One of the biggest regrets of Tony Stark's life had been when he was doing his homework in Edwin Jarvis' kitchen, at age thirteen.

"Mr. Stark does care about you, Anthony. That much, I know," Jarvis had told him, after he had been struggling with one of Howard's uglier weekends. It was one particular day in which criticism had been doled out by the bucketfuls, and on those days — more often than not — Tony would ditch the main estate to go visit Jay and Ana. The latter had been too ill to come by for the usual chatters with his mother, so he made it even more of a priority than usual. Their housing was just close enough that it was never more than a jog away, and sometimes they would make cookies or whatever while Tony vented about how shitty his dad was and how nothing would ever be enough for him. Jarvis had been around before he was even born, so he knows that their longtime butler had dealt with the drunk asshead for a lot longer. He told him sometimes how Howard hadn't always been so bad. He told him he was a complex man with a lot to atone for, especially towards his only son.

Jarvis was way more optimistic about the future than Tony was, even if he looked tired when he talked about his father. He'd gotten grayer since Ana had fallen sick two summers back, and Tony worried more about Jarvis dying from stress than his dad dying from his muddy liver. Hell, he wasn't sure what he'd do, if Jay ever left — and sometimes he thought maybe he would, if he were smarter... maybe go to Peggy and be her right-hand man like he had been in so many tales, at the very least. But instead he lingered around, did all of his work for other people, and never complained about it; he grumbled on and on about 'Mr. Stark' and his terrible habits some days, yeah, but he was always there to offer his services.

Jarvis must have felt like he owed Howard something, Tony thought at the time.

The thought made him feel sour-minded, and he couldn't help but take potshots as he chewed on the end of his pencil.

"I'm Tony now. And stop trying to cover for him, Jay; if he said jump you'd ask how high. God. Every time I come here, it's always gotta be a way to let your good ol' buddy Mr. Stark off the hook. Blah, blah, blah, he's a good guy deep down! He loves you, Anthony, he just doesn't know how to show it! You're as bad as Mom is at this."

"It's not that," Jarvis said briskly, brow furrowed. He'd been cooking, and wiped his hands clean to turn toward the boy. "It doesn't excuse how he acts, and he deserves to be scorned for it — but it's all so much more complicated... He's a mess, but more than that — he simply doesn't know how to be a father. And I don't think he was ever meant to be one—"

"And neither were you," Tony spat back. "You're always trying to throw advice at me like you have any clue what it's like, when you never even bothered with kids. He's not my dad, and you're definitely not, so don't flatter yourself."

"Anthony," Jarvis started, but he'd stormed out of the room and abandoned his trig homework before anymore could have been spoken, ignoring the devastation on the man's face.

It wasn't until many months later that his mother had talked about what had happened to Mrs. Jarvis, how she had been shot at the estate years beforehand, far before Mom had ever become involved with the Starks. How she'd lost the ability to have children — and what it'd done to her frame of mind and her health, for some time. Tony had sought her out in her bedroom and apologized for what he'd said to Jarvis all that time before, like she had even heard anything in her naptime slumber that afternoon. She hadn't even been fazed by it, looking at him like he was an oddity.

"Goodness," she'd laughed, light and gentle, "You've got such a guilty heart, Anthony. You remind me too much of Edwin sometimes."

It was a funny thing to him, at the time. That he could remind her of his butler, someone had no blood ties to, and especially since he'd always seen most of Jay's traits as good things when Tony was — was... most certainly not anyone good, as far as he was concerned. Jarvis was kind and patient, and he was morally sound, and he was always there when someone needed him. Tony didn't feel like he deserved her words.

She'd added, quite content, "It's true, we haven't had our own children; but I think we've made do nonetheless."

When Ana passed a few years later, Tony had reached out and gripped Jarvis' trembling hand at the burial ceremony, his own face tear-streaked, because he wasn't sure how anyone was going to be able to survive without the witty and unyielding Ana Jarvis. "I'm sorry, Jay," he told him, looking down at a lowered coffin.

"She loved you very much," Jarvis managed, and he squeezed his hand tightly. Tony could feel the hard surface of Jarvis' wedding ring. "We both love you. Very much."

Jarvis hadn't cried up until Peggy Carter pulled him into her arms.

That had been the only time in his life that he'd ever seen the man lose himself so fully.

When his Mom and Dad died and he was a mess, Jarvis adjusted his black tie for him and placed his wrinkled hands on the man's shoulders.

"I can't do this," he'd said, in the quiet before the funeral processions.

Jarvis took his chin between his fingers and made him look into his eyes as he said this:

"I'm not going anywhere. It will be my honor to be right here with you, until the very end."

... It had occurred to Tony, years later as he dwelt on fatherhood, thanks to a certain obnoxious spider-ling: Jarvis hadn't stayed because he owed Howard anything.

Jarvis stayed for Tony.

He laughed about it, too, because back then Jarvis had to deal with a moody teenager who always got into trouble...

And there Tony was in 2016 onward, doing the same goddamn thing.

Maybe he was a lot more like Edwin Jarvis than he thought.

That kind of hopeful thinking sounded nice.

Two-year-olds have a lot of milestones to work through. Tony had spent a portion of his time in-between saving half of the universe and rallying troops to pull up information about babies; he was trying in vain to ignore how missing he was in most of Morgan's life, up until peace had settled over the cosmos, or whatever. It had only been a few months ago that he even had the time to really get to know her, let alone help with her upbringing; It wasn't fair to Pepper, but between her frustrations and own swirling emotions about their small family, she also relented enough to admit killing Thanos and reversing the snap took a lot of priority.

She had family who had died, too. She had plenty to gain from repairing the known universe.

But something like the end of half of civilization was hardly enough to completely deter Pepper Potts. She never failed to send him all the things Morgan did in his absence. He made sure to zero in on all the things that reminded him of his wife, and less on the things that reminded him of himself — which also wasn't fair to Morgan, but the idea of her being anything like a Stark made his stomach uneasy in ways a therapist would probably have a field day over.

It's better than he used to be, that much is sure; years ago, the idea of being a dad would have left him with only the option of defenestration.

But then he met Harley Keener. And then he met Peter Parker. And things just felt... different, after.

Now he's here, and the world is relatively safe, and he's finished taking his daughter — his daughter — for a walk. It was a good way to forget about everything shitty that was happening, and yeah, he doesn't trust the world to take her to a real park out in New York (do you even know how many dangers there are for a toddler there?). But there's a lot of walkways here on Avengers property, out in the sunshine. He'd taken Peter walking here just this morning, and figured he'd been neglecting his kid a little too much; Peter would be pretty annoyed at him about that, pretty sure.

"Okay, hang your coat up," he says, and Morgan toddles over to the hanger on her wall to deposit her favorite Disney Princess jacket (that looks like a unicorn pooped on it, just being honest). Her nose is runny and Tony makes grossed-out noises as he mops boogers up with a hanky. "As children approach age 3, they comprehend most of what you say to them. What do you think about that, kid?"

She says, "I'm thinking 'bout cereal," and kicks her shoes off across the room, nearly falling down in the process.

"Uuuh-huh."

Tony keeps a special folder on his phone that he pulls up the hologram for, and Morgan claps eagerly at the magic of it (he can relate, honestly, because sometimes he claps over technology, too). Scanning the screen, he makes note of all the things she's been working on: at her age, she should be able to jump with both feet, should be attempting catching with both hands, should be walking up stairs — they got all that covered. She can't pull her own pants up, but that's Hard Mode, so it's cool. Brushing own hair? Nailed it. Snapping snaps and zipping zippers, C+, which is absolutely okay. She can build a hell of a block tower, so that's an imaginary letter above A, and that cancels out the C.

He settles down at a table way too small for him that is covered in hardened Play-Doh someone forgot to put up (oops), one knee bent where he's slouched. "Alright, let's work on some cognitive milestones, since I've got some time to spare. You wanna read or play the party game?"

Party game's just grouping things by colors. Obviously, the red and yellow blocks host the best block parties, and the lame white and blue blocks act like old boring grandpas who watch ID Investigations on the holidays; no offense to the grandpas out there, all the offense to Steve Rogers. But before he can properly set up for sorting time, Morgan's grabbing at his face with a big frown, like she's only just noticed the sizable, scabbed cut on his lip all these hours. Her mouth is a wide, surprised 'O' and her eyes are full of puzzlement more than concern (kids are so awful at actually being worried about their old man)—

"Dad, dad, dad," she gasps, using two palms to sandwich Tony's head and steer him to her bidding.

"The first dad was plenty, pepperoni."

"Owwww, your mouth, on... your... mouth. What's that?"

"Oh, yeah, that was a well-deserved sucker-punch." Wait, she's two. "Someone hit me because I made them mad."

She kicks her foot at nothing, maybe watching one too many action flicks behind Pepper's back. "Pow!"

And then she laughs crazily, like a madwoman.

You were quite the handful, he recalls Jarvis saying, between folding linens, I never got a moment's peace when you were in my care.

I suppose I prefered it that way, more than anything.

Thor coming back to his place among the Avengers is always a spectacle.

He supposes he could very well wallow in everything that's happened the last few years — losing Loki yet again, losing his father, his homeland, so on and so forth — but it is better to accept the challenge of finding new things to fight for. An Asgardian prefers to persevere, and that's precisely what he plans to do. His people are in Wakanda, making a place for themselves among the infinitely wise and brave warriors under T'Challa's rule; last he visited, Shuri had been entertaining Valkyrie with an astounding assortment of weaponry, and Korg had found a strange kinship with M'Baku that mostly amounted to the man being entertained by the Kronan's oddities (and concerning stupidity). It was funny, how so many puzzles of his life seemed to be fitting together. Earth had been his home away from home; now he supposes, at least for a little while, it was well and truly the one and only.

So he'd missed it, while he was away in the cosmos, putting as much distance as possible between the reality stone and the other five glorified jewels. He admittedly stayed away a little longer to give Loki the chance to come back from the grave, if he so willed it (as was his want, far too frequently). But time passed, and Loki never returned, and even still — there are no signs of the slippery weasel he'd loved.

He still eyes snakes with all manner of suspicion, though.

It took him little time to deliver the stupid glowy rock to the safe hands of the Galactic Keep (or he supposes that's as close to English as it can be translated) thanks to the practice of wormholes and other unpleasant manner of travel, but without the bridge and Heimdall (another loss that stings every day, so many to tally) Thor finds he has to improvise a little. He lands his ship back at the Avengers headquarters and flicks his brown false eye, cursing under his breath; Rocket needs to repair it, because it keeps waggling in the midst of a malfunction every so often.

No matter. He's back with his comrades, ready to aid in the recovery efforts; walking through the halls presents him a fitting welcome wagon.

"The fiercest Stark in the realm!" Thor bellows, and little Morgan runs at him with a full battle-cry. It's amusing that she never learns from her mistakes and barrels into his legs full-force, falling every time, bless her fiery heart. He admires her boldness in wearing shoes that never seem to match. Tony follows after her with his hands in his pockets and a quirked brow, as Thor hefts Morgan up under his arm like she were a barrel of ale. A very tiny one. Very small. Hardly even enough for a buzz.

Then he smiles like an asshole, adding over her excited woops: "And there's the more questionable Stark, with the tight pants."

"Thor, are you flirting with my husband?" Pepper asks from a few footfalls back, smiling.

"I would much rather flirt with you to annoy him, if we're being hon—"

"Okay, okay, enough with the teasing, bring it in," Tony huffs, and gives him a quick one-armed embrace. The last two years has earned Thor many new friends and foes, but he also has to reflect on just how important the Avengers have become to him over the years — especially now that most everyone he loves from home has passed. He'd had a lengthy update on what had happened in his absence with regards to Rogers and Stark, and it's probably the most frustrating retelling he's ever had the displeasure of sitting though, but he can at least happily skip over any awkwardness now that they've kissed and made up.

"Everything's where it should be on my end," Thor tells him, and Tony seems appeased.

"Good. One less rock to babysit. You sure these Gastric Creeps can handle something like that?"

"More than sure. Now — Where's your young ward? I must meet this fan of mine, now that I've returned properly."

Thor doesn't expect the surprise on Stark's face, then turned grim. The man had told him about the boy at length before, at some midpoint between the snap and the unsnapping: about Parker's impressive abilities, his excellent moral compass, and his terribly obvious boy-crush on Thor and other heroes like him. In fact, he'd gotten to watch with some bitter-sweetness the videos recorded off of Karen, when Peter had pissed the day away mimicking him and the others from the team. He'd been more than eager to tease the lad relentlessly about it when they'd finally meet.

So it's concerning, when his first genuine meeting is an unresponsive figure sitting in the lounge area. Romanoff is sitting with her leg crossed over the other, reading aloud from the New York Times, and stops to give Thor a slight smile and a warm welcome. It quickly occurs to him that she's reading at Peter — not quite to him. The reasoning takes little explanation, and by the time he's sat down, May Parker is passing along a dinner plate and joining them, watching her nephew like a hawk; she would be lingering around for a few weeks on paid leave, which was simply a fancy way of saying Stark had paid her place of work a hefty sum to carry on without her for a time. Despite all her woes, she is an animated speaker, with a lightness and informality to her that is so often rare in Asgard. Humans. Someone like Thor is seen as god-like to them, and yet Earth's people are just as malleable, just as a spiritually unparalleled in power.

She's lost everything, and yet maintains such an enduring spirit, unknowing if Parker will return to them undamaged.

"You're a strong woman, Miss Parker," he says, gulping down overly cheesy macaroni. "I envy your strength, in fact."

"I'm really not," she says, shaking her head and smiling; her fingers have been interlaced with Parker's all the while, as the boy sleeps against her shoulder. "If you'd seen me the last two years, I can definitely say I'd been a mess that no broom could clean up. And now, with him like this, I just... I'm just keeping it together for him, now."

"And as I said, I envy you for that." He places the bowl down, quieting. "I had lost everyone in my family, the last few years. It's been a path I'm ashamed to say hasn't been handled as gracefully as I would have liked. I threw myself headlong into battle to avoid the pit in my chest. And because of that, I've made mistakes that may have cost many people greatly, all because I was reckless with my life — and therefore theirs."

"... You're here, though," she says. "And so is two halves of a universe. I think that must count for something."

Thor smirks softly. "I suppose so."

There's a warm understanding that settles between them; two people who have clung to what little they have left.

"Now," he says, clapping his large hands on his knees. "Tell me all about this Peter Parker."

And she does.