For Cloud_99, who left me the following comment: "Would you ever consider writing an AU of one of your own stories? Ever since this story revealed that Morgan never forgot Petey, I have wished for an AU story where her parents paid closer attention to what was making their daughter so upset at Christmas. Then Tony could do some research, talk to Friday, be flabbergasted and set out to rescue his adoptive son just in time for him to share in a family Christmas - a perfect one shot."

I failed at finishing this anywhere near Christmas, and making it a one shot, but the idea took hold. Long Story Short is so timey-wimey anyway, why not branch off an alternate timeline from Chapter 10—the multiverse is canon anyway.

I hope you enjoy! I expect this to be a two-parter, but I also consistently underestimate these things.

It's the kind of cold, fogs up windshield glass
But I felt it when I passed you
There's an ache in you put there by the ache in me

Tis the Damn Season, Taylor Swift

Morgan loves Christmas. Usually. But this one's the worst.

Because Petey's supposed to be here, for the first time ever. She's been looking forward to it for days and days and days and DAYS. Her whole life, really, but especially since the one time Petey came over after Daddy woke up and promised he'd spend Christmas with them.

He promised, and so did Daddy. But Petey's not here.

She hasn't seen her brother since he made that promise. A few days later he went on some school trip that Mommy called an "inter-nap-ional disaster." He'd Facetimed Daddy once or twice after that, looking stressed like Daddy did when he spent too much time in the garage. So Morgan had barged into the calls, twirling around and telling him all about her day until he smiled. But he hasn't called since Halloween, so she still hasn't told him how she dressed up as Spider-Woman and Happy laughed but Daddy cried and then ordered her so much candy that Mommy had to hide it in the closet.

Mommy and Daddy have been impossible for months.

Because sometime after Halloween, they started pretending Petey isn't real. And no matter how many times she tells them it isn't funny, they won't stop joking.

She thought it was a Santa situation. That if she played along, and acted like Petey was imaginary, just like she acted like some silly old man in a red suit brought most of her presents, then on Christmas morning he'd be there. Then they'd all laugh and have the best time.

But when she sneaks downstairs, all she finds is a tower of presents.

"Petey," she whispers, circling the tree. There are so many boxes, and a few are pretty big. But none are big enough to hold a brother.

"Petey," she says, louder, looking behind the couch and even in the fireplace, which is stupid, but Mommy and Daddy seem pretty committed to this Santa story. At least they never gave her a spying elf, like Sally's parents. Sometimes Daddy gives Dum-E a pair of reindeer antlers and moves him around the house, but he never pretends that Santa's done it.

"Getting an early start, huh, Morguna?" Daddy says as he stumbles down the stairs. "What time is it FRI?"

"It is 5:47 am, Boss."

"Jesus." Daddy chuckles at something Morgan doesn't understand. "Merry Christmas, menace." He opens his arms and she runs into them, letting him swing her up until she's nestled against his chest.

"Where's Petey?" she asks. She doesn't want to play this game any longer.

"What's a Petey?" Daddy asks, shuffling towards the kitchen. "Was that on your list? Apparently Santa's pretty good at lists."

"Santa's not real and I want my brother!" she shouts, trying to squirm away. But Daddy holds tight until they reach the counter. He sets her down beside the coffeemaker, even though she's not allowed up there.

"Your what now?" He blinks at her, and then turns to start the coffee. Before Halloween, Morgan never knew her dad was such a good actor. Whenever he smiles at photographers it looks so fake, nothing like when he smiles at her. But she bets most people wouldn't believe in Petey either if they only listened to her dad.

"Petey. My brother."

"Ah." Daddy takes a big gulp of coffee, and then chokes. Too hot. "Was that what you asked Santa for? A little brother? Kinda a big ask, even for the big man. It's not impossible, but it's not likely, considering Pep's—I mean our—age."

"Petey's not little! He's big. He's almost as tall as you. But he's not that old. Just kinda old. You call him your favorite young adult."

Daddy blinks again, and his face scrunches up. "Now I'm confused."

"You're the one being confusing!"

"Hey now, Little Miss. Watch that tone."

"Aren't we all in a fine mood this morning?" Mommy crosses her arms as she walks in the kitchen, and frowns in a way that means everyone's supposed to listen. "Breakfast, then presents?"

"That's cruel and unusual punishment," Daddy says, giving Mommy a quick kiss. Morgan looks away and scrunches her nose.

"Maybe it'll put us all in a proper Christmas spirit."

Morgan spends all breakfast waiting for Petey to burst through the door. Maybe it is too early, like Daddy says.

But Petey doesn't come.

He's not in any of the boxes either.

"Is this it?" she asks once she's opened all her presents, feeling her lips tremble and tears start to fall. She's gotten everything she asked for, except the one thing she wanted most of all.

Daddy looks sad, but Mommy frowns again. "Morgan, honey, this was a lot of gifts."

But none of them can play with her or make Daddy smile or stop a car with their bare hands. They can't take her swinging like Petey promised (even though Mommy said no). They aren't kind and funny and smart and heroic and all the other things Daddy told her Petey is.

They don't love her, like her brother's supposed to.

"I don't want them! I want Petey."

Mommy crouches down so they're the same size. "Honey," she says, slowly like Morgan's dumb. "We've been over this. Petey isn't real."

Morgan may be a lot of things, but she isn't stupid. "You're ruining Christmas!"

Mommy reaches for her, but Morgan darts away, running to her room and slamming the door. Then she collapses against it, crying until she has no tears left. She thinks maybe Daddy will come and tell her Petey will be here for lunch. At the very least he'll give her a hug, and maybe a juice pop.

But no one comes.

She has to hug Spidey instead. Her plushie reminds her of Petey, which makes her want to cry again. But it reminds her she can't give up. Wherever Petey is, he's not here, which means he's missing out on presents and tasty food and family.

Morgan wants to be a hero, just like Petey. Maybe that means she needs to rescue him.

When she stands by the door she can hear her parents talking downstairs. They sound loud and angry, like they're having a bad Christmas, too.

"What do you want me to do, Pep?"

"I don't know. But our daughter shouldn't be up in her room crying on Christmas."

"She just needs some time to cool down. She'll get over it. She's five."

"Will she? She's been talking about this Petey for weeks. She hasn't gotten over it yet. Is she expecting us to play along? I don't know where this came from. I know she's never known that many people, but she has friends at school. I thought she'd be okay."

"She will be okay."

Morgan's lip wobbles. She wants Daddy upstairs, whispering this into her hair. She wished she hadn't stormed off to spend Christmas alone.

"But maybe she's on to something," Daddy continues. "There's something about today that seems … missing."

"Now don't you start!"

"Tell me you don't feel it too. Why isn't today perfect?"

"What I feel is the start of a migraine."

"Fine. Maybe I am crazy. Wouldn't be the first time. I'm going to the garage!"

Morgan hears the front door slam. But she's filled with hope. Maybe Daddy's not pretending not to know Petey. Maybe he's forgotten somehow.

She'll just have to help him remember.

For most of his life, Tony hated Christmas. Nothing like ritualized disappointment to undermine his already shaky mental health. The holidays were a time for his parents to dress up meaningless gifts in very expensive boxes, putting on a show for the world that never extended to actually giving a damn about their kid, who needed affection so much more than another possession.

His attitude had changed … sometime before Morgan came along. Once she was born he'd tried so hard to give her everything he'd never had. Silly traditions and meaningful time spent together. And okay, yes, a pile of presents, but ones he'd picked out or even made himself instead of delegating the task to a personal assistant. Morgan's joy is infectious, and she loves Christmas so much that Tony is almost convinced that he is a much better father than Howard.

But today he feels like the Grinch. As much as he knows he should be groveling for forgiveness outside his daughter's door he just can't make himself do it. He doesn't understand why she's upset. He understands even less why he's upset. He'd been on edge even before her outburst, waking with a strange sense of dread and loss and absence that he couldn't explain. And ever since she mentioned the mysterious made-up Petey his head has been killing him.

The truth is, he can barely stand to be in the same room as Morgan, and it's driving him insane. Was this how Howard had felt about him? It makes Tony hate himself more than he ever has—and that's a really high bar. But he can't make the feeling go away, no matter how hard he tries.

Morgan's done nothing wrong, and Tony doesn't know what has changed. But whenever he sees her he hurts, with an extra strong cocktail of grief and guilt and confusion. It overwhelms him, leaving him barely able to think, like he's actually hungover. Maybe that's why this Petey thing throws him. He's heard Morgan ramble on about this stranger before, but he's been too distracted to listen or retain any details.

But Morgan is brilliant, and Tony had started internalizing his parents' distance when he was around her age. Maybe she's acting up because he can sense her pulling away.

It makes his stomach roll. Tony puts down the wires he'd been fiddling with and resolves to go hug his daughter.

"Daddy."

He looks up. Just like the miracle she is, she's already in the doorway, clutching one of her stuffed animals like a lifeline. Her lip trembles, and her face is smeared with tears, and Tony loathes himself.

"Oh princess, come here." He opens his arms and Morgan runs to him without hesitation, even though he doesn't deserve it. He lifts her so she's curled against him, her precious hands clasped around his neck. He strokes through her tangled hair. "You know I love you baby, right?"

She nods against him. "Mmm-hmmm. Three thousand."

"Three thousand," he affirms, blown away by her easy trust. The embrace feels like forgiveness. This is what Howard never bothered with. Apologies or comfort. "I'm sorry for being such a grump, Morguna. I didn't mean to ruin your Christmas. Your Daddy loves you so, so much."

Morgan pulls back and lays a gentle hand on his chin. "I think something's wrong with you, Daddy," she says solemnly.

"What do you mean?" he gasps, startled to hear his deepest fear out of the mouth of his darling babe.

"You really don't remember Petey."

"I don't." He doesn't have a clue what she's talking about. But it's important, and he resolves to listen, even though the name makes him feel even worse, somehow. "Can you tell me about him?"

Morgan stares intently at him for a few seconds, and then shrieks, "I can show you!"

She squirms out of his grasp and darts across the garage, even though she's not supposed to be in the lab at all. "Careful," he scolds. But she bypasses anything expensive or dangerous and grabs a picture frame from a counter that he can never bring himself to use.

"Look!" She shoves the photo in his hands.

It's a picture of him, wearing dark glasses and a blazer over a t-shirt, one arm nonsensically thrown out in a peace sign and the other pointing to nothing. The half-obscured logo behind him means he's in the lobby of Stark Industries.

There's absolutely no reason he should have taken this picture, and even less cause for him to have framed it.

"Morgan."

"There he is!" She points to the empty space beside him.

Petey is just as invisible as any imaginary friend. "This is just a picture of me, Morguna."

"No it's not! That's dumb. Why would you print out a picture of you?"

"Ok, fair point."

"You used to keep this photo in the kitchen. Sometimes you'd pick it up when you were doing dishes and you'd be sad cause Petey was gone."

"If Petey is gone, how's he supposed to come to Christmas?" He thinks that's what the meltdown was about. Because her imaginary friend wasn't in any of her presents. That makes about as much sense as the photo. Because Tony is vain, but if he wanted to look at himself he's got servers full of more flattering images, like all the ones from his seven World's Sexiest Man photoshoots.

"Because he came back after you saved the world."

It hits him like a bucket of water. Nothing's really impossible if the infinity stones are involved. He squints harder at the picture, but all he can see is himself, though his head seems to throb just a little more intensely. "Morgan, do you have any other photos of Petey you can show me?"

"Yeah!" She runs off and returns a few minutes later with a stack of drawings.

"There!"

She points to a stick figure with curly brown hair and blue eyes. She's drawn him significantly taller than she's drawn herself, but they're holding hands and smiling broadly beside a blue oval that's probably the lake.

It's not exactly a lot to go by.

"I got the eyes wrong," she admits as he moves to the next drawing. "They're brown."

Petey looks much the same in every drawing, always smiling, always standing beside one of the Starks. One of the pictures is clearly Morgan's interpretation of the photo she'd brought him. The curly haired boy stands beside Tony, holding a rectangle, and they're both giving each other bunny ears.

When Tony looks back at the photo he thinks for a moment that he can see a teenager beside him, but the image flickers away, and it must be his imagination.

The last picture isn't like the others at all. "Why are you showing me this one?" he asks. He knows how she draws Iron Man. Has given her tips on the right color crayons to use and how to shape the thrusters. But he can't quite place the red and blue figure beside him.

"Because Petey is Spider-Man."

He's worked with Spider-Man. Cleaning up weapons in the city. The Thanos debacle. Even brought him along for extra firepower in Germany. But the webslinger keeps his identity close to the belt. Tony doesn't know who's under the mask. "Who told you that?"

Morgan rolls her eyes and then fixes him with a look she definitely got from Pepper. "You did."

He didn't though. He couldn't have. He doesn't know Spider-Man. Doesn't know anyone named Petey.

"You told me all about Petey when he was gone and now he's back and he's supposed to be here."

Tony sinks into the nearest stool. "I think you're right. There's something wrong with me."

Morgan could be making all this up, but that wouldn't explain the photo. The photo that when he looks at it again, he's more certain than ever also contains a teenager. Most of the writing on the paper he holds is blurred, but Tony can make out the word internship. Stark Industries doesn't hire interns until their last year of college, so that only adds to the confusion.

"It's okay, Daddy." Morgan presses a kiss he doesn't deserve to his cheek. "We'll fix it! Maybe you just need more help remembering." She tilts her head towards the ceiling. "Miss Friday, play the Christmas cookie video."

"Certainly, Princess Boss."

A holoscreen appears over the nearest worktable. The kitchen in his New York penthouse comes into focus. "And why exactly are we recording this?" grouses a younger version of himself, but there's no bite in his tone.

"For posterity! Come on Mister Stark. These cookies are epic. Don't you want to be able to prove to your future self that you're an exceptional baker?"

Tony hears the kid before he sees him. But as he's trying to wrap his head around the empty space on the screen where clearly an exuberant child should be, said child blurs into focus. Tony's head throbs with the effort, but he doesn't let himself look away.

The kid has a babyface and messy brown curls. Fourteen, maybe fifteen. He wears a t-shirt sporting a science pun and a healthy spattering of floor. His eyes are brown, and his grin is infectious.

"Yeah, sure. I think you just want to pretend that you're on that British baking show. Sorry kid, but I can't master a convincing British accent."

"You watch The Great British Bakeoff?"

"No. But I've heard you ramble about it enough to get the gist."

"I am so rubbing off on you, Mister Stark."

"Pepper hopes so," video Tony quips. "So what comes next?"

"First we show off our art. FRIDAY, zoom in please."

The angle shifts to the counter, which is covered in cookies—dozens of arc reactors and spider emblems, Iron Man and Spider-Man masks, and superhero-ified gingerbread men. They're all meticulously iced. It must have taken hours, and Tony has to admit they look pretty damn impressive.

"Next, the taste test."

The boy—Petey, apparently—picks up one of the arc reactors while Tony grabs a spider. Without discussing it beforehand they clink them together as if making a toast, and then take simultaneous bites.

Petey spits the cookie into his hand. Tony manages to swallow, though from his grimace it's clear that something's gone horrifically wrong.

"Oh my god, that was terrible," the kid sputters. "I can't believe you ate that."

"I blame you. Clearly you've inherited your baking skills from your aunt."

Peter sticks out his tongue, but then grimaces again. "Do you think maybe we switched the sugar and salt?"

For some incomprehensible reason Tony laughs, clutching his arm around his stomach. "That'll do it, Paula Deen."

The boy stares down at the rows of inedible cookies. When he looks up his grin returns. "They still look amazing."

"Yeah they do, Picasso."

They're bickering about what to do next when Pepper enters the frame in a power suit and heels. "God, I'd kill for a cookie. Half the board was insufferable today."

Petey pales, throwing his arms out as if trying to shield the cookies from view.

Tony scratches at the back of his neck. "Well about that, the cookies are more of a display piece. Not for public consumption."

Pepper glances between the boys. "They're inedible, aren't they?"

"Pretty much," Tony concedes.

"Sorry, Miss Potts. If you eat one your day will get way worse."

She sighs. "Emergency ice cream stash it is."

"It kills me you that you like Brucie's flavor better than mine."

"How do I get an ice cream flavor named after me?" asks the kid.

Pepper ignores them both and pulls a pint of Ben and Jerry's from the freezer. "There's a Christmas tree in the living room," she says, pointing the ice cream at Tony. "A real Christmas tree."

"That was the spiderling's doing. Kid told me he never had a real Christmas tree before. Had to remedy that."

"Sorry, Miss Potts. Ben and May tried, my first year with them. Turns out I was super allergic. They had to take me to the ER." The kid shrugs, smiling sheepishly. "Since the bite trees don't bother me anymore, but May wasn't willing to risk it."

"Now the only holiday staple the kid has to watch out for is peppermint."

"Don't remind me! Do you know how often people try to slip peppermint into hot chocolate in December? Yuck. A couple of days ago I took a sip of MJ's and-"

The video cuts off abruptly, the holoscreen disappearing.

So that's why I like Christmas, Tony thinks. Huh.

"That's why Mommy doesn't let you help us make cookies." Morgan stares at him, her wide, bright eyes practically begging him to laugh and say that he remembered Petey after all.

But Tony doesn't remember those shenanigans. He knows he's banned from the kitchen. Knows he binged every damn season of that baking show shortly after the Blip. But just twenty minutes ago he wouldn't have been able to explain why.

It's not just maddening. It's—distressing. He feels overheated and clammy all at once. Clearly he and that kid had been close. That video was like something out of a Hallmark movie—had he ever actually seen a Hallmark movie?—but he hasn't a fucking clue why he was casually hanging out with a teenager. Making cookies. It's the kind of thing Pepper and Morgan do. And the banter—that's the balance he tries to strike with Morgan, teasing but affectionate. Practically dripping with affection. He's soft now. He knows this. Morgan made him so, and he has no regrets. But he wasn't soft so many years ago.

Was he?

"FRIDAY, who is this kid?"

And for a moment he thinks something else has gone wrong in the world, because his state-of-the-art AI, which can process information seventy times faster than the human brain, hesitates.

"Are you joking, Boss?" she finally asks.

"I am not joking." But maybe he's dreaming. Maybe this is some kind of nightmare, all his daddy issues manifesting into a hellscape where he forgets one kid and pushes away another. Did he really wake from that coma? Or is this one of the stones, messing with him?

Maybe it's just hell.

"I do not understand why you are asking me this question."

"You're not my therapist. I'm not looking for psychoanalysis. Just answer it."

"That was Peter Parker." FRIDAY hesitates again, which is surely a glitch in her programming. "Spider-Man."

"So I gather you know a lot about him, then?"

"I have an entire server dedicated to him, Boss, per your instructions. Karen has another."

"Who the hell is Karen?"

"The AI you created for his suit."

"What does KAREN stand for then?"

"I believe it is a character in SpongeBob."

"Karen is Plankton's wife," Morgan supplies.

"Lordy." Tony rubs at his throbbing forehead, trying to make the pieces slot into place. He's not used to feeling so out of his depth. He can comprehend every scientific theory, but he's missing too much information here. Something's clearly messing with his brain. Pepper's too, because the video proves she also knew the kid. Somehow Morgan's unaffected. "This Peter was—important to me?"

"It would seem so. You spent thousands of hours and millions of dollars on protocols to keep him safe while patrolling. You refer to him with many familiar and complementary nicknames, including kid, Underoos, Roo, future Avenger, the best of us, and the reason for your grey hair. After he died in your arms on Titan you were inconsolable and unresponsive for seventeen minutes."

"That's—blunt." He should remember something like that. Christ, he should remember. There's something strange in FRIDAY's tone, too human, like she's annoyed at him. But she can't possibly be as annoyed as Tony is at himself. There's a cavern growing in his chest filled with all-encompassing loss. If he falls in, will he be able to claw himself out?

There's also a question screaming across his brain. Why did he care so much? Why did his daughter know this random teenager? Who was Peter to him really?

But Tony is a coward. He asks instead, "FRI, when did I last see Peter?"

"Peter visited once after you woke from your coma, on June 24th. Since then, you exchanged intermittent video calls and text messages until November 15th."

"What happened November 15th?"

"I am not sure. But he sent you this text message."

The words appeared in the air about his worktable. Thanks for everything, Mister Stark. You have no idea how much it meant to me. I'm sorry.

Tony feels the words, though he doesn't know why. They hold him like a vice, squeezing his shredded, wrung out heart that he'd spent so many years denying.

"What did I say?"

"You did not respond."

"How could I not respond to that?" He's a catastrophic fuck-up, clearly. Peter never came to Christmas because for some reason Tony ghosted him. Tony knows all about indiscretions. Everything from sleeping with the wrong person to horrific, world-shattering mistakes. It didn't matter what the kid did. Tony shouldn't have abandoned him. He has to make this right.

"Where does Peter live?"

Tony recognizes the address FRIDAY gives him. "That's Hogan's place."

"Peter and his guardian May Parker moved in with your Forehead of Security last summer."

"Wait a second. May Parker? Happy's May? That died in the freak Spider-Man incident—"

His mouth snaps shut. Shit. This whole amnesia clusterfuck aside, this kid had lost his guardian to something related to superheroing. Tony knows how much collateral damage hurts, even when the dead are just strangers. But if it's someone you love. Tony wouldn't wish that devastation on anyone.

He's still surprised at how someone else's pain almost brings him to his knees.

But emotion won't help here. What the kid needs—probably—is someone to look after him. First Tony needs to find him. Then they can figure out the rest. Tony can pay for a grief counselor or something.

"FRIDAY, call up Happy."

"On it, boss."

The phone rings seven times before Happy picks up. "What do you want?"

"What if I was dying?" Tony realizes that might be a tad unreasonable, but his dread had grown with every second he waited for Happy to answer. Now it feels like the only thing in his lungs. "What if I was kidnapped, and I only had seconds for my Head of Security to pick up?"

"Have you been kidnapped?" Happy asks with snark of his own.

"No," Tony scowls.

"You do realize its Christmas, right? You gave me the day off. Said you wouldn't call unless it was an emergency."

He's saved by his brilliant daughter, who shouts, "Merry Christmas, Uncle Happy," into the air. Tony gives her a thumbs up, and then presses a kiss to her forehead.

"Merry Christmas, Morgan." Hogan's voice softens to a decibel Tony hadn't thought him capable of until Morgan was born. "Everything okay over there?"

"We're looking for Petey!" she says, and Tony grimaces. He wasn't going to leap right into it.

"May Parker," Tony says, trying to gentle his tone. He know this is a shitty thing to ask on Christmas. Happy hadn't been dating the woman long, but he'd taken her death hard. "She didn't happen to have a kid, did she? A son? Or maybe a son-adjacent? Foster son? Relative she was looking after?"

"No." All the warmth is gone from Happy's tone now. "You know she was living with me, right? Don't you think I would have mentioned if I had some kid staying with me?"

"One would think." Apparently, whatever's made Tony and Pepper forget has affected Hogan too. He's not sure why Morgan's immune. "You're absolutely sure then?"

"What the hell is this about, Tony?"

Tony thinks he should ask more about how May died, but he can't. Not on Christmas. The kid's guardian is gone, and Happy doesn't know anything about him. That's all he really needs to know.

"Never mind. Have a good Christmas." He hangs up quickly and peers down at Morgan. "You don't know where Peter is now, do you?"

She shakes her head. "He's supposed to be here."

"We'll find him." There's always a chance the kid had a backup guardian. Another relative or family friend. But the alternative seems more likely. As much as it would suck for the kid, it might help Tony now. "FRI, check for any CPS records for Peter Parker."

Tony wonders if he needs to reboot her system, because once again FRIDAY takes too long to answer. "There are no current CPS records for Peter Parker."

"Are there former CPS records for Peter Parker?"

"No. But there should be."

"What do you mean?"

"When Peter Parker was six he was briefly relinquished to the foster care system of New York after his parents died, before being adopted by his aunt and uncle. I have a copy of his file in my databanks from the initial background check you had me run. But that file no longer resides in the New York CPS database."

"What the hell is going on here?" Witness protection? SHEILD mind wipe? Alien intervention? Half a dozen crazy scenarios run through Tony's mind, but he doesn't have the evidence he needs to draw a conclusion.

"I do not know, sir."

"So on paper he's just—gone?" What if it isn't just on paper, though? What if communication stopped because Peter is gone, dead? That last damn text certainly sounded like a goodbye. What if it was a fucking suicide note? No relatives left, overridden by guilt? It makes a terrible sort of sense.

But then what? Everyone fucking forgot him, out of self-preservation?

Maybe Tony's mental state is frail enough to explain that. But Pepper's made of stronger stuff. Happy too. And surely, if Peter was dead, they would have told Morgan that instead of letting her fret.

"His records also appear to be missing from several other government databases."

"So that's it?" Tony snaps. "The kid is just gone? Wiped off the face of the map and we have no way to find him?"

Sometimes Tony still feels the arm he lost. Phantom pain, despite his state-of-the art prosthesis. It's like his brain forgets the limb is gone, and when it remembers its horror turns to agony.

He finally understands why he's been such a wreck. Phantom pain, because somehow he lost a whole fucking kid. When he looks at Morgan his brain tries to fill in the person that should have been beside her, and everything glitches.

Because Peter Parker isn't just some kid. She'd called him her brother. And that tracks, as much as anything does. It's honestly amazing he hasn't had more illegitimate children come out of the woodwork. He'd been careful—god had Howard lectured him about being careful—but he hadn't been that careful.

How long had he known, before he'd forgotten his own son? Had he made amends for his absence? The kid still called him Mister Stark, for christsakes. They couldn't have been as close as they should have been.

He'll fix that. As soon as he finds the kid, he'll fix it. Just as long as he's still alive. If he's not—if that's Tony's fault—

Christmas will definitely be ruined forever.

"I did not say that, Boss. There are trackers in both of the Spider-Man suits you gave him. Although Karen is not currently online, I can activate the Baby Monitor Protocol to determine a location."

Tony remembers to breathe. "Could have led with that, dear. Get me a location."

Both suits ping at the same Midtown address, just a couple blocks from Rockefeller Center. FRIDAY shows them an image of a rundown apartment building.

"Petey lives there?" Morgan asks, her voice betraying the same horror that Tony feels. The place looks like a strong wind would knock it down. But at least if Peter moved the suits there, he's probably still breathing.

"Not for long." Tony stands and settles Morgan back on her feet. "I'm gonna go get him. We'll be back before dinner."

"I wanna come!"

"That's not a great idea."

"Why?" she whines.

Truthfully, Tony doesn't know. It's just the kind of thing a parent should say. The building looks shady at best, and he has no idea what state he'll find the kid in. Plus driving all around New York City looking for some mystery teenage hardly sounds like the perfect Christmas. Morgan should be safe at home, playing with all her new toys.

"I wanna help! I'm the one who told you Petey was missing. If you leave me here, you may forget again!"

"I don't know, Morguna. Something strange is going on here."

"Please, Daddy?"

He has always been weak to those two words. He knows he's been failing her for months. Maybe, if he keeps her close now, he can make up for it. "All right."

"Yes! Our own Christmas adventure! Oh, we should dress up! You can be Santa and I'll be Max, and then no one with a camera will know it's us!"

He hates that his six year old daughter knows anything about the paparazzi. He and Pepper have shielded her plenty, raising her alone in the woods, but sometimes they do go back to the city. But he's not about to explain how sunglasses and a baseball cap are different than a Santa costume.

It's not a terrible idea. Instead of blending in they'll stand out. But anyone who notices will just think they're two more crazies in New York, and probably won't look any closer than that.

"All right. You go get dressed. I need to figure out what to tell your mother."

At least the costumes are cute.

That's the only good thing Tony has to say as they trek up five flights of stairs, because of course this pain in the ass kid lives on the top floor and there's no elevator. Pepper had wanted to dress up this year—something about outdoing her older sister and a "friend" from high school. Tony had whined the requisite amount, but his wife was a saint and he wanted Morgan to think of him as the fun dad.

Morgan was supposed to be an elf, but she'd taken one look at the cute little green dress and curled-toed shoes and screeched that she wanted to be the raggedy dog from The Grinch. She did look adorable, with the floppy ears and the antler headband.

Tony is too young and too handsome for most Santa suits. But FRI had found him a red leather jacket and matching pants that had a Springsteen vibe, which he didn't entirely hate.

Everything else about this day though—not a fan.

"How is it not illegal not to have an elevator?" he mutters. Morgan had insisted he carry her after the first flight of stairs, and his bum ticker is reminding him that he's not nearly as young as he used to be.

He practically collapses against Peter's door, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath. He starts to say, "We need a game plan—" but Morgan steamrolls right through his practicality and shouts, "Merry Christmas Petey! We're here to take you home."

Which, well. Tony used to cut right to the point, once.

He wonders if the forgetting works both ways. If the door is going to burst open and reveal an utterly confused teen ready to call the cops on the lunatics causing a scene outside his apartment.

Morgan leans forward and bangs on the door with her little fist. "Petey, let us in!"

"Mr. Parker, we just want a word," Tony tries. "You don't have to come with us if you don't want to." But you can't stay here, he finished in his head. Honestly, he might buy everyone who lives in this building their very own apartment far the hell away from here. The hallway emanates a pungent mix of mold and cats, despite the sign forbidding pets tacked up in the lobby.

When there's still no response, Tony tries the door. Surprisingly, it swings open. "So, breaking and entering then." Clearly no one is willing to walk all those stairs to commit a robbery. Once he steps inside he sees that the lock is broken.

"Where's all Petey's stuff?"

At first Tony thinks the kid has been robbed. But then he thinks of Harry Potter, living in the cupboard under the stairs. What wretched aunt and uncle have resigned him to this place? Everything about the dingy shoebox screams sad, particular the almost complete lack of personal belongings.

Tony is overwhelmed by the strongest urge to buy him everything, though he doesn't know what a teenage boy would like nowadays. Somehow he thinks a stack of Playboys and a trip to Ibiza wouldn't cut it.

"Where's Petey?" he asks. There's not many corners to check around. The kid isn't here.

Everyone should have plans on Christmas. But there's nothing in this apartment that hints that its occupant has anyone to have plans with.

The whole place bums him out, like those infomercials about neglected animals set to a Sarah McLaughlin song. He'd once been so drunk that he'd called the number and donated a million dollars and asked them to build a shelter in his mother's name.

He'd give this kid more than a million dollars.

He taps his watch so FRIDAY can hear him.

"FRIDAY, can you tell me where May Parker is buried?"

Peter used to love Christmas. He's afraid he might never enjoy it again.

Because Christmas is about family. Traditions. Shared memories. Movie nights with cookies and hot chocolate, curled up on the couch watching It's a Wonderful Life for the hundredth time. Worrying if people will like the gift you gave them, and then watching them smile after they open it and knowing that you nailed it.

When you're alone in the world, Christmas is kind of a bummer. There's no one to open your gifts. No one to laugh about the time May burned the brussels sprouts so bad the fire department showed up. No one to brush your hair away from your forehead when you doze off against their shoulder. No one to say, "I love you," or even "Merry Christmas." Not even any Christmas movies to watch, because all the streaming logins Mister Stark set up for you, which he paid for all five years you were blipped out of existence, were disconnected when you name got wiped out of every database and social media platform.

Peter tried to stay in the holiday spirit, because May loved Christmas, and May wouldn't want him to wallow. But as December passed it got harder and harder to muster up any enthusiasm.

He goes patrolling Christmas morning, but the city is quiet. He checks on some of the alleys where he knows the homeless gather, making sure they're all right and encouraging them to go to F.E.A.S.T. for a warm Christmas meal, even if they don't want to spend the night. It makes him feel slightly better, until a man asks if he'll be there too.

He's desperate for a warm, homecooked meal, but he can't take food from someone who needs it more, and he hasn't set foot in F.E.A.S.T. since May died. He knows all the employees and the volunteers there, and knows they would help a downtrodden teen in a heartbeat, but they'd do it with a glassy eyed unfamiliarity that would break him down just a little bit more, and all his cells are already about to burst apart. He can't go back as Spider-Man either. They know he's the reason May died.

"Oh no, I couldn't," he stammers. "Big plans for later today."

"Of course," the man says, offering him a smile. "You go on home to your family now, Spidey. We're okay."

Peter stumbles away to an abandoned alley and cries for ten minutes straight, his masked face buried in his knees.

The man is right, of course. He should be spending Christmas with his family.

Eventually he makes it back to his apartment, where he changes into his threadbare jeans and ragged sweater, and then walks several miles to the cemetery.

By the time he gets there, his fingers feel frozen around the gift in his hands, despite his gloves. He surveys the line of headstones. Four Parkers, doomed by their association to a person who no longer exists.

It's May's stone he slumps down next to. "Brought you a present," he says, trying to keep his voice light, but it's no use. She'd see right through him if she was here. But she isn't.

He sets the metal and plastic tree beside him. He'd welded it together, pulling scraps out of dumpsters. When he presses a button it spins on its base, the lights twinkling. "The lights'll come on automatically when it gets dark. And it's got a little solar panel, so it shouldn't run out of juice," he explains.

He wonders what Happy will think when he sees it, if he'll look closely enough to see the love Peter poured into it despite his humble materials, or if he'll grumble about kids leaving trash as he tosses it out. There's a huge poinsettia by her grave that doesn't even look frostbitten yet, so Happy must have been here recently. Peter hopes that means his tree will get to stay for a few days before Happy comes back. May always loved Christmas lights. He wants to leave some to watch over her.

"I'm not doing so hot, May," he admits, closing his eyes so it's easier to pretend that she's here. "Christmas doesn't feel very merry."

It takes everything in him not to start venting about his shady landlord and his shitty apartment and how unseasonably cold it's been and how someone had ripped out all the answers in his secondhand GED study guide. He doesn't want May to worry about him—although if she is up there somewhere, looking down at him, then she's already worried.

"I didn't get to watch It's A Wonderful Life this year," he says instead. It had been Ben's favorite movie, and he'd made the whole family watch it together every Christmas Eve. Ben lived his life like George Bailey, willing to give the shirt off his back—or all the money he saved for his honeymoon—to absolutely anyone in need, whether he knew them or not. Peter had found the movie long and boring when he was little, but he gets it now. He also understands how awful George felt when everything fell apart. "I could really use a guardian angel. I'd even take Clarence."

His chuckle is too harsh. He feels the tears roll down his cheeks, hot against his cold skin. Six weeks he's been alone, and already he's cracking up. How is he supposed to live the rest of his life like this?

"Petey!"

Peter's head jerks up as something streaks towards him, but his tingle is silent. Frozen, maybe?

He recognizes Morgan three seconds before she crashes into him, her arms looping around his neck. "You're cold!" she complains. She's wearing brown, floppy dogs ears and an antler headband, and the tip of her nose is painted black. Peter thinks he might be having some sort of breakdown. "And this is a dumb place to spend Christmas. You're supposed to be at my house."

"Um," is all he can manage. He pinches his leg but nothing changes. He doesn't feel it much though, because of the cold. Maybe that's what this is. Some sort of hallucination as he freezes to death? If he's going to go into hibernation, it wouldn't be so bad if Morgan's face was the last he saw, even if she is pouting.

"Daddy and I had to drive all over the city to look for you."

Peter's stomach drops, like he's just plummeted off a building and he's waiting for his web to catch.

"You do seem awfully chummy with my daughter, random cemetery hobo guy."

Peter clutches Morgan to his chest and stumbles upright, spinning toward the voice. Tony Stark is wearing some sort of leather Santa suit, the jacket open over a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Peter doesn't know how to interpret his expression, but it seems somewhere on the unhand-my-child spectrum.

"I'm not a hobo," he says, entirely unhelpful. "What are you wearing? Am I dying?"

"Hopefully not while you're holding my daughter."

The lack of recognition in Tony's eyes cuts like a knife, but he's being extraordinarily tolerant considering that Morgan's involved.

What Peter can't figure is why Morgan's involved. Why the Starks came to look for him at all.

"Sorry, sir."

He tries to set Morgan down, but she stays clutched around his neck. "You need to let go, Mo. Go stand with your dad."

"I can't! I'm sticky, just like you."

"What?" he yelps. Morgan shouldn't know anything about him, let alone that.

"Cat's out of the bag, Spidey. I'm trusting, one hero to another, that the kid my kid is inexplicably obsessed with is not a total creep. Though I do have questions. Lots of questions. I need you to come with me."

"Are you kidnapping me?" Peter cannot fathom what's going on. He must be in worse shape than he thought, because his brain is dragging like a hard drive that's about to crash.

"Do you want to spend the rest of your Christmas in a cemetery?"

Peter knows the answer should be yes. All his family in the world is right here, and he should spend the holiday with them. The Starks are safer if they stay far away from him. Peter deserves to freeze here, miserable and alone.

But Peter is so tired. He doesn't want to fight anymore. So he doesn't say anything at all. He just shakes his head.

"Great. Car's this way. Morguna, do you want to get down now?"

"No. I'm fine."

Tony shrugs. "Madame Secretary has spoken."

Peter freezes as Mister Stark steps close enough to grab the bottom of one of Morgan's fake ears with his vibranium hand and tweak her on the nose with it. There are wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. For some reason that shocks Peter more than the scars from the radiation. This isn't Beck or some other psycho, then. Peter doesn't think they'd make Mister Stark look so … old.

"Lordy, your lips are blue."

He sounds just the same though, and it's like a dirty bomb goes off in Peter's chest. All he wants is for Mister Stark to know him. To wrap him in his arms and tell him everything is going to be all right. Mister Stark could fix anything he put his mind to. But here he is just out of reach, not even knowing that Peter is broken.

"It's cold," Peter says, hoping that'll explain the waiver in his voice. "Spiders can't thermoregulate."

"Wait, are you part spider? I thought that was just branding?"

God, the spell was thorough. The shards burrow deeper into his heart and lungs, until it's agony to breathe. He fears the wounds will never heal. Not without an arc reactor, to draw out all the shrapnel. "It's not just branding," he manages.

"Fascinating," Mister Stark purrs from behind his sunglasses. "We are so going to talk about that later. Let's hit the road first. There's hot chocolate and cookies in the back."