Chapter One:

December

The nineteenth of December falls on a cold Thursday in New York with snow clouds puffing up along the skyline some odd miles east for those rich enough to see it from their bedroom windows. F.R.I.D.A.Y. frames the view by drawing the blackout curtains at an early six o'clock on the dot instruction from Mr. Stark the previous evening to which he sluggishly rolls from his infrequently used bedsheets to stare at the incoming snowstorm.

"How long until the snow, F.R.I.D.A.Y. ?"

"Expect the snow to begin falling at approximately one thirty this afternoon, Sir."

A hum is his response, followed softly by the dull thud of his forehead resting against the naturally frosted pane glass window. Minutes pass as he lets the winter chill seep into his skin. Only when he thinks he's awake enough to maneuver himself down the hall and find the coffee machine does he pull away.

The smooth marbled edge of the kitchen island presses against his lower back as he props himself up to wait out the chase of the caffeine headache thundering in his left temple with black coffee. He savors small sips, despite wanting to down the entire pot in one go, and glances around the room as if he's a guest in his own space.

Everything looks the same as it had three weeks ago, except the calendar hanging on the refrigerator. As a new addition to Stark Tower a week previous, its welcoming had been a bit tense. Its extend stay a bit more composing. The day's date is circled, a thin red line of ink nearly cutting off the top of the numerical one and crossing out the nine entirely. A clear depiction of the uncertainty the day would bring as unmistakable Stark handwriting declares that "appointment 9am" is bound to occur.

He swallows the urge to call Pepper along with the last of his coffee that has grown cold in his moment of mounting anxiety, knowing neither could effectively get him out of his prior commitment. He figures a shower is the next best thing to make him ready for the day, a quick one so that he can tinker in his workshop until it is time to leave, but F.R.I.D.A.Y. redirects him when he reaches his bathroom door.

"Sir, it appears that Mr. Parker has disabled the alarm in his room. I am unable to fulfill my task of alerting him for the morning."

A short huff of air escapes him, calloused fingers making quick work of massaging their way down his face. "Okay."

It's another reminder from F.R.I.D.A.Y. several minutes later until Tony convinces himself to head toward the teenager's room. The door is closed, the knob resistant to being twisted for entry. "F.R.I.D.A.Y." Tony gives as a command, knowing the A.I. will follow through with the order, but uncertain if he can follow through with his own. The lock clicks out of place and his wavering fingers give an experimental twist to the handle that easily gives way.

Light from the hall rolls out into the dark room as the door swings wide, his shadow towering down the middle of it. He makes a few cautious steps, because all teenagers in every movie Tony has ever watched have trip hazards laying in the floor for the adults who saunter in unwelcome. He expects no less from Peter, and when he makes his way across the spotless floor to the bed alongside the wall the nagging doubts of the past three weeks way heavily on him once again.

"Peter?"

His voice seems loud in the silent room, enough so that the boy he called to should have jumped from the sheets given his recent sleeping habits, but he doesn't receive so much as a flinch. It's a form of honesty he understands, but that selfish part of him that everyone has been keen on reminding him of lately rears its ugly head and has him wishing Peter would go back to lying to him about what they deemed the big stuff.

He's better than that though, or so he's trying to prove to the world and himself. And Peter.

Air escapes him again, quiet and accepting of the status quo no matter how difficult it is to navigate, regardless of the amount of black coffee in the morning. "Everyone thinks we should go."

He knows he shouldn't try to anticipate what the kid laying atop the high thread count sheets will do given he's been wrong on too many accounts the past three weeks, but he feels something he has to swallow hard against when he hears that soft, expected question of, "What do you think?"

The voice is void of tears and steady, another small victory in the marathon Tony only admits to feeling being thrown and slightly dragged into when he's down in the workshop fiddling with something so hard the rough skin of his fingers begin to give way under the stress and bleed. He picks at a band-aid around his left index, giving the back of Peter's head an uncertain glance.

"I think….to hell with what everyone else thinks" he offers, but then nudges the kid in the back. "But I know this could be….okay for us. Good even, but that's for us to decide. Not anyone else, and if we don't go we'll never know and be reduced to live as everyone thinks we should, and that's just not acceptable. So, up you get. Shower, dress, breakfast. All of that. We're leaving in forty-five and so help me God, if your stomach makes those weird mewling sounds like I'm a billionaire whose let a kid living under his roof starve in front of the therapist I will demote Pepper to being your nutritionalist for the next two months."

"I'm up! I'm up!"


When Peter was fourteen, a constant source of anxious energy and clad in the new Spider-Man suit "Mr. Stark" had given him, Tony would lean against the back of the elevator as it descended the tower and watch with amusement at how the boy would contain his excitement. He would shift his weight, ask Tony a hundred questions he never bothered to answer in the time it took to travel down ten stories, and mutter to Karen about one thing or another. Okay, maybe contain wasn't the best way to put it. Nevertheless, it was all things Tony pretended to be annoyed by, but honestly looked forward to on days he allowed the kid to stop by for an upgrade on his suit.

Those days are just over a year behind them now, the kid in front of him shifting with a different kind of anxiousness under jeans, sneakers, and two long sleeve shirts. He's quiet now, even though Tony is more willing to hold a conversation with him as the elevator whirs itself down to the garage.

Tony adjusts his tinted glasses, preparing himself to be the one to ask too many questions for his own good this time, when F.R.I.D.A.Y. opens the elevator doors. Peter seems to shoot out of the lift only to ricochet when he notices his winter coat on a newly acquired hook by the cabinet of car keys. Making his way over to grab it, he says, "Oh, I wondered….well, no I forgot about my jacket, but I never would have thought to look for it down here."

Tony follows at a much slower pace, although out of reluctance rather than a sense of calm, and shrugs at Peter. "Pepper must have needed a reason to buy another coat rack." It's a half truth. Pepper does have an affinity for organizational decor. The fact that she only bought one for the workshop because Tony kept tossing Peter's jackets across DUM-E or a pile of scraps because he knew the kid would forget to bring one until the car had left the garage, well what's it to Peter?


The drive to their appointment is predictably quiet. Tony had decided two car rides ago that blaring Iron Maiden from the car's stereo wasn't doing anything to make car trips more comfortable for either of them. Instead, he lets public radio create a white noise to shadow the sounds of car horns and squelching tires along the twenty minute drive to the doctor's office.

Tony parks the car in the furthest spot from the door, a silent gesture of patience towards Peter who still looks unsure. He mindlessly taps at his phone, opening apps only to close them and skimming over emails to look like he's actually conducting business. If Peter knows what he's doing, he seems okay with it as he puts on his jacket the way a turtle hides back in its shell.

"Ready?" Tony asks, pushing his glasses up his nose like every bit of the celebrity he is.

Peter nods, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket while waiting for the older man to start the process of getting out. It's taking longer than the kid expects so he voices two uncertain "yeah"s in a row before reaching for the handle.

They walk side by side through the parking garage, breaths painting the air with smoky clouds of nervousness. When they reach the door, Tony only pauses long enough to reassure Peter that, "We can leave whenever you want to, but ….you have to give it a chance first."

He almost gets through it without wincing at the pain it causes him. He doesn't want to force Peter to come here. Never wanted to bring him here in the first place, but the others insisted. Swore that even if it hadn't helped Tony all those years ago, it may help Peter.

It's what Tony wants, to help Peter, but doesn't know how to do so and it's nearly crippled him the past month. The only other time he's felt truly incapable of something was convincing his father he was a good, worthy son of the Stark name.

"I…I will, Mr. Stark."

Tony rolls his eyes while pushing Peter through the door, "If anything, maybe this therapist can hypnotize you and convince you to call me Tony." At Peter's worried tug of his jacket sleeve, Tony adds, "Or make you do a horrible impression of a billy goat."

It's not quiet the laugh he was going for, but the bony elbow to his ribs has been the best part of his day so far.


Tony has every intention of plopping down on a cushioned couch, arm thrown across the back, one leg braced atop the other in hopes that if he were to appear relaxed and at ease, then Peter will, too. It's a very well thought out strategy he came up with on the short walk from the waiting room to the therapist's office and he feels quite confident going in.

That is, until he's actually in said office that doesn't have so much as a chair. Sure, there's the usual calming art on the walls, a few plants and some knickknacks. A circular, midnight blue rug has even been laid out to hide the majority of standard issue office carpet. It's warm, if Tony were ever inclined to describe a room as such, but there's the distinct lack of a couch and it throws him for a split second.

"See, Peter. There's plenty of room in here for animal impressions."

The speed at which Peter's head turns should have caused his neck to crack, and at the kid's shocked horror-filled expression, Tony silently hopes that whatever happens in all of this he never loses the ability to make Peter distracted by such silly things.

"Oh, Peter," a female voice calls from the doorway. "I'm so glad you made it." The woman reminds Tony a lot of Pepper. He'd never take her to his penthouse or let her run his company, but she has a kind air about her that Peter will probably respond to.

She pushes long strands of black hair behind her shoulders with annoyance, the slight waves in her hair the same as the ones in Pepper's when she lets it down from a ponytail. "I've had several people cancel because of the snow. Happy to see there's still some born and raised New Yorkers who know how to continue living in the Winter. I'm Allison."

She extends her hand to Peter who noticeably wipes his palm against the side of his pant leg before accepting the offered greeting. She pretends not to notice, but Tony doubts she's even fazed at all by the clammy hand of a teenager. She instead smiles warmly at him when he manages to stutter out his name even though she's already used it upon arrival. She turns her head to the window, squinting just a bit as if it helps to judge how far off the snowstorm is. "Now, still let me know when you think you both need to leave in order to get home safely."

The older man nearly melts into his shoes with the relief of the obvious out she's offering them, but Peter cranes his neck to see out the window. When the kid's shoulders deflate, Tony knows he's already determined the snowstorm is too far off to make that a believable excuse.

"We will." Good thing Tony isn't above using it if need be. He extends his hand out to her. She accepts it like he's no more important than Peter, and he knows his initial comparison of her to Pepper is accurate. "Tony Stark."

"I'm glad you could be here, too, Tony."

"See, kid. She just met me and she's already using my first name. We've come to the right place," he says, slapping Peter's arm with the back of his hand, delighting in the blush rushing up the shell of Peter's ears.

"Yes, while I would have to agree you have, it's not my job to convince Peter of anything, including what to call you," Allison reasons and smiles gently at the boy who looks relieved. "As I was saying earlier, a lot of people have cancelled because of the snow including the moving truck with all of my furniture so I apologize for the space. We're welcome to use another office, but I'm new here as well so I was hoping you wouldn't mind helping me feel more acquainted with my own office. I do have a couple of bean bag chairs I can pull from storage down the hall."

Tony wants to scoff, backtrack on his assessment of her, because this is about Peter. About making Peter feel comfortable, relaxed and he would be more so in an office with a couch!

"I don't mind, Allison. Ned and I sit in bean bag chairs all the time."

It's Tony's neck this time that swivels quickly and it does crack in protest at the movement. He rubs at it as the kid explains who Ned is and helps Allison drag the bean bag chairs in. Tony moves to claim the black one dropped on the outer edge of the rug and notices the distinct imprint of four indentions in a perfect square. Upon further inspection there's a lot of those indentions scattered around the carpet, but Allison catches his knowing gaze with a pleading one of her own.

She softens her eyes, moves them slowly enough so that Tony knows to follow where she looks and he finds the bean bag hugging Peter the way it's meant to hold a kid. The billionaire blinks hard, determined to get this mirage of a woman to turn into Pepper.

Allison, all sun bathed skin and black hair, sinks down Indian style on the floor and leans against the bean bag at her back. "Tony? Would you like to sit?"

It comes out as a question, but he knows it's not.

He feels like an old man easing himself down into the black bag of polystyrene. It makes a weird noise and has Peter not quite giggling. Tony sits ramrod straight, hands on his knees, expensive suit creasing in all the wrong places. He would have been much more comfortable in an office with a couch. He's also the worst.


The hard hitting questions never come up. Tony's issues locked away in a dark closet are never brought to light. Peter's situation is never addressed. They just…have a conversation. For two hours.

Allison engages with Peter like they use to know each other, but haven't spoken in a few years and Tony sits like the third wheel he's never had the pleasure of experiencing until now. Leave it to a fifteen year old kid to steal his thunder. He's not upset by it though, because Peter's laughing. As in making audible noises of amusement, eyes crinkling on the sides and white teeth showing while telling some story about Ned getting stuck in the rails of his bunkbed when they were in sixth grade.

Tony's back hurts and he's extremely hungry because while he made sure Peter ate something he was running on fumes and coffee, but he'd sit here for the rest of the week if it meant somebody made Peter laugh. It's been nearly a month and he's failed to gain more than a constipated smile from the kid. Allison talks to him for thirty minutes and he's cackling.

So maybe his back doesn't hurt so much as his stomach that isn't rumbling in need of food and maybe he just wants to sit here so that he doesn't have to acknowledge what everyone else already knows.

He's not what Peter needs.

There's a distinct lack of voices that pulls him from his thoughts, and he's welcomed back into their conversation with matching inquisitive looks. He turns to the window. "Looks like we should be heading out."

Peter seems to tense, or maybe deflate, and if Allison asks to just keep him Tony's not so sure he would fight her on it.

"Of course, Tony, but I'd like to ask Peter one more thing if that's alright."

"Sure," the word rolls off his tongue, but damn if he didn't want it to.

She raises up to prop her elbows on her knees and look up into Peter's expectant face.

"Peter, I want you to think for a minute. Don't answer right away, just think about it for as long as you need to and then I want you to tell me something that you want. If you could have anything right now, and I do mean anything no matter how unobtainable it might seem, what would it be? Okay?"

The kid's head jerks in a downward motion that Tony has come to recognize as a reluctant "yes" and fidgets noisily until he seems to think he's attracting too much attention. Allison murmurs something to Tony, just small talk to take the pressure off of Peter which Tony thinks is a bit unfair, this was supposed to be about Peter after all. The boy is taking a lot longer than Tony wishes he would. It makes him want to confess right then and there. Admit to what he wants and it isn't to help Peter. It's to help himself. To get his old life back of being the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist he was so damn proud of. To be Iron Man again without worrying about some teenager crying himself to sleep or not eating dinner for the third night in a row. To not be a replica of Howard Stark to some innocent, sweet kid that's had the worst cards in life dealt to him turn and turn again.

"Allison," Peter says just about the time Tony is about to burst. "I want…I want to be able to decide what okay is for me." The boy's eyes catch his, the circumference of the rug feeling like two lifetimes between them instead of the one they've been gathered into. Peter looks back to Allison and Tony takes it as one last moment of abandonment. "I want …I want us to figure that out. Nobody else."

There's a pain in his chest he hasn't felt since being hooked to a car battery in Afghanistan.

"Peter, that's very good. Would it be alright if I helped you?"

Tony wants to lunge at her, if only he could get out of the damn bean bag fast enough to make it count. Of course, it's alright! He just told you he wanted the two of you to figure it out!

"I am certain that you and Tony are fully capable of maneuvering into this new chapter, but sometimes it helps to have an outside perspective. Not someone telling you where to get to or how to get there, but more like….someone standing at each stop you make along the way asking you about the trip."

What the actual hell? Oh! Peter meant us, as in him and me. Tony's breaths are coming in shorter and shorter, arms circling his knees like the car battery he use to have to carry around. "Mr.S-stark?" Air catches in his throat, and it feels like grains of sand against his windpipe. He coughs until a hand is on his shoulder and he grasps the threatening touch hard until the hand squeezes back unaffected. Peter. "Mr. Stark?"

"Fine! Fine, just something in my throat," he croaks, quickly looking anywhere but the kid standing above him. He pats the hand in his and lets it go, looking to Allison in a bit of urgency. "You were saying?"

"I was asking Peter if it would be alright with him if I could continue to meet with the two of you. It's…not mandatory," she says like maybe she didn't want to let that bit of information slip after Tony's recent behavior. "But this is a big change for the both of you."

Tony barely resists the urge to flinch when Peter leans slightly into him. "Yes, well kid, what do you think?" It feels like he has to tap into reserved energy just to put his arm around him.

"I-I think…it's okay."

"Great! I'll have Pepper set up another time. Come along, Peter."

"Uh, Mr. Stark? Tony! There's a few papers I have that you need to sign. It won't take but a minute, I promise." He knows what she's doing, but if he tries to get away with pretending otherwise he risks Peter finding out, too.

"Yeah, sure. Peter, I'll just be a minute."

The door closes behind her and Tony sighs. "Alright, lets have it. You want to just give me some bullet points out of the 100 Qualities a Legal Guardian Should Not Have book, or do you want to record your segment for the podcast that every one who has ever known me is putting together? They're having to rework the title because it's already taken by the book previously mentioned."

"Mr. Stark, I-"

"Oh, so Tony in front of the kid. Mr. Stark behind close doors, I see-"

"Mr. Stark, when you made this appointment, I honestly didn't think you would show."

Tony attempts to laugh that off, but Allison steps away from the door and onto the boundary of his personal space. "But you did, and I gave you an out that I thought you would take in less than thirty minutes, but you stayed two hours. You even went along with sitting in bean bag chairs, and despite having a mild panic attack in the middle of my office made sure to never let Peter see you as anything but composed."

"Why would I be anything less?"

"Because you have the responsibility of a kid who has lost everything. Because you're telling yourself that even you, Tony Stark, the man who has everything can't give him the one thing he needs most. But you're wrong, Mr. Stark."

She's not playing mind games. She's stepping back so not to crowd him, to not make him feel inadequate when coming up short about his own feelings and thoughts. She's holding out a paper that has a blank calendar on it for the month of January- that's identical to the one for December hanging on his refrigerator -and a red pen.

"You're the only person who thinks so."

"No, I don't know if you can give him what he needs."

"Then what could I possibly be wrong about?" He demands, running the pen along the calendar boxes until he finds a familiar number.

"Peter hasn't lost everything."

"Really?" Tony asks a bit more harshly than intended. "Tell me how losing your last living relative at the age of fifteen isn't considered losing everything?"

Allison reaches out to take the paper back and turns it so that Tony can see. There's the same uncertain circle around the 19th of January and his unmistakable handwriting of "appointment 9am".

"Because he's got you."


F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerts him of the appropriate time to begin making dinner and it startles him to think he's left the kid alone upstairs for four and half hours after returning from his first therapy appointment, or their first therapy appointment. Tony isn't sure what he's supposed to call it.

He enters the kitchen with a bit more urgency than probably deemed necessary, but he works through guilt a bit differently than most and has the tendency to do drastic things to earn good graces, like planning a smorgasbord of food for dinner that he has no idea how to prepare, but will attempt it anyway before ordering out Thai food from three different places.

So, in his planning frenzy it's hard to stop when he rounds the corner and comes face to face with Peter carrying a large cardboard box. They collide in a jovial manner but the box falls between them with a dramatic shatter. Tony begins to scold him, but it's lighthearted and not at all demanding of the way Peter's face blanches.

"Geez, kid. I'm just kidding-"

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Stark! Oh my God! I didn't mean- I just thought- Oh God, oh God! I'll find someway to fix them. Replace them."

"What? Peter, full sentences. They're good for you. And me. Use them."

"I wanted- and I thought - but I said - and then I- oh my God, please don't be mad," Peter nearly drops to floor when bending down and his hands are shaking as they scrambled to sweep broken shards of glass together.

"Hey! Woah, woah! Stop, Peter!" Tony crouches down and reaches for the kid's wrists. "I know you got super healing and all, but that still doesn't mean I won't have to pick the glass out of your fingers. Dum-E can clean this up. What is it?" Tony looks down and nudges the overturned box with an elbow until a cracked Santa face is peeking out at them and Tony feels the weight of that car battery again.

"Mr. Stark- I'm sorry! I just- I didn't see you! I-"

"Peter." His voice is quiet, but he feels Peter wince from where his hand is still around a bony wrist. "Just… it's fine. Let me clean it up, okay? Just go….to your room." It's not what he meant to say, but the kid is gone before he can correct himself.

He sits on the floor with the only box left of his mother's favorite Christmas decorations in pieces.


Dinner time is long gone by the time he's done cleaning up the mess, every last piece of his mother's favorite holiday out in the dumpster being buried by snow. He tries to tell himself it doesn't matter. He's never opened that box since the trinkets were placed in it, but he can't quite forget why he put them in there to begin with.

He finds himself at Peter's door before he can really decide to go there. He knocks and hears a quick shuffle of material before he's allowed in. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the sight of Peter's tear-stained face after the sound of the nasally, "Come in."

Peter is sitting at his desk, placing the lid back on a weathered shoebox. He swipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and turns to Tony who eases himself down on the bed.

"I'm sorry-" is said in unison, both strained in the air that seems to stand still around them. The older man holds up his hand and repeats his words a bit more firmly. "I didn't mean to banish you to your room or anything, it's just…." he trails off, because hell they've already done the therapy discussion thing today. He doesn't have it in him to have a heart-to-heart tonight.

"Here," Peter says instead, moving so that he's standing directly in front of Tony like a brave solider on the front lines and holds out the shoebox. Tony sighs and takes the offered item, placing it in his lap to remove the lid. When he does, the most ugly hand painted figurine is staring up at him. He thinks it might be an angel, but one of the wings is deformed and maybe this thing was used in a claymation adaptation of the Poltergeist, because damn the thing looks possessed.

"Uh, Peter-"

"I know it's hideous," Peter assures, but almost like he wishes he didn't. "It's just when…my parents…you know, when they passed, Aunt….May was really into this pottery class. She…made it for me like to remind me my parents were always looking out for me, or something."

Tony doesn't want to even touch it, afraid he will be cursed.

"It's not the….easiest thing to look at or….have on a shelf in your room. I mean, it is pretty creepy looking," Peter explains, and lets out a wet, almost-laugh. "It's just she was so proud of it, I think, when she gave it to me. She thought it was special or something, I don't know. I didn't have the heart to tell her how….ugly it was."

Tony takes the risk of looking up at Peter, because he thinks it'll be less terrifying than looking at the doll in the box. The tears gathering at the corners of the brown eyes above him prove otherwise.

"Anyway, it just….it really means a lot to me, because- well, it just does and you should have it. Break it, I mean. Throw it away, or whatever, because I didn't mean to break your Christmas box!" Peter insists, his voice getting higher, his words coming quicker. "I know I said I didn't want anything to do with Christmas, but it just seemed wrong. So I thought maybe, maybe a little Christmas wouldn't hurt, but it was so last minute and everything! I don't really have any money to buy anything, and I wasn't going to ask you because that's just- it wasn't anything important. Not…not a necessity. You've already done so much- I didn't know if I could go back hom- to the apartment or where she even kept that stuff-or how I would get it all back here! So I …I asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. if there were any in the-in the tower."

Peter sucks in a deep, soggy breath and it nearly kills Tony to let him keep going, but this is longest Peter has talked to him at one time since Aunt May died three weeks ago.

"She, she said there was! In-in your room! And I shouldn't, I know, I shouldn't have went in there, but I did. I figured it's one box! But then I saw the writing on top….about your…mom. But I had already gotten it, so like what was going to be the harm in putting out tinsel or something? Honestly, Mr. Stark! I didn't mean to break that stuff. I don't know how I can find all those things to replace and it wouldn't be the same anyway, so the only thing I can think of is to let you break something of mine like that. Something…something special!"

Tony reaches up then, wraps his hands around Peter's heaving shoulders and flips them so the boy is sitting down on the bed and Tony standing above him, the box with the ugly figurine in Peter's lap. "Okay, alright!" He soothes, letting his hands fall down the boy's arms to his elbows while crouching down so he's looking up at him, instead of towering over him. "Just breathe a second. Let us both do that before we break out the heart-to-heart stuff, because I really wasn't prepared for this when I came in here, but that's irrelevant. Just breathe a second. Okay, kiddo?"

Peter nods and Tony waits until he starts to feel creeped out by the doll now way too close to his face for comfort. "Alright, first of all. You're absolutely right," Tony gently squeezes the kid's elbows when he feels him tense and hurries to finish. "That doll…angel…whatever it's supposed to be is…terrifying. Please, don't put that out on display in here if you can help it. Otherwise, I'll probably have to hire a Shaman or something to come in here with me."

Peter grins like he's trying hard not let his teeth show and Tony huffs out a laugh of his own. "Which means, I'm definitely not going to take it from you, let alone break it! That will probably curse me for seven years or something."

"That's if you break a mirror."

"See, you know too much about all the superstitious-cursed figurine business already. Not chancing it. Regardless, I still wouldn't take it from you. I….never would, Peter. Hell, I know I'm not the saint Cap is, but I don't think I'm that bad."

"You're not! I didn't mean-"

"Relax. I know, I'm just making a point, which I'm getting back to now. You said a lot of stuff there, kid. A lot of stuff we probably need to discuss, but let's hit some highlights and then find something for dinner, because it's nearly midnight and I don't think I've fed you since this morning."

Peter's nose scrunches up just a bit. "I don't need scheduled feedings. I'm fifteen."

"A skinny fifteen year old," Tony adds. "Now, tomorrow you and I will either do one of two things. The first being spending ridiculous amounts of money on Christmas decorations that we will probably only use half of or….go back to…the apartment and grab your usual stuff. Up to you, you can let me know in the morning when you've had to time to think it over. Capisce?"

Peter nods along, but somehow would rather look at the doll than Tony.

"Good. Lastly, we need to make a very important decision."

"Okay…? What is it?"

"Where we're going to find decent take out in the middle of a snowstorm at twelve o'clock at night."


Peter ends up deciding that he would rather go back to what use to be his home for the Christmas decorations, but doesn't end up telling Tony until two days later. He's not been back since Tony helped him pack what little he wanted to take to the Tower the night of the accident. He'd actually not packed anything, resigning himself to nod yay or nay when Mr. Stark asked him if he wanted to bring an item with him.

He's nervous on the car ride over, and completely sick when they arrive at the building. Tony shuffles the snow left from the previous storm over the evidence of Peter's churning stomach on the sidewalk. He asks the kid about a dozen times if he's sure he wants to go in, tells him he doesn't have to because Tony could just find it himself. Peter insists, even as Happy pulls himself from the driver's seat of the vehicle to open the car door for them.

Tony waves him off, telling him to wait in the car while pulling Peter along inside.

The door seems stuck when Tony tries to open it and he starts to get a bit angry at the thought of the landlord changing the locks even though Tony has paid the entire building's rent for the next three months just so Aunt May's things wouldn't be touched until Peter was ready to go through them. However, Peter pushes him to the side a little and says, "You've got to jiggle the handle and lean your weight in the right spot." It's a process, like everything seems to be when it comes to Peter. Tony shouldn't be surprised.

Everything is how Tony semi-remembers it being the only time he stepped foot inside the apartment over a year ago, talking to Peter's "Hot Aunt May" who's now dead and it makes Tony's mouth go a little dry to think of it.

Peter disappears down the hall and Tony quickly moves to follow.

"I think…I think it's in the closet. It should be a couple of boxes. Not much."

It's as Peter says and not five minutes later there's two boxes of Christmas decorations by the door ready to be taken away from the house they once served. "Take a minute to get anything else you'd like. I'll have Happy call a truck around for whatever won't fit in the car. No problem."

Peter nods, grateful more than burdened by the offer for once. The older man busies himself with studying the apartment, trying to find answers on how best to move forward with Peter living in his home rather than this one. He loses himself, gets a bit more curious than he should when he spots a big crack in the wall running out from behind a store bought cow painting. He runs a finger along the side of the frame pushing it sideways to follow the crack to an indention in the wall.

"Aunt May liked cows for some reason," Peter's voice startles him, causing his hand to jerk and the frame to fall from its nail. There's no glass in frame thank goodness, so it just makes a sharp thud when it hits the floor on its corner. "I thought it was the best way to cover up the hole I made so she wouldn't be so mad."

"You did this? Let me guess, the Spider-Man thing?"

"No, no! Nothing like….it wasn't that. It happened before." Peter explains, moving to pick up the picture and place it back on the wall like Aunt May will come waltzing through the door and scold him for the damage if she sees it. "I was mad."

"You know, kid, I'm having a hard time imagining you getting that angry."

It's true, but it didn't stop Tony from preparing to deal with the angry-at-the-world teenager phase when Peter first came to live with him. Rhodey, Cap, Clint, and Bruce all told him it was bound to happen at some point. Even that book on parenting traumatized children that he definitely did not read, said so. But it hadn't happened yet.

"It was after Uncle Ben died."

Oh. Tony can only nod.

"She wasn't too upset. I mean I guess she understood why….. but then, she's probably just glad I didn't run away from home again."

Also a phase Tony was told to brace for, hence a dozen late nights making trackers for Peter's shoes and jackets and anything else he could think of. "Again?"

"When my parents died…. I ran away to find them, because I didn't believe they weren't coming back. Police found me asleep on the subway."

Peter turns to head in the direction of his room if memory serves Tony correctly. He follows behind him, not wanting the kid to be out of his sight for some reason. He sits down backwards in the computer chair at the desk, folds his arms across the back while watching Peter shuffle stuff around rather than pack anything. He wonders if maybe the reason Peter has never acted out the way everyone expected him to was because he'd already done so. Maybe Tony just gets the silent, uninterested phase. To hell with that.

"Alright, kid. What are you thinking? Should we pack clothes first? Or the Star Wars toys?"

"They're not toys! They're….collectibles."

"Potato, Potahto."

They pack a few bags of clothes, books and other things, but eventually Peter seems to tire of it more quickly than Tony does considering the boy sinks down onto his bed. But upon further scrutiny, the older man realizes Peter is thinking hard about something.

"Spill it, kid."

A soft sigh escapes him as he wrings his hands in the bedsheets.

"Mr. Stark?"

"Mr. Parker?"

The boy scrunches his nose up at him, but shakes his head deciding to go with his first train of thought. "I…I was wondering…. well, I mean don't get me wrong, the bed in my room- the room at your place is nice. Like so nice. And it's comfy! But-"

"Your bunk will be delivered by tomorrow night. Anything else?"

"Really?!"

"I'm not going to deny you sleeping in your own bed."

Peter falls back onto the hard mattress like it's made of feathers. "Thank you so much, Mr. Stark."

Tony puts a hand on the railing, palm cupping the welded line in it from where they had to cut the piece to get Ned's leg out of it from the story Peter had told Allison two days prior. Suddenly wishing to hear the kid's laugh again, he looks down at the boy on the bottom bunk and says, "I'm only doing this so that I can witness Ned trying to do a flip from this thing."

Peter's laugh bursts out into the room but it settles around them like it's meant to be there.


It's Christmas Eve before Peter decides to open the box of Christmas decorations they'd gotten from May's. Tony never batted an eye at the excuses given for the delay, just patient enough to let the kid come to it when he was ready. He's never wanted to force the kid to do anything after May died, despite the others telling him he should, that it's part of being a guardian.

Tony sips coffee and reads some tabloids at the couch in the living room while Peter opens the box on the floor. He tries to make it seem like he's not watching Peter's every move so he'll know if he needs to step in before the kid can work himself up into water-works or a panic attack whichever comes first, but Peter turns his head to look at him so suddenly Tony can only offer a weak grin in apology after being caught.

" ?"

" ?"

He gets an eye roll in response. Teenagers.

"I…Is it…would it be okay if I didn't…get this out?"

Tony blinks at him. They'd made progress. Or so he thought.

"I know we went to get it and everything, it's just. She's…she's not here." The tears fall on the box like it's Peter's own way of ruining the last remnants of his own Christmas memories.

"Hey, hey," and if Tony knew he could make his voice that soft, he'd probably have had a lot less crying babies being shoved in his direction by parents wanting pictures of their kids with Iron Man. "We'll put it up in your room, okay? The box, I mean. So maybe next year or something. It's fine, Peter." Tony gathers the box and heads in the direction of Peter's room. He tucks it away in the closet behind some coats so it isn't visible just by opening the door. Turning around, Peter stands in the middle of the room looking unsure where his place in the world is and Tony remembers that feeling. Remembers that feeling on Christmas, too.

"I have an idea," he says, because he's not a hugger even if he wants to smother kid in them until he's not quite so lost.

"Okay."


They enter the workshop not five minutes later and Tony heads over to where he keeps the scrap pieces, motioning Peter along. "Grab anything colorful or that catches your eye."

Peter begins sifting through without question, seemingly glad to have been given something to do rather than deciding for himself. Maybe Tony should start forcing him to do more things, after all.

When their arms are full, Tony leads him towards an empty wall in the shop and instructs him to lay out all the parts by size. Tony grabs some heavy duty glue and a few rolls of duct tape and tells Peter to start attaching the bigger pieces at the bottom of the wall and work his way up in a triangle with the smaller ones. It takes some finesse, and a little over an hour, but eventually Tony asks Peter to stand back as he places one last vertical piece of scrap metal under the triangle to make their project officially in the shape of a Christmas tree.

When he stands back at Peter's side so he can see it, he becomes a little worried at the gasp coming from him, even more so when the kid knocks into him. It takes a second for him to realize that he's being hugged and even longer for him to return the gesture.

"Thank you, Mr. Stark!"

Tony isn't a hugger, but he thinks maybe he could be if that's what Peter needed.

"Merry Christmas, kiddo."


A/N: The remainder of this story will be a continuation of how Tony and Peter become a family over the course of a year. Each chapter will represent a new month in the year and bring new challenges and characters that create the ups and downs of family that these two will have to figure out how to navigate together.

*Find me on tumblr at djdangerlove for a playlist that inspires this story.