The first thing Tony noticed as his mind swam back towards consciousness was the pain. Burning, throbbing pain that spider webbed across his back, neck, and shoulders in such an excruciating fashion that he couldn't bring himself to even attempt to move.
"S-Steve?" he managed to sputter, spitting out a mouthful of blood as he tried to convince himself to move his arm, just a few centimeters so he could flatten his palm on what was left of the floor and try and push himself up. He had no idea where Steve or Peter were, or anyone else, for that matter. All he knew is that he somehow had to get himself up.
"JARVIS?" Tony tried next, not surprised when the UI didn't answer. The attack had been swift and vicious, and from what he could tell, their home was pretty much a complete loss.
Gritting his teeth, Tony attempted to move his arm again, this time managing to get his hand underneath him enough to raise his head. The air around him was thick with smoke and ash, with debris still falling from the destroyed ceiling and walls. A choked sound forced its way from his scorched lungs, singed from the burning fires that surrounded him, the crackling noise of splitting wood and plaster only adding to his overall sense of panic.
"Steve?" he called again as his bleary eyes scanned the smouldering mountains of rubble that had once been their spacious upstate home. Steve had been walking towards him when the attack came, that soft smile on his face that always meant a kiss was incoming, probably either on his cheek or his forehead. Tony had always loved how free Steve was with his affection, the soft kisses and touches that came as easily to him as breathing. Steve never passed up an opportunity to demonstrate to Tony how much he loved him, no matter who else happened to be watching.
Because, as Tony had realised as a very young child, words were just empty vessels, meaning nothing without actions to back them up, and Tony had never known anyone who could back up his words better than Steve. When he said "I love you", Tony not only believed those words with every single fibre of his being, he also felt them, deep down in places he never even knew existed before Steve came along.
And now, Tony had no idea where Steve was, or even if he was still alive, and it was all he could do to keep his panic down to a dull roar. He couldn't allow it to succeed in smothering him, not while there was still a chance, however infinitesimal, that Steve was okay.
It had come out of nowhere, as Tony supposed most attacks tended to do. They had been about to eat dinner with the rest of the team, like they did on most of their weekends up at the Compound. It was taco night, one of Sam's specialities, with the sharp tang of jalapeños permeating throughout the Compound's main floor as Tony made his way down the hallway from his lab. He and Peter had just had a massive breakthrough in their work with the Pym Particles, and Tony had been practically vibrating with excitement, ready to tell Steve all about it as they ate together.
Except, he never got the chance. Because barely three steps into the kitchen, Tony was suddenly blasted backwards, slamming against the hallway wall just before it collapsed into a heap on top of him. The impact was strong enough to knock him out, for how long, Tony had no idea. All he knew was that between the dust-filled air, the excruciating pain in his body, and his own rapidly-growing panic, Tony had no fucking idea where his suit was.
He'd taken his nanite case off while he and Peter were working in the lab, and, like an absolute idiot, he had neglected to put it back on before leaving.
And now, when he needed it most, his suit was nowhere to be found.
Again.
"Steve?" he managed to force past his swollen throat, as parched as the sand in the Afghanistan desert. "Honey? Where are you?"
Tears welled in Tony's scratchy eyes when no answer came. There was no way that Steve wouldn't answer him unless he was unconscious. Or—
"No!" Tony rasped, the word like a jagged dagger as it tore past his lips.
He couldn't afford to think like that. Not yet. Not while there was still the smallest sliver of hope remaining.
With an effort that could only be called monumental, Tony managed to push himself up to a semi-sitting position, blinking as he swiped soot and sweat from his eyes. Based on the angles and positioning of the rubble, Tony concluded that the blast had originated from a very high altitude, likely even extra-atmospheric.
And that could only mean the Chitauri. Over four years after the Avengers managed to beat them back during the Battle of New York, they had finally returned to finish their takeover of Earth. And they had begun by first obliterating their biggest obstacle, The Avengers.
Breathing in a slow, deep breath, Tony called Steve's name yet again, his heart leaping when he heard a soft moan emanating from a nearby pile of debris.
"Steve!" he said as he dragged himself over to his injured husband, his long, jean-clad legs partially covered by a section of what used to be the kitchen countertop. Tony gasped as he noticed a huge pool of blood on Steve's left pec, one that had completely soaked through the soft flannel button-down he was wearing, the one with the bright blue and green stripes that Tony had bought for him during their last trip to Ireland. Pressing his palm over the spot, Tony jumped as Steve let out a kind of strangled groan, his dust-covered lips smacking together as he attempted to open his eyes.
"Ton—Tony," he whispered, so softly that Tony could barely hear him. "Tony, I—"
"No, no, honey, don't try to talk, yeah?" Tony said as he brushed Steve's bangs from his forehead as carefully as he could. "I'm gonna get you out of here, okay? Just as soon as I can—"
"No!" Steve cried, his eyebrows knitting together as he angled his head towards Tony, his blue eyes almost piercing in the moonlight streaming through the holes in the ceiling. "No!" he said again, his tone so detached and cold that Tony's blood froze, sending a violent shiver down his spine. "You—you're too late, Tony. It's over. You failed."
"What?" Tony said on a gasp, Steve's harsh words hitting him like a blast to the chest. "Honey, no! We're gonna—"
"I said, it's too late!" Steve repeated, followed immediately by a cough that was so soggy it sent a geyser of blood spurting from Steve's mouth. "You're too late! He's dead, Tony! He's dead, and it's all your fault!"
"No!" Tony cried, each of Steve's words like an icepick to Tony's heart. "Honey, who's—"
He was cut off as Steve suddenly shifted, just enough for Tony to notice the hands wrapped around Steve's other arm. The hands with the long, piano-player fingers that were just like his own. Dread smacked Tony like a solid brick wall as he followed the line of those fingers, up the skinny arms, shoulders, and neck to the face of his beloved boy, bloodied and bruised and far, far too still.
"Oh God," Tony choked out, stamping down the dizziness threatening to knock him sideways as he brought his shaking hand up to cup Peter's cheek. His pale skin was as cold as ice, and his lips were as blue as they had been in the Afghanistan desert, when he was only barely clinging to life.
Only now, he wasn't still clinging to life. He was—oh God, he was—
"Oh no," Tony said, so softly that he wasn't even sure if he had actually spoken the words out loud or simply thought them. He trailed his fingertips across Peter's cheek, his heart lurching when Peter didn't respond. "Pete?" he said as he tried again. "Buddy, it's Daddy. It's okay, buddy, I'm right here. You just—you just need to wake up, and—"
"I told you, it's too late," Steve cut in, a trickle of blood streaming from the side of his mouth to pool in his collar. His blue eyes were staring straight at Tony, and so completely devoid of emotion that they looked almost lifeless. "I tried—I tried to do what I could, Tony, but he's dead. He's dead because of you. You didn't save him."
"No!" Tony stubbornly said, shaking his head. "No, no, no, no, no! Oh God, please, don't take him!" He shook Peter's shoulder, begging him to give him a sign, any sign that he was somehow still in there, that he was more than just the shell he'd left behind. "Please, don't take him from me! I can't—I can't live without him!" Tears welled in Tony's eyes, dripping onto Peter's forehead and cheeks, marking splotches in the layer of grime covering his pale skin. He had been so excited only moments ago, so happy that he'd been a part of Tony's important work for the team, and now—
Now—
"Pete! Please, buddy, wake up!" Tony begged, even as he knew it was fruitless. "Please, little buddy! Daddy's here. Everything's gonna be okay now."
Everything's gonna be okay now. Daddy's here.
It's what Tony had always said to Peter whenever he was sick and had to go to the hospital. Peter had always hated hospitals. He'd always hated all of the scary sounds and the yucky smells and the scratchy blankets, always hated being constantly poked and prodded, hated the freezing cold metal stethoscopes against his chest and back and the stiff oxygen masks that dug into the skin around his mouth and nose.
Peter had absolutely hated being so sick all the time as a kid, and Tony had hated it just as much. But he never showed it. Peter was always far too perceptive, even as a toddler, and Tony never wanted him to have to suffer more than he already was.
So he sucked it up, pretending that Peter's latest admission was just another adventure. Like the funny hobbit dude in that fantasy book Peter used to love, before his obsession with Harry Potter took hold.
It's okay, little buddy. Daddy's here.
And he always was, right there next to Peter's bed, holding his hand, rubbing his head, cuddling with him as best as he could so he could try and sleep. Because no matter what else was going on in Tony's life or how many company events he had on his schedule, whenever Peter was sick, Tony immediately dropped everything to be with him.
It's okay, little buddy. Daddy's here.
With Peter, Tony had always backed up his words.
But now his words were just that. Words. Empty vessels with no actions to back them up.
Because he was too late.
He had failed.
And Peter Edwin Stark-Rogers, the son who had single-handedly brought Tony back from the brink of an explosive self-destruction, who had been the light in Tony's life for the last sixteen years, was gone.
A noise that was neither human nor animal worked its way up from Tony's lungs, only to jam in his throat as the last shards of strength he'd been clinging to abandoned him, and he listed to the left, dangerously close to tipping over.
"Why?" he croaked, to whom, he had no idea. "Why, why, why?"
Why him? He was the best of us!
"You could've saved us, Tony," Steve suddenly said, his harsh words impaling Tony's heart like a knife. His blue eyes were staring straight ahead, his breaths growing shallower and shallower as he gripped Tony's forearm with the last of his strength.
"Why didn't you do more?"
And then, Steve's eyes rolled back into his head as all the remaining air whooshed from his lungs. His words, his final words, hung in the dusty air as if suspended, taunting Tony even as he tried to tear his gaze away. He squeezed his eyes closed, his limbs as heavy as leaden beams as he pitched forward, wishing for death to claim him as well.
Steve was right. Tony should have done more. Why didn't he do more?
Pressing his forehead over the gaping hole in Steve's chest, Tony gathered a handful of his husband's shirt in his fist, his tears wetting through the soft fabric as Steve's voice reverberated inside his head as if on a loop, taunting him for his gargantuan failure.
"Please, take me instead," he begged, whoever might be listening. "I can't—I can't live without them. I just can't."
But no more words came. Their time had passed.
A flash of bluish light suddenly illuminated the destroyed kitchen, prompting Tony to turn his head just as a hole opened up in the sky, one that looked exactly like the portal Loki had created on top of Avengers Tower.
The Chitauri were on their way. And now, with the Avengers out of commission, they had free reign to take over the Earth.
And Tony couldn't bring himself to care. With Peter and Steve gone, none of it mattered anymore.
With a choked sob, Tony twisted around, lying down in the rubble next to his son's body. Then he gathered him close, burying his nose into Peter's downy-soft curls just as the first shimmering flash lit up the sky, aiming directly for him.
I'm so sorry, buddy, he thought as the bright beam of blue grew closer and closer. I should have done more—
Tony woke with a start, bolting upright on the bed as he struggled to draw in air. Droplets of sweat beaded across his forehead and nose as he wrapped his arms around his front, his eyes darting from the walls to the ceiling of his bedroom, searching for cracks. A few heartbeats later he heard a soft moan, causing him to jump as he looked down at his sleeping husband. Steve shifted slightly, his arm instinctively sliding across the bed as he searched for him. Tony and Steve usually slept so pressed up against each other it was difficult to tell who was who, with their arms and legs tangled together and Tony curled right into Steve's chest, where he could hear his heartbeat and feel his warm breath on his skin. Tony had grown so used to having Steve there in the bed with him in the last five years, reveling in his husband's warm body pressed up against him and the security that Steve's presence offered him, that he now couldn't sleep without him.
"Mmm," Steve mumbled, grimacing as Tony slid his freezing-cold palms across his husband's chest, searching for possible signs of injury. Usually it didn't take Steve this long to figure out that something was wrong, especially since Tony's nightmares tended to be noisy, with a lot of kicking and flailing around. Steve's Army- and serum-sharpened senses never allowed him to miss the fact that something wasn't quite right.
But this nightmare had been different. This time, there had been no words for Tony to scream, and no breath in his lungs with which to scream them, and as such, it was taking Steve a few extra seconds to catch on.
"Tony?" Steve said as his eyes fluttered open, narrowing again as he took Tony in. "Sweetheart, are you all right?"
"No!" Tony managed to choke out, startling as Steve's fingertips glided across the bare skin of his waist, his hand coming to rest in the curve of Tony's hip. Tony was still shivering violently, his lungs gasping for air that seemed far too hot and way too thin as he kicked at the blankets tangled around his legs, trying to shuck them off.
I didn't—I didn't do enough. I need to do more.
But first he needed to get to Peter, to make sure that he wasn't dead.
"Get the hell off of me, goddamnit! I need to—I need to get to—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Tony, hold on! Tell me what's wrong!" Steve said as propped himself up on his elbow, his other arm tightening around Tony's waist. His disheveled blond hair was sticking up in all directions, and he had such an adorable what the fuck? look on his face that Tony might have laughed if he hadn't been so thoroughly spooked. But at the moment, the only thought racing through Tony's mind was now that he had determined that Steve was fine, he had to get to Peter.
"Pete!" he cried, cursing the damned blanket that wouldn't unlatch from his right ankle. "Steve, I need—I need to get to Pete! I need to make sure that—"
"Okay, okay," Steve said, far too calmly for Tony's taste. "But sweetheart, it's only three thirty in the morning, and I'm sure that Peter's asleep, so—"
"No!" Tony shouted as he attempted to crawl over Steve's legs. Steve always slept closest to the door, yet another habit left over from his days in the Army. "No, he's not! He's—he's—oh God, he's—!" He grunted, jamming his knee hard into Steve's thigh when he refused to get the hell out of the way. "Goddamnit, Steve, move! I need—"
"Tony, I don't think this is a good idea!" Steve said firmly. He wrapped his arms around Tony's body, pinning his arms to his sides as he drew him close. "JARVIS, is Peter all right?"
"Master Peter is sleeping comfortably, Captain," answered JARVIS. "All vital signs are within his normal parameters."
"See, sweetheart? JARVIS says that Peter's just fine," Steve said. But Tony couldn't believe him. JARVIS had been overridden before, made to give out incorrect information that had led Tony astray, so Tony could not take his word for it now. He had to see Peter for himself.
"I don't—I don't believe him," grunted Tony as he struggled to break free from Steve's ironclad grasp. "Steve, let go of me, goddamnit! I need—I need—"
"Tony, I just want you to calm down first!" protested Steve. "Please, sweetheart! If you go bursting into Peter's room like this, all you're gonna do is scare him!"
"Then he should be scared!" Tony screamed, so loudly that his own ears started to ring. Steve immediately froze, his lips clamped together and his eyes squeezed tightly closed. It was a testament to his stubbornness that his grip on Tony didn't lessen in the slightest, even as Tony knew he would've liked nothing more than to shove Tony away from him. Steve absolutely hated any kind of shouting or screaming, not only because it hurt his serum-sensitive ears, but because it also reminded him way too much of being in battle.
Time seemed to pause for a moment or two as the soundwaves from Tony's panicked cry slowly dissipated, with Steve's thudding heart the only sound until JARVIS spoke up, quiet and tentative.
"Pardon me, sir, Captain," he said. "But Master Peter is inquiring if everything is all right?"
"Yes!" Steve said. "JARVIS, please tell him we're fine—"
"No!" Tony cut in, shaking his head. He looked towards their bedroom door, calling Peter's name. "Pete! Oh God, Pete, are you okay? Pete—!"
"What's going on in here?" Peter said as he suddenly appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. Tony immediately launched himself at him, nearly knocking Steve over in his haste to reach the son that he loved beyond all logic or reason. Thankfully Steve recovered quickly, steadying Tony just enough to keep him from tripping as he stumbled over to Peter, pulling him into his arms.
"Oh God, Pete," he sobbed into Peter's wild curls. Peter let out a grunt as Tony tucked his head under his chin, gliding his palms up and down his boy's back.
"Dad, I'm fine," Peter said, muffled in Tony's chest. "It's the middle of the night, what's going on—?"
"Your father had another nightmare, little guy," Steve said gently as he came up behind Tony, curling his strong arms around them both. He drew them back onto the bed, holding them as tightly as he dared while Tony breathed in the comforting scent of Peter's hair, the green apple shampoo he'd always adored.
"Yeah, I kinda figured that much," answered Peter. "But what—?"
"Nevermind that now," Tony said firmly. Peter didn't need to know any of the gory details, the kid was already spooked enough as it was. "I'm sorry I woke you, buddy, but I just—"
"Dad, it's fine," Peter said. "I just wanted to make sure that you and Papa were okay."
"We're okay, Peter," said Steve. "You don't need to worry about us."
"Yeah," Peter said with a frown, not at all convincingly. "So I've heard."
"Why don't we tuck you back into bed now, all right?" Steve said. He patted Tony on the shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "So he can get back to sleep? It is a school night, so—"
"Yeah," said Tony. "Yeah, that's—that's fine. I just—" He pressed a kiss to the top of Peter's head, squeezing him one final time. "I just—I just needed to make sure you were okay, bud. That's all."
"Uh huh," Peter said softly. "But why wouldn't I have been?"
"Because—" Tony started, the rest of his words dying on his lips as Peter raised his head, looking up at him with his huge, doe-like eyes. There was no way Tony could tell him what he'd seen, it would scare him half to death, and the last thing that Peter needed was even more stress and worry for his dads piled on top of his skinny shoulders. No matter how strong those shoulders happened to be.
He may be a super-kid, but he was still just a kid. And he deserved to keep whatever innocence he could for as long as possible.
"It was just a nightmare, little guy," Steve murmured. "You know how those tend to be."
"Oh, yeah," Peter whispered, and Tony winced. At only sixteen, the poor kid had already been through enough nightmare-inducing traumas for three lifetimes.
Yet another rung in the skyscraping ladder of Tony's guilt.
"All right then, little guy, off you go," said Steve. He planted a quick kiss to Peter's forehead, then guided him down the hall to his room, one hand holding Tony's and his other resting protectively on Peter's shoulder. Tony's hands were still shaking as they tucked him in, and he had to force himself to smile as he kissed him goodnight for the second time.
"Goodnight, bud," he whispered. "I'm sorry I scared you."
"You didn't scare me, Dad," Peter said, rather petulantly. "I'm just… glad you're okay."
Tony nodded as he stepped back, allowing Steve to take his turn. His throat tightened as he heard the two of them softly whispering, with Steve reassuring Peter several times that he would make sure Tony was okay.
His own kid was worried about him, and it was all his fault.
I need to be doing more.
As soon as they exited Peter's room, Steve took Tony's hand, trying to guide him back down the hall to their bedroom.
"No, honey," Tony said as he tried to work his hand loose. "I need to get to the lab."
But Steve didn't even break stride as he shook his head, his grip on Tony's hand tightening. "No, you don't. Not tonight."
"Not tonight? What the hell do you mean—?"
"I mean, not tonight!" Steve said through clenched teeth. He huffed out a sharp breath as he walked Tony into their bedroom, not giving him another opportunity to protest. "JARVIS, please soundproof the room."
"What—?"
"Very well, Captain," said JARVIS.
"You are not seriously thinking about—" Tony started, only to be cut off by Steve's fingers pressing against his lips.
"No, I am not," Steve said firmly. "But what I am thinking about is that I need you to tell me exactly what's going on here, and I need you to tell me right now." He stepped back, raking his fingers through his mussed-up hair. "Tony… it is so hard for me to see you like this, to see you so stressed out, and always beating yourself up for everything that's happened, and things that haven't even happened… and not know how to help you. And you say that I can read you mind, and yes, I think I sometimes can because I know you so well and I love you so much, but Tony, I can't—I can't read this. And if I can't read things, then I can't remember them, and—and if I can't remember them, that means—"
"That means you can't anticipate, and if you can't anticipate, you can't plan," Tony finished.
Steve's head snapped back, his blue eyes glassy as he nodded.
"Yes," he said softly. "And if I can't plan, then…"
He trailed off, not finishing his thought, but Tony didn't need him too. He already knew what Steve was getting at. And it made sense, he supposed. Not only did Steve come from a time where the father of the house was supposed to have all of the answers—or if he didn't, he was supposed to fake it, like Howard—he also was a world-renowned military strategist. During the war, it was Steve's strategic missions with the Howling Commandos that were responsible for taking out the entire Nazi deep science division, even sacrificing himself in order to thwart the psychotic Johann Schmidt's carefully laid plans.
Or at least, most of the Nazi deep science division, as the entire world became painfully aware of with the reveal of Project Insight.
But that was an argument for another night.
"Please, sweetheart," Steve pleaded as he gripped Tony's elbows. "Can't we please just go back to bed?"
Tony's bottom lip was trembling as he stared at the wall over Steve's shoulder, struggling to form words. The problem with just going back to bed was that Tony was absolutely certain that even if he tried, he would not be able to sleep again, and it wouldn't be fair of him to keep Steve awake with all of his tossing and turning. Steve may have liked to remind Tony that he didn't need as much sleep as a quote, normal person, but Tony knew him better than that. As much as he still tried to hide it, constantly wrestling with his own persistent demons took a lot more out of Steve than he liked to let on, and adding Tony's in on top of everything else only made it that much worse.
Then again, Tony was also certain that if he went to work in the lab, Steve would simply follow him there, which would also mean that he wouldn't be sleeping.
"Sometimes resting can be just as important as sleeping, mo grá," Steve murmured as he trailed the pad of his thumb across Tony's cheekbone. "And sometimes rest can even lead to sleep, if you allow it."
Tony sighed as he looked into the shining blue eyes of his husband, eyes that displayed only love, acceptance, and concern in their depths. None of the suspicion and disdain that Tony had seen in his dream.
Because it was just a dream. Just another bad dream.
"JARVIS, the drone system is online, right?" Tony asked.
"Yes, sir," answered JARVIS. "All Tower drones are currently operating in their usual stand-by capacity."
Tony nodded, biting his lip as he tipped his head against Steve's chest. As long as the drones were online and functional, things should be okay until the morning.
"All right, honey," he said. "We can go back to bed."
"Thank you," Steve said, so sincerely that Tony had to blink back tears. Wordlessly, he climbed back onto their bed, taking his usual place in the centre as Steve curled his tall, strong body around him, his arm draped across Tony's waist.
"I love you, sweetheart," Steve whispered in Tony's ear. "Táimid chun é seo a fháil. Geallaim."
Too choked up to speak, Tony merely nodded, covering Steve's hand with his own as he closed his eyes. Tony knew better than to believe in promises, especially promises that were impossible to keep. But Steve's solemn vow that they were going to get through this—whatever this was—no matter what, was still enough to relax some of the iron-rod tension in his limbs, and despite his churning mind, he found himself actually starting to drift off.
"Has anyone ever told you that you're stubborn as hell?" Tony mumbled, still clinging to his last remaining dregs of consciousness.
He felt Steve smile against the back of his head. "I might've heard that a few times in my life, mo grá."
"Mmm. Only a few?"
"Well, maybe I was saving most of it for you," Steve answered as he patted Tony's hip. "Sleep now, sweetheart. I've got you."
I've got you. It was what Steve always said whenever Tony or Peter were upset, or in trouble, or had had a bad dream. The first time Tony had ever heard him say it had been to Peter, right after he'd brought Peter back to life in Afghanistan, and since then had heard it far too many times to count.
And he had always been right. No matter the cost, ever since that day in the middle of the desert, Steve had always come through for them.
And now, Tony needed to do the same.
"All right, bud, I think we're ready to give this a go," Dad said as he tapped some final commands into his keyboard. "Everything look good over there?"
"Yep," Peter answered. "I think DUM-E's as ready as he'll ever be. Right, DUM-E?"
DUM-E gave a rather fearful warble in response, one that prompted Peter to give him a reassuring pat on his arm. "Aww, it's okay, boy," he said. "This isn't gonna hurt. Right, Dad?"
"Nope. Shouldn't hurt a bit," Dad said as he came back to the centre of the lab. "JARVIS, whenever you're ready."
"Very good sir," JARVIS said. "New Pym Particle test number one commencing in five… four… three… two… one… mark."
With a weird whoosh, DUM-E suddenly disappeared. Peter's eyes went wide as he dropped to his knees on the lab floor, using his magnifying glass to search for the bot he had loved since before he could talk. He was finally able to locate him right where he had been standing, now at about one-millionth of his previous size.
"Oh, hey there, tiny DUM-E," Peter softly said as DUM-E let out another distressed warble. "Don't worry, we'll get you back to normal in a sec, okay?"
"Pete?" Dad said as he came up behind him, squinting at the floor. "Is he still there?"
"Oh, yeah," said Peter. He handed his father the magnifying glass, pointing to the minuscule dot on the floor. "He's right there."
Dad groaned as he got down onto his knees on the floor, holding on to Peter's shoulder for leverage as he searched.
"Oh, yeah, there he is!" he exclaimed. "Hey, DUM-E! Good job there!"
DUM-E squeaked, obviously already over the entire thing, but it was so soft and high-pitched that Peter doubted Dad could even hear him.
"Can we make him big again now, Dad?" Peter asked. "I don't think he likes this too much."
"No, I don't imagine he does," Dad said as he ducked back behind his workstation. "Just give me a minute here, and…"
With another whoosh, DUM-E reappeared, whirring and warbling like R2-D2 on steroids as he motored back to his corner, seemingly unharmed by the particle experiment. Peter breathed out a sigh of relief. While he trusted his and Dad's calculations, the first experiment with a new piece of tech was always a bit nerve-wracking, and even more so when it involved people. Or beloved bots, as it were.
"So he doesn't seem to be any worse for wear," Dad said as he checked his readings. He shot Peter a rather satisfied smile. "I think we did it, Pete."
"Great!" said Peter. "So… what're we gonna do with 'em now?"
Dad shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Papa's not really interested in trying to incorporate shrinking tech into our training repertoire, and frankly, neither am I, so—"
"So this was just a 'let's see if we can do this' experiment, then?" Peter asked. "Just… 'cause?"
"There's nothing wrong with just sciencing for fun every now and then, Pete," Dad playfully retorted. "It's what all you kids do in that school of yours every day, isn't it?"
"Well… yeah, I guess," admitted Peter. "But that's mainly 'cause we're still learning the whole experiment process, and—"
"You mean, the rest of your classmates are still learning it, right, Pete?" Dad said. "'Cause I'm pretty sure you had the whole scientific method thing down pat by the time you were four."
Peter grinned, attempting a nonchalant shrug. "Well… maybe. I'm sure having you as a dad didn't hurt too much in that area."
To Peter's shock, instead of being pleased at his remark, Dad's face fell, like he was suddenly ashamed of something. He turned back to his workstation, mumbling under his breath as he typed.
"Dad? What's wrong?" Peter asked as he stepped over to him. "What'd I say?"
"Nothing's wrong, bud," Dad said, waving a dismissive hand. "I'm just—"
"You're just deflecting again, like you always do," Peter cut in, frowning. "You know, I'm not a little kid anymore. You don't need to tiptoe around me as much as you do."
"Who says I'm tiptoeing around anything?" Dad snapped. "I have never been known to—"
"But you are!" Peter exclaimed. "You are, and you know it! Dad, ever since the school year started you've been like this! I've seen it! I hear you pacing the halls at night, hear you and Papa bickering when he's trying to get you to stop and rest a bit, and it's just not getting better! So why can't you tell me what's going on?"
"Because I'm the adult, and you're the child, child!" Dad said, barely shy of shouting. "And since this is an adult problem, it's up to the adults to handle it!"
Peter shot him a deep scowl. "Okay, now you just sound like Papa."
"Well, Papa's a pretty smart guy, you know," Dad muttered. He dropped his chin to his chest, shaking his head. "Look, buddy, I'm sorry. I don't mean to get short with you, I'm just—"
"You're going bonkers, is what you're doing," Peter said. "And yeah, I know I'm not eighteen yet, like eighteen is some magical number when suddenly everything's gonna make sense or something, but I can still see that you're not good, Dad. And you haven't been good for a long time now, and it—it scares me. And it scares Papa too, he's just gotten better at hiding it."
Dad pursed his lips, shooting Peter a sharp glare over his shoulder. "I don't need either of you worrying about me, Pete. And Papa knows that too."
"Yeah, and that's not gonna happen, and you know it," stated Peter, groaning in frustration when Dad rolled his eyes. "Look, I know you hate it when I say stuff like this, so I'll just say it one more time and then shut up about it for now, okay?"
"Whatever," Dad grumbled.
Peter chose to let that one slide. "Dad, we just spent weeks trying to figure out how these silly particles work on the off chance that they might turn out to be helpful whenever what you keep dreaming about is gonna happen, happens. And that's fine, you know it is. You know I love doing stuff like this with you, so it's fine. But what's not fine is this thing you've got going on where you feel like you have to carry all of this crap by yourself. This is exactly how you were after Loki and the Chitauri came, Dad, I remember it. You were obsessed with making your suits, and obsessed with protecting us, and—"
"And look where it got us!" Dad shouted. He slammed his palm down onto the counter, causing Peter to jump. "All it got us was a blown-up house and your papa nearly shot to pieces!"
"But that wasn't your fault!" Peter cried. "Dad, it wasn't! It was HYDRA's!"
"Yeah, except then, instead of learning from my goddamn mistakes, I let HYDRA come in and snatch you right out from under my nose! And then they came and snatched my husband right out from under my nose! And goddamnit, Pete, that is just unacceptable! It cannot ever happen again, do you understand me? Never again! So if my nanite suits, and—and figuring out these stupid particles can somehow keep me from getting blindsided again, then that's what I'm gonna do!"
There was a pause as Dad turned away, typing furiously on his keyboard as Peter struggled with what to say next. He hadn't planned on getting into yet another argument, especially since his long-awaited weekend date with Gwen was supposed to start tomorrow. But he just couldn't stay quiet anymore. Despite everything that he and Papa were trying to do for Dad, none of it seemed to be helping, and he was only getting worse.
"Okay, Dad," Peter finally said. "I won't—I won't say anything else about it. Just remember that Papa and I, we're both here, and we both wanna help you. But we can't do that until you let us."
"Duly noted, bud," Dad said shortly. "Now, don't you have some homework to do?"
Peter let out a heavy sigh. It'd all fallen on deaf ears, just like he'd feared. "Yeah, I do. I'll go and get it."
"Good idea."
Unfortunately, Dad's poor attempt at bravado had Peter in such a bad mood the next morning that Gwen, who had been so excited about their upcoming trip to the Compound that she had accidentally let it slip in front of Ned, actually suggested to Peter that they postpone it instead. Peter immediately vetoed that idea, assuring Gwen that even if he did end up spending the weekend with his dads as usual, nothing would change.
If anything, Peter's constant presence would probably only make things worse. It'd been a long time since Dad and Papa had had any alone time, and Peter knew that Papa was especially looking forward to it.
Thankfully, by the time Uncle Sam's car pulled into the school's parking lot on Friday afternoon, Peter's mood had brightened to the point where he was practically vibrating with excitement. Gwen had stored her stuff in the school's office all day, and was now clutching the handle of her small suitcase, her other hand threaded through Peter's arm.
"Well, good afternoon, kids," Uncle Sam said, a goofy smile plastered on his face as Peter opened the back door of his car for Gwen. "How was school today?"
"It was fine, Uncle Sam," Peter said, shooting him a look in the rearview mirror. Uncle Sam had promised Peter that he and Uncle Bucky wouldn't go overboard on the teasing during the drive up, but since Peter had neglected to properly negotiate the terms of that promise, or even get it in writing, he had a bad feeling that it was going to be open to far more interpretation than he would have chosen.
And he was right. In fact, during the two-plus hours of car ride, Peter was certain that his cheeks managed to achieve a level of pinkness never before attained in his lifetime.
"You never told me that you used to climb out of your crib!" Gwen said as soon as Uncle Bucky finished the story about how Dad had once found Peter dangling from the upstairs bannister at the Malibu house as a toddler. Peter hadn't realised that Uncle Bucky even knew that story, but based on how much Papa liked to talk about him, he supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised.
"Well, I can't say that I usually spend a lot of time talking about when I was a baby," Peter said, clearing his throat. "And I really don't get why everyone else sees the need to talk about it either."
Uncle Sam let out one of his goofy laughs. "Well, when you're the youngest kid in this grand madhouse, that's kinda how it's gotta be." He glanced back, smirking when Peter glared at him. "Oh, come on. I highly doubt that anything we've said is gonna change anything. Isn't that right, Miss Stacy?"
"Um, right, Mr Wilson," Gwen said. She gave Peter's hand a reassuring squeeze, making him flush even pinker. "My mom and dad talk about when I was little all the time too. I think it must just be a parent thing."
"Hmph. Or a weird uncle thing," Peter muttered.
"Hey!" protested Uncle Bucky. "I thought I was your fun uncle!"
"Oh, yeah? Only when you're not being weird!" Peter shot back.
"Ah, I see," said Uncle Sam, giving Uncle Bucky a knowing glance. "Well, then I guess you're just outta luck now, hmm, Sir Bucky?"
"I swear to God, Сзм, if you don't—!"
"Um… Sir Bucky?" Gwen asked. "Do I wanna know?"
"Nope, nope, don't ask," Peter said quickly as Uncle Sam and Uncle Bucky launched into one of their verbal jab competitions. He leaned closer, whispering, "It's a Monty Python thing. I think."
"Ah," Gwen whispered back. "I still don't get it."
"No, me neither."
"They're cute though," she added. "Together, I mean. They seem pretty happy."
Peter gave her a wide smile. "Oh, yeah. The rest of us were so relieved when they finally quit dancing around each other too. I think deep down Uncle Bucky was still afraid it was a sin or illegal or something, like it was back in his time."
"And your papa's time?" Gwen asked.
"Yep. And his time." Just like Gwen knew that Peter was Spider-Man, she was also one of the few people who knew the truth about Uncle Bucky, that he'd been Papa's friend since they were kids, and that he had been a prisoner of HYDRA for over sixty years.
Gwen didn't know that he'd once been the Winter Soldier, though. There were still a few secrets in Peter's family that were too dangerous to tell, no matter how much Peter trusted her. Even though Uncle Bucky's record had been completely expunged of all traces that could connect to him being the Winter Soldier, the team had decided that they couldn't be too careful, especially with the possibility—however remote—of there still being more HYDRA agents out there somewhere.
As soon as they arrived at the Compound and unloaded their stuff, Peter and Gwen jumped into Peter's bright blue Audi RS Q8 to head to the nearby grocery store. Peter had offered to cook for Gwen that night, hoping to put some of his numerous lessons from Papa and Uncle Sam to good use, and the grocery trip also gave him a great opportunity to show off his new car for his girl, since she'd only been able to see it in pictures up till now.
"Oh wow," Gwen said, her eyes wide as she ran her palm over the smooth grey leather of the passenger seat. "Peter, this is nice!"
"Yeah," Peter said as he backed out of the garage, carefully navigating the long driveway and onto the main road. "My dads told me that Uncle Bucky helped them pick out the colours."
"Well, they did a good job," Gwen said. "Your dad likes Audis, hmm?"
"Yeah, they're almost all he owns. He wanted to get me a red one, but after Papa read something in a magazine about how cops tend to go after red cars more often, they decided on the blue instead."
"And I can verify that that is indeed the case," Gwen said with a short laugh. "My dad says the red cars are just easier to pick out on the roads, especially when they're speeding."
"Which I won't ever do," Peter said quickly. It'd been ridiculous how many times he'd had to promise his dads that he would be careful driving with Gwen. "Well, at least not too obnoxiously."
Gwen shot him a grin, reaching over to squeeze him on the knee. "Then I guess it's a good thing my dad's not here then, hmm?"
"Uhh, yeah," Peter stammered. "Yeah, it's—it's good. It's very, very good."
The grocery store was packed when they arrived, not too surprisingly since it was close to dinnertime. After picking up what they would need for the linguine dish Peter was planning to make, they headed over to the freezer section to check out the desserts. Peter was examining the selection of ice cream bars when Gwen suddenly burst out laughing from two doors down, pointing to the Ben and Jerry's section.
"Peter," she said, the huge smile on her gorgeous face already making Peter weak in the knees. "Did you know that your dads have their very own ice cream flavours?"
"What?" Peter exclaimed. "No! They never said anything to me about it!"
"Well, maybe they don't know yet. These look pretty new." She reached inside, pulling out a pint carton of ice cream that read Stark Raving Hazelnuts and handing it to Peter. "This is your dad's, and this one, the Star-Spangled Berry Blast, has to be for your papa."
"Holy cow," Peter laughed as he inspected the cartons. "This is absolutely hilarious! You know we have to get these now, right?"
"Oh, absolutely," agreed Gwen. "In fact, I'm thinking that we need to buy a bunch, just in case everyone else wants to try some."
"I think that's a great idea," said Peter, placing three cartons of each in their shopping cart. "Is that what you're gonna want for dessert then?"
"Nope," Gwen said, still poking around inside the freezer. She pulled out yet another carton, one that read Hulka Hulka Burning Fudge. "I think I'll go with this one. Do you think Dr Banner likes fudge?"
"Um, I honestly don't know," Peter said. "But I'm guessing if he doesn't already, he'll learn to now."
Returning to the Compound, they found Uncle Sam and Uncle Bucky finishing their dishes in the kitchen after their own dinner. After showing them the ice cream, and sending a picture to Peter's dads, Peter and Gwen got to work on their dinner. Gwen turned out to be an excellent sous chef, something Peter probably should've figured out a lot sooner when she pointed out that she and her mom were tasked daily with feeding four hungry boys and men.
"I mean, I know they probably don't have the same appetites that you and your papa have," she said once they'd sat down in the kitchen's eating area. "But they still eat a ton."
"Yeah, I've noticed," Peter said. "And my dad and I never used to cook before Papa came to live with us. He's the one who taught me how. He told me when he was young his ma had to work all the time, so he ended up doing most of the cooking."
"Oh, yeah?" Gwen said as she took a bite of her pasta. "She was a nurse, right?"
"Yep. But apparently they didn't pay nurses all that great back then, and so she had to work a whole lot just to keep them in their house," said Peter. "And pay for my papa's medicines whenever he got sick. That's one reason why my dad's always donating money and supplies to hospitals around the world. He always says that no one should ever have to go bankrupt just 'cause they get sick, or have a sick kid. He even helped to build a brand-new wing on a hospital in my grandma's hometown, not too far from where our house is in Ireland. And he even named it after her."
"Oh, that's awesome," Gwen said. "And it's good that your dad realises that kind of stuff. A lot of people with his kind of money don't."
"Well, I'm sure I helped him a bit when I almost died after I was born," Peter said around a mouthful of garlic bread. "Which is why the neonatal intensive care unit at Mount Sinai has a Stark wing now."
"Yes," Gwen said, smiling softly. "So I've heard. You're kinda like Harry Potter, hmm? The boy who lived?"
Peter grinned, covering Gwen's small hand with his own. "Well, I'm pretty sure no evil wizard's ever tried to kill me. In fact, I've never even met a wizard. At least, not that I know of."
Gwen giggled. "Well, in your line of work, I'd say just give it time. Who knows what you guys will run into next."
"Yeah," Peter said, the smile dropping from his lips as he remembered the so-called discussion he'd had with his father. Based on the texts he'd received since he and Gwen had arrived at the Compound, Dad and Papa were enjoying themselves at their festival, drinking beer and indulging in some of Papa's favourite childhood foods in his old neighbourhood. But Peter had a feeling that as soon as they got home, or maybe even tomorrow, given the fact that they were alone in the penthouse for the first time in months, Dad would revert right back to his same, worried-sick self, complete with wearing a path in the hallways as he tried to come up with even more newfangled ideas to keep his family safe.
Something had to give, and soon. Otherwise… well… Peter didn't really enjoy thinking about the otherwise.
"Peter? Are you okay?" Gwen said softly as they were finishing their dessert. The Stark Raving Hazelnuts ice cream hadn't turned out to be that bad, actually, and Peter ended up eating an entire pint of the stuff, thinking that he'd try the Star-Spangled Berry Blast tomorrow night.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine," Peter said, almost grimacing at how much he sounded like his father. "Just… my dad's been under a lot of stress lately, and I'm a bit worried about him. His heart's not exactly normal, so—"
"No, I can't imagine it is, given all it's been through," Gwen said. "I assume he's under a doctor's care?"
"Oh, yeah. There's a great doctor who works here who keeps a close eye on him, and he still sees the surgeon who fixed his heart once a year. But you know what they say. I mean, even cops tend to have higher incidences of heart attacks and stuff just because of their jobs, right?"
"Yes," said Gwen. "Which is why my dad gets cardiac checkups every six months. But your dad's not a completely normal person either, is he? Didn't you tell me that he got some early version of a super-soldier serum when he was little?"
"Yeah, when he got really sick as a toddler. My grandpa gave it to him," Peter said in amazement. "Wow. You never forget anything, do you?"
A soft pink flush crept up Gwen's cheeks as she smiled. "Well… I tend to remember things that are important. But seriously. If everything that your dad's been through already hasn't killed him, then I doubt his heart's going to all of a sudden give way on him." She gave Peter's hand a squeeze. "And, pardon me for saying, but it seems like you've been under just as much stress as him since school started, and I'm sure your heart's just fine too."
"Well, I hope so," said Peter. Or, at least it will be once you get back from England. But he didn't dare say that out loud. He had not taken the news of Gwen's upcoming summer internship well at all, and while he had apologised to her multiple times since then, he still felt guilty about not being more supportive.
And, while Gwen had assured him that she wasn't going to break up with him because of it, he still couldn't shake the fear that she would fall in love with someone else while she was over there, someone with a cooler accent than his subtle New York drawl, and that would be it for him.
He was brought back to reality by Gwen's fingers snapping in front of his nose. "Earth to Peter?" she said with a giggle. "Where'd you go?"
"Nowhere," Peter said as he gave his head a hard shake. It didn't do to dwell on things he couldn't change, right? Wasn't that what Papa was always telling him?
Too bad he never took his own advice.
"Are you ready to go check out the telescope now?" he asked as they gathered up their dishes. "I thought we could take some hot chocolate up there with us."
"Oh, really?" said Gwen. "And did your papa teach you how to make that too?"
"Yeah, actually, he did. And let me tell you, Swiss Miss has got nothing on Papa's hot chocolate."
"Well then," Gwen said, grinning. "Don't keep me waiting."
After starting the dishwasher and making a huge pot of hot chocolate, complete with marshmallows, Peter and Gwen gathered up a bunch of blankets and headed up onto the roof of the main building. They set up their makeshift camp in front of the telescope, with Gwen sitting between Peter's legs, leaning against his chest. Taking turns with their stargazing, they were able to identify Venus and several constellations, taking plenty of notes in their notebooks for their Decathlon finals coming up in a couple of months.
"This is so fascinating," Gwen said as she added some finishing touches on her drawing of Leo. "It's so much better than just looking at pictures in a book, isn't it?"
"Y-yeah," Peter stuttered. To be perfectly honest, he was far too distracted by Gwen's close proximity and the gorgeous smell of her hair to pay much attention to the stars. Especially since despite the hot chocolate and wearing one of his regular heated Spider-Man suits underneath his clothes, he was starting to get really cold being outside after dark in the middle of March.
And, even worse, out here, out from under the strict, watchful eyes of his and Gwen's families, Peter was finding it harder and harder to keep his hands to himself. Papa had given him a ton of lectures on how to be a gentleman ever since he and Dad got married, and Peter had taken them all to heart. But those wise words were currently locked in an intense battle with the desire coursing through his body, and the last thing Peter wanted was to come off as creepy or pushy during he and Gwen's first real date in months.
"So," he said as he nuzzled the soft skin on the back of Gwen's neck. "Did you know that no one born blind has ever developed schizophrenia?"
There was a couple heartbeat's pause before Gwen burst out laughing, turning back to look at Peter.
"No, I am absolutely positive that I did not know that," she said. "And where in the world did you hear it?"
"My Uncle Bucky loves trivia, like me, so he helps me practise for Decathlon a lot," Peter explained. "That's one of the funnier gems that we came across earlier this week."
Gwen giggled as she leaned closer, so close that their lips were almost touching. "Well, now I'm hoping that we'll get that question in one of our competitions, seeing as how you already know the answer. Nothing like impressing everyone else in the room, right?"
"Yeah," Peter murmured as he cupped her cheek in his palm. He leaned in, pressing their lips together in a kiss that instantly sent a burst of warm fuzzies scattering throughout his body, and had him panting by the time they broke apart.
And, funnily enough, he was no longer quite as cold either.
"Peter—" Gwen started, but Peter cut her off with another kiss, hugging her lithe body as close to him as he dared. He wanted so badly to do more than just kissing, but he didn't dare push anything. Her dad was a cop, after all. And he was a gentleman, like Papa said.
"So," Gwen said breathlessly once they broke apart. "Do you think we should see if we can find Aquarius too? It's not quite the right time of year for maximum visibility, but since your telescope is so nice, we just might—"
"Oh, sure," Peter said as he sucked in a shaky breath. "That—that's a great idea."
Peering through the telescope again, Gwen began taking notes, exclaiming a moment later, "Peter! I think I've found it! Oh, it's amazing!" She paused for a moment, tilting her head. "And there's something else up there too. Something that seems to be… moving."
"Huh?" Peter asked. "Something's moving? Are you sure?"
"Pretty sure," Gwen said as she leaned back, allowing Peter to take her place. "Up there, slightly to the right of the North Star. Do you see it?"
"Oh, yeah!" Peter said, squinting to get a better look. Whatever it was was orange, moving quickly through the emptiness of space as it left a sort of fiery trail behind it. "It kinda looks like a comet? Are there supposed to be any of those coming through this area now?"
"Not that I know of," said Gwen. "I mean, I'm sure one could come through without people knowing, but don't we usually hear about it if they're expecting one?"
"Yeah, usually," Peter said as he peered through the telescope again, his heart starting to thud when he saw how much bigger it had already grown. It also didn't seem to be travelling across the sky, like a comet normally would.
Instead, it seemed to be aiming downwards, directly at Earth. And, more specifically, right at the Compound.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no.
A cold sweat broke out across Peter's body, and he let out a hard shiver as he grabbed onto Gwen's hand. "Uhh, I think—I think we need to get back inside now. Like, right now."
"What? Why?" Gwen asked, her head snapping back in alarm. "Peter, what's wrong? What did you see?"
"Ahh," he said on a gasp. "It's—it's not a comet, Gwen. I'm afraid it's—it's—"
"It's a, what?" demanded Gwen. "Peter, you're not making any sense! What did you see?"
"An attack!" Peter cried. He scrambled to his feet, practically yanking Gwen's arm from its socket as he pulled her up next to him. "We're under attack, so we've gotta get out of—"
He was cut off as the fireball suddenly appeared directly above them, smashing straight into the main SHIELD building about fifty metres away. The blastwave was enough to knock Peter and Gwen off their feet, sending them both flying across the roof. Gwen screamed as Peter landed on the very edge of the roof, clutching Gwen's hand so hard he feared he might break it.
"Gwen!" he cried as he glanced up at the sky, his heart jumping into his throat as he noticed another incoming fireball. He quickly crawled over to Gwen, curling his body around her. "There's another fireball coming, so don't let go of me, okay? I've got you, but you have to hold onto me!"
"Uh huh!" Gwen gasped, nodding as her fingertips dug into Peter's arm. "Peter, what—what's happening? What is this?"
"I don't know," answered Peter, bracing himself as the next impact grew closer and closer. "I don't—I don't know, but don't worry. I've got you."
But instead of the second fireball landing in the same spot as the first, it suddenly veered at the last second, landing in the yard only about fifteen metres away from the building. A split-second later the shockwave hit, blasting Peter sideways hard enough to knock Gwen right out of his arms and slam the back of his head against the roof. He let out a choked scream as he watched her fly towards the edge of the building, barely having the wherewithal to activate his web shooter and launch a web towards her before she disappeared, just like she had in his vision all those months ago.
No, please! Peter cried inside his dazed and dizzy mind, clinging desperately to consciousness. Please, don't take her from me like this! Not like this!
And then, everything went black.