For my 30th(!) Strands in the Rope installment, I wanted to do something special, so this story was a multi-chapter on AO3. So it's an extra long one!

Ghosts in the Walls

Chapter 1: Ständchen

Tony was not looking forward to this. He avoided the Stark Mansion, where he'd grown up, whenever possible, and had only been there half a dozen times since his parents had died. Had been killed. He grimaced, pushing aside the feelings that tried to bubble up. It had been a busy week, and he didn't really have the bandwidth for an emotional spiral this weekend.

The property manager told him there had been a flood in part of the basement. They'd had it all cleaned up, but there were a bunch of boxes they needed him to look through personally, to see what he wanted to try to salvage, and what could be disposed of. He didn't know which part of the basement, unfortunately, and a large portion of it had been occupied by his father's home workshop. Ugh.

The manager had offered to have someone meet him there to help him go through things, but Tony had zero interest in feeling vulnerable because of the space and memories and dealing with a random stranger at the same time. But an emotional buffer, and another set of hands would be useful. He checked the time. Eight o'clock.

"FRIDAY, call Peter, please." He heard it ring a few times, then an out-of-breath voice answered.

"Mr. Stark?"

"Hey, Pete. You busy?"

"Um, I was just swinging. I'm on patrol. But I parked it on a rooftop before I answered your call, of course." Then why could Tony still hear the sound of webshooters in the background? He rolled his eyes at this kid, who thought he got away with way more than he actually did.

"Sure you did. Anyway, I was wondering if I could borrow you tomorrow."

"Borrow me?"

"Are you busy tomorrow?" Tony enunciated.

"Uh, I have an AcaDec practice at ten, but I could probably get out of it if you need me. Is there a mission?"

"Perfect. I'll pick you up at 9."

"Um, where are we going? Do I need to wear anything specific? Do I need my suit?"

"Probably not. Something you don't mind getting dirty, just in case. We're just going to go through some old junk."

"Well, that sounds fun," Peter said dryly.

"Everything's fun when you're with me," Tony quipped. "End call." He felt a little better about tomorrow already.

"Hey, Mr. Stark," Peter said sleepily as he piled into Tony's Audi. He looked like he'd probably just rolled out of bed and thrown jeans and a t-shirt on. He enjoyed Peter's energetic, snarky, enthusiastic self, but sleepy, quieter Peter, slowed down to half speed, always made him a little soft.

"Hey, Pete," he said fondly. "Have a late night?"

"Yeah," the boy replied with a big yawn. "Since it was a weekend, I got to patrol until midnight, and then Ned and I were up for another hour or two talking about stuff."

"What stuff was so important you had to miss sleep for it?"

"Just stuff. Star Wars stuff. Theories."

Tony shook his head in amusement. Crazy kids. Not that he was one to judge. He'd lost sleep on less exciting things, and in recent history. Like last night, when his brain wouldn't stop replaying Howard's Greatest Hits: several moments he could remember in sharp detail where his dad had expressed his general disappointment or disinterest in his son. At least Pepper was home this weekend, which meant he had concrete proof (sleeping, but still) next to him all night that some people found value in him. And there was more proof in the seat next to him.

He eyed the drowsy but cheerful kid, wondering how he had managed to get so lucky. Unlike most people in his life, Peter didn't seem to have any interest in his name, connections, or money (except that it meant he could order more than one entrée when they ate out) and really just seemed content to be with him. Even after nearly a year, he still jumped at most chances to work with Tony or even just spend time with him at the Tower or Compound. Even more amazingly, Tony still liked the kid, too. More and more all the time. Though they had their differences, and sometimes Tony had to get onto him for being self-sacrificing or just plain idiotic when it came to Spiderman stuff, he had grown pretty attached, and missed Peter when he couldn't come around as often.

"Where are we headed, Mr. Stark?" Peter asked, getting situated, and reclining the seat just a bit.

"I have to go to my parents' house in the Upper West Side," Tony grumbled. "There was a flood, and they need me to go through a bunch of the boxes that got wet to see if there's anything important they can't throw out."

"The Stark Mansion? Like where you grew up? You still have it?"

"Yeah, it's technically mine. I don't go there much."

"So is it all creepy and dusty and rundown, like old haunted mansions in the movies?"

Tony side-eyed the dramatic teen. "Of course not, Pete. It's a valuable and historical piece of property, even if I don't want to spend time there. It was originally the Schinasi Mansion, before my parents bought it in the 50's. It has a property manager, and they clean it weekly, and keep it maintained. I think they even offer tours once a month or something," he said, sniffing as he merged into traffic.

"But no one lives there? It's just empty?"

"Yep."

"Wow. Upper West Side though. That will take what, an hour?"

"Hopefully less on a Saturday morning. But yeah, it's a ways."

Peter was quiet, but not for long. He was never quiet for long. It was a bit exhausting sometimes, but his questions were usually good ones, and his curious nature was one of the things Tony valued about him.

"Flooded, huh? That sounds a bit bio-hazardous…"

"It's already dried out. Things mostly just got damp, from what they said."

"Oh. When's the last time you were there? At the mansion?"

Tony had to think about that. "I think probably about 5-6 years ago, after I moved back to New York."

"That was after your Malibu house got blown up, right?" Easy there, cowboy. One trauma at a time.

"Hey, Pete, how about I pull over and you can drive?"

"Are you sure? That would be awesome."

It was not awesome. It was not even good. But Peter was getting better at driving. Tony only wanted to grab the wheel half a dozen times during that last twenty minutes. That was a definite improvement.

"Just park right there on the side," Tony directed, relieved to be done with the drive.

"That was good, right? I didn't go out of the lines at all this time, and no one honked at me!" Peter, fully awake, was exuberant as they exited the car.

"Well, that one lady did. But she looked grumpy. Maybe it wasn't your fault."

Peter's excited face fell. "Oh, right."

This kid. What was he going to do with him? "No, Pete, you did great. You're getting better." He jerked his head in the direction of the house, and squeezed Peter's shoulder comfortingly as he walked over close to Tony.

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

They walked up the front steps, which was actually where he preferred to enter, since he rarely came in that way when he lived at the place. The fingerprint scanner, undercover as a regular doorbell, unlocked the door, and they entered.

Peter walked in, spinning around slowly. "Wow. This looks nothing like the penthouse or your suite at the Compound. It looks like… really old, and really expensive."

"That's a pretty good estimation, kid. And there are reasons I prefer almost any other style," he said flatly. Peter immediately shifted his gaze back to Tony, hearing the dislike in his voice that went beyond decor choices. He didn't say anything, but contemplated his mentor for a moment before continuing to look around.

"Can we see… I mean, would you show me around just a little bit before we go to the basement?"

Tony sighed slightly, but he was an adult who could totally handle walking through his childhood home, if it would give Peter some enjoyment. He let him check out the kitchen, the dining room, and library. (Which Peter pronounced "sick.") They briefly viewed the upstairs bedrooms, Tony indicating which one had been his. It didn't hold much of his personality anymore, if it ever had, and looked mostly like a period guest room. But the bedroom furniture was the same, just restored, and the familiar smell of the old house was making him feel a little anxious. Peter was surprisingly most entertained by the classic fixtures in the bathrooms, and was in awe of the beautiful ceilings in the great room.

While he was exclaiming over the ceiling design, Tony slowly sat down at the grand piano that was the centerpiece of the room. He hadn't played since… well, since Malibu. He didn't have a piano in the Tower. He quietly began a song his fingers couldn't forget, Schubert's "Ständchen," or "Serenade," which was one of the first pieces he'd learned because he wanted to, and not because it had been assigned to him. He was gratified to notice the piano was dust-free and in good tune.

The haunting melody flowed easily from his hands as long as he didn't think too hard about what the muscle memory was doing. His thoughts strayed to the many times he'd practiced this song, both in this room, and his house in Malibu, and there was a strange floaty combination of the memories. He almost felt like if he managed to look to the side quickly enough, he'd see his mother there, listening over his shoulder, as she had often done. It was a melancholy feeling.

As he got stuck on part of the song, and his fingers couldn't find the next notes he finally stopped. He glanced around fruitlessly for sheet music that hadn't been there in years, then noticed Peter standing silently next to him.

"I didn't know you played, sir," he said almost reverently.

"Yeah? Well, I haven't in quite a while. I don't have a piano anymore."

"Why not? That was beautiful."

Tony scooted over on the bench, and gestured for Peter to join him on the right. He sat down with their shoulders flush. "Have you ever played before?"

"Me? No! I mean, I've never seen a piano in someone's house like this before."

That made sense. Most of the apartments Peter would have visited or lived in wouldn't even have space for an upright, unless its inhabitants were particularly dedicated.

"Do you want to play with me?"

"Um, I haven't ever…"

"You were in band, right? So you have some musical skill."

"Ehhh," he said uneasily. "Jury's out. Spiderman wasn't the only reason I quit."

Tony laughed softly. "Watch and listen, then repeat." He played a simple melody with his top hand.

"Oh," the boy said brightly. "I know that one: Heart and Soul?"

Tony nodded. "You try."

Despite his dissembling, Peter pulled it off with only one wrong note.

"Good. Again."

He did it three more times, and then Tony showed him the second part of the simple tune.

"Now listen how the accompaniment and top hand will sound together," he said, adding some chords with his bottom hand this time while he played the melody. "Got it?"

"Maybe."

"Let's try."

Tony played a more complex version of the accompaniment this time, nodding at Peter when it was time for him to come in. Peter did, and other than a couple slips, played right along with Tony, grinning as he heard it all come together. They played it through another time, picking up speed a little, and then Tony showed him another little bridge part he could put in between that repeating melody.

They did need to get to the basement in a few minutes, Tony reminded himself. In that moment, though, as shoulders brushed and heads bent together to coax the cheerful tune from the old piano, Tony realized he now had a positive memory here, and the room seemed a little less stifling. Maybe it was time to order a piano for the penthouse.

(This is where I put a link to Schubert's beautiful composition on Youtube, but you'll have to look it up yourself, I'm afraid!)

Chapter 2: ARF

"We'd better get to it. Oh, Pete, will you run grab the bag out of the back seat? I brought some gloves in case we needed them, and some snacks for your spider-metabolism." Tony bumped his shoulder with his own teasingly, appreciating the solid warmth next to him in this house full of ethereal memories.

The teenager jumped up from the bench excitedly. "Oh my gosh, thank you. I was just getting really hungry."

"Yeah, I figured."

As Peter left, Tony stood up and walked around, staring over towards the stairs that would take them down to the sub-levels. He could totally do this, without having any panic attacks. His parents had been gone for years, and he hadn't spent much time with them for a few years before that. Sure, his mom had made a point to include him and speak to him when he was home, and always said she missed him, but his dad's disapproving aloofness had led to him spending more holidays with Rhodey's welcoming family than at his own house. Tony was just trying to remember if there had been any positive interactions with either of his parents during that last year of his life when Peter walked back in, bringing a gust of fresh air with him, and pulling Tony back to the present.

"Mr. Stark, you got Red Vines! And Oreos ! Thank you!"

"No problem, kid. You ready for this?"

"Yep, let's go."

"Be thinking about what you want for lunch. I think we might be here at least that long."

"Mr. Stark, what about this stuff?"

They had been going through boxes for over an hour now, and once Tony got past the discomfort that the cool temperature (with hoodies retrieved from the car) and the distinctive smell of the subterranean lab brought, Tony had mostly been fine, as long as he interacted frequently with his young protégé. Peter had been intrigued at the dated equipment, some of it still in good working order, though more neglected than the upper levels.

"I'm not sure, what does it look like?"

"It's like, a box of mostly blueprint-type stuff? Designs, but mostly hand-drawn. Hey, this kind of looks like DUM-E."

That got Tony's attention. He straightened up from the files he was glancing through, saving a few that still shouldn't fall into the wrong hands, and others because he actually wanted them. His experience with (re)discovering the new element that had basically saved his life, and also pushed the arc reactor's power possibilities over the top had taught him not to discount any of his father's work. The man had been a crap father, but was definitely an innovative genius.

He walked over, holding his hand out for what Peter had. Oh.

"Hey, nice find. These are actually some early design sketches for what would turn into DUM-E a few years later. They were here in this lab?"

"Yeah, in this box here."

Tony crouched down next to Peter and rifled through the contents on the top. This was all stuff that had been his, in his own little area of the basement Howard had set up as a workstation for him. That sounded nice when he thought it objectively, but Howard had only done it because Tony kept sneaking into his workshop to use his materials and tools, and he didn't want him there. Tony remembered the frustration of having to wait days and even weeks to use certain tools until his dad was both home and in the right mood to "supervise." Plus, early on, he thought it would be fun to be working with his dad in the same space, so he could ask him questions, or see all the projects he was working on. That wasn't a thing in his life, though.

Looking back, Tony was kind of amazed with himself , that he had progressed as quickly as he had without anyone to really help or mentor him, other than the few times his dad would help or discuss ideas with him. Those seemed more about Howard's own interest in Tony's intelligence and how it reflected back on him than they were about interest in Tony . Someone must have figured these drawings and items belonged in here with the rest of the tech.

"That box is mostly my stuff," he told Peter. "Anything in there interest you?"

"Yeah, I mean all of this is interesting," he said, distracted. He was skimming through an exposition Tony had done about alternate uses for arc reactor energy during his early years at MIT. Tony knew lots of them involved weaponry, and wasn't sure how he felt about Peter seeing all of that.

He scrubbed a hand at the back of his neck, not sure why he felt nervous. "I mean, a lot of that is stuff we don't do anymore, Pete. But back then, that's all SI did, so I was trying to…"

Peter looked up, his expression clear and head tilted in confusion. "Mr. Stark, I know the company's history. And I know how you changed it. You don't have to worry about what I think about all that. It's in the past."

Tony nodded, feeling relieved, and turned away to open another box, sniffing slightly. All the dust in these boxes must be making his eyes water a little bit. He blew a breath out he didn't realize had gotten caught in his throat, and continued sorting. Much of the stuff had been slightly water-damaged, and was neither classified nor interesting, anymore, and could be safely disposed of. There were a few things he'd rather move into better storage containers though, and a few things he should probably send to one of the company's vaults.

Tony had asked that they leave his father's lab alone, except for weekly dusting, but people still had access to it because of that. He wasn't sure how he had left some of this more sensitive material just sitting in the lab all these years. He was kind of lucky no one had taken or used it. Actually, he knew how he'd done that. He probably hadn't been in this workshop himself in twenty years, so of course he hadn't gone through this stuff. Just too many difficult memories.

Speaking of… he saw what Peter was turning over in his hands, and had to lean sideways into the table for balance.

Peter turned, his face quizzical. "What's this?"

Tony swallowed. He could explain it to Peter as he would any past project or invention. "That," he said, taking a deep breath and walking over to the curious teenager," is one of the first robots I built. I was probably eight or nine. His name was 'ARF.' For 'A Robot Friend.'" He said that last part with a touch of embarrassment.

"He's cute! But he's broken. What happened?"

Why did he have to ask that? But he didn't make a habit of brushing Peter off. "My father never liked it. He didn't see any point in building things that had no real purpose, you know? Not in our family. Not in our business." Tony was proud of how casually reported on that. Peter's brow had furrowed at the first half of the explanation. Thankfully, his kid didn't have to worry about anyone shooting down his ideas just because they didn't currently serve a purpose. There he went thinking of Peter as his again. But in a few ways, he was, he argued back. Neither May nor Peter had ever had any issue with his attachment to the boy.

Peter was watching him, waiting for him to finish. "Um, he thought I spent too much time on it when I could be working on models that actually did something useful, or moving further ahead in geometry or chemistry. So one time when I left it out and it was in his way, he chucked it down the stairs."

He couldn't look at Peter's face and the emotions he knew he'd see there. The kid was too empathetic for his own good. "I didn't ever try to fix it. And didn't make any more toys. Even DUM-E and U were only built to serve as assistants in the lab, and as a proving ground for some early AI. Joke was on me about the helpful part though, he chuckled, smirking."

"Yet," said Peter, quietly.

"Hmm?"

"You didn't make any more toys yet . It might still be something you enjoy someday, I think. And DUM-E and U might not be that useful in a traditional sense, but they're still fantastic. And you like them. So that's a purpose."

Tony let his face show his consideration of that, before moving forward to take the small dog-shaped robot in his hands. He hadn't touched it since he found it broken (and mourned it) the day after Howard's fit. It was well-done, he told his younger self, and a good exercise in lots of robotics principles. There was nothing useless about it, and it was even kind of cute. Well, in the same way that DUM-E was cute. He handed it back to Peter.

"Do you care if I work on it for a few minutes?" Peter asked hesitantly.

Tony's eyebrows shot up. He wanted to work on the little robot? Actually, that tracked. Peter had a soft spot for anything small and cute that might need help, considering all the cats he rescued and lost dogs he found as Spiderman. He could see how that would extend to the small "injured" robot.

"Sure, Pete. Uh, you might find some useful stuff in here," he said, opening a drawer, and digging deep in his memories to find which cupboard might have some basic electrical components. It surprised him to realize he actually knew what needed fixing on the little dog; he'd just never had the heart to attempt it. He'd see if Peter could figure it out, too. Peter shot him a thankful grin, and started carefully disassembling the little thing while Tony continued sorting.

A few minutes later Tony glanced at the text alert FRIDAY had sent his watch. Whoops, it was after 1 o'clock. Since she was his assistant, and he struggled getting caught up in projects, FRIDAY had protocols around this. The one that was supposed to remind him to eat he usually ignored, but right now she was invoking the "Baby Spiders Need to Eat" one, and he acted.

"Sorry, Pete, it's way past lunchtime. Did you decide what you wanted? I can have FRI order it real fast. I'm guessing we have another hour or two at least before I'm done here."

Peter was distracted, too. "Oh, yeah. I'm starving." He looked around and snagged the package of oreos and popped the last 4 or 5 in his mouth in quick succession.

"Peter."

Peter looked up, a deer caught in the headlights. He chewed for another minute, then swallowed roughly. "Oh, man. I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, did you want some? I didn't even ask. I can't believe I-"

"Kid. What do you want for lunch? That was the question," he said, shaking his head in fond exasperation.

"Oh! Um, can we get Panda Express? Is there one around here?"

"Really? Panda Express? Do you know how many good Chinese restaurants there are in this area?"

"Oh, that's okay too, Mr. Stark, I was just kinda craving their cream cheese rangoons, and I love their chow mein."

Tony rolled his eyes slightly, then sat down on the dated couch and rubbed his tired eyes with the heel of his hand. "FRIDAY?" he asked towards his phone.

"There is one close by. Should I put an order in?"

"Do we have a Panda Express order?" Tony asked in surprise, looking at Peter in confusion.

"Peter has one. You do not. What can I get for you, Boss?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, FRI. Want to order me something, Spiderling?"

"Oh, okay." He looked nervous, but determined to be up to the challenge. Tony usually ordered for him, after all, when Peter was unfamiliar with a menu. "Um, can you get him a 3-entree plate with a mix of fried rice and chow mein? Orange chicken, kung pao chicken, and beef and broccoli," he stated, gaining confidence as he continued. "And like two extra orders of the cream cheese rangoons, plus mine, because you're gonna love those!" he addressed the last half of the to Tony.

"Shall I place the order?"

"Yes, please."

Tony smiled at the kid. He'd come a long way. There used to be a lot of things he wasn't comfortable doing or didn't have experience with, or just lacked confidence in, and Tony was doing his best to chip away at those. Start small, and move our way up, he thought. After all, if his thoughts continued on their current tracks, he was looking at the future of Stark Industries when he gazed at the curly-headed teen who was carefully troubleshooting the old robot. He wanted to make sure Peter was (and felt) up to the task.

Chapter 3: Spiraling

Peter was so engrossed in his work that he didn't even notice when FRIDAY reported that the food was about to arrive. Tony smiled indulgently at the focused kid and jogged up the stairs to meet the delivery person at the door. She looked thoroughly awed at where she was delivering the big box Chinese food to, and even more so at the tip Tony pressed into her hand. It was a good distraction, since she had just started to look at him carefully, with narrowed eyes, and was starting to ask something.

Tony politely bade her a good day and shut the door quickly. He carried the boxes into the kitchen (not the stuffy dining room where he'd suffered through many pointed questions and even more pointed opinions about himself) and set it at the table. This is where he'd always eaten with Jarvis and Ana when his parents weren't home. Of anywhere in the house, the kitchen was least troublesome for him, and he was happy to share a meal with Peter there. "FRIDAY, will you tell Karen to have Pete come up for lunch?"

It was still silly to have that go-around, but when Tony had suggested installing FRIDAY in the kid's Starkphone and watch, for emergencies and for easier communication, he'd balked. He had, however, been amenable to Karen, since he was already comfortable with her being with him in the suit. It was a good compromise.

"Hey, the food's here?" the hungry teen bounded into the kitchen, looking excited. "Yep, dig in," Tony said, having a seat at the table after pulling out the adjacent chair for Peter.

Peter insisted Tony try his beloved cream cheese rangoons first, and Tony realized he'd had similar things before. It's true; they were tasty. The rest of the food was only so-so, but none of it was unpalatable, and he enjoyed watching Peter enjoying it. He ate both of his meals, plus some of Tony's.

"Sorry, kid. You must have been starving. I should have ordered it an hour ago."

"No, this was great. I mean, I was hungry, but I'm good now. Thanks for lunch, Mr. Stark." Peter started cleaning up the empty containers and putting them back in the take out bags. He was such a polite, helpful kid. Most of the time. Tony smiled, thinking of the times when he was less amenable, and more of a typical teen. It was frustrating to sometimes deal with those moods, but he also felt honored that Peter was comfortable enough in his presence to not put on too many behavior masks.

"Hey, before we head back down, there's one part of the house we didn't go to that I'd like to show you," Tony said, making a last-minute decision.

"Yeah, okay," Peter looked intrigued. Tony walked him down a hallway just off the kitchen that they'd avoided before and they arrived in what was basically the original servant's quarters. The rooms were still nice, just a little less spacious, and there wasn't much furniture left. Jarvis and Ana had lived in a little two-bedroom suite they had remodeled the whole area into, and it had sometimes been Tony's haven. Much of the furniture had gone to extended relatives when they passed, but Tony had been secretly grateful that the couch, soft and worn, and covered in seventies-era browns and greens, he'd spent so much time on had remained.

Peter looked curiously around the small apartment. "What's this? It's cozier than the rest of the house."

"Yeah. It always was. This is where Jarvis and his wife lived."

Peter's eyes snapped up in interest. "Jarvis, like the one your AI was named after, Jarvis?"

"Yep."

Tony sank on the couch and patted the spot next to him. Peter sat down as well.

"I think I spent more time on this couch than I did any of the furniture in our living room," Tony mused.

"Really? You came here a lot?"

"I actually can't count the evenings my parents were gone to whatever society function, and left me here with Ana and Jarvis. They could have stayed out in the main house with me, but instead they invited me in here, and I usually hung out with them here on this couch and watched whatever they were watching. Jarvis would let me ask as many questions as I wanted about whatever was on, and he'd try to answer them. They'd help me with my homework sometimes, until it got too complicated, and some nights I'd fall asleep here and wake up in my own bed." Tony's eyes were unfocused, trying to remember Ana's voice. Jarvis's was, for better or for worse, imprinted in his brain. " I'm not sure what I would have done without them."

Tony didn't add that the night he'd learned about his parents' death, after drinking himself almost into a stupor, he'd woken up in this most empty apartment, on this couch. Apparently it had still been a place of comfort for him, even a few years after their passing.

Peter was quiet after the unexpectedly long speech from his mentor. "Huh," he finally exhaled quietly.

"What's that?"

"I was wondering," he said softly, "how you were pretty good at all this dealing-with-kids stuff, when it seems like your parents weren't… um, that great."

Tony snorted. "Understatement, kid. Though my mom did try, and did pretty well. When she was here."

Peter's brow wrinkled in empathy. "Anyway, I was wondering if maybe you learned some of that from them."

"Some of what?" Tony was still processing what he was inferring.

"Like how you're usually pretty patient with me, and let me ask lots of questions, and give me real answers. And we sit on the couch together a lot, too, and you'll watch stuff with me I know you're not really into. And you don't care if I fall asleep on you and stuff," he added shyly. "You're really good at making me feel like I'm not a bother, you know?"

Tony wasn't sure what to say to that assessment. His words felt stuck in his throat. But there were a few he needed to get out. "You're not a bother, kid. Ever. Well, almost ever," he said slyly, hooking an arm around Peter's neck and pulling him in to tousle his hair roughly, deflecting from the emotions he was trying to keep from leaking out with the pseudo-hug.

Peter laughed at that, and pulled back trying to smooth his hair back down. "No, seriously, Mr. Stark. You're kind of awesome. Thanks for telling me more about the Jarvis's, and bringing me here. I know you don't like this house, but I think it's pretty amazing."

"Thanks for coming with. It's been more fun and less dreary with you. We should probably get back to it though, so we can get home before it gets late. I'm not spending the night here. You ready?"

"Yep," Peter said, jumping up from the couch.

Back in the workshop, Tony worked faster than he'd been moving before, trying not to let his memories drift too much. He was also thinking about what Peter had said. It was hard to accept that he might actually be good at some of the same things his dad had royally screwed up, but he was trying to quash any of the negative self-talk. His therapist said that was important, anyway, but habits were hard to break, especially when he could hear Howard's voice so clearly in his head.

"Tony, is there a soldering iron in here somewhere?" Peter called from the other end of the room, his head ducked down into a giant pull out drawer where he was searching. Tony always smiled when Peter used his first name. He knew the kid enjoyed calling him 'Mr. Stark,' but he liked hearing the more familiar term, too.

"Probably, but no guarantees it works, bud. This workshop hasn't been in operation in over twenty years," he reminded him. He found the tool for the determined teen, then retreated back to his project, thankful that most of the damaged materials could be discarded. It would be nice to get it a little more cleaned out in here.

Peripherally, he noticed Peter fiddling with the iron, which didn't seem to be working. He kept track of what the boy did next, biting back the urge to jump in and help. Tony knew Peter already had to think on his feet a lot as Spiderman, but he knew being able to problem-solve was essential as he got older and had increasing responsibilities. But really, the tool and the dog might be a hopeless cause, and he hoped the teen didn't just get frustrated after all his perseverance.

"Pete, remember those tools, and that little robot are all like 25 years old, so don't be upset if you can't-"

"Oh ye of little faith," Peter scoffed. "I fixed the soldering iron. If I can't figure the dog out, I'll let you know. I've got this."

"Okay, then. I'll leave you to it," Tony said, pivoting and walking back to his project with a bemused smile on his face. "Make sure you wear goggles."

Behind him he heard a put-upon sigh, which was usually the soundtrack to a patented teenage eye roll™. He grinned at that. Even he wore goggles when he soldered. Most of the time.

A few minutes later Peter spoke up again. "Hey, Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah?"

"I take it back," he said humbly. "I do need a little help with this part. I'm trying to reconnect a few of these wires, and I just can't hold it at the right angle and also use the iron. Can you help me?"

"Sure, Pete. One second."

As Tony held the innards of the little dog in place while Peter soldered the connections, he flashed back to a similar conversation with his dad.

Barely 13, Tony had been trying to get the drill press into position to use it on his project. But his arms just weren't quite long enough to have a good grip, he could tell it probably wasn't safe, and wouldn't be accurate.

"Dad, I can't quite get this. Could you maybe come help me for just a minute?"

In his memories, his voice was tentative. Or, from his father's perspective, probably annoying.

"Can't you see that I'm busy over here? If you can't use it on your own, you shouldn't be using it at all."

Tony had kept trying for a while, in a few less-than-safe ways, but had left the workshop frustrated soon after, never actually finishing that project, since he'd hit an impasse he couldn't push through on his own.

"Thanks!" Peter looked up with a grin, looking goofy in his big protective goggles, dragging Tony back to the present.

"No problem. Looks like you're getting close." He swiped an affectionate hand over the kid's hair as he walked back to his piles.

"Yeah, I think so. What about you? You have much more to do?"

"Mmm, I'm hoping no more than half an hour."

"So we're looking at ninety minutes?"

"Punk," Tony growled with zero heat. He was just about done going through a big box of files, making sure there was nothing that couldn't be trusted to a shredding company. He really didn't want to be here much longer.

Despite the calm, pleasant moments he'd had with Peter, which made him feel like spending time here might be an option in the future, the hours spent in his dad's domain were wearing on him. He'd never been welcome here, and it had been awhile since he'd had such a strong reminder of the frustration and disdain his dad usually had for him. It had been especially strong in those last few years when Tony had, admittedly, gone off the rails.

But he thought about Peter, and tried to imagine ever feeling that way about him or treating him that way, and couldn't. Now that he'd gotten to know him, built a relationship with him, even if Peter made some poor decisions (well, in a non-superhero area of his life - he'd made lots there) he couldn't see him ever rejecting him the way his dad had him. Why? Why couldn't he have been proud of him? Spent a little time with him? Just liked him?

This was why he avoided coming here. Why he avoided thinking about Howard at all when possible. Theoretically, he understood that Howard's parents hadn't been warm either, and that he'd always been under a lot of pressure himself. He understood there was trauma there, and lack of positive role models. But his child-self didn't understand. Didn't know why he couldn't have shown Tony a little more love. And adult Tony was frustrated that they'd never gotten the chance to talk about it, maybe even to work it out and improve things. That possibility had been taken from him.

Ugh. There it was; he was spiraling and wasn't sure if he could break out. He clenched one fist into the hair at the nape of his neck, and pushed his palm into the bridge of his nose. He knew his breath was coming too fast, and he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to stave off a full panic attack.

"Tony?"

It was Peter, of course, much closer to him than he'd been last time he'd noticed his location. He was within arm's length, and looked (justifiably) concerned. He held the small robot dog in his hands, but was setting it on the workbench next to them.

"Can I touch you?" the teen asked, sounding nervous but determined. Tony slowly nodded, and drew in a ragged breath.

Peter stepped into his space and Tony managed to lift his arms to accept the hug the boy was cautiously offering. "Your heart rate is too high, and you need to breathe. Listen to my breath, and breathe with me." The boy's voice was soft and a little shaky.

That firm contact pulled Tony out his spiral, and he matched his breaths with Peter's. After about thirty seconds he was able to talk again.

"I'm okay now. Thanks, Pete. I'm sorry."

"No, no, no. You're fine. I know it's kinda hard for you to be down here. Are you done here? I think we should be done."

"Yeah, I think so. We need to take that box with us," he said, gesturing to where he'd collected the important papers and blueprints.

"Okay, you take this," Peter said, handing him ARF, "and I'll grab the box. Let's move upstairs."

Once they were up the stairs, Peter led Tony into the kitchen, where he finally started breathing normally again. Peter set the box down and held his hand out for the robot dog. Tony handed it to him, a question on his face.

"I think I fixed him. Look." He set the little dog (which was about as tall as Tony's forearm) on the kitchen floor and flipped a switch. The metallic robot started moving around jerkily on its four legs, stopping when it ran into a chair leg or a wall and appearing to sniff at it before turning and heading a new direction. It let out a few muffled, somehow-metallic barks, and its little tail wagged stiffly back and forth. It was ugly and adorable all at once.

"Wow. You totally did. That's amazing, Pete!"

"Do you think DUM-E and U will like him?"

"You're bringing him back with us?"

"Well, of course! If that's okay with you, I mean," he backtracked.

"You really think I need one more hyperactive pup underfoot in my workshop?" Tony asked, and eyebrow cocked, waiting for Peter to catch on to what he was suggesting.

"I feel like I should be offended."

"You can't deny you have Golden Retriever vibes sometimes, kiddo,"

Peter's face was screwed up, not sure how he felt about that.

"I happen to love puppies. Of course you can bring him."

Peter smiled then, a slow hesitant grin. Tony squeezed his shoulder before grabbing the dog (Switching him off, though. That thing was not going to be barking from the backseat the whole way home. He was pretty sure he'd programmed it to howl when it was stuck somewhere too long…) and their trash from lunch and heading towards the front door.

"Can you bring that box to the trunk?"

"Of course." Peter scrambled to help, very much exuding excited retriever vibes, which made Tony chuckle. He held the door open for Peter, asking FRIDAY to pop the trunk, then stood inside the doorway for just a moment, looking around, wondering for a moment what it would have been like if his parents, if Ana and Jarvis, were still alive and he'd brought Peter to meet them. His mom would have loved the kid. Same with the Jarvises. Even more so. His dad… well, you never know. Maybe he would have softened enough in his older age to recognize some of Tony's good qualities, and if so, he couldn't fail to appreciate Peter's genius. He'd never know though.

As he started the car, Peter was getting comfortable in the passenger seat. Thankfully he didn't ask to drive again. Tony had had enough excitement for one day. The sun was closer to down than up as he pulled out into traffic.

"You doing okay, Mr. Stark?" Peter asked quietly.

Tony turned slightly, trying to give him a genuine smile. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm better. Thanks for your help back there, and I'm sorry it was necessary."

"No, it was no problem at all. Even with that… I had a good day, sir. Thanks for bringing me."

"You made it good, thanks."

"Hey, are you busy tonight? I was thinking if I just stayed at the Tower tonight, it would save you like forty minutes of driving, and maybe we could get some pizza and watch something? I don't have anywhere to be tomorrow morning. If not, that's okay, though, I just-"

"That sounds great, Pete.. Clear it with your aunt and we'll do it."

"I kinda already did."

Tony side-eyed him with a smile. "Of course you did. What do you want to watch?"

"Well, being in that awesome house made me think of one I've wanted to watch but never have. Did you ever see this really old movie, Clue?"

Tony barked out a little laugh. Actually, he could see that connection. "Mrs. Peacock, in the workshop, with the soldering iron? Whatever you want, Spiderling. Maybe we can drag Pepper into that one."

Peter smiled happily, and leaned back, chewing on a spare Red Vine he'd been ecstatic to find in his seat. ("Ugh, Pete. Really?" "It doesn't count if it never fell on the floor, Mr. Stark.")

Tony may not know what his relationship with his parents might have evolved into, but he knew he was awfully lucky to have the people in his life that he did, and he wasn't going to take them for granted for a second.