’t see, Peter saw deep scratches on a tree further in the bush.

“Do wolves scratch at stuff?” he asked.

“What?” his father said from his seat by the fire.

“Like cats,” the boy said. “You know how they’re always scratchin’ at stuff. Old Miss Mable used to say it was because their paws were itchy.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Cause that tree out there’s all torn up.”

His father stood and joined him at the table. When he couldn’t see what Peter was pointing at, he walked forward, squinting into the dark.

“Seems they do. Might be marking their territory.”

“Are we in their territory?” Peter felt deeply uncomfortable at the thought.

“Let’s hope not,” his father said. “I only have so many shells.”

They found Clover a day later, all torn up deep in the wood. Peter didn’t like to cry. He never cried. He felt like crying now.

“Well damn,” his father said. “Beasts must’ve drug her out here for the slaughter. Viscous creatures.”

“Do you think it hurt?” Peter asked. His father hummed. Of course. What a stupid question.

She smelt something awful. She’d likely been dead all night. Alone. Rotting.

“You still got that dollar?”

“What?”

“That money, boy,” his father said. “That the rich man gave you. I’ll need to buy a new goat.”

“What about your money?”

“I’ll need it for other things. This is an unexpected expense.”

Peter sighed as the man stuck his hand out, and dug through his pocket for the bill. He’d been keeping it close, keeping an eye on it. He pressed it into his father’s hand and looked away.

The man hummed. “Maybe the next one you’ll tie up properly.”

This time, Peter did throw up. He waited until his father was gone.

That night, Peter stood out on the porch, wrapped in his scratchy blanket. It didn’t smell like his old one. He missed that smell. He crushed the material in between his hands. They hurt, around the knuckles. And the nails. And the palms. All of it hurt.

He’d wanted to bury Clover, but his father had said it wasn’t worth it. There wasn’t much left to bury. He’d taken what was salvageable and left it to dry in the kitchen. Peter didn’t want to be in there.

He stared up at the sky. It had been a dreary week, the sun never quite making it out from the clouds. Whenever his dad went shopping in town, whenever he brought Peter with him, he looked around at all the toys and candies on the shelves. Sometimes, when his father would get stuck bartering over prices, he’d skim through their books. He couldn’t read very well, he got stuck on a lot of words, but he tried. His father had taught him the basics so he could help in town.

The boy had read a book, once, about New York City. Truly, it was a book about a lot of big cities, but Peter had skipped to the one he knew about. He hadn’t gotten very far before they’d left, but he’d read about how bright it was, in the city. It had seemed unpleasant, how were you supposed to get any sleep? Now, Peter wondered, if perhaps, with all that light, Clover could have seen the wolf coming. Could’ve cried out for help. Peter felt like he could see the light coming from the city, when he looked up at the clouds. It was still a ways away, according to his father. But the Leeds had seemed sure they’d get home that evening. Could the lights be so bright he could see it all the way out in the woods?

He could feel the eyes on him, but he didn’t look. It was a different wolf, this time. He could tell. It was a stronger presence. He wanted to run out, into the woods, into that presence. Away from his father and Clover’s drying corpse meat in the kitchen.

He pulled his blanket closer and ran inside.

Two mornings later, his father left for town. Peter wondered if it was the town they’d left the Leeds family at, or if there was one closer. He’d been told to stay home, to check the traps and defend property. He didn’t want to stay here, with Clover hanging over the counter. He didn’t want to go to town, on his aching feet and shaking limbs.

Maybe he was getting sick.

His father left when the sun rose, saying he’d be back before dark. He left Peter with the shotgun and a roaring fire. Which Peter thought was nice. He knew how to make a fire well enough, but he almost always burnt his hands. He still didn’t know how to move away quick enough.

Around mid morning, he’d left the warmth of the cabin to check on the traps. He wondered, distantly, if he’d get eaten today. Like Clover, or the fox who’d been torn to pieces while ensnared. He hoped, if he was eaten, that it wouldn’t hurt. Which was a silly thing to hope for.

The first two traps were empty. So was the third, but there was another set of scratches carved deep into tree across from it. They were high up, so high Peter could reach his arm out and trace his fingers along the grooves. He did that, and it felt soothing along his aching fingertips.

“Hello, young man.”

Peter flinched, violently, feeling as though he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Across the clearing, maybe only five feet away, stood a group of adults. Three men and one woman, who had firey red hair and was tucked into a pretty coat. They were all dressed nicely, though the men behind them were big and had scars, one across his nose and the other peaking out from his collar.

The man in front, the one who had spoken, was shorter, but he felt more important. For some reason. He coat was nicer than anything Peter had ever owned, and his brown eyes were kind. Peter felt the way they stared at him. Like wild eyes in the dark.

“Can I help you, mister?” Peter asked.

“Yes, in fact, you may be able to,” the man said, stepping forward. Peter backed away, just a smidge. The man stopped, but he smiled.

“My name’s Tony,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“Peter. You have a nice name, sir.” And he really did think that. He didn’t normally think much about names. But he likes Tony’s.

“So do you,” the man smiled. “You live around here?”

“I do. Just this past week, mister. My father and I came down cause of the cold going through up north.”

Something strange glinted in Tony’s eye. “And is your father here?”

“Not right now, sir. He went into town. Our goat died the other day.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tony said. And he really did sound sorry.

Peter looked down at his feet. “It’s alright.” He then remembered he should probably use his manners and looked back up. “Do you need my father? Or are you hungry? I met some fancy city folk last week and they got scared when my father shot a bird.”

“Did they now?” Tony chuckled.

“Yeah. They didn’t know nothin’ ‘bout hunting. And they weren’t nearly as fancy as you!” Tony laughed again. “I don’t have to shoot anything today though, we got some food stored up.”

“That’s quite alright, young man,” Tony said. “Thank you, though.” Then he paused. “You think we’re fancy?”

“You’ve got your fancy coats,” Peter explained. “And you look way cleaner than the people in town.”

“What if we were just from a country manor?”

“Nope, you’re city folk!”

“And you know that for sure?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“I just…,” Peter suddenly felt like he was missing something. Or that he knew too much. “I just do.”

“Can you explain?”

“You’ve just…you feel like you’ve come a really long way.”

“A pretty long way, sure,” Tony stepped forward again. Peter shuffled back. “I’ll give you that.”

Peter paused. His heart was racing. “My father ain’t here, sir. I’m not sure I can help you.”

“That’s alright,” another step forward. Another step back. “I didn’t want to talk to your father.”

“Please stop. You’re making me uncomfortable,” Peter curled in around himself. He had his gun. Should he shoot? Everything felt too loud and too bright.

Tony’s face grew soft. “It’s alright, little wolf.” He knelt down into the mud. Peter wondered if he knew how dirty his nice pants were going to get. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Do you know who I am?”

Was this a trick? “You’re Tony.”

“That’s right. Tony Stark, to be exact. I own The Stark Telephone Line. Do you know what that is?”

“Like those buildings in the train stations?” Peter asked. “That send instant letters?”

“That’s right. You speak into them and the people on the other end can hear you. You’re very smart, Peter.”

Peter wasn’t sure about that. But it felt nice, coming from Tony. He still felt shaky, though.

“Thank you,” he said, anyways. No one had ever called him smart before. Not really.

“You’re welcome,” Tony smiled. “I’ve got a feeling it may be genetic, though.”

Peter blinked.

“I live in New York right now, but I haven’t always. My child was taken, a while back. It was hard, living in that same house.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. I made some good friends. Some of them even live with me. I think you met them, earlier?”

Tony looked back, and Peter followed his gaze. The woman and the two men were still standing there. The women with red hair and green eyes. The big man with a scar across his nose.

“They didn’t mean to scare you,” Tony said, turning back. “To be honest, I don’t think Steve even knew you were there.”

“I’ve never seen them in my life,” Peter said, embarrassed by how his voice shook.

“I think you have,” Tony said, a small, sad smile on his face. “I think you know you have.”

Peter shook his head. “Shut up!” he barked. He didn’t mean to. He knew he talked to quickly sometimes. He didn’t think, that’s what his father always said. But he didn’t mean to be rude. But he couldn’t breathe.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, little wolf,” Tony leaned forward, like he was going to come closer. Peter shrinked into himself even more. “You almost saw me the other night. Out in the woods. I saw you, with your blanket. You looked sad.”

“Those were wolves, stop lying!” Peter cried. “Wolves aren’t people! You’re just creeps! Following kids around!”

“Peter.”

“Stop it!”

Tony stayed silent, while Peter breathed heavily. He couldn’t pick between his nose or his mouth, and he choked on his own spit.

“Slowly,” Tony said, and Peter suddenly felt a push of something sweet and warm. Safe. “Calm down.”

They stood there for a moment more, the three adults further away and Tony kneeling the mud. Peter breathed in again, and felt that it was easier. He stared at Tony and felt fuzzy. He liked his eyes. They were kind.

“I’m sorry that I’ve upset you,” Tony said, quietly. Peter shrugged. “Can I ask you a question? Who do you think did that?”

He pointed to the tree with the deep claw marks. Peter blinked. “A wolf.”

“Close,” Tony gave him a small smile. “I’ll give you the answer. You.”

Peter waited for more, but there wasn’t anything. He shook his head.

“Nuh uh,” he said.

“Yes.”

“That was a wolf.”

“And what do you think you are?”

“A person!” Peter was getting upset again. Another wave of warm and soft came to him. He blinked through the haze behind his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“That thing? Makin’ everything all fuzzy. Are you a witch?”

Tony laughed. “Now why would I be a witch?”

“‘Cause! I’ve read about them. They lure children away with candy and then eat them!”

“I don’t see any candy.”

Peter pouted. “Well, books can’t get everything right.”

Tony laughed again. “No, I suppose you’re right. Though they do try. You’re right though, I’m not entirely human. And neither are you.”

Peter frowned.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Tony said. “There’s plenty of smart things out in the world that aren’t human.”

“Yeah. Animals,” Peter glared.

“Animals may be different, but they aren’t bad. They just think differently than humans. We do, too. Just a bit. We’ve still got some human running through us.”

“What’s the other stuff? Wolf?” Peter was only half joking. When Tony smiled at him, it felt like maybe it wasn’t a joke at all.

“Have you felt a little sore lately? A little sick?” the man asked. Peter nodded. “When you saw my friends, and yes, those were my friends, did you feel weird? Like maybe you knew them? Or maybe you knew they were safe?”

Peter waited a moment. He nodded again.

“That’s cause they are safe. They’re you’re pack. Even though they never got to meet you, they’re connected with you. They’d never hurt you. We’d never hurt you.”

“You’re wolves?”

“Yeah, kid,” Tony said. “We are.”

“Are you just pretending to be people? Do you live out in caves and stuff?”

“No, no,” Tony laughed. “Believe it or not, some of us like human comforts. Being outside is nice, hunting sometimes. But things like warm houses? Books? Soft blankets that smell like home? Those are pretty great too. Especially because we weren’t born as wolves.”

“You weren’t?”

“No. We’re part wolf. It runs through us like water. But we’re also human. We can’t even turn into wolves until we’re older.”

The man paused, for just a moment, looking at Peter, before he slowly rose to his feet. He walked sideways, face soft as he moved towards the tree. He motioned for Peter to approach. He did so. He didn’t actually mean to.

Tony placed his fingers along the indents of claw marks. His expression turned into something Peter couldn’t place, before he looked back at him with a smile, and noddded towards the tree. Peter hesitated, before sticking his own hand out, running his fingers along the grooves once more, just behind Tony’s.

“You’ve been hurting because you were supposed to turn ages ago. It’s called shifting. You can’t stop the wolf from being there, and if you try to confine it, it breaks free.”

“I don’t remember ever being a wolf.”

“That’s because that man,” Tony says it with a nasty sneer. “Has been keeping it secret. Keeping your true self hidden away.”

“You mean my father?”

“He’s not your father.”

Tony looked so sad, all of a sudden. Peter didn’t want him to be sad.

“Who is?”

Tony looked down at the boy, and he suddenly felt like he knew the answer. Like he’d known it since this conversation began.

He looked away again, down at his fingers. “I’ve always lived with him.”

“That’s because he took you, when you were only little. Not even old enough for your first shift. Which should’ve been at home, in the safety of your own pack. Now, your wolf has finally decided it wants out.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been a wolf before.”

“That’s because you haven’t. Not fully. No one has ever taught you how to shift properly. It’s not painful, not normally. But you’re getting stuck somewhere in between. It’s why you’ve been sore, these past few days.”

“So I’m just runnin’ around all fuzzy lookin’?”

Tony laughed. “A bit. You’re claws will have been out too. You’d have felt wild. It’s why your tore at all the trees. And the foxes. And…” the man paused, the sad look back on his face. “And the goat.”

Peter felt like his stomach had suddenly imploded.

“I killed Clover?” he asked, his voice scratchy, barely a whisper.

“Yeah, kid.”

“I drug her off and ate her?” Peter didn’t want to cry. He didn’t cry. And he definitely wasn’t going to cry in front of Tony.

“No, little wolf. Her rope snapped because of all the rain. She wandered off and you just happened to find her. Some other animals came and picked at her afterwards.”

Peter sniffled and looked down. He wiped at his his eyes a few times.

“You keep calling me little wolf.”

“I do.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt Clover.”

“I know you didn’t.”

Peter breathed in again. It came easier, after a moment.

“You’re my dad?” he asked. Tony smiled, a small thing.

“Yeah, kid, I am.”

Peter nodded. “So what now?”

“I’d like you to come home. Back home. With us. With me. You’re mom will be so happy to see you.”

“I’ve got a mom?”

Tony gave a small chuckle. “Yeah, kid, you do. And a little sister.”

“I have a sister?” Peter felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Tony laughed again, lighter than it had been before.

“Yes, Tesoro, and a sister. We’ve got a house in the city that we stay at for the most part. It’s easier for me to get to work that way. But we’ve got a big house out on Long Island, too. That’s where all the rich people live.”

“So you are rich!” Peter exclaimed.

“I never tried to hide it.”

“Yes you did!” Peter felt silly. Not the bad kind of silly though. It had been a while since he hadn’t felt the bad kind of silly. “You were being all tricky about it!”

“Ah, I suppose I was,” Tony smiled. And then, gently and slowly, he stuck out his hand. “Would you like to come home, Peter?”

Peter stared at the hand for a moment. There was so much he still didn’t understand. And yet, so much that suddenly made sense now. He didn’t want to go back to the cabin, not to his father. Not to Clover, waiting to be eaten. He liked Tony, though. Tony felt warm. He felt safe.

Peter reached out and took Tony’s hand.

Chapter Text

They took the train into the city. It was the fastest Peter had ever travelled, and he didn’t even have to move his legs. He’d stared out the window, watched as the buildings got bigger and bigger as the crossed the river. Tony pointed out different buildings as they rode, telling stories about people he knew and work he’d done. Peter didn’t understand all of it, but he nodded along anyways. Maybe the man would have his own telephone at his house. Peter had never gotten to use one before.

Tony held his hand out when they got off the train. Peter didn’t say anything, but he took it anyway. Best they didn’t get separated from each other. There were far more people in the city then there were out in the country and he wasn’t all that tall.

He also liked holding Tony’s hand. It was rough, but warm and big. It curled around Peter’s fingers gently.

Tony had called down a stage coach when they left the station. The woman, Natasha, rode up front with the driver. The two other men had sat in the back with Peter and Tony.

Steve was taller, but not as broad as his counterpart. He was still massive though, and he had a shallow scar across his nose. He reminded Peter of the lawmen that his father had warned him about. Big, burly men who locked away misbehaving children. Steve didn’t look scary, though. He smiled every time Peter looked at him, and it would make his eyes crinkle around the edges. He was also the only one of the three gentleman to have a top hat atop his blonde hair.

Tony had one too, but he kept it in his lap for the most part. Said he always felt too formal with it on. Which Peter thought was fair. They were awfully nice looking. He wondered how people didn’t lose them when they walked through doorways.

The other man said his name was James, but he preferred Bucky. He was quieter than the others, and he didn’t smile as big or as often either. But he felt warm and present, just like the others had when Peter had first seen them. He hadn’t seen the man as a wolf yet, but he could imagine that he’d be strong and silent, blending into the darkness with his thick brown coat.

It was afternoon when they pulled to stop along a long, tall and brown building. There were several doors placed along the front, through a garden and up some stairs. In front of one stood a woman in a pretty tea gown with long blonde hair. Peter stood there as the adults climbed out behind him, grabbing their luggage. He watched as the woman took a shuddering breath and sank a bit as her knees wobbled.

“You okay, miss?” he asked. The woman gave a shaky laugh. It kind of sounded like she was going to cry.

“Oh, yes, honey, I’m alright,” she said. “Just a bit overwhelmed.”

Peter was feeling a bit overwhelmed himself. “Are you Mrs. Pepper?” he asked.

“That I am,” she smiled. “Are you Mr. Peter?”

“Yeah! Did Tony call you? I don’t think a letter would have gotten hear this fast.”

“No kid,” Tony laughed, placing a light hand on his shoulder. “You’re name has always been Peter.”

“Oh,” the boy said. “Well that’s nice.”

The man smiled softly, before pushing him gently through the garden and up the stairs. He held out his hand for the woman. “It’s nice to meet you, miss.”

Pepper gave a strange smile, shaking his hand, “It’s nice to meet you, too, Peter.”

The boy could feel her shaking.

“Do you not have a pretty coat, too? I thought tea gowns were supposed to be worn inside. Is it cause they’re not warm?”

Pepper laughed. “No, love, it’s more of about modesty. And I have a coat, don’t worry. I just had to come and see you arrive.”

“The boy’s right, Pepper,” Tony said. “It’s awfully brisk out. Let’s head inside.”

Peter couldn’t help but stare at the large room beyond the door. The walls were painted a soft green, and the ceilings were so tall he found he was no longer concerned about hats falling off. He watched as Natasha, Steve and Bucky took their luggage up a set of stairs to the right. He ran his hand along the polished wooden railing. He figured he probably shouldn’t be touching things without asking, but he couldn’t help himself.

“You are rich,” he said.

“I thought we established this?” Tony grinned.

“Yeah, but this is crazy. This place is huge! And the floors are so clean!”

Pepper laughed, “We try the best we can. Tony has business guests over sometimes, but it can be hard sometimes with so many people in one house. Especially when one is only four.”

“Where is Morgan, then?” Tony asked.

“She went out with Friday to the park. She could tell I was growing restless and decided I was too stifling. Apparently, I was quite stress inducing.”

The adults laughed. Peter didn’t see how being around Pepper could be stressful. She felt warm, but in a different way than Tony or the others. Tony was firm and present, while Pepper felt soothing, like a balm laid on an aching scrape. Peter was struck with the image of two wolves, one with brown fur and the other golden, racing through the wood.

“I asked her if she knew what was happening,” Pepper said. “Tried to explain how her brother was coming, and you know what she said? “Well of course he is, mama. He’s been on his way for a while.” I think she could feel him through the bond, maybe before we even did.”

“She’s always been perceptive,” Tony nodded.

“I wonder if she even remembers a time when he wasn’t there.”

“What’s the bond?” Peter asked. Pepper looked a bit shocked, but Tony just smiled.

“You know how you can feel us, even if you can’t see us?” Peter nodded. “That’s the bond. It’s with your pack. Anyone who’s bonded with us, you can feel. Even our emotions.”

Peter blinked. That sounded like a lot. “Like when you made me all fuzzy?”

Tony chuckled. “No, little wolf, that’s something that only your parents can do. Pack mates can push a feeling of calm through to try and help, but when you’re a pup, your parents can help you relax, make sure you feel warm and safe.”

“Oh,” Peter said. He supposed that made sense. He hadn’t felt all that fuzzy when he first saw Steve or Natasha, just alarmed and too aware. But he could tell that they weren’t going to hurt him.

“Would you like a tour, Peter?” Pepper asked. “Maybe take your stuff upstairs? I’m sure your sister will be fixing to come home soon, now that you’re here. Do you have anything you need help with?”

“Nope,” he smiled. “Just me.”

Pepper frowned. “You don’t have any belongings? No toys or clothes?”

“No miss. My father didn’t let me take toys on the road. Didn’t have that many to begin with, anyways,” the boy shrugged.

“Your father?” she frowned even harder.

“I’ll explain later,” Tony said. “A quick tour sounds nice. Then you can take a nap. You’ve had quite a day.”

“I’m not a baby,” Peter pouted.

“Of course not. But I always find myself feeling tired after a day of travel.”

“Have you come far, honey?” his wife asked.

“Yes ma’am!” Peter chimed. “We got on the train! I ain’t never been on a train before!”

“That sounds exciting. Why don’t you tell me about it while I show you around?” Pepper said, reaching out her hand. It was smaller than Tony’s, with longer fingers. Peter took it. He was coming to find he really liked holding people’s hands.

The house was truly massive. It just kept going and going. There was two more stories up the flight of stairs, even one below. They even had a back garden, that had its own shed. There was a separate room for the kitchen. And indoor toilets. And almost every room had a tiny stove. Tony explained that they were gas powered, and that they used them to keep warm during the cold.

Upstairs, tucked away in the back of the second floor, were two rooms. One was for Morgan, and it had its own built in closet with a tiny bed in the center. There was toys in one corner and a rocking chair in the other. Peter sat down for a moment and pushed back and forth, liking the feeling.

“We’ll buy you some of your own toys if you want,” Pepper said. “We’ve got a couple in your room, but I’m sure you’ll want to pick out your own.”

“I have my own room?” Peter cried.

Pepper’s smile turned towards the edge of sad. “Of course, sweetie. Would you like to come see?”

Taking her hand again, Peter was led to the last room on the tour, the one next door to Morgan’s. It wasn’t quite as big as the little girl’s, but it had two windows with a desk tucked underneath one and a bookcase by the other. There was a tall wardrobe and a skinny dress against the wall, and on the other side of the door was a bed that was almost as big as his father’s back at the cabin.

“This is for me?” he asked, watching how the afternoon light stretched across the floor.

“Of course,” Pepper said. “We’ve always had a room ready for you.”

Peter didn’t know what to say to that. He hadn’t even know these people had existed until this morning. And here the were planning out his whole room. He felt kind of bad. He didn’t want to upset them.

Instead, he leapt onto the bed and bounced across the mattress. He rolled himself around on the sheets and sighed.

“This is way softer than any bed I’ve ever had,” he said. “It’s even for a real mattress!”

“There’s more linens and spare pillows in the hall closet if you need any or want to switch anything out,” Pepper told him. She turned around and opened up the wardrobe, where Peter could see thick coats and shirts hanging. “And there’s more clothes in the dresser. We can also look through the catalogue to see if there’s any style you’d prefer more.”

“I don’t know nothin’ much about style,” he said.

“That’s alright,” she said. “We’ll just pick what you like.” She smiled at him, something soft and proud. Peter liked it. He smiled back.

“Go ahead and rest,” Tony said. “You don’t have to sleep if you’re not tired. Try on your clothes, read a book, get settled in. You can come find us anytime, or go snooping around the house some more. If we don’t see you, we’ll come get you when dinner is ready.”

Peter nodded. He felt like he should thank them, but he was still a bit overwhelmed. Not in the way he’d felt this morning though. Not that bad.

“Would you like the door closed?” the man asked as he and Pepper left the room.

Peter shrugged, before saying. “Yeah.” He’d never had his own room before. With its own door.

Tony smiled as he closed the door gently behind him. Peter waited for a moment, listened to their footsteps walk away, before he reached down and pulled his shoes off. He flexed his bare feet against the warm wooden floors, feeling like a lizard basking in the sun. After a moment, he reached forward and opened the door, just a tad.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

A gentle tapping woke him. His head felt fuzzy and his eyes sticky.

“Peter, darling, it’s time for dinner,” Pepper’s voice came through the door. He grunted in response and watched as her shadow vanished from the light slipping through the door. It was dark outside now. Not the same dark as it was back in the cabin, but darker than Peter would have expected.

He rolled off the bed, standing and swaying for a moment as his mind woke up. He should probably put on his shoes. Rich people liked shoes.

He stomped his way down the stairs, unable to keep the frown of his face as he squinted against the lamp light. He followed the sounds of voices and dishes clanking into the dining room. Peter leaned against the double doorway and blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

The table was covered in different foods, some Peter wasn’t even sure he’d even seen. Pepper was sat at the head of the table, next to a little girl with brown hair. Natasha, Bucky and Steve were sat on the opposite side. Peter watched as his father pushed through the swinging door on the other side of the room, followed by a young woman with dark hair tied in a bun.

“Aw, bud,” Tony smiled, setting down the platter her was carrying. “Someone sleep a bit too hard?”

Peter frowned. “I didn’t dress up or nothin’ cause no one said anything. I put my shoes back on.”

“That you did,” the man said, pulling out and patting the chair next to the little girl. Peter sat down, and the man took the next chair.

“It’s alright, Peter,” Pepper said. “You don’t have to dress up for dinner.”

“You don’t sound too happy about those shoes, though,” Tony said.

“I don’t like wearing them. They make my feet hurt and they’re itchy.”

“Let me see.” Peter turned towards the man and stuck his legs out. His dad peered down, gently cupping one of his ankles and bringing his shoe up closer.

“Seems a bit small, first of all,” he said. “Not too bad, but I could definitely see how that would be uncomfortable.”

“I don’t like them touching my leg,” Peter said.

“No I’m sure you don’t,” Tony agreed. “We’ll see about getting you some new ones that fit wider. We can also get you a pair or two of house slippers. They’re soft, and they don’t have to close off all the way.”

“If you place them both by the fireplace at Christmas, you’ll get double the presents,” said the little girl next to him.

“Go ahead and take your shoes off, honey, if they’re bothering you,” Pepper said. Peter didn’t need to be told twice.

“Just met you’re brother and you’re already teaching him your schemes,” Tony smiled.

“I’m just being helpful,” the girl whined. Peter assumed that this was Morgan.

“I’ve never had a Christmas,” he said.

“Well you’re parents will ensure you’ll be spoiled that day,” Bucky said, digging into his potatoes. He grinned at Tony something sneaky.

“I’ll spoil them everyday,” Tony said.

“What do you want to eat, honey?” Pepper asked, leaning forward to grab Peter’s plate. There we so many more forks than he was used to.

“Um, you can put anythin’, miss,” he said. “I’m not a picky eater.”

“How about I just put a bit of everything, and we’ll add your favorites back on,” the woman said, and Peter nodded.

“Would you like something to drink, mister,” said the woman with the dark hair. She had a pretty Irish accent. “We have water and lemonade from this morning.”

“What’s lemonade?” he asked.

The woman smiled, “I’ll bring you some to try.”

She disappeared through the swinging door as Pepper added food to his dish. He wasn’t even sure he’d have room for extra. There was so much to try.

“What’s this one?” he asked, pointing at a dish filled with white little bushes.

“That is cauliflower,” Steve said. “It’s very good for you.”

“It tastes gross,” Morgan said.

“It’s still good for you.”

“It still tastes gross,” Natasha said, sipping at a glass of wine.

“A lot of good foods don’t actually taste very good,” Tony said, leaning down to whisper sneakily in Peter’s ear. “They don’t make it very easy on us.”

“I’d still like you to have some, Peter,” Pepper said. “Good or not, you’ll need your vegetables.”

“Don’t scare off the young man with that “v” word,” Tony said. The woman returned and placed down a glass of yellow liquid with ice. She then reached to take Peter’s plate from Pepper, putting it down in front of him.

“I’ll try to keep the scares to a minimum,” Pepper smiled.

“Aren’t you gonna eat too, miss?” Peter asked.

“Don’t worry, pet,” the woman said. “I already ate.”

“Friday takes care of us,” Tony explained. “She helps clean the house and cook the meals.”

“You cook all the meals? That sounds like a lot.”

“It’s quite alright. It’s my job, so I’m given most of the day to do it.”

“Don’t you have to skin all the birds and stuff?”

“The shops do that part, dote,” Friday said. “I just have to cook it.”

“You talk weird,” Morgan said.

“Morgan,” her mother scolded, placing a hand over the little girl’s arm.

“He does!” she protested. “I’ve never heard anyone talk like that.”

“That’s because you’ve only met people from the city, pet,” Friday said. “Remember what you thought of my voice.”

“You have a pretty voice,” Morgan said.

“And I think the mister’s voice is fine as well,” the woman said.

Morgan frowned. “I guess. I just don’t understand it.”

“Peter lived out in the country,” Tony said. “Out where there aren’t many towns and no cities. Many of the people there speak like him.”

“Okay,” Morgan shrugged. Her mother frowned.

“I’m sorry about her,” she told Peter. “She doesn’t mean to be rude. She’s just curious.”

“That’s okay,” Peter said. “You city folk talk pretty weird too.”

“No we don’t,” Morgan cried. “We speak normally!”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yuh huh.”

Peter stuck out his tongue. Morgan followed suit.

Steve laughed. “Looks like you’ve got two of them now, Tony.”

“We’ve got two of them,” Tony said. “Don’t forget you live here too.” Then he turned to Peter. “I do suppose we sound strange, don’t we, Tesoro? A bit too proper sometimes, I think.”

“You keep saying that,” Peter frowned. “What’s it mean?”

“Tesoro? It’s an Italian word of affection.”

“I knew an Italian guy! He was always yelling at the store folk and I couldn’t tell what he was saying.”

“Sounds like he was giving the language a bad reputation. It can really be quite beautiful.”

“Are you Italian, Tony?” Peter asked.

“Just a bit,” the man said. “On my mother’s side. I never got to visit the country, but she taught me as much as she could about her childhood.”

“Will I get to meet her?” the boy asked.

Tony frowned. Bucky and Steve squirmed in their seats. Peter suddenly felt like he’d said something wrong.

“No, little wolf. My parents died before you were born.”

“Oh,” Peter muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“What about your parents?” he turned to Pepper.

“I haven’t visited my parents in quite some time,” she said. “They live in Pennsylvania and we’re often too busy to travel that far.”

“Well, you should tell them I’m here. I’ve never had grandparents before!”

A grimace grew on her face. “Perhaps.”

“I don’t think Pepper’s parents like me that much,” Tony said.

“Huh?”

“Her folks are far more…traditional. In some things. They didn’t care for my character when we got together. And, of course, I already had you.”

“What do you mean?”

Tony looked at him strangely. “Your mom is the one who raised you, when you were little. But she didn’t give birth to you.”

“Oh,” Peter said. “Did that woman die? Old Miss Mable told that she’d been real sure she was gonna die when she had her fourth baby.”

“I don’t know, honestly. But your mom was there, so it didn’t matter much.”

“My parents find Tony to be a bit too,” Pepper started. “Eccentric.”

“A bit too fun, you mean,” the man smiled.

“Is Morgan your baby, miss?” Peter asked.

“She’s both of ours baby. Just as you are, if not by blood.”

“Oh,” he said again. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Well that’s okay. Mister John, he sold tobacco to the shops, his wife had two kids that he wasn’t responsible for. They all seemed well enough!”

“I love both of you equally,” Pepper told him. Peter felt heat rise to his cheeks. He drummed his fingers a bit more and then stuffed some cauliflower in his mouth. His dad laughed at the face he made.

After dinner, Peter asked if he could help Friday clean up. She said it was okay. But he felt weird, so she showed him how to stack the plates and then let him carry them to the kitchen. Once he was done, his father called him upstairs.

“Do you like your room,” the man asked.

“Yeah. It’s nice. Darker than I was expecting.”

“But still pretty bright, right?” he smiled, walking towards the windows and drawing the curtains. “The city is like that. You can control it some with these.”

Peter hummed. “It’s still a bit bright.”

“That’s the wolf helping out a bit, believe it or not. This would be fairly dark for most humans.” Then, he reached across to the desk and twisted to light a lamp. “This should help when it gets too dark out, though. Let me know how it works, the oil should still be good.”

He turned to look at the narrow bookshelf. “See any books you might like?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said. “I can’t read all that well.”

“Well that’s alright,” Tony said. “I can help you, if you want. We’ve also got some toys for you in that top shelf.”

Peter followed his nod towards the dresser. He ran his hands over the top of the wood. It was nicer than any wardrobe or chest he’d had before. He didn’t even open the drawer. Sitting atop was a small, beige rabbit with droopy ears.

“That’s Pully,” Tony said, voice hushed. “We called him that since you used to pull on his ears.”

Peter picked up the rabbit, felt how soft he was. He was definitely an older toy, but he was well taken care of. One of his button eyes was darker than the other, and there was extra stitching along one ear. He soothed something within Peter he hadn’t been aware of. He smelled nice.

“He was you’re favorite,” Tony said. Peter pulled the toy close, squeezing him tight for just a moment, then walked to the bookshelf. The books were all colorful, but some of them had titles he couldn’t read. The font was too small or the word too big. The boy pulled down a thinner book with a red cover. There was a sketch of little boy standing by a half painted fence on the front.

“That one’s pretty good, if I recall,” Tony said. He hesitated. “I could read it to you, if you wanted.”

“Huh?”

“I used to read to you, when you were little. Or we could just sit and I could help you with the big words.”

Peter waited for a moment, before passing the man the book. “You can read it.”

“You sure?” Peter nodded, climbing onto the bed and pushing himself against the pillows. His sheets weren’t made up. He remembered all the other beds on the tour had been done up nice. That was probably something he’d have to learn.

Tony walked around the narrow gap on the other side. “Mind if I join you?”

Peter scooted to the side to give him room. The man climbed in beside him, taking his shoes off so he was only in his socks. Peter wiggled his feet and watched as the man did it back. He then opened the book and began to read. Peter liked it. He tucked himself against his side, trying to read along in his head.

Nearly halfway through the first chapter, he asked, “When was I taken?”

He didn’t quite look up when Tony said, “You were two. Two and a half, nearly. I came home one day and you just, weren’t there.”

“I’m ten now.”

“I know.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“I know,” the man said. He sounded so sad. “I’m so sorry.”

Peter ran his finger along the top of Pully’s head. He could feel a compounding sadness. It must have been the bond. He pushed his face into Tony’s arm. He huffed once, twice. It wasn’t a sound that he’d ever made before. It was like his father’s hum, but nicer. It felt good. He felt the man relax against him.

He kept reading. That night, as he closed the door behind him, making sure to leave it open just a smidge, he said. “I love you.”

Then he went across the hall to his room.

Over the course of the following days, Peter found himself learning all types of new things. He learned what it was like to go to the shops and actually come home with something he wanted.

He’d come down the first morning with his shirt billowing over his hands. His trousers were fine, for the most part, but he felt as though he’d trip if he wasn’t careful. Pepper had greeted him at the kitchen table.

“Aw, darling,” she’d said, a smile twisting at her lips. “A bit too big, aren’t they?”

“They were all like this,” he said. “I don’t think they’re supposed to be.”

“Not really, no. We’ll go to the tailors after breakfast. Pop by the shops for some shoes and toys too, if you’d like.”

Peter had to stand very still so as to not get poked, it had taken forever. They had to leave his clothes for a few days to get hemmed, but they’d bought some better fitting ones for the wait. Peter actually liked his clothes. He’d never had anything quite so soft. Even his old sleep shirts. He didn’t wear his waistcoat very often, and the house was nice and warm most days so he didn’t need his coat, but he liked the patterns and the colors. They couldn’t get him to wear a hat. Pepper had helped him pick out shoes and slippers, but he still preferred to go without. On cold mornings, he’d just tie on his socks. The boy decided against a hair cut, but she’d made him take a bath when they got home.

The city had its own toy shop. It wasn’t even attached to the general store. Morgan had drug him by the hand, telling him which toys were best. Pepper told her to let the boy pick out his own toys. He’d found tiny stage coaches and a train set. There’d been something close to a stage coach, but it hadn’t had any horses. Pepper had called it a “car”, and Peter could hardly understand what she’d said.

He’d been worried about how much it all was. Even though the family was rich, surely this was too much. But the woman had let him grab whatever he’d wanted. He found a group of puppets that moved with a tiny crank. He’d grabbed a tiny model of the solar system, something he’d read about. She’d asked him if he wanted more stuff animals, but he thought of Pully at home. He decided that was enough.

Peter had rushed down the stairs to greet Tony when he’d returned from work.

“Woah there, racer,” the man had smiled. He’d thanked Friday as she took his coat. “What’s the rush?”

“We went shopping today!”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. I got poked with needles.”

“I’m sure you mean the tailor,” he laughed. “You look mighty handsome, though.”

“You think I could pass for a city folk?”

“Just about.”

The boy had descended the last few stairs and grabbed Tony’s hand. “I got a buncha new toys. They had trains! And a car! I don’t even know what that is! Come look, come look!”

Tony had sat on the floor with Peter as he’d shown him all the new toys he’d stashed up in his room. He’d helped him assemble his train tracks. He’d told him the name of each little ball in the planet display. He’d said something awfully smart about the puppets when the boy showed them, so Peter had made him tell him about all the little pieces that made them work.

Peter had also gotten some books. He hadn’t picked out too many. There were so many books in his room, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to read them all. Most nights, Tony would sit with him in bed, or in the front room, and read to him. Sometimes they’d even read during the day, when the man got to stay home. Sometimes, he’d have Peter read instead. He said the boy was a good reader. Peter wasn’t too sure about that.

They read about pirates and castles and adventures a lot. They also sometimes read about science and history. Peter didn’t always understand, but he tried. He liked the way Tony explained things. He liked when he could explain them, too.

There was another man who had a room in the house, up on the top floor. Peter had never seen him, and his room didn’t have as much stuff as the others.

“His name is Bruce,” Tony had explained. “He stays at the house in Long Island, for the most part. The lights and the sounds make him stressed.” Peter could understand that. There was a lot more going on in the city then there’d ever been anywhere else. “Plus he has more room for his lab out there.”

“He’s a scientist?”

“A chemist,” the man had said. “More specifically. He mixes things together and tries to keep them from exploding. I think we have a book on it.”

Peter had learned about “the conservation of warmth”, when he and Morgan had pushed the front and back doors open and chased each other through the halls. He’d gotten nervous, when Pepper and Tony had sat them down. They hadn’t gotten mean, though Peter decided he didn’t want to risk it again.

He’d learned how to bake. Cookies, at least. Morgan had pestered Friday into making a batch, and Peter had joined in. The parents had walked in just as the little girl had dropped the mixing bowl.

She’d started wailing before Friday could even say anything. “It’s alright, little’un,” she’d soothed. “It was an accident.”

Pepper had rushed forward to help. The room had filled with a piercing and horrible scent. It smelled like rotting wood and burnt duck. Peter had smashed his hands over his nose. His eyes’d begun to water.

“Are you alright, Peter,” Tony had asked. He’d shook his head, and the man had brought him back to the front room. The smell was better here, he could breathe better. He felt warm and fuzzy as he hid his face in Tony’s coat.

“What’s wrong?”

Peter shook his head. “Smell.”

“Ah,” the man had said. He placed his hand on Peter’s head. The boy leaned into it. “That’s another wolf thing, I’m afraid. We can smell each other’s emotions. I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you. You’re becoming for acquainted with us, with your wolf self. You’ll be smelling it more. Especially with Morgan. She’s little, all her emotions are bigger and more noticeable. You’ll get used to it.”

Peter had wrinkled his nose and sneezed. Tony laughed.

Sometime around the two week mark, Peter had rushed upstairs. Steve had said he was in his office, and he wanted to keep reading their book. He’d thought about it all night, and he was sure he knew who the theif was.

“Tony,” he called, pushing the door open. “It’s Georgie, I just know it!”

He felt less excited, though, when he saw the other man sat in the office with his dad. He was dressed up, and so was Tony. He even had a tie and a suit jacket on. The other man had scowled.

“Don’t you know to knock,” he’d said. Peter had frowned. He didn’t like this man.

“It’s alright,” Tony had said. “It’s just my son.”

“You call you’re father by his name? How rude. Do you not respect him? And where are your shoes?”

Peter had looked down at his bare feet. He was in cropped pants, even though it was getting colder out, and he didn’t have a coat or a vest, only suspenders over his shirt. He felt underdressed. He felt dirty.

He sneered. “I don’t have to wear shoes in my own home.”

“Peter,” his dad said. His voice was sharp, and Peter suddenly felt sick. He didn’t even bother with an apology as he raced back downstairs. He didn’t want Tony to get mean. He pushed his way through the kitchen, to the back garden. Friday was there, her sleeves long and a bonnet on her head as she hung up the laundry.

“What’s wrong, pet?” she called as Peter stumbled down the steps. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” The woman reached forward to catch him as he came to a stop by the clothes basket. The clothes were all still damp, and he hoped he didn’t cry on them. He didn’t ever cry, but he certainly wouldn’t want to make the laundry worse.

“Tony’s mad at me,” he said.

“I’m sure he isn’t,” Friday said. She ran her hand across his forehead, pushed his curls off his face. “He wouldn’t be mad at you.”

“He is!” the boy cried. “There was a man in his office and I was mean and I embarrassed him! I didn’t mean too!”

“Shh,” she soothed. “It’s alright, little’un. Come here, let’s sit.”

She led him to one of the garden chairs and helped him sit down. “Where are your shoes, pet? It’s cold.”

Peter whimpered, pulling his feet up off the grass. The woman sighed, and reached up to pull her shawl off. She wrapped it around Peter’s shoulders. He frowned, but she just patted his head and returned to the laundry.

They sat in silence for a bit. Peter glanced towards the back door, then decided he didn’t want to see if Tony was there. He hooked his hands underneath his feet, rubbed them to protect them from the cold. His soles were all wet. The grass was dewey. Friday hummed against the breeze.

“You’re not a wolf, are you miss?” he asked.

“No, young mister, I am not,” she said, hanging one of Natasha’s green blouses. “I know about you, and I know who you are. But I am not one of you.”

“Do you wish you were?”

“Not quite. There is indeed a special bond between you, but I do not feel left out. Your parents give me a place to stay, to eat. They pay me and give me off days where I can take care of myself. I feel like part of your family, even if I am not your pack. There are also benefits, I’d say, to not being a wolf.”

“Like what?”

“Like not having to smell you’re dirty laundry, you wee messer,” she said, flicking at his nose. Her fingers were wet, and he squealed.

The back door opened. Tony came down the stairs, into the garden. He looked mad, Peter was sure he was mad. He jumped off the chair and hid behind Friday. He didn’t want to, but he didn’t want to be yelled at. He wanted Tony to be warm and safe. He didn’t feel safe.

“It’s alright, pet,” Friday said. “You’re okay.”

“Peter,” Tony called.

“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.” She didn’t look at Peter when she said since. She sounded like strange, as she stared at Tony. She reached around and pulled Peter gently out from her skirts, leaving her hands atop his shoulders. Tony sighed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” the boy said.

“Mr. Stark. That’s a new one.”

Peter whimpered. Tony frowned, but he let his shoulders drop.

“You’re not in trouble,” he said. Peter looked at his feet, shook his head. “No, you’re not. I’m sorry you were spoken to in that way. The man is gone, and if he wants his company to have any further business with me, they’ll send someone else.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, little wolf,” the man said. “I’m sorry he scared you. I’m sorry if I scared you. I wasn’t angry, not at you. I just didn’t want the situation to escalate. I didn’t want him to get angry.” He opened his arms out, just a bit. “He should have never spoken that way to you. You’re my son.”

Peter blinked. His eyes were wet. He rushed forward, slamming his face into his dad’s torso, hiding inside his coat. Tony wrapped his arms around him, and he felt warm and fuzzy.

“I didn’t wanna embarrass you,” he said, voice muffled through the clothes.

“You could never embarrass me,” Tony said. “You’re my son.”

The boy paused. He looked up. “You’re my dad.”

“Yeah kid.”

“Can I call you that? Can I call you Papa, like Morgan does?”

Tony’s face was soft and he smiled. “I would be honored, pup. I love you so much.”

One day, Peter awoke to yelling. It wasn’t the same sort of yelling he’d hear in town. Not the same way Mr. Marco would yell at the store workers. Not the same way Old Miss Mabel would scold the boys who ran through her yard. This yelling was quiet, like the people yelling were trying not to. He felt something shaky through the bond. The air smelled hot. He didn’t like it.

He crawled out of bed and pushed the door open. Morgan was standing in her doorway, a stuffed kitten in her arms. She looked up at him, a slight frown on her face.

“They do this sometimes,” she said. Peter heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and the two of them watched as Bucky came onto the landing. He saw them, for just a moment and he stopped, before he continued up to the top floor. Steve followed behind him.

Peter jumped when the front door slammed.

A moment later, their mom came upstairs too. “It’s alright,” she said. “I’m sorry we woke you. Papa’s gone on a job. He’ll be back by dinner.”

Morgan shrugged, “Can you braid my hair today, Mama?”

“Of course, baby,” she said. She looked at Peter as his sister grabbed her hand. “You can go back to bed, honey. If you want.”

Morgan dragged her into her room and closed the door behind them. Peter waited, to see if his dad would come up the stairs. He knew he wouldn’t. His mom had just said he’d left.

He thought about grabbing Pully off his bed, but decided not to as he climbed the stairs. He tried to be quiet. He felt weird. The bond was pushing at him in a weird way, and he could smell a sour smell on the landing. He walked back towards Bucky and Steve’s room. The door was open.

The two men were sat on Bucky’s bed. He had his sleeves rolled up, his head lowered, and Peter watched as Steve ran his fingers across the scars that ran their way up his arm. Peter hadn’t seen them all. Not really, not yet.

He knocked lightly on the door frame, then tucked himself against it. The men looked up, shocked. Bucky breathed through his mouth as Steve smiled.

“Hey kid, you alright?” he asked.

Peter nodded. He tapped his hands on the wood of the door way. “What’s braiding?”

“Pardon?”

“Well, I know what it is, obviously. But I don’t know how to do it. Morgan’s making Mama do her hair.”

“And you…wanna know how to braid hair?”

“Yep.”

Steve paused, before he let out a light chuckle. “All right, you can come in.” He looked down at Bucky, who gave a small nod. Peter pushed forward and climbed atop the bed behind them.

“My hair’s not long enough, I don’t think,” Steve said. “I could try to show you on your head…”

“He can use mine,” Bucky said. He still hadn’t looked at Peter.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked.

“Don’t worry about it.” He sounded annoyed. Steve hesitated, before nodding at Peter. The boy shrugged, and reached forward to comb his fingers through the other man’s hair. He felt him tense, for just a moment, before he breathed out again. Peter frowned. He tried to push the warm and fuzzy feeling he felt from his dad sometimes, but he didn’t think it worked.

He followed along as Steve explained how to separate the strands into three pieces. He decided to only braid a small portion, in case he ruined it. He weaved the pieces together as gently as he could, but Bucky still let out a shaky breath.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, alarmed.

“No cub,” the man said. “You’re okay. Don’t worry.”

The boy hummed. “Are you sad cause you and Papa argued?”

“A bit.”

“Or are you mad? Sometimes my father would yell at me and I would get so angry I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

Bucky laughed lightly. “A bit of that too, I think. It’s just been a rough morning.”

Peter hummed again. He picked the strands of hair up and kept braiding. He got to the end, but he didn’t have anything to tie it up with. He picked up another three strands, even though he’d already learned how to do it with the other ones. The men didn’t say anything.

“Why are you both in here? Why don’t you take Bruce’s room?”

“Because that’s Bruce’s room,” Steve explained. “He does actually visit, sometimes, believe it or not.”

“Seems cramped in here.”

“It’s not too bad. We often push the beds together.”

“Oh,” Peter paused. “Are you married? Like Mama and Papa?”

Steve laughed. “Something like that.”

“Did one of you have to wear a dress?”

Now both men laughed. “No, not really.”

Peter nodded. He picked up another set of hair. “Why don’t you just have one bed?”

“It’s not a requirement. Plus Buck sometimes has nightmares. He thinks it’s safer that way.”

“Safer?”

“I might lash out, in my sleep,” the man said.

“I told him I really don’t care,” Steve said. “But it upsets him.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said.

“It’s alright,” Bucky shrugged. “There’s not much we can do about it.”

“Those sound really bad.”

“They can be.”

“What are they about?”

The man let out a deep breath. Steve wound their fingers together.

“When we were young,” Steve said. “We were best friends. Bucky’s parents weren’t always very nice. My mom and I were basically his pack. Then one day he was taken.”

“Like me?” Peter asked.

“A bit. But we were full grown by then. It’s a lot harder to force a full grown wolf into another pack.”

“Sounds scary.”

“It was,” Bucky said. Peter tried to push the calm through the bond again. He brushed out the braids and started again.

“How’d you get here. Did Steve save you?”

Steve gave a sad smile, “In a way. I was already working with your dad by the time I saw Bucky again. He was real smart, but he needed help moving all the equipment around sometimes. We were walking home one night and when we were mugged by a rough pack. Bucky was there.”

“Did he stop the bad guys?”

“I was one of the bad guys, cub.” Bucky said. Steve made an upset noise. “I barely remembered this punk when I saw him. I was so lost within the other pack.”

“Everyone ended up shifting and we got into a fight,” Steve said. “That’s how I got this.” He runs his finger along the scar on his nose. “Some lawmen heard the commotion and we all scattered before they could get too close. I started hunting for Bucky then. Now that I knew he was in the city.”

“How did you get him back?” Peter asked.

“Bucky did a lot of it himself. He pushed through the bad bond the pack had forced on him. It took a bit, but one day I saw him, and he looked back at me, and I knew he knew who I was.”

“Stevie’s selling himself short,” Bucky smiled. “I don’t think I even would have tried if he wasn’t so persistent.”

Steve squeezed their hands together. Peter smiled.

“That’s nice. I’m happy you were saved.”

“So am I,” Bucky said. “Just how we’re all so happy you’re here with us, too.”

Peter beamed.

“Why were you and my dad arguing this mornin’?” he asked after a while. Bucky grew still again. Peter felt bad. Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Bucky squeezed his hand.

“I did some bad things, when I was with the bad pack. Things I’m not proud of, cub. Things I’ll never be proud of.”

“Like mugging people?”

“Like that, yes. We also were rough with people. Did mean things to them and their businesses. Good people too, who were just trying to make a living.”

“One night…,” he lets out a shaky breath. “One night we walked up on this real big house. A mansion, basically. We were just supposed to rob the place, but the couple inside woke up. They were wolves too, and they didn’t like us on our territory. There was a fight, but the couple was older. They died.”

“Did you kill them?”

“No,” Bucky said. “No, I wasn’t on that side of the house. They were gone by the time I made it over. But I was there, that day. I probably would have fought them, too.”

“Do you feel bad about it?”

“Horrible. Every day.”

“It’s not so bad then,” Peter said. “I don’t think. Old Miss Mable said that too many people don’t care when they hurt others. Sometimes I didn’t, and it made me feel icky afterwards.”

“That’s because you’re a good kid, Peter,” Bucky whispered.

“I think you can be good too,” the boy peered down to try and look the man in the eye. “You feel bad, and you fought against the bad guys. In the end. So they lost, and you won.”

“I don’t feel like I won, some days.”

“That’s okay. It wasn’t like I’m adventure books, where everythin’ is easy. But you did it.”

“You’re a sweet boy, cub,” Bucky said. He reached up and squeezed one of the boy’s hands. Peter smiled. Then he frowned.

“Why would Papa be mad about the old people?”

Bucky dropped his hand. He breathed deep a few times. Peter worried he was going to have trouble, like he did sometimes. Steve squeezed his hands, whispered something in his ear.

“The couple was Tony’s parents, cub. You’re grandparents.”

“Oh.”

Peter understood why that would make his dad mad. It made him feel funny.

“Tony eventually found out that it was our pack who did it. And I couldn’t keep it a secret that I was there. He deserved to know.”

“But you didn’t kill them.”

“I was still there,” the man sighed. “It counts.”

Peter hummed. He stopped braiding. He ran his fingers over the bumps.

“You didn’t kill them,” he said. “You did bad things, but you didn’t do that. It’s alright to feel sad. I felt sad when Pauline’s grandma died, and I’d only met her once. I felt sad when I killed Clover.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Bucky said, something sharp in his tone. Peter shrugged.

“Maybe. But neither was Papa’s parents. Wasn’t your fault.”

Bucky let out a shaky sigh. Peter waited. “I’m so sorry, cub.”

“It’s alright,” Peter shrugged again. “I never met them.”

The air smelled damp. Bucky sniffled. Peter pushed his head against his back and huffed.

That night, when his dad got back, he watched him pat Bucky’s shoulder and ask after dinner.

He was itchy. That was all he could think. Friday was placing a turkey sandwich with pickles in front of him and he was itchy. Morgan was telling Natasha and Bucky about the bird she saw on her walk with Pepper and he was itchy. His dad was leaning against his side, pushing a fuzzy feeling through the bond and he was itchy. He smacked his hands against the table.

“Okay,” Tony said, grabbing his hands and holding them close. “Okay, I got it, I know.”

“I thought I could feel it through the bond,” Steve said. Peter felt like his bones were pushing against each other and he whined, curling into himself. His dad shushed him, sticking his nose into his hair and giving a soft huff.

“What’s happening,” he squirmed in his seat, trying to pull his hands back. His dad held on, rubbing them softly with his thumbs.

“It’s you’re wolf. It wants out.”

“I thought we were done with that?”

“No, pup, your wolf will always be there. You’re safe with you’re pack, so it calmed down a bit. But you’ve never fully shifted, and that’s long past due.”

Peter whined again. Morgan put down her sandwich and pushed her chair back. “I wanna go on a walk.”

“You went on one this morning,” Pepper said.

“You can never have too much sunlight. Come on, Friday.”

The two women laughed. “Of course, young miss.”

The two left into the hallway. Peter could hear them putting on their coats before they left. He could hear the birds chirping outside and the stage coach down the street. He could hear the way the horses breathed. He wailed and pulled his shoulders up to his ears.

“It’s okay, little wolf,” his dad said. He pulled him closer, pushed calm and warm and safe through the bond, sniffed and huffed into his hair. Peter couldn’t breathe. “You’re okay, I’m here. Papa’s here.”

“Make it stop!” Peter cried.

“You’ve got to shift, little wolf,” Tony said. He reached down to grab Peter under his legs and carried him on his hip into the front room. He sat him on the couch in front of the fire. Peter cringed away from the heat.

“Can someone go get his bedding? And mine and Pepper’s. Quick.” Tony ordered. There was a pitch to his voice Peter had never heard before. Steve and Bucky nodded and raced up the stairs. Natasha leaned down and helped Peter out of his coat.

“It’s alright, little one. You’re safe.”

Pepper ran her hand through his curls. “It’s alright, baby,” she said. “Just one second.”

“I thought you said it didn’t hurt,” Peter said.

“It doesn’t,” Tony said, pulling him against him. “Not normally. But the urge to shift can be strong and uncomfortable the first time. Especially since you’ve waited so long. You were probably asleep when you did it before.”

“I don’t remember feeling like this.”

The man gave a sad smile. “I’m glad.”

Bucky and Steve returned with their arms piled high with linens. Peter basked in the scent. Steve reached over slowly and handed him Pully. Peter tucked the rabbit into his side and tugged on his ears. Natasha helped the two men lay out the linens across the room.

“I’m scared,” Peter whispered. His mom cooed, stroking his hair and rubbing his arms.

“It’s okay,” his dad said.

“I don’t want to get stuck again.”

“You won’t.”

“I don’t know what to do! It’s gonna hurt! What if I attack you?”

Tony pushed himself to the floor and knelt in front of Peter. “Breathe, puppy, you’re okay. It’s all going to be okay. You’re gonna do great. Why don’t we shift before you?”

“I don’t wanna be alone.”

“You won’t be alone. We’re right here.”

“I don’t know how to do it right.”

“Then I’ll do it with you,” he said. “Is that okay?”

Peter nodded. He felt a weird pull in the bond and then there were four wolves in the room. He recognized Natasha and Steve, the bigger wolf pushing his muzzle against a wide brown wolf. The three of them laid down on the blankets. A blonde shewolf with pretty eyes pushed her nose against Peter’s hand and huffed a few times before she joined them. His dad rubbed his hands, bringing them close and pressing a light kiss to his burning knuckles.

“We’re gonna shift now, okay little wolf? Whenever you do it, I’ll do it too.”

“What do I do?” the boy asked.

“You don’t want to fight it, but you don’t want to lose hold of it either. Guide yourself through it. It’ll feel like tugging. Like the bond, but different. Guide it through you’re body. The rest will work itself out.”

Peter nodded and took several breaths. He closed his eyes, counting in his head. His bones were itchy and on fire. He could feel something calling to him, pushing against his being. He pulled on it, lifting it up to his eyes.

The little wolf blinked his eyes open, pushing his paws against the warm wooden floors. He sneezed a few times, his head twisting back and forth. He sniffed the air, it was warm and sweet.

He looked over and saw an adult wolf. The other animal had warm brown eyes and soft looking fur. He was bigger than then little wolf, and he held his head high, a power and elegance in him that made the pup want to show his belly.

He padded forward and sniffed lightly at the bigger wolf’s paws. He whined and butted his head against the arm, bending back into a play bow. The large wolf laid down, and the pup barked as he was almsot squashed. The adult huffed lightly, reaching out with his nose to push at the pup. The little wolf pushed back before dipping into a play bow once more, jumping up to lightly swat at the bigger one’s muzzle. The brown wolf huffed fondly, leaning forward to lick behind the pup’s ears. The pup felt a sense of warmth and safety. Tony. Papa.

Peter pushed himself against his dad’s chest, snuffling and chuffing. He leapt back then and jumped around, taking play swats at the bigger wolf. His dad huffed fondly, before standing up and grabbing hold of Peter’s scruff with his teeth. The pup whimpered as he was lifted, falling limp while his dad brought him over to the other wolves piled in the blankets. Steve wagged his tail and Peter gave a happy whine when he was placed inside the linens. His mom reached forward and licked along the raised fur of his scruff.

Peter breathed in the warmth and safe smells of his pack. He dug himself into the linens and felt as his dad tucked himself around his little body. He breathed deep and closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

Peter padded into Natasha’s room, feeling the morning sun underneath his paws. The woman was across her pillows with a book in her lap, and she smiled when he came in.

“Hello, little one. Exploring today, are we?”

Peter raised his nose to sniff the air. Her scent was so much stronger here, a deep mint chased by fern and wood. Every scent was stronger when he was a wolf. It was neat, if not a bit overwhelming.

He pushed his way over to her bed, letting his chin rest atop her blankets. She patted the spot next to her. “Come on up. Unless you’ve got somewhere to be.”

The pup wagged his tail before jumping onto the mattress. He had to drag his back legs up, wobbling onto the linens. His paws were too big. He was still figuring them out. Natasha gave a gentle smile, then returned to her book. Peter liked sitting with her. It was quiet, calm. Sometimes, he’d find her after playing with Morgan or going out to the shops with his mom. It was nice, being able to just sit in silence, sometimes.

Peter sat and looked out the window behind the woman’s headboard. Their street was not a busy one, but he could still people heading off to work or an early lunch, women dragging along children bundled in their coats. He closed his eyes, took in the sounds and smells of the city. He laid down.

The two of them enjoyed each other’s company for a while. Peter let himself be soothed by the sound of her turning each page. If he could speak, he would ask after what she was reading. Perhaps he would later.

The pup listened as footsteps passed on their way to the stairs. Listened as they descended. Something pricked sharply in the back of his spine, and he raised his head in alarm. A moment later, the sound of several thumps reached their ears.

Natasha looked up from her book. “Alright?”

“Yes,” came Steve’s voice, embarrassed and annoyed. “Just decided to skip a few steps.”

“Anything hurt?”

“Just my pride.”

Natasha hummed and turned back to her book. Peter listened as Steve continued on his way to the first floor, slower this time. He still felt an ache in his body, and he didn’t like it. He pawed at the bedsheets and whined.

“You okay, little one?” Natasha asked. Peter turned his head from her then back to the door. “He’s alright. Feels a bit miffed, but nothing that would need a doctor.”

Peter shook his head roughly, pawing at his nose. “None of that,” the woman said. “You’re alright. You could feel it, couldn’t you.”

Peter stared at her.

“It’s part of being a wolf. Something within us that alerts us just before something happens. Oftentimes it’s as simple as a papercut, but it can be a good thing. You’ll reach a point where you don’t notice the smaller ones any more.”

Peter huffed. There seemed to be a lot of wolf things that he’d “get around too later”. He wished he could do it all now.

Natasha laughed. “I know, little one. But this is a skill just like any other. There’s not much you can do to train it besides just waiting for it to happen.” She paused. “It’s startling though, isn’t it?”

Peter pawed at the bed and twitched his ears. The woman pushed a feeling of understanding through, reaching out her hand and laying it on her blanket. Peter pushed against it with his nose.

“I’ve noticed you can get worked up sometimes. It’s alright. You’re in a new place, with new people, learning about a whole new world. And our senses are strong, aren’t they? Especially when we’re on alert.”

She rubbed at his paw with the tip of her finger. “You need to learn how to breathe through it. I know it’s hard, sometimes, but try to remember to breathe deep. In through you’re nose, out through you’re mouth. It may not fix it all, but it’ll help it from getting worse.”

Peter tilted his head. “Steve and Bucky know a man, his name is Sam. He’s technically part of the pack, but he works a lot.” Peter inched his way forward on his belly, curious about another pack mate. “He helps people, who feel scared or are melancholy. He works out of his apartment, so he can’t live here. Too many people running about.”

“But he helps,” she said. “He helps Steve with his anger, Tony and Bucky with their pain and regret. He even helped Morgan, when she was going through something just like you. Where everything was a lot. He told her to take breaks and walk away from the problem. Sometimes I think she takes that too literally.”

Peter gave a low woof, wagging his tail. The woman laughed, rubbing his paw for a moment more before picking up her book. Peter wiggled forward and pushed his nose against her leg, basking in the sun shining through the window.

Morgan’s first shift seemed to be much less dramatic than Peter’s. That is to say, she didn’t react the way he did. The adults still treated it the same, still grabbed all the nice smelling blankets and laid them out in front of the fire. When she’d admitted to feeling itchy that morning, Tony had asked if she wanted to shift and she’d nodded.

They’d all shifted before her, even Peter, who stuck himself against his dad’s flank. The little girl had become suddenly shy, and had sat with Pepper in the corner of the room. They’d shifted at the same time, but Peter couldn’t see the new pup until she came bounding around the older wolf.

Her size alarmed Peter. He’d never seen something so small. Maybe he had, with the cats around Old Miss Mable’s house, but those were cats. They didn’t feel small even when they were. The new puppy bounded forward on large paws and slipped, flopping onto the floor. Peter whined and moved forward, but his dad grabbed hold of his neck and pulled him back. The larger wolf pushed Peter into a prone position, laying down and placing his head atop his smaller body. The pup let out a whine and squirmed. His dad huffed, and Peter fell silent.

Morgan sniffed the air curiously. She was a dirty brown color, a hint of gray in the undercoat. Her ears weren’t as big as Peter’s and her snout didn’t come out as much. She wobbled her way to him, sniffed at his muzzle before walking over to the other wolves piled on the blankets, digging at the linens with her paw. Then she bounded back to Peter and dipped into a play bow. Tony lifted his head off, and Peter jumped up to join his sister. He was careful not to swing or bite too hard.

Friday walked into the room, a tray with meat and cubes of cheese in her hands. The two pups bounded up to her, pushing at her feet and wagging their tails.

“Well hello there, wee ones,” she said, bending down to drop the tray on the floor. “Something tells me a nap is inbound, but you’ll miss lunch.”

Morgan began to dig into the food, but Peter pawed at the metal. He looked back at his dad, tilted his head. The wolf flicked his ears, pushing his head forward and huffing. Peter snuffled in response, bouncing back and forth on his paws a few times before turning his attention to his meal.

Peter had been back with his family for nearly a month when he and Morgan were left in the house alone for the first time. His mom and Friday had gone into town to shop for Christmas presents, and Natasha and Bucky had left for a calming walk in the park after a rough morning. Tony and Steve had leave for a job a few streets away.

“You need anything, you come get us,” the man said, holding Peter by the shoulders. “I’ll know you’re coming, so don’t worry.”

“We’ll be fine, Papa,” the boy shrugged. “I stayed home by myself for days and I wasn’t even eight!”

The man frowned. “That’s not as good as you think it is, kid.”

“Well this ain’t the forest. Don’t even have to watch out for bears.”

“Well thank goodness for that.” He said it like he wanted to say more, but he sighed instead. “Just be good. Careful. Don’t let anyone in, don’t mess with anything sharp. And don’t shift.”

From across the room, Morgan groaned. Tony placed his hands on his hips. “Yes, little miss, that includes you too. You’re not used to your wolves yet, I don’t need you tumbling down the stairs.”

“We’ll be good,” Peter promised. Morgan hummed in agreement. Tony looked at them both, back and forth, before he sighed again and said goodbye, following Steve out the door. Morgan and Peter spent the first hour playing with their toys in the front room. Sometimes they’d sit in the bay window and watch the people walk by, making up stories about their lives and where they were going.

His sister had been in the middle of reading one of her picture books, doing a lot more staring then she normally did, when she’d finally let out a long groan. “I’m itchy.”

Peter could relate. “Mama and Friday should be back soon.”

“I’m going to shift.”

Peter stood up. “You can’t. Papa said not to.”

“He’s not here,” she said. “He won’t know.”

“Won’t he feel it through the bond?”

“Not if we change back before he gets here.” Peter wasn’t too sure about that. But he also didn’t know as much about wolves as Morgan did. “Come on! I’m itchy!”

Peter thought about it. For just a moment. Listening to Morgan complain was making him realize just how uncomfortable he was. And his parents never got mad at him. Not really. Maybe she was right, they wouldn’t even notice.

He shrugged and Morgan cheered. He blinked and there was a small puppy trying to push her way off the couch. Peter shifted and rushed to catch her, letting out a huff when she landed on his side. Morgan ducked into a bow, barking a few times before chasing after his tail. They trotted across the fire floor, taking in the changing scents and the smell of cold air. Peter growled when Morgan got to close to the stairs. Tony was right. He didn’t need one of them to fall.

It had only been about half an hour when Peter suddenly felt a cold press in the back of his eyes. Colder than the weather outside. Colder than anything he’d felt before. It grew and grew, spreading throughout his body, to the tips of his paws and the end of his tail. He hadn’t felt this scared since he’d been with his father.

The man was at the door. He could smell him.

“Peter,” his father called as the pup scruffed his sister and drug her up the stairs. It was harder than he thought, she was so much bigger than she was with their parents. Peter could hear the front door rattling as he shouldered his way into Morgan’s room, ducking into her closet. The puppy whimpered as he hid her between her dresses, whining as set her down. He growled at her and she went quiet. He stood on his hind legs to pull the door close, his jaw and teeth hurting around the door knob.

He couldn’t get the angle quite right. There was still a sliver of open air. There was a loud bang from the foyer. It was only a moment before his father appeared.

He was dressed nice. Nicer than Peter had ever seen. His hair was a mess. His eyes were scary. He had the gun in his hands.

Peter growled.

“Don’t give me that, you mangy mutt,” the man said. “You’ve brought this on yourself. Couldn’t do anything right.”

Peter could hear whimpering in the closet. He growled louder. The butt of the shotgun met the side of his head, and he flew back onto the floor. He hurt. He hurt all over. He could feel something warm slide down the corner of his eye. It made his fur sticky.

“Stark thought he could fire me. Cast me off like it was no big deal. Well he wasn’t as secret as he thought. Had a little cur hiding at home.”

Peter growled again. His voice raised into a bark. Beck took a step forward, and the pup whimpered, shoving himself against the bed.

“I was doing him a favor, honestly. Getting rid of his miserable half breed.” Peter whined. “You were supposed to kill each other. But as usual, I have to do everything myself.”

His father raised his gun. Peter was reminded suddenly of Clover, hung up to dry in their kitchen.

He wondered if the man had ate her.

Beck let out a terrible screech as jaws closed around his ankle. Another pair lodged around the arm holding the barrel, dragging him down to the ground. A large figure loomed over the pup and he cried out, barking as he shrunk back against the bed. He wanted to hide underneath. The great wolf licked the top of his head, wrapping its body around his, nuzzling against him. He felt warm. Fuzzy.

Papa.

Peter whimpered, shoving his face into his dad’s chest as the horrible screaming continued. He cried out when they stopped, and Tony shoved his head in between Peter’s ears, huffing and whining softly.

The whimpering in the closet grew louder. A blonde wolf walked towards the cracked door. Peter began to bark again, pulling against his dad. The blonde wolf turned and huffed, bending down to look at him with soft eyes. Mama. Peter relaxed, hid his face away again.

Tony scruffed the back of his neck and carried him to his parent’s room. Peter didn’t see Beck. His mom and sister joined them. They curled around each other on the bed, snuffling and whining, their parents kissing and licking their fur down, pulling the pillows into a wall around them.

Eventually, Natasha appeared with a roll of bandages and ointment. Peter had to shift so his mom could clean the cut around his eye. She rubbed cream into the developing wound. She kissed his curls when he began to cry. She wrapped bandages around his head and pulled him closer, whispering apologies and soft words.

Peter couldn’t change back, now that his wound was treated. He laid down against his dad’s warm stomach, pressing his face into his tummy, shaking. The fur grew wet. Tony huffed and whined, reaching forward to kiss his nose. His mom wrapped her arms around him from behind, and Morgan crawled forward to tuck herself into the crook of their dad’s neck.

Peter closed his eyes and tried not to smell the blood.

They stayed in the house for a few days before Tony decided he couldn’t stand it. Everyone felt tense and the air was prickly. Morgan had been staying with her parents, and Peter often found himself doing the same. There was a rug missing in the hallway.

Tony had sat the boy down and explained who Quintin Beck was. How he’d been one of Tony’s employees. How he’d been stealing money. How Tony’s company was almost lost when Peter was taken. How the man had spent all his time and resources trying to find his pup. How Beck had known that you could weaken a bond by taking a pup far away, hide them away from their pack. Peter had pushed his head against his dad’s arm. His bruise had stung.

The pack had packed their bags for a stay at the family’s country house. Tony didn’t say when they would be back, but Pepper said he didn’t need to pack all his clothes. The family would leave with the others and Friday following a day later. Peter had wondered why they couldn’t go together, but had been too distracted by the vehicle outside.

“It’s a car!”

Tony smiled. “That’s right. A Mercedes, specifically.”

“You have a car?”

“Two, actually. The other one stays in Long Island though. This one I leave in a garage and have it brought up when I’d like to travel with some privacy.”

Morgan and Peter had clambered into the vehicle. It was a bit of a tight fit, with their suitcases at their feet. Pepper had let Peter sit in the front so he could watch his dad drive and have everything explained to him. They’d had to stay bundled in their coats as the wind blew against them.

The country house was even bigger than their home in the city. It was only two stories, but it pushed back along the edge of the water. There were buildings scattered around outside, like their own personal garage. Peter had only gotten to stare so long at their entirely separate second car for a moment before Tony had laughed and led him by the shoulder into the house.

Two men were standing on the porch as they approached. Peter could smell the wolf on them and his bond tingled with a memory he didn’t know. One was an older gentleman in a black suit, the other was a broad man closer to his dad’s age. The latter smiled as Morgan rushed into his legs.

“Hello, Uncle Rhodey!” she cried.

“Hello, Morgan,” the man said, leaning down to wrap his arms around her in a hug.

“How was your trip, Miss?” the older man asked. Morgan let go of the other and reached out to shake the hand he extended to her.

“Good. It was colder than last time.”

“Well that’s because you were here in the summer.” The man had a soft English voice. “It is winter now.”

“How is the house, Jarvis?” his dad asked, taking hold of Pepper’s bag as they rose up the stairs.

“Very good, sir,” Jarvis replied. “The contractor’s boy found an ingenious way to repair the ice box.”

“You should extend him an offer at the company.”

“You can’t have them all, sir,” the man laughed.

“Wow,” the first man said. He was staring at Peter. Tony placed his hand atop his head. “He looks just like you.”

“Yeah?” his dad smiled.

“Well, less annoying.”

His father let out a fake laugh. Pepper leaned forward, arm out stretched. “Honey, this is James Rhodes. I believe your dad mentioned him?”

“All good things, I hope?”

“And this is Edwin Jarvis. He’s been working for your dad for a long time.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, young sir,” the older man said. He stuck out his hand and Peter grasped it firmly.

“Hi!” the boy said. Then he stuck his hand out for Rhodey. “I’m Peter!”

“And I’m you’re Uncle Rhodey,” he smiled, shaking his Peter’s hand with enthusiasm. “I’m basically you’re dad’s brother.” Peter cocked his head. “In all ways except blood.”

“Like Mama!” Peter said. His mom cooed and pressed a kiss to his head.

“And somewhere around here is Bruce,” his dad said.

“Stayed up late, I think,” Rhodey said. “You know how he gets.”

“Unfortunately I do,” Tony said, ushering Peter and Morgan towards the door.

“Like looking in a mirror?”

“I’ve gotten better!”

“May I take your bag, young sir,” Jarvis said, leaning down with a gentle smile. Peter realized he already had Morgan’s bag. He nodded his thanks and watched as the older man took the bags up the stairs. He stared about the entrance. It was huge, bigger than the one in the city. It was two stories and Peter craned his neck to take in all the detail.

“There’s a ballroom too,” Rhodey said.

“A ballroom? Like in books?”

“Yeah. This house is pretty old.”

“Made some pretty good use of it, though, I’d say,” his dad said.

“Still no running water.”

“Semantics.”

From the floor above, a disheveled man rushed along the landing. He leaned against the railing and breathed.

“Nice of you to join us, Brucie,” his father smiled.

“Sorry,” the man said, smoothing his hair down.

“Hi Bruce!” Morgan called.

“Hi, kid.”

“Papa says you’re a chemist,” Peter said. The man looked at him and Peter could feel the bond ripple.

“Yeah.” The man looked like he’d seen a ghost. Peter was a bit concerned he’d fall over the railing.

“Can you show me?”

“Yeah,” he repeated. Peter beamed.

It was the last day of the semester before Christmas break. Pepper had convinced Tony that sending Peter to school was a good idea. The boy agreed with his dad, just a bit. School seemed scary.

“You’ll be fine,” his mom said, holding his hand as they left the main office. “It’s a very nice building, don’t you think?”

Peter hummed. “And your principal seemed nice.”

“He seemed pompous,” Tony said. Kids began to flock out of the main doors, chatting excitedly about the upcoming holiday.

“You’re just looking for a reason to complain.”

Peter watched as his dad turned his face with a pout.

“Peter?”

The boy turned around to see Ned Leeds, in a school uniform with a bag slung over his shoulders. He stared at Peter in shock.

Peter smiled. “Hi, Ned!”

“What are you doing here?” the boy cried, rushing forward. “I thought you said you weren’t coming to the city.”

“I live with my mama and papa now. They said I have to go to school.”

“I’m still pushing for a private tutor,” Tony said. Pepper shushed him.

“What happened to your face?”

“I fell,” Peter said, remembering the lie they’d agreed upon. They’d come back, earlier that week. There were new floorboards in the hall. And a new rug. “Hit my head on a table.”

“Sounds like it hurt.”

“It did.” That part wasn’t a lie.

“Peter?” the boy turned once again to see the Ned’s parents. He didn’t see Lila. Maybe she was too little for school. Or maybe she got to have a private tutor.

Peter waved. “Hi!”

“Peter’s going to go to school,” Ned said. Then he looked to Peter, unsure. “Right?”

“Right.”

“We believe that it’ll be good for Peter to interact with children his own age,” Pepper said, running a hand down his curls. The other adults stared at her. “It will be nice,” she said. “Knowing that Peter will already have a friend.”

Peter wasn’t sure that him and Ned were friends, but the other boy smiled. “Yeah!”

Peter smiled back.

His dad was sitting by the fire, when Peter walked into the front room. It was nice, making the floor warm under his bare feet. He pattered forward, nervous in a way he had not been in a while.

“What’s wrong, little wolf?” Tony asked, peaking up from his book. It said something about electricity on the front, in the tiny lettering most of his dad’s books had. Peter frowned, twisting his hands in his nightshirt.

“I wanted to as you somethin’,” the boy said, tilting his eyes down. His father smiled.

“Of course, Peter. You can ask me anything, anytime.”

Peter hummed, nodding his head. He tapped his foot a few time, fingers twisting and twisting. He tried to look at his dad, really, but he couldn’t. He curled into himself, tucking his head and pulling his shoulders high. His father’s scent turned sour, and the boy whimpered.

Tony placed his book down onto the leg of his armchair. “Come here, baby,” he said, reaching forward. Peter walked forward and let his dad grab him under his arms and pull him up into his lap. He turned his head towards the man, wanting to breath in his warmth, before he stopped and turned away again. His father shushed him gently.

“What’s wrong, puppy?” the man asked. “What’s upset you so much?”

The boy breathed in a few times, breathing out slowly the way Natasha had taught him. He couldn’t look up as he said, “Quintin said I was a halfbreed.”

His father growled, and Peter fought between baring his neck and curling up tighter. Before he could decide, his father ran his fingers through his hair and hummed softly. After a moment, he tucked his fingers under Peter’s chin and lifted. He still couldn’t quite look his dad in the eye as he asked, “What’s that mean?”

Tony sighed. “It means both your parents aren’t wolves.”

Peter frowned, “My birth mom?”

“Yes,” Tony said. “You know your mama is a wolf, but the woman who gave birth to you was human.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Peter whimpered.

“No, darling,” his dad soothed, kissing his curls. “Not at all. True wolf packs, like ours, are becoming rarer and rarer, as we travel further. Separating from our original bloodlines. Only in a few circles would your birth mean anything other than pure joy.”

“Then why did he say it?”

“Because he was a cruel man,” his dad scowled, turning away to stare into the flames. Peter could feel the way his dad was trying to stay calm, the way the bond pushed and pulled with his emotions. He tucked his head against Tony’s torso, huffing and snuffling, wanting to help. The man’s scent turned, and he wrapped his warm arms around the boy.

“Who was she?” Peter asked, voice muffled by his dad’s shirt.

“Your birth mom? I’m afraid I don’t recall.”

Peter frowned, turning his head to look up at the man. Tony laughed, though it didn’t sound very happy.

“You know me and Mama love you. But I was in a dark place, early the year you were born. I felt the moment you came into this world, but I didn’t know who or where you were. I woke in the middle of the night, my heart racing out of my chest, and rushed downstairs to find you in a basket at the doorstep, already beginning to cry because of the cold. Your mama and I weren’t together yet, but she was a dear friend, and I loved her deeply. She had helped me to climb out of that dark place.”

Peter nodded. He always felt safe around Mama.

“She showed up the moment she received news, baby formula and clothes in her case. She helped raise you. She has always been a part of your life and she loves you as her own.”

“I love her too,” Peter said. Tony smiled.

“I’m so glad,” he kissed Peter’s head again. “I started to court her sometime around your first birthday. But we’d known each other so long that there really wasn’t much question about it. We were going to get married, that year you disappeared, in the summer.”

Peter pushed himself upright, staring at his dad and saying with as much sincerity as he could, “I’m sorry you didn’t get married.”

His dad chuckled. “We did, pup, don’t worry. It was just…a little later than we’d planned.”

He stared into the fire for a moment before speaking again. “When your sister was born, I was so scared. I hadn’t felt you for nearly a year, and suddenly there was a new, pulsing bond coursing through me. I didn’t want to replace you.”

Peter pouted. “But I’m not Morgan. And she ain’t me.”

“Well that’s for sure,” his dad laughed. “But that’s how I felt. I was so, so happy, but also so scared. I loved your sister, from the moment I knew she existed. I loved you just the same. That’s a lot to feel, don’t you think?”

Peter nodded. He remembered the way it had felt to see Steve, all those months ago, to see Natasha and know they were connected, to know they weren’t normal wolves. He remembered how he’d felt seeing his dad, his body reaching even though he didn’t remember him.

“I was also afraid of losing her,” Tony said. “I’d failed my first baby, and now there was a new one who I could fail, too.”

“You didn’t fail me,” Peter frowned. Tony smiled sadly.

“But I did.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Uh huh.”

Peter stuck out his tongue. His dad sighed, a fond expression on his face, his scent sweet and warm.

“That’s when I knew that I’d never stop looking for you. I’d always keep a piece of me open, ready to find you and bring you home.”

“Quintin said we were supposed to kill each other,” Peter said. Tony growled, but the boy didn’t hide this time.

“That’s because he was a horrible coward, who wanted everything to work out in his own twisted and sick ways. But I never would have hurt you. I’d never hurt a child, but especially not you. I’d know who you were even before I could smell you. Before I could see you.”

Tony ducked his head into the boy’s curls, breathing him in. Peter snuffled and chuffed, grabbing a hold of his dad’s hand and fiddling with his fingers, curling the one with the wedding ring back and forth.

“Every time we moved, every new house, we left a room made for you. Your papa has always been on the short side, so we made clothes to fit my measurements from when I was your age.”

“And they were still too big!” Peter cried. His dad smiled.

“Well that’s because you were out living like a wild child. Not enough food for that growing stomach!” he poked at Peter’s tummy and the boy cackled, pushing his hands away and squirming.

“I eat good now. Y’all keep making sure I eat every meal, even when I have to listen to you and Bucky yap and bicker.”

“And that’s good,” his dad said. “A full wolf is a happy wolf.”

“I’m happy,” Peter said. “Even if I wasn’t eating, I’d be happy. I’m happy being with you.”

Tony’s face melted into something soft and glowing, tears welling in his eyes.

“I’m happy being with you too, baby,” he said, curling around Peter in a hug. “I’m so, so happy.”

Peter huffed and squirmed closer. He tucked his face back into Tony’s shirt, pushing against him a few times as the man’s hold tightened. They stayed like that for a bit, until eventually his dad picked his book back up. Peter’s eyes began to droop, and he turned his head so his ear rested against Tony’s chest. He fell asleep to the crisp sound of pages turning and his dad’s heartbeat.