Title: My Favorite Weakness (is You)

Summary: Talking with ghosts or deja vu? Turns out there's a difference, especially for Tony, since his Peter is dead.

Rating: T (for violence)

A/N: Yay you came back! Thank you! So my exam went well and now here's a new chapter. Let me know if you like it!


Chapter 10: He's Not Your Ghost, Exactly.


Day 5 (continued)


It was times like this that made Tony hate the universe. Here he'd just dealt with the kid dying - he can't say he'd gotten over it, not by a long shot - but he'd dealt with it. Got what he could out of his system and accepted that'd he'd have to carry everything that was left over for the rest of his life.

He'd done the best he could; he'd given his Peter the best tech, the newest systems, the safest defense he had. And it hadn't been enough. Tony hadn't been enough.

As if Tony was the only one there for Peter. His Peter.

His Peter had found a second home with the Avengers; if he'd had trouble fitting Spider-Man into the life of Peter Parker before, then he'd solved those problems when he joined the Avengers.

Well, technically, his kid had officially turned down the opportunity to be a member of the team, but he'd still found a way to join regardless.

It was like family.

A few months of family, and it had taken Tony too long to accept it for what it was - Even with Steve Rogers insisting that's what it was all along.

He supposed he'd been slow to accept it because of fear. After all, he'd learned the hard way time and time again that something you had was something to lose, and sometimes having something wasn't worth the trouble of the hurt caused from losing it.

Turns out, his Peter had been worth the trouble.

And looking back now, he wished he had more hurt from the memories than guilt from not making them.

He told himself he had done his best; but if the guilt wasn't a loud enough contradiction, then the living boy that had walked off the elevator today set it in stone.

So, very obviously, Tony had failed.

And now he had unintentionally taken Peter away from a family who still had him.

Sitting in his lab, he was faced with temptations that he hadn't felt in a long time - years, even.

He let his mind wander to the expensive wine cooler in the wall, the transparent glass door revealing shelves that had been replaced with a certain teenager's favorite sodas and chocolates.

In fact, he wondered if there were any alcoholic drinks on the floors people inhabited. None that he knew of, anyways. Maybe on the lower floors for office parties. Oh well, that was too much effort.

He didn't get much further when a tapping noise drew his attention to the door.

Clint Barton had never once made his way to the lab, despite months of living at the Tower, causing Tony to wonder how much the rest of the team - the damn family, knew.

He wasn't quite sure he wanted to open up his private refuge to Clint just yet, so he decided to meet him at the door. On the way, a reference popped into his head from one of those dorky movies Peter had had everybody watch.

Something had happened in the movie with Master-of-the-Mystic-Arts Dumbledore (insert annoyed sigh from Stephen here), that the incident that had occurred was "a complete secret. So naturally the whole school knew." Or something along those lines.

That's how Tony felt with this situation and the team. Turns out he wasn't far off.

He didn't say anything when he opened the door, knowing he'd find out quicker if he let Clint talk.

"So. Um, yeah." Clint began, which told Tony he knew everything.

Tony rolled his eyes and opened the door, motioning to a seat. If Clint was here, he guessed the other members had all split up to look for him.

Another stupid thing families do, he supposed.

They sat down; Tony didn't have anything to say on the matter, but if Clint wasn't going to talk first then Tony sure didn't want to give him what he wanted. No one had that easy of access to Tony Stark's feelings on difficult matters.

Not anymore, anyway.

"Finishing your tour of the Tower, I see. Took you, what, four years to complete?" Tony asked his rhetorical question with his usual owns-the-world attitude.

Clint knew what it was; "Tony," he prompted.

"Or maybe it's just the first time you've made your non-air-vent rounds. May I be the first to introduce you to the floor."

"Tony," Clint prompted again.

Tony refused to break first, so he threw the conversation ball back to Clint; "Would you like me to go on?"

There were unspoken rules to conversing with Tony; the team had lived in the Tower long enough to figure many of them out, something that had helped the team overall, in practically every aspect; it helped Clint know now that this was both Tony giving him a chance, as well as his last chance to speak before Tony kicked him out of the lab.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Tony paused, taking it in, trying to find how this unexpected variable fit into the equation.

He couldn't. "For what?"

Clint took a breath, figuring out what to say; he wasn't as good at putting words together as, say Captain America, but he'd found Tony so it was up to him. He went with what he had.

"I... I couldn't imagine... losing a kid..."

With just a glance, Tony's look dared him to go on, warning that he was entering dangerous territory.

Clint held his train of thought together with another sigh, and kept going.

"I couldn't. Honestly, Tony. You know me and my family. I couldn't take it like... like... well, you know. Like you."

Tony remained silent, and Clint knew he was too far to go back now, so he finished his thought.

"I know you're not a parent in the sense of how I'm a parent, but Peter was your kid. And if he's really back from a different universe - whatever the hell that means - then that's messed up."

Tony rolled his eyes, but Clint went on.

"Not in a bad way, but more in a way I can't imagine because I can't even imagine losing any member of my family.

"Because I love them."

Tony covered his face with one of his hands, hiding whatever emotion he was wearing or processing.

Clint spoke again, "I just want to let you know, kinda from one dad to another," Tony shook his head here, "that I'm here for you. We all are. And we don't want to lose you too."

Tony finally spoke; "Well, I'll be here," he said nonchalantly.

Coming from Tony, Clint knew he'd scored a victory. He didn't know whether that meant "here" as in this specific room, or a figurative "here" as in he'd stay alive. Both were okay in his book, and he counted the absence of yelling and mockery as a win, so he stood up, nodded (mostly to himself), stretched his arms, and wandered towards the door, looking around at the room's contents.

The fact that Tony didn't insert another witty comment as he slowly made his way out told him that he'd need to ask Cap to check on him later. But he figured Tony was good for the time being, so he left to catch the team up.

The conversation, though short, had given Tony a lot to think about, so he stayed undisturbed in the lab for a few hours before making his way upstairs. He didn't know what time it was but guessed it was probably near midnight, if not after.

He'd ended up in another of his favorite rooms: the kitchen. The kitchen had been through a few "minor" upgrades in the past year, making it more of a community style pantry that opened up to a spacious communal-type living room.

The living room was full of nice couches, fancy tables, a big television, and a lot of memories.

The kitchen was full of enough food to feed an army - which it basically did on a daily basis, between Steve, Bucky, and the rest of the gang. Maybe not as much junk food as when Peter was here, though some of his favorites were left over due to no one else wanting them.

Peter.

Tony checked his watch-less wrist out of a recently-broken habit- This kid Peter hadn't eaten.

He'd gotten here early afternoon and it had been, how long? Probably going on twelve hours.

Tony sighed, and made his way to the fridge.


Peter shot upright in his bed.

He'd been sound asleep, but something... something woke him. A noise?

His eyes adjusted, and after a moment of confusion he remembered where he was. He wasn't alone in the apartment, which is why the noise had initially scared him so much.

Not that being in this unknown room helped him feel any better. He controlled his breathing until his blood stopped running cold.

Someone knocked quietly on his door: that's what had woken him.

He got up slowly and cracked opened the door, his half-asleep body squinting profusely due to the light coming from the hallway behind...

"Mr. Stark?"

"Kid, you gotta be kidding. Are you really still wearing your suit?"

Peter groggily looked down at himself and took his attire in. "Yes."

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes and easily pushed open the door. "Come here."

Peter blindly turned and stumbled behind him into the room, where Mr. Stark was making a racket opening drawers. Before Peter could process what Mr. Stark was doing, he shoved clothes into his arms.

"Put these on and meet me in the kitchen." Mr. Stark made his way out the door.

Peter eyed the clock.

It read 2:17 a.m..

"Wait," Peter asked, his voice still hoarse; Mr. Stark paused.

"Where's the kitchen?"

It was a serious question, but Mr. Stark just laughed; "you must've skipped lunch, too."

Mr. Stark left and shut the door.

Peter scrunched his face, trying to figure out how that answered his question. He stood there for a moment before doing as instructed.

"These" ended up being pj's in the form of a math pun and some plaid pj pants. Something like he'd probably get at home, but they still didn't feel like his.

Once dressed, he walked out of the room. He looked left and right, down a symmetrical hallway, trying to remember if he'd seen which way Mr. Stark had come from.

The hall down the right seemed brighter, so he went that way.

He wandered down the hallway, wishing there were signs, and afraid to try any closed door. At the end of the hall he took a right. He figured he'd end up at an elevator at some point. Unless there was a kitchen behind one of these doors. He realized he actually had no idea where he was going, so he stopped where he was.

He had no way to contact anyone, since his phone was still taken, but he wondered if (and hoped that) this Mr. Stark had the same AI voice system as his Mr. Stark.

He hoarsely whispered into the air around him: "FRIDAY?"

He flinched as the air spoke back, in FRIDAY's friendly AI voice:

"Hello, Peter. It seems you are heading for the kitchen; would you like me to guide you there?"

Peter whispered back, "yes please."

Peter walked into the kitchen, finally, now a little more awake than normal. Waking up in the middle of the night is very different than staying up this late, he decided.

He greeted the man with a mumbled, "hi-mist'r-stark."

Tony rolled his eyes before turning to look at him. Were they really still on 'Mister-Stark' terms?

And damn, he looked just like him. Only less muscle-y. Tony would have to focus on remembering who he was talking to.

Mr. Stark finally looked up when Peter got to the counter; "You do know why you're tired, right?" Mr. Stark greeted back.

Peter just stared at him; "because it's two-thirty in the morning?"

Mr. Stark just stared back, trying to decide the extent of Peter's sarcasm vs. how much he reallly knew.

"I'm sorry I forgot to feed you."

Peter processed this, processing what Mr. Stark was saying; "No- it's okay," he said, "I forgot too."

They just stared at each other; Peter didn't know what was going on. Tony was starting to suspect why this kid was so thin.

Peter yawned.

Tony remembered what FRIDAY had told him.

"Did you really need directions to the kitchen?" Tony asked Peter.

Peter nodded, confused. What did Mr. Stark think? It was his first night here.

Tony just stared at Peter, who yawned again, and took a seat on a stool.

Tony stared at him like he was analyzing his every move.

He was.

That wasn't Peter's seat. Had the kid really never been in this kitchen? Where did he make his food at? Maybe there was a kitchen in the lab, so the kid didn't have to take as many lengthy breaks.

That's a pretty good idea, actually.

Well, for Tony's own use, that is.

A timer dinged, and Tony turned away from Peter.

Peter was too tired to be curious, but he was definitely awakened when Mr. Stark turned back around with the weirdest combination he had ever seen.

It was some sort of breakfast sandwich: Two pancakes sandwiching a scrambled egg. Mr. Stark had even made a smiley face on top with strawberries and blueberries.

He was snapped out his... - is admiration the right word? - well, his admiration, when Mr. Stark nearly slammed a jar of syrup next to him, causing Peter to jump.

"Don't tell me you've never met Breakfast Man."

Peter just stared - unsure which was more interesting: the food combo in front of him or the man who'd made it. What. The. Heck.

Mr. Stark shook his head and sighed dramatically; "I have failed you. Well, a version of me has. You have no idea what you've been missing."

Peter half-dissected the meal, looking at the handiwork. Yes, admiration was definitely the right word.

Tony watched as Peter began to eat the food, first looking a little hesitant (Tony didn't care if it was peer-pressure) and then he apparently seemed to like it (who would have thought).

That or the hunger finally kicked in.

"So," Tony began, as Peter took another mouthful. "First you don't know how to get to the kitchen. Then you don't know about Breakfast Man. Who you named, by the way. My vote was on 'Gerald.' But most importantly, why did you have this on you?"

He pulled out Peter's phone, and battered phone and cracked screen looked out of place in Tony Stark's hand.

Peter again looked confused in response to his question, causing Tony to realize he should probably back it up another notch.

"I mean, you have a StarkPhone, right?"

Peter, looking confused as ever, slowly shook his head; "my phone works fine," he said.

Tony scoffed. "Yes, that's what you say. Then I look at you skeptically; then you protest again; then I get you the phone anyways. I mean, we're on the same timeline, so what gives."

Peter just stared at him.

"I mean, do you hate me or something? Well, the me in your world?"

Peter almost jumped out of his chair, and he needn't have given his protests at all for Tony to believe him.

"No Mr. Stark, I don't hate you- or him- at all! You've been nothing but good to me!"

Yada yada, Tony waved him to stop. Nothing but good. Yeah, right. Yet he believed his Peter would still claim the same thing, if he were still around to say so.

"Okay," Tony went on, "do I dislike you?" Tony put air quotes on the 'I.'

"No, I don't think so."

"Why not."

"You showed me your workshop!"

"I... showed it to you?"

"Yeah! And we worked on a project for a couple days!"

"A couple days."

"And you texted me!"

Tony leaned back against the countertop behind him and rubbed a hand down his face.

He wished he could have a few words with himself. He needed to take better care of this kid. Well, other Tony needed to.

"And you made me food! Like you're doing now!"

Tony looked up, skepticism written on his features as Peter went on with his pathetic list.

"You said you didn't know Breakfast Man."

"No not, not Breakfast Man, it was... a bunch of other stuff."

"I see."

"And it was during the day, of course."

"Of course," Tony echoed.

"And you ordered pizza the next day."

"I see."

He didn't see.

What he did see was a hungry kid who didn't know enough about his own family.

The kid had finished the meal, looking more like himself now (assuming himself meant looking like a scrawny version of his Peter), and the clock read about 3 am, signalling bed time.

Yes, Tony had actually begun implementing a bedtime for himself. Regardless of how others may (and did) criticize his method, time management was a form of control he could have when he couldn't control other things.

Things like people dying on him. Or appearing again from alternate universes.

"Alright, kiddo," he said, interrupting his thought process, "bedtime."

Peter looked at the clock, frustrated, obviously not as excited about going back to bed now that he had some form of nutritious energy in his body.

But Tony didn't budge, so Peter stood up.

"Remember how to get back to your room?" He jested, but Peter didn't seem to catch on.

"Yes, Mr. Stark."

"Am I really 'Mr. Stark' to you?"

He was met again with more confused silence.

So with a sigh, he went on: "alrighty then, let's go."

The kid seemed surprised that Tony was accompanying him back.

Should he be? Maybe he was being too nice. This was probably weird for Peter, having another "Mr. Stark" bringing him around.

If his Mr. Stark even brought him anywhere.

He accompanied him back downstairs, neither of them saying a word until they got back to the room.

"Night, Underoos," he said, opening the door for him.

Then with a quick "Goodnight Mr. Stark!" the kid slid under his arm and into the room, wasting no time in closing the door behind him.

It's not that Tony really expected a hug, but, he did.

' ' ' ' '

He didn't know he'd been Pavlov's-Dogged until he just... waited there, feeling like he was missing something. Something important. Something he needed.

' ' ' ' '

He snapped himself out of it. He had to focus. That wasn't Peter on the other side of this door.

Neither owed the other anything.

But for some reason, Tony knew he'd give it all to get the kid home safely.

And if he knew anything about Peter Parker, it's that the kid was a hugger. He'd learned that early, early on; and as such that this, if anything, screamed at him that something wasn't right here.

It hurt, seeing this ghost of his kid. A ghost who resembled the real thing all too well. This ghost who was sitting in his room overthinking things in a way Tony understood all too well.

It was like living in a world of déjà vu, except last time it had ended poorly for Peter.

As much as he wanted to barge in and solve all the kid's problems right here and now, Tony figured he probably inundated the kid enough for one night, and decided that that was a tomorrow problem to take on.

And with that, Tony headed to bed, reminding himself that Peter was still gone.


A/N: Two big interactions - Let me know what you think! Thank you for all your support, it keeps me writing!

Also, I made a poll thing for this story, let me know if you have any problems taking it. :)

If you have an idea you think would fit in well with the story, send it my way (via reviews or PMs) and I'll do my best to incorporate it in *the best* way - but only if it fits within my grand scheme!

Have a good one everybody!