Warnings: Tony Stark-x-Pepper Potts, Minor Character Death, Guilt Issues, Abandonment Issues, Orphaned!Peter, Adoptive Father!Tony, Severe Injuries, Superhero Accidents/Collateral Damage, Making Amends, Original Unimportant Characters
Summary: A diverted attack takes away the last Peter has, and it's all Iron Man's fault.
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Marvel Comics and their various writers. I make no profit from this work of fiction.
Author's Note: These chapters aren't designed to be in chronological order, so I cannot fairly give anyone a definite red dot on where this falls on Peter's younger-years timeline. I just hope it doesn't confuse anyone. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask. I have no qualms with running my mouth to anyone who will listen. That said, enjoy.

BECAUSE WE NEED EACH OTHER
TONY STARK AND PETER PARKER
PART 4

He didn't know who Tony thought he was, or just who he was dealing with, but Bruce planned on giving him a long talk about just leaving his kid with him. There was no discussion on Bruce babysitting, no 'Hey, Banner, this is Peter. I'll be back in a sec,' no 'Peter, this is Bruce Banner, or you might know him as the Hulk. Walk on eggshells around him or you'll find out quick why he's the secret weapon.' Peter had just been set down right inside the lab, Tony had given him a firm 'stay' in command before swiftly leaving. Boy and Scientist exchanged looks, and the awkwardness began. Bruce and Peter were alone

Peter currently sat on the edge of the table and swung his legs in empty air. Bruce found himself trying much too hard to acclimate himself to the boy's presence, making himself all the more aware in the process.

It wasn't until Peter spoke and broke the anxious silence that Bruce was able to relax in the slightest, "Tony says you're a nuclear physicist."

"Tony is correct."

"And that you're a doctor."

"Also correct," Bruce added.

"So," Peter rolled his eyes as he tried to put all the information together, "You fix nuclears' problems then."

Bruce wasn't quite sure how to respond. His mouth open and shut multiple times before he could even manage, "What?"

"Nuclears talk to you about their problems, and you listen, and you fix them by giving advice and telling them it's normal to feel the way they do!"

It very suddenly clicked in Bruce's head exactly what Peter was getting at, "Oh. Uh, no. I'm not that kind of doctor. You're thinking of a psychologist."

"Nuclear psychologist," Peter confirmed, "Doctor Nuclear Psychologist."

"I don't think there's much demand for a nuclear psychologist."

"Everyone needs someone to talk to. Even nuclears."

Bruce hesitated a moment, "Nuclears don't talk. At least, not very well."

"Maybe you're just not a very good psychologist."

Bruce gave Peter a flat look and was given a broad, giggling smile in return. Eyes narrowing, Bruce couldn't help but grin a little himself.

"Did Tony put you up to this?"

Peter's laugh was all the confirmation he needed despite the lie that immediately followed.

"No!"

"I'm thinking he did."

Peter laughed harder, nearly pitching himself off the table, "He did!"

Bruce shook his head. Tony'd barely even begun his life as Peter's father and already he had recruited him into being his own personal hellion. And who did he sic him on first? Bruce; of course, Bruce. He would never escape Tony's endless pranks and attempts to rile him.

"So whatcha doin'?"

He startled Bruce by just how close he was and how quietly he had moved to his side. Just barely able, Peter rested his chin on the table in front of him to take in all the numbers and equations crowding the clear board above. With no clear starting point, Peter's eyes wandered aimlessly before looking up to Bruce for guidance.

"It's," He paused and grimaced a bit, "Boring work."

"You sound like Tony."

"I sound like Tony?" Bruce wasn't sure whether to be appalled, confused, or oddly honored.

"That's what he tells me when he thinks I won't understand something," Peter explained, "He says it's boring so that I don't think it's fun and so I don't ask anymore questions," His eyebrows rose and fell as he pursed his lips, "Pepper says explaining is hard for Tony, and that he thinks everyone should just follow his lead. Explaining hard for you too?"

"I think Pepper is onto something," replied Bruce, ignoring his question.

"Pepper can be right about a lot of things," Peter commented, taking his avoidance in stride, "But so can Tony. Sometimes."

"Sometimes is a very broad and accurate word," Bruce quickly side-glanced down at Peter, folded his hands in front of him, and tried his best, "I am," He paused, "Attempting to find a cure for my ailment."

The young boy looked up in part-confusion, part-worry, "You're sick?"

"Not in the way I imagine you would think of when you hear 'sick.' If I cannot cure it, I'd like to at least control it."

It didn't take more than a minute for Peter to process his words, "Are you talking 'bout the Hulk? Is he the sick?"

Bruce drew in a deep breath, held it for a pregnant moment, and released it as a sigh. His twiddling thumbs were the most interesting thing he could bear to look at, "Yeah, him, the Big Guy."

Peter watched him become more jittery in his fingers and more rigid everywhere else. Bruce was used to staring, just as much as he was used to being judged, being alone, being avoided, and being angry. No doubt Peter had some grandiose view of The Hulk that Bruce was either not living up to or, for lack of a better word, smashing to bits with his negativity toward his other half. He was just waiting for Peter to frown or be nasty, to be insulting and accurate in a way only little kids could. It wouldn't bother him much; Bruce had heard it all, mostly from himself.

"Do you have gloves?"

Out of all the-

The question jarred him out of his apprehension, and Bruce wasn't exactly sure where he landed on his spectrum of feelings.

"Excuse me?"

"Gloves," Peter repeated patiently, "You know, like the kind doctors use. The rubber ones with different colors."

"I, um," Bruce wanted very much to correct Peter again. He was not a psychologist (he could barely handle his own emotional issues, for God's sake), and while he had done a lot of medical work, he certainly wasn't a surgeon or whatever Peter was currently imagining. Still, the abrupt and innocent question, followed by Peter's very calm repetition, was enough to push Bruce's arguments aside, "Yes. I do."

Peter's face lit up, "Where?"

Almost dumbly, Bruce pointed across his lab to a cabinet not out of Peter's reach. Without another word, Peter went to it, opened it, and pulled out enough boxes to fill his skinny arms before walking back over and dumping them onto the counter in front of Bruce.

"It's good to take breaks," Peter said simply, "Wanna make Mohawk Mikes with me?"

Mohawk Mikes?

.::|~|::.

Bruce found himself sitting in the middle of his lab's floor and completely surrounded by blown-up, multicolored gloves with various faces drawn on them. The thumb of the glove was Mike's nose, and the other fingers, his trademark mohawk. Apparently, Tony and Peter had done this while he was stuck in the hospital. It had been Tony's brilliant idea to nick a box of gloves, and Peter's to blow them all up. It had cheered him up, took his mind off his injuries for a moment; Bruce could honestly say he enjoyed every minute of the distraction, even if his drawing skills were a little on the subpar side. Made for goofier faces, though.

"You know, I think it'd be pretty bad if I lived with someone I didn't like," Peter's smaller fingers made another easy knot out of the end of the glove, "That'd be real bad."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, I really don't like this boy named Eugene in my class," Bruce nodded, showing he was listening, "He's really loud, and he's bad at school stuff. You know, math and science and things. He does okay with P.E. though. He's the biggest kid in my class and he runs fast, but I really don't like him.

"When I come home from school though, he doesn't come with me. It's just me, Tony, and Pepper. He goes to his own house. I have to go to school to see him," Bruce wasn't exactly sure where this was going, but he continued to listen without interruption, "But you gotta go to work, and the store, and restaurants, and home, and all those other places with someone you don't like. It's gotta be tough."

There was no use lying, "It is."

Peter was quiet. It's how their conversations had gone the entire time: verbal diarrhea followed by long, comfortable silences. This, though, Bruce could feel Peter's thoughts reaching out into empty air to grab more words to keep their talk going. It was very endearing to see the young boy's mind at work, gears turning and factory in operation; it was also familiar, but Bruce couldn't quite say where he had last seen that particular face.

" 'There's no such thing as all bad and all good,' " Peter finally said, " 'Good people have bad days sometimes. Some good people have bad days all the time, but it doesn't make them all bad all the time.' "

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little touched. Peter, the tiny, ever-perceptive, hyper empathetic child, had said more to him than any adult had and actually meant it, "Where'd you read that?"

"I didn't. My dad said it."

"Sounds like a smart man."

" 'Richard Laurence Parker: Dumbest Smart Guy in the universe,' " Peter grinned lopsidedly, "That's what Uncle Ben called him."

Something twanged inside Bruce. Richard Parker. The name opened the gates for a flood of memories; they were of happier times turned incredibly sour by somewhat recent events. Now he knew where he had seen Peter's expressions. Richard "Ray" Parker had been a brilliant bio-engineer, and Bruce had had the pleasure of working with him very closely. Unfortunately, he had ruined that the moment the Big Guy had come along. He had hurt Mary and Richard that day; he'd demolished the budding friendship between them. He had just begun getting to know them. They had mentioned a son, didn't they?

Though, Bruce could be seeing too far into this. Richard Parker couldn't be a too uncommon name. The chances were very slim it was the same Ray Parker he had met and nearly befriended.

Bruce would just need to try to be sly, "What did your father do? I mean, if he ever talked about it, or was allowed to talk about whatever he did."

Smooth, Bruce.

But Peter hardly seemed to notice Bruce's fumbling. He shrugged, "Aunt May told me that Mom and Dad worked for the government. They were scientists, and they had to go away a lot. I remember them always going on trips," Peter grabbed another glove from the box, "I wanted to go with them, but they would never let me."

"I'm-I'm sure they would have taken you if they could."

Peter smiled up at him, "You sound like Aunt May. She told me that a lot."

His bright smile faded as he stared down at the un-inflated glove. Bruce wished he could decipher the boy's thoughts as easily as Peter had deciphered his. Maybe if he knew more about his past, about just how he came into Tony's possession, maybe it would be easier. Bruce knew nothing past Tony's sudden want of a child followed by his sudden having of a child followed by his sudden showing up on the Avengers' level of the tower with aforementioned child.

But then, Peter hardly knew anything about Bruce past what he may have seen on the television, Bruce suspected. He had no more advantage than Bruce did.

"This one's the best," Peter said, cutting through Bruce's thoughts.

He held up a freshly blown up glove, bigger than the others and vibrantly green. It was supposed to be blue; hints of the color swirled at its rolled hem and at the thicker tips of the fingers. Somehow, it had warped; whether by fading or exposure or an accidental mixing of colors, yellow had crept in and changed something uniform.

"What do you think?"

"I," Bruce looked away from it, "I can't say it's my favorite of the bunch."

"Well, it's my favorite. I'm not gonna put a face on this one," Peter's hand came up and rested against the stretched surface of the glove's palm, looking all the tinier against it, "It's different, and that's about it, but I like it."

"Could be more dangerous. It's bigger than the rest. Tougher too."

Peter turned his gaze from the large green glove to look at Bruce squarely. Large doe-eye bore deeply into him.

Peter started gently, "Dogs are dangerous, but they're our friends."

Bruce wasn't sure comparing his other half to a family pet was the right way to go, but if he thought about it hard enough, the analogy wasn't too far off. Dogs could be provoked into being mean; some had no choice but to be so from the get-go.

"I'm not sure what to say to you, Peter," Bruce finally said, "You baffle me."

Peter shrugged, giving Bruce a half-smile, "That's okay," He handed over the glove, all but forcing Bruce's hand around the knot, "I want you to keep this. I think it should be your favorite too."

"Peter," Both Bruce and Peter looked up to the doorway where Tony rested against the doorframe with a smirk on his face. He took in all the Mikes littering the floor, "See you two had fun."

Peter's toothy grin grew, "Wanna make one too?"

"And put it where?" Tony gently nudged the gloves out of his way as he moved further into the room, "I'll leave the Mikes to you and Brucie."

"It's dinnertime then," Peter stood, "Can we stay here? For dinner? Everyone's here. We could do something nice."

Tony put his hands on his hips and bit his lip, "You know Pepper made plans."

"Never stopped you before."

Bruce snorted in a failed attempt to hold down his laughter. Tony clicked his teeth and shook his head.

"Not the same, Rascal."

"Then I'll ask her if it's okay. Even superheroes have to eat. But first," Peter hopped over to the counter he first sat on, grabbed a black box off the edge, and rushed back over to Bruce, who was just starting to stand, "Wait, wait," He pushed him back down and sat in his lap, "Say cheese!"

Bruce barely registered what had transpired when a flash made colored dots swim in front of his vision. He was distantly aware of the mechanical grind of the polaroid and Peter taking the newly printed photo and shaking it.

"Thank you," The boy smiled as he stood, "Can I use your phone, please, Tony? I wanna call Pepper."

"She's down the hall waiting for us."

"Okay. See you, Bruce! Thanks for making Mikes with me!"

Bruce rubbed at his eyes and nodded, "Yeah, no problem," He smiled his best at Peter and gave him a wave. With dots still dancing, he watched as Peter left. It was just him and Tony.

The thought sobered him considerably. Gone was the urge to call Tony out on the idiotic decision to leave Peter with him; Bruce could honestly say he enjoyed his time with Peter. It was nearly enough to thank the Stark.

Nearly, but not quite. Not with new information hanging precariously in the air.

"Tony."

"Hm?"

"I need you to be extremely honest with me."

"Always, Bruce."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. Always. Right. Tony kept his teeth pearly with his white lies, "Do you know who Peter's father was?"

"I think he said his name was Richa-"

"No, I mean," Bruce licked his teeth before clicking his tongue, "I mean, do you know who he was? What he did?"

"Can't say I do," Bruce shot him an accusing look. Tony held up his hands in surrender, "I swear."

"So you didn't just send him in here for me to make amends? Confront things? Throw it in my face?"

Tony cocked an eyebrow at him, a wry smile on his lips, and Bruce felt his growing concern drain from him. It was a stupid thought; as if Iron Man was in any position to force anyone to tackle the regrets in their past. He had no doubt that Tony had researched Richard Parker, but as to what depth, Bruce wasn't sure Tony had gone much deeper than a couple layers under the surface. He wasn't even sure if Richard's file was still floating around in the government archives since he was declared missing in action.

He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. Maybe he was becoming too sensitive in the wrong places.

"I'm sorry."

Tony shrugged, completely unfazed by the interaction, "If that's the worst you've got, I'd say you have to take a few lessons from the press. Maybe go on the internet more," Tony snapped his fingers, "Ah, go on YouTube. The comment sections are great places to pick up a few pointers in lobbing insults. Just passionate hate in general."

"Are you done?"

"I have a few more. But the real question is: are you?" Tony crossed his arms, "Something I should know? Getting all in a tizzy over Peter's dad. I sense a story."

Bruce shook his head and looked down at his feet, "It's nothing really."

"Nothing. Hm. Asking Tony Stark to be 'extremely honest' over nothing," Tony nodded, "I see the nothing."

Bruce shot him a look over his glasses, contemplating just how he was going to answer, "I worked with Ray Parker and his wife, Mary. He," He paused, "He helped make me, me, and the Big Guy repaid them both just after he was," A sigh, "Born."

Tony's tongue moved around in his mouth as he thought. Quickly enough, he came to a conclusion, "Peter doesn't need to know. Don't worry about it."

"I wasn't upset about him knowing, Tony. It wasn't completely about that."

Tony nodded, "I know, but put it out of your head. I just wanted you to meet Peter," He clapped Bruce on his back, wrapped his arm around his shoulders, and started to lead him from the lab, "Come on. I'm sure he's convinced Pepper to change her plans by now."

Author's Note: If there is anything you would like to read pertaining to life with little Peter, please let me know. I have a few things planned, but past the scant chapters I have left, there isn't really much of anything. Have cute scenarios? I wanna hear them. Have heartbreaking thoughts? By all means. Just wanna see something goofy? Lay it on me. I cannot guarantee in the slightest I will write every one, but if I see something I like, it'll be put up. Thanks for reading!