Peter's nearly drifted off when he hears a soft knock. "Come in," he mumbles, squinting against the light suddenly streaming from the hallway.

Tony stands backlit in the doorway. "Just making the rounds. Finally got Madam Secretary to bed," he says with a low chuckle.

"Come to tuck me in?"

"Mmm-hmm." Tony leaves the door open but comes to his bedside, fussing at the sheets with exaggerated tugs.

Peter wants to roll his eyes but he yawns instead, his mouth opening so wide he can hear his jaw crack. Tony reaches over and ruffles his hair.

"Don't have enough blankets," Peter slurs. Tony's eyes widen and he lurches toward the closet, but Peter reaches out and grabs his wrist. "Kidding," he says with a chuckle of his own. He'd spread an extra blanket on his bed, bringing the total to three, and he's nice and cozy.

Tony freezes for just a second, as if he'd forgotten they used to do that. Maybe Peter's so tired that he's forgotten that they haven't, lately.

"Fine. Rag on your old man's overanxious parenting. You wouldn't be the first one."

"Pepper?"

"And Morgan."

"'Elicopter parent," Peter says, nodding into his pillow.

"It was a bit chilly out there for spiderlings. Just wanted to make sure you're all warmed up."

Tony's concern leaves Peter warmer than the hot shower he took or the pile of blankets he's burrowed under. For so long no one had remembered that.

Tony remembers everything about him now.

"I had a good time tonight," he says, somehow summoning enough energy to enunciate. The stars had been beautiful, but they're the least sparkling bit of the memory. He tugs on Tony's wrist until Tony catches Peter's drift and sits down on the edge of his bed.

"Me too." Peter hears the smile in Tony's voice. "The first time Morgan asked to watch the meteor shower, the last thing I wanted to do was stare out into space and think about what I lost there. But she'd heard about it at school and was so excited, and Pep had an overseas call she couldn't get out of. My father—he never made time for anything I asked of him. I just—I didn't want to do that to Morgan, even if I had a good reason. So I sucked it up. Tried to distract myself with the fire and the snacks. But you know what—it wasn't so bad. Morgan was so happy it made me forget everything else for a while."

"Your father sounds dumb." Peter's not feeling particularly eloquent, already half-asleep, but it seems like something Tony needs to hear. Just the fact that he called him his father instead of dad implies a distance that Peter hates. "Missed out on the best kid."

Tony makes a noise deep in his throat that Peter recognizes. One that always make Tony frown when Peter's the one making it. "You're not like him," Peter says, squeezing the hand he still seems to be holding. "You love Morgan so much. It's super obvious."

Tony squeezes back. "I love both my kids."

"Yeah," Peter hums. The sincerity in Tony's voice is better than a multi-million-dollar suit. "It's super obvious."

Tony chuckles. His free hand rests on Peter's head, pushing the hair away from his brow. "You know your sister might be on to something with that wishing on a star thing." Tony's whispering now. If not for the spider Peter's not sure he'd be able to hear him. "Cause I wished for you to come home too. And here you are."

Peter leans into Tony's touch. "'M glad." He doesn't have the energy to expound on that, but he hopes Tony knows. He'll tell him, sometime he's more awake.

"Me too, buddy. You have no damn idea how much."

So much Tony broke all his rules about avoiding feelings. Blasted through all the walls that used to protect his heart when Peter was just some kid he was mentoring. "Maybe I do."

Tony doesn't seem to have an answer for that. Silence stretches between them. It's not uncomfortable, except that at any moment Tony will get up and leave the room. He probably should. It's late, and Peter's halfway to dreamland, too tired to restart their conversation.

But Tony's still playing with his hair. Peter's too old for that, probably, but he can't bring himself to tell Tony. Not when every brush against his scalp sends ease through his entire body, draining away the tension that had moved in like a squatting, destructive tenant. May used to touch his hair a lot when he was younger. It feels like safety. Security. Love. Peter could get addicted to all those things, after going so long without.

Peter doesn't want Tony to go. Not yet. Not while he's still awake. So he blinks up at him. "Tell me a story?"

Peter's definitely too old for that. But Tony laughs. "Only if you don't correct me. They're only, like, 80% accurate, but Morgan doesn't know any better. I don't need any interruptions at the height of my narrative genius."

Peter wonders what Tony could have possibly said to Morgan to make her love him so much. But he thinks of his sister, and that's not what he wants to know. "You could tell me about Morgan. If you wanted."

"Yeah, I – I could do that."

Tony's voice is low and deep. Peter feels it when he closes his eyes, tucked around him like another blanket. His tired mind doesn't hold on to any of the details, except that Morgan saved Tony from his guilt, and he loves her, loves her, loves her. But Peter thinks he knew that already. That girl is made of miracles and second chances.

Eventually Tony quiets. Peter isn't sure if the story is over or his dad thinks he's asleep. After a few seconds he hears Tony lean down, feels a kiss pressed to his forehead. Smiles, even though his eyes refuse to open.

"Sweet dreams, kiddo," Tony whispers. "I love you."

Peter musters just enough energy to whisper back, "Love you too," before he finally lets himself fade.

Peter stretches as he wakes, savoring the cool silk of his sheets against his skin. Neither his arms or legs extend past the cloud he's sunk into, even though he must look like a starfish. Something hard is digging into his cheek, though. He opens his eyes and sees a cartoon version of his own mask out of his peripheral vision.

He snorts and clutches Spidey to his chest. The thing is adorable, and with no one around to judge he's willing to admit that it does make him feel better, though it's probably his sister's overwhelming concern and not some mythical power imbued in the stuffing. (But he's met gods and aliens and suffered the consequences of magic, so that's not exactly beyond belief.)

He rolls on his back and blinks up at the drawings that he'd taped to the ceiling. Peter Parker and Spider-Man, both part of the Stark family. The thought is just as glittering as Morgan's crayons.

He probably shouldn't be able to see the drawings as well as he can. His shades are drawn, but light pours through them. He'd slept a lot his first week here, but Sam insisted that a schedule was healthy, and he's been getting up at seven ever since.

It seems to be later than seven. "Friday, what time is it?" he asks as a yawn shudders through him.

"Good morning, Peter. It is 11:17 am."

"Crap." He swings his legs off the bed as he wipes at the crust at the corners of his eyes. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"Boss asked me to turn off your alarm."

Tony, who has apparently learned to sleep more like a human since Morgan was born, is not a huge fan of Peter's 'responsible sleep schedule,' though it's rare for him to go against Sam's suggestions. Peter's heart swells a little every time Tony puts Peter's wellbeing ahead of his very vocal opinions, which seems to be happening quite a lot nowadays. He's not sure why today is different. He wonders if it has to do with yesterday's admission. If Tony now thinks Peter's too frail to go about a normal day. But Peter pushes the thought away before it can take root. Remembers instead how tightly Tony had held him, but how gently his fingers had combed through his hair. You're so strong. But it's okay to rest now. Let us take care of you for awhile, bambino.

That nickname is new, just like Tony's affinity for middle of nowhere living and uncharacteristic emotional openness. It's something else Peter should be too old for, like all the physical soothing. He's seventeen going on thirty-seven, it feels like. He's not anyone's baby. But there's something in the way Tony says it, so raw and fond and dripping with love, that Peter cannot bring himself to protest. Tony could call him that every other sentence, and Peter doesn't think he'd mind.

Tony probably won't think less of him for sleeping this long, but he should still get up and face the rest of the day. He slides out of bed and notices a chocolate bar and half a sleeve of graham crackers on his bedside table. His heart skips in his chest as he realizes Tony must have left the remnants of their s'mores for him last night. He devours half the chocolate before he realizes he should have brushed his teeth first. After several minutes of spitting out brown-tinged toothpaste he downs a few graham crackers as he changes, grateful that he'd showered last night to warm up and get the smell of smoke out of his hair.

He knows Pepper and Morgan are long gone, to work and school respectively. He takes the stairs at double time, expecting the house to be empty, with Tony already in his workshop for hours.

He's not expecting to find Tony on the living room couch with his feet up on the ottoman, staring at a familiar looking projection hovering over the coffee table.

"That's my suit."

Tony's eyes find him quickly, like a suit programmed to hone instantly to a target. "Morning to you too, Sleeping Beauty. I was starting to worry you needed true love's kiss to wake you."

"You turned off my alarm." Peter's not annoyed, not really. But maybe he sounds it, because Tony's grin melts.

"Yesterday got kind of heavy, and we were up late. I thought you could use the extra sleep, just this once. We don't have to tell the therapy police. But I'm sorry if I overstepped."

"It's okay." Peter fights the yawn that threatens to prove Tony's point, and ultimately fails. "Betrayed by my own body."

He slips into the room and sits on one of the ridiculously overstuffed armchairs, even though he really wants to curl up right next to Tony and rest his head on his shoulder. Because the therapy police are concerned about codependency, which is a drag, but probably accurate. "So why are you looking at my suit?" he asks, still feeling a little sleepy.

Maybe he's projecting, but Peter thinks Tony looks like he would also prefer if Peter's head was on his shoulder. Why is Peter sitting all the way over here again?

Right. In just a few months Peter would in theory like to be independent enough to go to college in another state. So the first step is sitting on his own chair.

In theory it would be extremely awkward to have Tony Stark come to MIT with him and follow him around. But Peter thinks Ned would get on board. MJ would be a harder sell. But maybe she can be persuaded. If he can get her to forgive him for letting her forget for so long, then anything is possible.

Peter forces himself to get out of his head and listen to Tony's rambling.

"Thought maybe we could work on it today if you ever woke up. I know you've got a new aesthetic, and I respect that. Color scheme is totally at your discretion. And if you're really on a low-tech find-your-own-way phase I'll try to get on board. But you gotta have something more protective than fabric. That's where I draw the line. You need a heater in the winter, and if you're not bullet proof you've gotta be bullet resistant at least. And we can talk about lifting protocols—I get that you're not a baby anymore, and you don't need training wheels, but you've gotta have some sort of AI that can get in touch with me. Droney's optional, though I know you love Droney."

Thinking about the suit spikes an anxiety Peter's been pretty good at keeping at bay. He wonders what exactly is happening in New York since he's been gone, and the possibilities hit like a punch to the gut. The second blow comes from the realization that even if it's bad, he's still not ready to help. He's always loved being Spider-Man, but the thought of putting on the suit right now reminds him of his devastating little apartment and how alone he was for so long. He should be ready to face that. He wants to be. But he's not.

But the pain and anxiety both fade pretty quickly. Mister Stark isn't asking him to go out on patrol or even put on a suit and train. He wants to hang out in his lab. And the thought of designing a suit from top to bottom with Mister Stark when they've only worked on bits and pieces together—he can't deny how exciting that sounds. And the fact that Tony's thinking about what he might want—how he's grown and changed and become his own person—well it's obvious they've both come a long way.

He's far too distracted by his empty stomach to explain that his low-tech aesthetic had mostly been born of poverty and grief. He would like to honor Peter 2 and Peter 3 and incorporate some of their colors and designs. But now that every bell and whistle won't remind him that Mister Stark has no idea who he is, he doesn't want to give up those creature comforts, like his heater and his emergency parachute.

"Course I need Karen," he says, not mentioning how she saved his life but thinking it all the same. "And Droney. We can talk about everything else. But breakfast first?"

"Course. Waffles all right?"

"Sure. But that's oddly specific."

Tony chuckles as he stands. Peter doesn't mention how his bones creak a little, but he notices. It's odd how much Tony has aged in those years Peter was gone. But it's a miracle he's still standing, despite the scarring down the right side of his body. Peter can't fathom where he'd be if Tony had never woken from his coma—or if he hadn't lived to fall into a coma at all. Or maybe he can fathom it all too well. Cold and lifeless in a pool of congealed blood, with no one to notice that he ceased existing. How long would it have been until his landlord found his body? Tony had rescued him about halfway through the month so …

"Waffles are easier than pancakes. And according to the girls my pancakes need a little work."

Peter inhales and brings his focus back to Tony, who is alive and smiling at him, and apparently only a mediocre cook. "Can I make us some eggs?" he asks.

"Sure, bud. There's bacon, too. You must be starved. It's practically lunch time."

Peter follows Tony into the kitchen. "I did have a nice little sugar rush when I woke up."

Tony doesn't make a joke about his metabolism or try to shake off Peter's gratitude. In fact he's almost solemn when he says, "You're welcome."

There's something familiar as they move about each other in the kitchen, even though they've never cooked together before. It's not so different than the lab, really. Just different equipment. Maybe they're both a little clumsier here. There's no DUM-E to use a fire extinguisher at all the wrong moments.

Ben had taught Peter how to make scrambled eggs. "A breakfast staple. Simple. Filling. But as long as you make them with confidence it'll impress any girl." Peter had been so young at the time he hadn't even blushed. Ben was a good cook—loads better than May, but he was so busy he didn't do it often. Peter hadn't learned nearly as much from him as he should have. Ben was always saying he'd teach Peter a few more tricks before college. Then Ben had been gone, and Peter had resigned himself to a lifetime of takeout.

But they'd made Sunday morning breakfast together for years and years. Peter's favorite part wasn't the food at all. It was the time spent in the kitchen together, joking around. How May would supervise from the table with entirely unhelpful commentary, as if she was a gourmet chef even though all three of them knew she was the polar opposite. Then they would while away the morning together.

Peter had known, on those mornings, without a shadow of a doubt, that no matter what he called them, he was their son.

After Ben was gone, sometimes he'd make breakfast for him and May, but it was never the same. And May started picking up more shifts at the hospital, and Peter spent more time over at Ned's, until breakfast became something he'd make on special occasions—Mother's Days, Christmas, May's birthday—but not every week.

Peter isn't sure, at first, how it will feel, cooking with Mister Stark, now that every bit of his old life in Queens is gone. He doesn't want to replace Ben and May, or forget, but he knows from a lot of awful experience that he can't dwell in the loss or it will suck him down like quicksand. He's got to keep moving forward, steady even if it's slow. But it's okay to hold on to cherished memories. To find new ways to honor them so he doesn't forget.

If May had seen Tony Stark trying to make Peter waffles, he's sure she would have laughed.

Sometimes, when he and Tony started getting close, Peter had wondered how Tony and Ben would have gotten along. He likes to think they could have become friends. Ben trusted easy. May always said that Peter was like Ben in that way. That she was more skeptical, more prone to a fierce protectiveness that had caused her to rage at Mister Stark once she first heard about Spider-Man and his little German field trip. Peter thinks Ben would have warmed to Tony faster. That he would have seen all the good in Tony that even Tony wasn't always sure was there.

Peter and Tony don't talk much as they cook. They're both too focused on not burning down the house while Pepper is away. But Peter is aware of Tony as he moves around him. His steady heartbeat. His footsteps as he wanders between counter and cabinets and fridge. The rock songs he hums under his breath, so quietly Peter doesn't think he's aware that he's doing it. And Peter feels content just to be in these moments, not worrying about the past or the future.

Tony peers behind his shoulder as he lays the finished bacon on a plate. "Did you cook that in the microwave?" he asks, sounding as scandalized as if Peter had just claimed that OG Captain America was his favorite Avenger.

"Uh, yeah. How else am I supposed to make it?"

"In a pan on the stove, you heathen."

Peter hadn't known that. Ben had always made bacon in the microwave, meticulously spacing the pieces on a stack of paper towels. "Huh. It's pretty delicious this way though."

Tony reaches around him to snatch a piece and pops it in his mouth before Peter can warn that it's still hot. "Damn. That is good."

Peter feels the praise like a tiny shock. He can't wait until Tony tries the eggs. "Told ya."

"Now for my masterpiece." Tony grabs Peter's shoulders and steers him from behind towards the counter where Tony has been secretly working, swatting Peter away with the dishtowel on his shoulder any time he wanders too close. Peter is ready to make a quip about how nothing can compare to his bacon. But as soon as he sees the plate all the sass dies on his tongue.

"Tada."

For a moment he can only stare. The waffle is shaped like Spider-Man's mask—a cartoony version similar to Morgan's plush. Though Peter can only assume there's a waffle under there. Because all he can see is the way Tony has decorated it. Blueberries and strawberries make up the blue and red bits of his costume, while the comically large eyes are mounds of whipped cream with chocolate chips for pupils.

It is the most glorious, beautiful, ridiculous thing he's ever seen. Tony stands beside it, beaming, pride radiating from his pores. A laugh bursts from Peter so forcefully that his whole body shakes. He wraps his arms around his torso and cannot stop.

He expects Tony to have some (well deserved) quip, but when Peter finally calms down he realizes that Tony is just watching him, silent, with a strange expression on his face. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he finally manages.

Tony blinks a few times and then smiles. Not the devious grin Peter's reaction probably warrants. But something softer, fonder. His Morgan smile, for whenever she's done something particularly brilliant.

"That's the first time I've heard you laugh like that in—what—seven years?"

Oh. That dampens his mood a bit, but he tries to look encouraging. "I'll try not to keep you waiting so long til the next time."

Tony shakes his head. "You take as much time as you need. But hopefully not seven years."

"Where did you get a Spider-Man waffle iron?" Peter asks, ready for a subject change.

"Pep and Morgan got it for me a few years back. It was mostly a commentary on my pancakes, like I said. But I also think—it was like you were with us, in a way. Making your sister laugh, like you always did." Tony looks away after a moment, his eyes finding the gift in question, which is still open on the counter.

Peter walks over and closes it carefully, marveling at the bright red and blue enamel. "I cannot believe this exists. I saw some knockoff Spidey merch on the street. Shirts and mugs and stuff. But a waffle iron. This looks professional."

"It oughta be. That's from QVC."

Peter's eyes might be as wide as the ones on his mask. "QVC made Spider-Man kitchenware? When I was dusted?"

"Mmm-hmm. I think the novelty toaster was the most popular."

"That's insane."

"Not to be cynical, but they were probably taking advantage of the fact that you weren't around to chase their ass for royalties. Now that you're back you should probably get your merchandising in order."

"I don't need the money," he answers before he even thinks about it, driven by principal, but Tony rolls his eyes, hard.

"Hate to bring this up, but you were basically one step up from living under a bridge."

"I don't need the money anymore," Peter clarifies, daring Tony to argue with that. Peter's pretty sure he's never going to want for anything else in his life. Honestly it makes him kind of uncomfortable.

"True enough. Still. Those vultures are profiting off your likeness. This isn't just some go-getter selling shirts out of a cart. QVC's good for the money, I promise you."

Peter shrugs. He's still floored that anyone wants his face on a toaster. He kinda wants to buy one for Ned's dorm room. (Their dorm room?)

"You know, Spangles didn't want the money either. So I set it up to go to his favorite charity. Ancient Veterans Something Something Something." Tony waves his hand as he spitballs, giving the serious matter a ridiculous air.

"Don't you mean Pepper set it up?"

"Ok, wise guy." But Tony smiles, and Peter laughs, and then he gets an idea.

"Could it go to F.E.A.S.T.?" He's not sure where the timidity comes from. Surely May would like that idea. Another way he could give back. A way his suit could help people even when he isn't in it.

"Yeah, bud. We can do that."

"Okay." He nods, and he sits in the sadness for a few moments before he realizes what he's asking. "Doesn't Pepper have a lot to do, running the company and all?"

"Okay, Sass-quatch, she has people to handle this now. She'll be fine. Even if she didn't—"

Just then an alarm blares and Peter jumps, moments before FRIDAY calmly informs them that the eggs are burning.

"Crap!" he shouts, running to turn off the long forgotten stove.

"Little late with the warning, dear," Tony says as he waves the dishtowel in front of the smoke alarm, which continues to squeal for at least a minute, somehow not high tech enough to be dissuaded by Tony's assurances that everything is fine.

All the eggs touching the bottom of the pan are black, but the top layer is salvageable. Truth be told the burnt smell reminds Peter of the few times May tried to replicate Ben's recipe.

"What are you doing?" Tony asks as Peter carefully scoops the still edible parts into a serving bowl. "Please throw those away and start again. We've got another dozen in the fridge."

"Nah," he insists, "Some of these are still good."

He does make fresh eggs for Tony, but even the half-burnt ones turn out just fine. When they finally sit down to eat they spend the first few minutes complimenting each other. Peter's waffle is cold, and the whipped cream has melted, but the masterpiece is delicious anyway. Tony seems to genuinely enjoy the eggs, and who doesn't like bacon.

When Tony's phone buzzes with a text message he retrieves it from the kitchen counter. "Sorry. There are only like four people who know I'm still alive enough to respond to texts, so I need to make sure that's not an emergency."

"That's fine."

Tony flips the phone over and smirks. "Ah. Mr. Hogan with his third Parker check in of the day. He's getting concerned that the spiderbaby is still asleep. He's asking if you might be dead in there."

Tony flinches before Peter does, the words rolling off him before the unfortunate truth sinks in. "Shit. Sorry. I didn't mean." Tony scrubs a hand across his face. "That is what it says. But it's not… He's just exaggerating. Because—teenage stereotypes."

"Yeah, okay."

"He doesn't know," Tony finally clarifies. "I didn't tell him. About what you told me yesterday. I wouldn't. That's—classified. You can tell me stuff. It'll stay between us. Well, full disclosure. I did tell Pepper. Because the whole no secrets thing is like one of the fundamental tenants of matrimony. Or something."

"It's all right." Honestly what Peter wants most right now is for Tony to stop panicking. He doesn't like the thought of Happy knowing—or Pepper—but there's a whole lot he doesn't like about the past year, including all those awful dark thoughts that are currently making Tony freak out. The entire world thought he was a hero-murderer for six months. This isn't as bad as that.

"You can trust me. I need you to know that."

"I never thought that I couldn't."

"Oh." Tony stops assaulting his face. "Well, good."

"Happy really texts you every day about me?"

"All the time. Clearly SI is not keeping him engaged enough when he doesn't have to babysit me."

That's—surprising—but not in a bad way. "Maybe you could invite him over sometime. If it would help to see me in person."

"You could invite him."

But Peter shakes his head. He has a phone—when Tony had seen the sorry state of the secondhand one Peter had picked up he'd replaced it with a newer-than-new Starkphone. But Peter has primarily used it to look up YouTube videos to help him entertain Morgan. Reaching out to Happy seems like a big step. It shouldn't be a big deal, since apparently Happy wants to see him. But it still feels like a lot. "Could you do it?"

Tony hesitates a second and then nods. "Of course, kid. What about if I invite him to dinner tonight? Is that okay? Or too soon?"

"Oh. Well. Sure. But that's kind of last minute. I don't want him to have to change his plans."

"Trust me—Hap'll be thrilled to drop everything and come to dinner. Clearly he doesn't have anything better to do at work. And the girls won't mind. He's part of the family."

"Okay. Yeah. Invite him." Peter's not sure why he's worried about this, but he figures Mister Stark's plan is a good one. He's got some time to mentally prepare—but not too much that he'll spend days freaking out.

Tony looks down at his phone and shoots off a quick text. "Done. So what do you say—lab time?"

They clean up the kitchen first, so by the time they finally make it out to the garage they're already well into the afternoon. Tony moves the lawnmower to give them more room to work. "Are you sure you don't want to work on that?" Peter asks, but maybe Tony can sense he's only being polite.

"What, is carbon neutral farm equipment not as cool as superhero suits? Because agriculture is one of the largest consumers of diesel fuel-"

"Actually that is pretty cool."

"I'm just teasing ya, Underroos. SI's agriculture initiatives may be revolutionary, but they're not exactly thrilling. Not like swinging through the air and webbing up bad guys. FRI, bring up the Spider-Man Mach 6."

Peter watches the hologram materialize.

Tony spins it with a twirl of his finger. "You did some impressive work on the Mach 4, especially considering the time crunch, so I used that as a base to start. We should talk about features before we move to color scheme. Like I said, everything's negotiable. Well, most things are negotiable."

Tony's praise only keeps the pit out of Peter's stomach for a few moments. The more the suit spins, the more nauseous he feels. He thought he could do this—hang out with Tony, tinker and design and engineer without thinking too much about the future—but it all feels fake. "What if?" He trails off.

Tony sways just enough to check him in the shoulder. "I'm listening."

"What if I'm not ready to wear the suit?"

"Then I would say that reveals an extraordinary maturity I wasn't capable of until my thirties—"

Peter can't help it. He snorts, and Tony scowls and amends, "forties."

"What if I'm never ready?" Peter whispers. It'll be another loss, just like his aunt, his uncle, his parents. But maybe Spider-Man's already gone. Maybe the Rhino killed him after all. He's just not sure, if he puts on a suit, that he'll be of any use to anyone at all. For so long Spider-Man was all he had. But now that he has Tony and Morgan and Pepper, he's afraid that Spider-Man will only put them in danger. He shouldn't give that up for his own selfish gain. Just cause he wants—needs—a family again. He should be strong enough to keep on helping, no matter what. But he doesn't feel strong. Not anymore.

"Hey." Tony steps in front of him, his hands bracing on his shoulders as he tilts their foreheads together. "It's all right, kiddo. Everything's all right. Can you breathe for me for a sec?"

Had he not been doing that? Peter follows Tony's exaggerated breaths, leaning into him a bit, and their hearts settle together. "Feeling better?"

"Mmmhmmm," Peter hums, too glad to be close to Tony to be properly embarrassed.

"Then listen to me, okay? Just listen, before you start arguing. I don't care if you never get in another Spider-Man suit. That's not what you and me are about. You hear me? My kid is Peter Parker, not Spider-Man, and nothing can ever change that. Certainly not Spidey's retirement. I will love you no matter what you decide."

Probably he wouldn't have believed that, back before Thanos. Probably Tony wouldn't have said it then. But Peter does believe it now. After everything in these past few weeks—this past day especially—Peter knows Tony loves him, and not just the helpful mutation in his DNA. But it's so damn selfish to give up Spider-Man just because he knows that's true. "But if I give up, then all those bad things that happen—"

"They're not on you." Tony cuts him off so fiercely that Peter just stops. Tony falls back on his heels and puts some space between them, but he reaches out and cups Peter's face so he cannot look away. "You gotta listen to me, Pete. I admit I was impressed by your whole responsibility speech when we met, but maybe I should have been concerned. Your unflagging moral compass is something that I love about you but sometimes it scares the shit out of me. It's good that you want to help people. Doctors want to help people. Firefighters want to help people. But they take days off. They go on vacations with their family. Eventually they retire. And they don't blame themselves for each person they can't help because they were living their own life. You can't either. It is not your responsibility to derail every crime in Queens because you're super strong and super sticky. You can stop whenever you want to—whenever you need to—and that's not the wrong choice. What's wrong is to push yourself until you break, out of some kind of hero complex or misplaced guilt."

Peter would look away if he could, but Tony's grip is firm. Tears prick at his eyes.

"Are you hearing me, kid?"

And Peter doesn't know. There's a logic to what Tony is saying. A cool wonderful logic that he wants to grab hold of because it means he's not a failure. But it's counter to everything he's thought for so long. To the drive that's kept him going after Ben's death. After May's. Tony doesn't understand how much Peter has to atone for. How he's already failed two of the people who matter the most. "Maybe."

"Well that's a start. But I'm going to keep saying this until it's a solid yes. Because I know Peter Parker is destined to do so much good in the world with or without Spider-Man. And I can't wait to see it."

Peter nods. He takes a deep stuttering breath and tries to believe Tony. "Okay."

"I'm proud of you, kid," Tony says with a soft smile, dropping his hand to squeeze Peter's shoulder.

Peter ducks his head, feeling the blush rising on his cheeks. "You say that a lot."

"And I always mean it." Peter thinks that will be it. Peter will pull himself together and they'll move on, finally work on the suit. But suddenly Tony looks a bit uncomfortable. Icy fear trickles down Peter's spine, and his spider side cannot handle the cold.

Tony clears his throat before continuing. "My old man never said he was proud of me. Not when I graduated high school early or went to MIT at 15. Not when I built my first circuit board or robot or missile. Never said he loved me either. Not once that I can remember. So I figured he wasn't, and he didn't." There's a different type of ice running through Peter's veins now—antifreeze or insecticide, something chilling and toxic and terrible. How could Tony's own father have been so cruel? It wasn't fair. He didn't deserve that. "It wasn't until he'd been gone for decades that I found evidence that he was proud after all. He just didn't know how to say it."

Tony scrubs a hand over his face. Peter grabs his other one, holding on tight. "He had this saying: 'Stark men are made of iron.'" Tony chuckles, and it's a dark and awful sound, like exposed bone scrapping against metal. "Did I ever show him. Whew-ee."

Peter clutches his hand even tighter and has to hold back his super strength. He wants to wrap Tony in a great big hug and not let go. He wants to go back in time and tell that brilliant, ignored child that everything will get better. That one day he will be so loved and so needed and so, so adored. He wonders if there's still a bracelet around somewhere from the Time Heist. It might be worth branching off another timeline if in that one Tony's childhood misery is eased just a smidge.

"Thing is, that phrase was bullshit. He was emotionally constipated, and instead of admitting that he bragged about it. Fucked me up for years. I was still a mess when you and I met. And every time you impressed me I told myself it wasn't my place to tell you that, but that was just an excuse. Once Morgan came around I knew I couldn't do the same thing to her that my father did to me. I needed her to know just how much of a wonder she is. But I regretted that I never told you how I felt. I never told you all the things you needed to hear. Deserved to hear. But now you're back, and I have this miraculous second chance. So you better get used to it, because you can't shut me up now. You astound me, Pete. You're so kind and humble and brilliant, and stronger than I'll ever be. Spider-Man or not, you'll always be a hero."

"Your father was an idiot," Peter says, blinking tears out of his eyes.

"He was generally considered a genius, actually."

"As asshole then." Peter's shocked by how angry he feels, but how dare Mister Stark—and oh, maybe that's why Tony doesn't like it—how dare Howard Stark neglect his own son. There's nothing in Peter that Tony doesn't have, but Tony can't see it, even now, but that's Howard's fault and that's wrong. He wishes they were working on the tractor so he could snap a few screwdrivers. "But he was wrong about you. He should have been proud. I'm proud of you! For…for breaking the cycle of shame."

Tony pales. "That wasn't a high point. I messed up with you loads of times, especially in the beginning."

"Yeah," Peter acknowledges. Cause the ferry was a real low point, and he remembers every comment that was a bit too biting, the awkward hug-refusal that still feels a little mean, and how close he came to dying in a crumbled parking garage. "You were shitty, sometimes. But I made mistakes too. And you've more than made up for them."

"We can thank all the post-snap therapy for that, probably."

"You're like, the best dad now." Peter wills Tony to believe him. He feels like overwhelming him with gimmicks—novelty mugs and t-shirts that say "World's Best Dad" that he can leave everywhere until Tony finally internalizes their message. "And I have two great examples to compare to, so I know."

Tony just freezes, and Peter waits, and for the first time he wonders if the thoughts running through Tony's head are a bit like his. Like he doesn't deserve this second chance.

"I have the world's best kids," Tony finally says. "They make it easy."

But Peter isn't going to let Tony brush this off. Not when he hasn't let Peter wallow. "If you get to be proud of me then I get to be proud of you! You put in the work. And you didn't have to care about me. I'm not your son. But you do. I know you do."

"You are my son, Pete."

Then they're both moving towards each other as if they share a mind. It's the only time except for the last battle with Thanos where Peter thinks Tony needs the hug more than he does. Peter clings on tight, trying to prove his words. Tony's breaths are a little shuddery, but Peter feels stronger than he has in a long time.

"I hate what he did to you," he says fiercely. He hasn't felt this mad at anything but himself for a long time. Since the Goblin, probably.

Tony's hand creeps into Peter's hair. "You don't have to be mad, kiddo. It was a long time ago."

"He hurt you. And he shouldn't have."

Tony hums, not quite agreement, but not denial either, so maybe that's progress.

"I'm proud of you. And I love you. If that helps."

"That helps a lot, actually." Tony extricates himself enough to press a kiss to Peter's forehead, which should probably be weird, but it's just not. "So does all the therapy."

Peter chuckles. Soon Tony is laughing too, maybe to dispel the awkwardness, and they break apart and look back at the suit hologram that has witnessed their little moment.

"So, uh, wanna make something and not talk about our feelings for a while?"

Peter laughs again and scrubs his fist under his eye. "Yeah."

"We can save the suit for another day. Work on the super-sexy eco tractor."

But Peter shakes his head. He can't quite take all these agricultural initiatives seriously. "I wanna work on the suit. As long as it's okay that I might not wear it. I know the materials are expensive."

But Tony just rolls his eyes. "There are far worse ways to blow a few million."

They spent so much time cooking and crying that they'd barely started on the suit when FRIDAY informs Peter that it's four o'clock.

"You got a hot date or something?" Tony cracks.

Now it's Peter's turn to roll his eyes. "Yeah. With Gerald."

"See, I need details now."

Peter rubs at the back of his neck, not quite sure why this makes him feel so vulnerable. "Morgan should be home soon. We feed him together."

Tony grins so wide it seems to erase all the dark moments of the past two days—Tony's shitty father and Peter's shitty thoughts.

"Are you going to look like that every time me and Morgan hang out?" But Peter's just teasing. He isn't mad about it at all.

"Yes, I am," Tony says with no remorse. "I am gonna grin like this whenever I see the two of you together for the rest of my life. So get used to it, bucko."

"She's a little menace," Peter says fondly.

"She's a big menace," Tony corrects. "She grew up pretty isolated and a bit spoiled—"

"Shocking."

"Hush, kid. She wasn't around many kids her age—or any age—and she grew up used to having me and Pep's complete attention. So I was a teensy bit worried that as much as she loved hearing stories about her big brother, she'd get a little jealous when you actually showed up. But every time I try to test her out and reassure her that we still love her the same she just looks at me like I'm an idiot." Peter and Tony share a laugh at that. "Honestly, I think she loves you more than me. But that's all right. Because watching the two of you together, getting along so well … it's the happiest I've ever been."

Peter can't say he's been happy, exactly, but he's way less sad than he used to be. His emotions have definitely been trending neutral to positive instead of excruciating. And since he opened up to Tony yesterday he's felt almost like himself again. Spending all these hours together … cooking, designing … he feels content. Safe and seen and provided for. He can finally believe that happiness is around the corner.

He doesn't know how long it's going to take. But one day he'll get there.

Soon.

This chapter was supposed to be about Happy and instead I wrote 7,500 words of soft Iron Dad. Sorry not sorry. If you've gotten to this point then presumably you don't mind either. But Happy is up next, and then a chapter where Pepper remembers, and then I think this fic will finally be over, ten chapters and five months later than expected.

I read and cherish every review, so if you'd like to tell me what you thought, I'd love to hear it.

I'll try not to make you wait another six weeks for Happy's reappearance.