TWENTY.
Peter woke up to something warm and heavy sliding off his front. Then he became aware of the crick in his neck, and then he became aware of the warmth at the top of his head. Peter blearily opened his eyes and just barely shifted his head so that he could make out Tony's sleeping face. For a moment, Peter was tempted to go back to sleep, but then he registered the Stark mansion outside, all of its windows still alight with the glow of lamps turned on by, Peter knew, Pepper and May.
"Mr. Stark," Peter whispered. He shook Tony's arm. "We're here."
Tony opened his eyes. He blinked a few times and, focusing on Peter, Tony said almost accusingly, "My neck hurts."
"So does mine," Peter replied.
"Your fault," Tony said, stretching his arms in front of himself. "If you hadn't fallen asleep, I wouldn't have, either."
"Sorry," Peter said, but when Peter started to give Tony's coat back, he shook his head and pushed it back into Peter's hands. "It's only a minute to the door," Peter said, trying to hand it back to Tony.
"It suits you," was all Tony said, and before Peter could argue any further, Tony nodded at the door. "Now go on, don't keep us in in here any longer than we have to be."
Peter slung the coat over his shoulders and turned around to look at Tony again before opening the door. Tony's expression had softened, replaced now by a look Peter could only think was one mixed with amusement and something else. Something else that made Tony smile slightly in the way he did now. Peter turned back to the door and, smiling to himself, pushed it open.
The mansion was quiet when the two walked in at first. Although they didn't speak, Peter and Tony moved in synchronization. Peter walked alongside Tony up the stairs, past the bedrooms, and into Tony's study. Almost in unison, they flopped down on the couch, and the only things they could actually hear in the room was the dim humming of the lightbulbs and both Peter and Tony's deep breaths.
Finally, Tony said, "We both stink."
Peter looked at Tony, at his tired eyes and the dirt and soot on his clothes and the ash in his hair, and Peter knew he must have looked at least just as bad, with the same ash and soot and dirt. "We do," Peter agreed, and before he could stop himself, a quiet giggle escaped his lips.
And then the corner of Tony's lips started twitching, and then he was giggling a little, too—because there was no other way to explain how Peter and Tony were now laughing like mad men, tears coming to their eyes and their faces pinking from the sudden exertion.
Peter pressed a hand against his stomach to keep himself from laughing any more, and just as he did so, the door to the study flew open. Peter lifted his head just in time to see Pepper and May practically fly into the room, words spilling out of their mouths in a jumbled mess, and then Peter felt himself getting yanked out of the couch, and he was suddenly in May's arms as she held him tightly against him.
"Peter Benjamin Parker," May said, squeezing Peter fiercely, "Don't you ever go off like that without telling me ever again." She pulled away from Peter for just the briefest moment, her wide brown eyes searching Peter's face, and she lifted a hand to his forehead. "And you're bleeding."
"It's stopped," Peter defended, but looking at May, Peter felt something crumble apart and he amended, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
"You had me so worried," May said, clutching Peter's hands. "When Pepper told me—" But when Peter turned to Pepper, he found that Pepper, a bit like May, looked more frenzied than anything else.
"What happened?" Pepper was saying, throwing her hands in the air. "What—why is there blood? Why are your wrists..." She pushed her hands towards her face and shook her head. "I swear, Tony…" But Peter didn't get to find out what exactly Pepper was going to swear, because when Tony stood up, a small smile already was on his lips.
"For a minute, I thought you were actually worried about me," Tony said, and May suddenly tugged on Peter's hand. When Peter turned to his aunt, she jerked her head towards the door, and Peter gratefully followed her out. When he looked over his shoulder, Tony was already slowly pulling Pepper's hands away from her cheeks. Peter looked away quickly and had the feeling that Tony and Pepper would be having their own conversation.
In the meantime, Peter followed May into her room. The minute they were alone, May wrapped Peter into another hug—and this time, Peter let his head fall against May's shoulder, grateful for the sudden support. He took in a shaky breath, feeling it rattle around his chest before he looked up at May, warm tears already springing behind his eyes.
"Oh, Peter…" May brought a hand to Peter's cheek. "What happened?"
"A lot," Peter replied. He swallowed. "Mr. Beck was alive. Everyone was right—he was responsible for everything."
"And you didn't want that?" May asked quietly.
"Is it bad that I didn't?" Peter whispered. He looked down at the floor. "Even while everything was going on, I was hoping that the evidence at Beck's apartment wasn't really his." He closed his eyes briefly, opened them again. "But then he took Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers…and he…" Peter squeezed his eyes shut again, remembered the hold of Quentin's arm around his neck. As though reading his mind, May's hand slowly moved down to the side of Peter's neck. A brief pain flared where May's fingers tracked over what Peter knew could only be a bruise, and when he opened his eyes, May's brows were furrowed together.
"Did he do this to you?" May whispered.
Peter swallowed. "He made a trap in that place. He held me so that if I stepped away from him, then the whole place would blow." He forced his eyes up at May and gave her a wobbly smile. "It…I…" He took in a deep breath. "I picked his pocket. Got him to take my place before he could do anything."
"Peter…" Tears rimmed May's eyes, but she wiped them roughly away.
"I had to do something," Peter said. "But May, I was scared." His voice cracked. "And some part of me feels like…" He pressed his lips together. "This whole time, I've been wondering if I really belonged at Stark Industries. And I didn't use brains to stop Mr. Beck. I just did the same thing that got me here in the first place." He cast his eyes downward. "Nothing's changed."
"Peter Benjamin Parker."
Second time May was using Peter's name now, Peter noted as he met May's eyes. She rarely did that, but right now, the look on May's face was so fierce, so defiant, that Peter resisted the urge to tell her that.
"Don't tell me nothing's changed," May said. "Because look at you now." She reached up to brush back Peter's hair. "Because right now, I can tell you that all I see is a young man who just happened to save Mr Stark and Captain Rogers from a certain fate—at least, from what I can tell." She dropped her hand from Peter's head and cupped his chin. "You were brave. Fast. And you picking Beck's pocket—why did you do it?"
"I was just looking for a distraction," Peter replied slowly. "To stop Beck. I just wanted him to stop."
"Exactly," May said. She smiled at Peter, and Peter suddenly felt like a child again after coming back home on a bad day. "That requires strategy. Brainpower. So don't you dare say you didn't use your brain, because you did. And you used everything else you had." She shook her head. "And only an idiot would say otherwise." Her smile turned sly as she added, "And for some reason, Tony Stark doesn't strike me as an idiot. At least, not these days." She patted Peter's shoulders. "Or, at the very least, I'm not an idiot—so can you listen to your aunt this one time?"
"I always listen to you," Peter protested.
"Well, then, listen harder on this one," May said, kissing Peter on the cheek. She drew back. "And also listen to me when I say that I think it's time for you to take a bath."
Peter let out a small laugh. "That sounds like a good idea," he said, relieved.
"Just one of my any," May replied, and Peter couldn't help but agree.
After Peter dried off from what he was convinced was the best bath he had ever taken, he started to make his way towards his room. He passed Tony's study briefly, where Pepper and Tony were still standing at the center of the room. Peter paused, and making sure that his steps were as quiet as possible, he backtracked so that he could just make out Tony and Pepper through the slightly ajar door.
Their hands were clasped together, their foreheads pressed against each other, and Peter could make out the gentlest of smiles on both their faces.
Peter took a small step back. He would leave them to it.
When Peter woke up, the sky was brighter than it had been in a long time. He sat up and stretched, wincing at his sore muscles. Still, he pushed himself out of the bed and looked around for clothes to wear. Once he was decent, he pushed open his door—only to find that Tony was already on the other side.
"Mr. Stark," Peter said, surprised. He paused. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Not long enough for you to feel guilty," Tony replied. He cleared his throat and nodding at Peter, asked, "Can I come in for a minute?"
"Of course," Peter said, hastily stepping aside.
Tony strolled in and took out a newspaper. "Catch," he said, throwing the stack of papers at Peter. Plucking it out of the air one-handed, Peter backed only a few steps before making out the printed words on the newspaper.
"Quentin Beck Responsible for Recent Attacks—Trial to Follow," Peter read aloud. He looked down at the picture of Quentin's face splashed across the front page. He had woken up from the pin, apparently, and he looked none too pleased. Quentin's eyes were a little too wild even for the camera. Peter looked up at Tony. "That's good," he said.
"Keep reading," Tony said, leaning against one of the windows.
Peter obediently looked back down at the newspaper. His eyes skimmed over the introduction to the attacks in the working sectors, then down to the event of the charity gala, and then to the eventual apprehension of Quentin Beck. Peter could feel Tony's eyes trained on him, and for a moment, Peter still didn't know what Tony was waiting for until Peter caught sight of his own name at the bottom of the paper.
"Peter Parker, 17, was one of the many to foil Mr. Beck's plot," Peter read aloud, warmth rising in his cheeks. "Newly made employee of Stark Industries and personal protégée of Tony Stark…" Peter whipped his head up, but Tony waved a hand. The message was clear: keep reading.
Peter looked back down and, his head spinning, continued, "This young man not only saved Mr. Stark and Captain Steve Rogers, but he also brought this villain to the justice he deserved." Peter lifted his head again from the paper. "How—"
"You didn't think Steve would take all the credit, did you?" Tony asked with a crooked smile. "Natasha's name is in the paper somewhere, too—she'll be both pleased and annoyed, I expect. She doesn't like fame, but she certainly doesn't like it when people take credit for her work, which has happened more times than she'd like." Crossing his arms over his chest, Tony nodded at Peter. "How does it feel, seeing your name in print?"
"It's…" Peter looked at Tony. "I didn't expect to have my name in the paper at all." He looked back down at the paper. "And…'personal protégée to Tony Stark'?"
Tony pocketed his hands. "Decided to make the statement official," he replied. "It's been a long time coming, but here we are." He looked at Peter. "That is, unless you would rather not…?"
"No," Peter said quickly, dropping the newspaper on the bed. "No, Mr. Stark—this is…" Warmth gathered behind Peter's eyes. "This is…" He wiped at his eyes furiously and blinking as fast as he could, he lifted his chin at Tony. "Are you sure?" He gestured at himself. "I'm just a…" His voice faltered as Tony lifted his hand.
"Let me stop you right there," Tony said, and he walked forward until he was practically face-to-face with Peter. "I want you to look at me."
Peter forced himself to look up at Tony.
"There's nothing just about you," Tony said quietly. Seriously. He raised a hand, almost hesitantly, and then he tapped Peter's forehead. It was a light touch, but Peter could feel it even after Tony dropped his hand. "There never was."
It took a moment for Peter to find his voice. His eyes burned, and for a moment, Tony swam out of focus. Clearing his throat, Peter shifted his gaze to the papers. Quentin seemed to glare at him out of the pages. And then, quietly, Peter said, "What happened yesterday…" He looked up at Tony, and only then did the look on Tony's face seemed to sadden.
"Is that going to happen a lot?" Peter asked.
At first, Tony didn't say anything. Peter could almost see the thoughts clinking together in Tony's head, could almost see the gears working, and then Tony said, "I can't promise anything." He gestured to the newspaper. "I want to say that Beck was just an oddity, but I've got the feeling that Beck won't be the only one to try to attack innocent people." He paused and, catching Peter's eyes, Tony added in a quieter tone, "But I also remember a certain someone telling me that we can't always know for sure what's going to happen." He tugged another something out of his back pocket and handed it to Peter—a familiar roll of blueprint.
Peter didn't unravel it. "The suit," he said.
"Suits," Tony said, and when Peter lifted his eyebrows, he nodded at the blueprint. "Take a look."
Peter slowly unraveled the blueprint and felt something stick in his throat. Tony's design for his suit had been complete a long time ago, but now, standing next to that diagram, was another design for a different suit with familiar red and black webbing-like patterns. One identical with Peter's helmet.
Peter looked back up at Tony.
"I also happen to remember a certain someone telling me that we shouldn't be asking ourselves what we could have done, but what we're going to do once we finish with those," Tony said. He tapped the blueprint. "I'm not going to tell you that bad things aren't going to happen, Peter. But a part of me thinks that you already knew that." He let his hand rest on the blueprint and, looking at Peter again, Tony added, "But I can promise that at least next time, we'll be more prepared."
Peter's eyes skimmed down to the blueprint. Then back to Tony. And for a moment, Peter could only think of how he must have looked like when he first ran into Tony on the street on the first night. And how Peter himself had looked at Tony with the giddiness of not only have picked his pocket and also just standing so close to the legendary Tony Stark. And how Peter had practically flown back to his apartment with May, his heart in his throat because he had just stepped into the world of Stark Industries.
"What if you fly?" May's voice whispered in Peter's voice again, and when Peter met Tony's eyes, he had the feeling he wasn't the only one who was going to fly.
And then Peter felt a small smile creep to his lips, and then Tony was smiling, and then Peter felt the rush of flight even with his feet still on the ground. And that full flight started with Peter's first question:
"So where do we start?"
A/N: Thank you to all of you beautiful people who stuck with this story. I was super insecure about releasing this story because I wasn't too sure how a historical au would fly in the community, but I'm happy to have seen readers pick up the story over the course of the last few months. Updating this story was truly one of the things I looked forward to while working through the fall semester this year.
This is also the first major multi-chap. fic that I've written in a very, very long time, so it was so encouraging to see people really respond to this work. Thank you guys so much.
katierosefun (Caroline)
ps: and if ya'll are still looking for some more Tony and Peter fluff, I've just uploaded a holiday fic which will be updated daily until Christmas! But if that's not your thing, still-love ya'll 3000!