AN: Also on Ao3, but cross-posting because I exclusively read fanfics on FFN for like 15 years before I learned about Ao3 several months ago lol. Maybe other people are the same way.
Seven year old Peter Parker stood just outside the glass doors of Avengers Tower, his small hand gripping the frayed strap of his backpack. The towering structure loomed above him, a gleaming monolith of glass and steel that felt like it belonged to another world. Inside was the man he was supposed to call his father, Tony Stark. Iron Man. Peter's heart pounded as he took a hesitant step forward, the weight of his new reality pressing down on him.
The last few weeks had been a blur—a nightmare, really. Losing his mom, packing up what little of their life he had left, and a brief stint in state custody. Peter, it turns out, was a product of Tony's past life as a playboy billionaire who partied too much and too hard. Whether he remembered Peter's mom or not, he didn't know, but one unsent letter to Tony tucked away in their kitchen drawer and a reluctant DNA test later, and here Peter was.
He can't remember how he felt when the social worker explained it all to him, or when the therapist talked to him later, but he knows he's been numb ever since. Peter wasn't sure how most seven year-olds handled death or grief or a massive uprooting from everything you've ever known, but he had the lucky misfortune of being smart for his age. His mom was dead. Their home was gone. Tony Stark was forced to take him in. He didn't have questions, so he didn't need answers. That didn't stop him from feeling so small right now.
He took another step, then another, and the automatic doors slid open with a soft hiss, pulling him into the brightly lit lobby.
His eyes flicked nervously to the receptionist, then up at the security cameras that dotted the ceiling. Everything was sleek, new, and perfect. Too perfect. This was Tony Stark's world, not his. He didn't belong here. If his mom were here, she'd tell them that. She'd tell them he'd tear apart their stuff to make crazy inventions, but they probably wouldn't laugh like she did. She knows Peter enough to laugh it off. Well, knew Peter.
He glanced around, half-expecting someone to tell him this was all a mistake, that he could go home now. Nobody did, so he kept walking.
Tony was waiting for him just beyond the entrance, dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans, but the glow of his arc reactor was unmistakable beneath the fabric. He stood with his hands in his pockets, a forced smile on his face, like he was trying to be... what? Approachable? Friendly? Peter couldn't tell. He wasn't sure Tony even knew how to be either of those things.
"Hey, kid," Tony said, his voice a little too casual, like he was talking to an acquaintance instead of his son. His eyes flicked to the backpack Peter was holding, then back up to meet his gaze. "Welcome home."
Home. The word felt hollow. How was this place home? Peter shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. His throat felt tight, and the overwhelming sense of being out of place grew with each second.
"Come on," Tony said, breaking the silence. "Let's get your stuff upstairs. I'll show you to your room."
Peter followed him without a word, his feet moving mechanically across the pristine floor. Tony led him to the elevator, where they stood in awkward silence as they ascended. The hum of the elevator only made Peter feel smaller, like the walls were closing in around him.
When the elevator opened, Tony gestured for him to step out. Peter followed him until he finally stopped in front of one of the doors, opening it slowly as it creaked slightly. "Here we are. This'll be your room."
Peter walked inside, taking in the space. It was bigger than their entire apartment back in Queens. The bed was massive, sheets perfectly arranged, and the windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline as the sun began to set. There were shelves filled with action figures, model cars, gaming consoles—every gadget Peter could imagine. It was as if Tony had walked through a store and bought one of everything. The room looked like a strange mix between a 5-star hotel and something out of a toy catalog.
It could have been any kid's dream, but Peter wasn't any kid.
He stood uncomfortably by the door, not knowing what to do with himself. Should he thank Tony? Should he say something? But what could he say? His mom had died only a few weeks ago, and now he was supposed to live with a stranger who didn't even really know him.
Tony cleared his throat. "Uh, there's a bathroom connected to your room and... well, if you need anything, just let me know." He paused, his voice dropping slightly. "I know this isn't... easy. But we'll figure it out. Together."
Together. Peter wasn't so sure about that. Tony had never been part of his life before—why should it be different now? But he nodded anyway, keeping his eyes on the floor.
Tony hesitated, as if searching for the right words. Then, without saying anything else, he turned to leave. "I'll give you some space. Settle in. Dinner's at seven if you're hungry."
Peter watched him go, the door sliding shut behind him. As soon as he was alone, he let out a shaky breath and dropped his backpack onto the floor. He stood there, staring at the unfamiliar room, the unfamiliar view, the unfamiliar life that had been thrust upon him.
Guilt started to creep in. He wasn't supposed to feel this way. Tony had taken him in—given him a home, a place to stay. He should be grateful. But all he could feel was the aching void left by his mom.
Peter sank onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. He didn't cry. He hadn't cried since the funeral. But the knot in his chest tightened, and his stomach churned with emotions he didn't know how to process. He wanted to go home, to his real home, to the life he had known before everything fell apart.
