All Is Calm, All Is Bright

Peter wakes up slowly, the kind of wakefulness that comes not from an alarm but from the quiet insistence of the day itself. There’s something in the air, crisp and charged, like a faint hum only he can hear. Christmas magic. He might not believe in Santa anymore, but the magic? That’s real. It lingers in the frost on the windowpane, in the muffled stillness outside, in the way snowflakes drift lazily past his sixth-floor apartment like little messengers of joy.

The smell of cinnamon and sugar creeps into his room, curling around him like a warm invitation. His blankets are thick and his bed is soft, but the pull of that smell—comforting, sweet, home—is stronger. He pushes the covers off and shuffles out into the kitchen, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes.

May is there, just like she always is on Christmas morning, pulling a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls from the oven. The smell is even stronger now, wrapping around him like a hug.

“You’re just in time,” she says without looking up, sliding the baking sheet onto the counter.

“What can I say? I’ve got an impeccable internal clock,” Peter replies, leaning on the counter and eyeing the frosting she’s working on. He dips a finger into the bowl for a quick taste, humming in approval.

“Peter Benjamin Parker!” May exclaims, her voice sharp but playful. She grabs the dish towel and snaps it at him with precision honed over years of practice. “Did you even brush your teeth before coming out here and breathing frosting-stealing morning breath all over my kitchen?”

Peter laughs, dodging her attack with the kind of agility that feels second nature now. “I’m pretty sure frosting counts as toothpaste. Same color family, right?”

“Bathroom. Now.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender, still laughing as he heads down the hall. When he comes back, the frosting bowl is back on the counter, practically glowing under the morning light.

“Don’t even think about it,” May warns, but Peter’s already dipping a spoon in.

“It’s called quality control,” he says, grinning as he licks the frosting off the spoon.

May shakes her head, trying to look exasperated, but Peter catches the tiny smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“You’ve eaten more frosting than we’ve used on the rolls,” she says, her voice soft with affection.

“Better safe than sorry,” Peter quips, stealing another taste.

This is their thing. The teasing, the laughter, the way the smell of cinnamon rolls turns their small kitchen into something magical for a little while. It’s nothing big or flashy, but to Peter, it’s perfect.

After breakfast, May drags out the karaoke machine, the one that’s been with them since Peter was a kid. It’s missing its original mic—replaced by something that probably came from a discount bin—but it still works. Barely.

“May, seriously?” Peter groans, flopping onto the couch like he’s been hit by a truck. “It’s too early for this.”

“Tradition, Peter!” May says, plugging in the machine like she’s about to put on a world tour. “And besides, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“Reputation?” Peter snorts, grabbing the song list off the table. “More like delusion.”

He flips through the options, skipping anything remotely decent and stopping on something so sugary sweet it could rot teeth. Perfect. May raises an eyebrow, but Peter doesn’t care. If they’re doing this, he’s going all in.

When the music starts, Peter grabs the mic like a pro and dives into the song with every ounce of drama he can muster. His arms flail in some kind of freestyle interpretive dance, and he spins around the living room like a malfunctioning ballerina.

“Is that supposed to be dancing?” May shouts, laughing so hard she can barely stand.

“This is art, May!” Peter yells back, waving the mic like a conductor’s baton. “You wouldn’t understand!”

By the time he finishes, he’s out of breath, grinning like an idiot. He bows low, one hand sweeping out in front of him like he’s expecting roses to rain from the ceiling. “Thank you, thank you,” he says between gasps. “I know—I’m a gift.”

“Gift?” May doubles over, clutching the back of the couch for support. “More like a curse.”

She’s still laughing when she grabs the mic for her turn. The song she picks is an old favorite, one Ben used to sing with them, and for a second, Peter feels the tug of something bittersweet. He doesn’t let it settle, though. Not today.

May’s singing is less singing and more breaking into fits of laughter halfway through every verse. Peter sits on the couch, heckling her like he’s been hired for it.

“Come on, May! Show us your moves!”

May rolls her eyes but spins anyway, her arms flailing in something that’s maybe supposed to be a twirl but looks more like she’s dodging an invisible attack.

Peter whoops from the couch, jumping to his feet. “You call that dancing? Let me show you how it’s done.”

What follows is nothing short of a disaster. Peter waves his arms in a stiff robot move that could only be described as tragic. May tries to copy him, and the result is even worse.

“You’re terrible at this!” Peter says, laughing so hard his sides hurt.

“Oh, like you’re better?” May shoots back, nearly tripping over the coffee table.

They’re both a mess now, leaning on the furniture to keep from falling over. Laughter echoes through the apartment, bouncing off the walls and filling the space like it’s too big to be contained.

This is it. Cinnamon rolls, bad karaoke, worse dancing—it’s everything Christmas is supposed to be.

Gift-giving time should be the easy part—sit, unwrap, say thanks—but Peter’s stomach feels like it’s doing backflips. He’s trying not to let it show, but his knee is bouncing a mile a minute as he glances at the small, perfectly wrapped box sitting on the coffee table.

It’s not just any gift. It’s the gift.

The necklace from Tiffany’s, tucked neatly inside its signature blue box. The one he picked out with Mr. Stark a couple weeks ago, after spending an embarrassing amount of time agonizing over every option. He’s never bought a real gift for anyone before—not one that felt this big. And for May, it had to be perfect. She deserved that much.

Peter swallows hard, his hands clammy as he picks up the box and hands it to her. “This one’s for you,” he says, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

May’s smile softens as she takes it, her fingers brushing over the ribbon. She unties it carefully, almost like she doesn’t want to ruin the wrapping, and Peter feels like the seconds drag on forever as she opens the lid.

Her breath hitches the moment she sees it—a delicate silver chain with a small pendant that sparkles faintly in the light. She doesn’t say anything at first, and Peter panics, his voice rushing to fill the silence.

“I, uh, I just wanted you to have something nice,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “You’ve… done so much for me, May, and I just… I wanted you to know how much I appreciate you.”

When she finally looks up, her eyes are wet, her smile wobbly. “Peter,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “It’s beautiful. It’s…” She trails off, blinking quickly. “It’s just like the one Ben got me.” 

She doesn’t ask how much it cost, but Peter knows she knows. And when she pulls him into a hug, tight and full of emotion, he can feel the weight of everything unspoken between them.

When she pulls back, she’s still smiling, but her expression has that bittersweet edge that Peter recognizes immediately.

“You remember how much Ben used to love Christmas?” she says softly, holding the necklace in her palm.

Peter nods, his throat tight. “Yeah. He used to tell the worst Christmas jokes.”

May laughs, her shoulders shaking as she wipes at her eyes. “That one about the gingerbread man who went to therapy? ‘He just couldn’t keep it together.’”

Peter snorts, his chest tightening in a way that feels both painful and comforting at the same time. “The worst,” he says, but he’s smiling.

They sit for a moment, trading memories of Ben. His laugh, his terrible jokes, the way he used to sing way too loudly during their Christmas karaoke sessions. It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt too much. Not anymore.

As May clasps the necklace around her neck, Peter’s mind drifts—just for a second—to Mr. Stark. To the way Tony’s been filling in this strange, undefined space in Peter’s life. He could never replace Uncle Ben, and Peter wouldn’t want him to. But in some ways…

Peter shakes the thought away before it can settle. It’s too big, too scary, especially today. Anyone Peter lets in seems to disappear. He can’t lose Tony—not him too.

The thought lingers, sharp and heavy, but it doesn’t stay for long because Peter grabs the second gift from under the tree.

“This one’s yours too,” he says, holding it out.

May tilts her head, curious, as she unwraps the package. Inside is a sleek digital frame, and when she powers it on, the screen lights up, displaying a photo of her and Peter on their last trip to Coney Island.

Peter’s heart pounds as she swipes through the images—old family photos, some from before he was born, others from last year. Each one a piece of their shared story.

“You made this?” May asks, her voice catching as her fingers brush the frame.

“Well, I mean, I put it together. Mr. Stark helped a little,” Peter says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, a lot. But I picked the photos and personalized the frame and—”

“Peter,” May interrupts, her voice thick with emotion. She sets the frame down carefully and pulls him into another hug, tighter than the last. “It’s perfect.”

He feels her shoulders shake as she thanks him, her voice muffled against his shoulder. Peter holds on, his own throat tightening as he blinks quickly against the sting in his eyes.

For a moment, it’s just the two of them, wrapped in this quiet, shared understanding. It’s not perfect. It’s not whole. But it’s theirs.

“Okay, my turn,” May says, grabbing a small pile of gifts from under the tree.

Peter sits cross-legged on the floor, his smile already wide because May is terrible at keeping surprises. She’s been dropping hints about his gifts for weeks now, and even though he’s pretty sure he knows what’s coming, the excitement still bubbles up in his chest.

She hands him the first box, wrapped in paper that’s a little wrinkled at the corners but covered in cheerful snowmen.

“Open this one first,” she says, grinning.

Peter tears into the paper and pulls out a brand-new pair of sneakers—red and white, sleek and cool, the kind he’s been eyeing in the store window for months.

“Whoa,” Peter breathes, holding them up like they might disappear if he blinks. “May, these are… these are awesome.”

“They’re practical and cool,” she says, crossing her arms like she’s just won an award. “I know your old ones were falling apart.”

Peter tries not to think about how much they must’ve cost. Instead, he focuses on how good they’ll look and how he won’t have to worry about his toes freezing during patrols anymore. “Thanks, May. Seriously.”

“Keep going!” she urges, handing him the next gift.

The second box is smaller, wrapped in shiny green paper, and Peter rips into it to reveal a laptop case. He pulls it out and immediately laughs—it’s Iron Man themed, with Tony’s mask printed front and center.

“There’s more,” May says, pointing to a smaller envelope taped to the back of the case.

Inside is a sticker pack, and Peter can’t help but snort when he sees it’s all Spider-Man stickers. “You got me Spider-Man stickers for my Iron Man laptop case?” he asks, grinning.

May shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “I thought it’d be funny.”

Peter absolutely loves it. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her the case is too small for his laptop—it’s barely a millimeter off, but still. He figures he’ll make it work somehow. Maybe Happy can help him rig up a solution later. For now, though, he just grins and says, “This is awesome, May. Thanks.”

The last box is the biggest, and when Peter tears it open, he finds a brand-new winter coat inside. It’s thick and warm, dark gray with a subtle pattern that makes it look way more expensive than he’s comfortable with.

“May, this is too much,” he says, running his hands over the soft fabric.

“It’s practical,” she says again, rolling her eyes. “I don’t want you freezing to death out there.”

Peter pulls it on over his hoodie, and it fits perfectly. He looks down at himself, then back at May, his gratitude spilling over.

“May, seriously, this is… thank you. For all of this. You didn’t have to—”

“Stop,” she interrupts, waving a hand at him. “It’s Christmas, Peter. Let me spoil you a little.”

He smiles, his chest tight with a mix of emotions he can’t quite untangle.

“And don’t forget your stocking!” May says, pulling it down from where it’s hanging by the window.

Peter laughs as he digs through it, pulling out an assortment of gas station snacks—Twizzlers, gummy bears, a couple of those mini bags of chips he loves. “You really know me, May,” he says, holding up a pack of Sour Patch Kids.

“Well, I’ve only been feeding you since you were a baby,” she teases, leaning against the arm of the couch.

When the gifts are all opened, Peter stands and pulls her into a hug by the tree. It’s not quick or casual—it’s the kind of hug that says everything he doesn’t have the words for.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“Thank you,” May replies, squeezing him tightly.

For a moment, it’s just the two of them, wrapped in the quiet glow of the Christmas tree. The room feels small and cozy, like the world outside doesn’t matter. And for now, it doesn’t.

-

Morning light streams through the penthouse windows, bouncing off the glass and metal surfaces and bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. Tony lounges in bed, one hand cradling his coffee mug and the other lazily scrolling through his phone. The sheets are a little rumpled, the pillows slightly askew, but it’s Christmas, and he’s not planning on rushing into anything just yet.

Pepper is still half-asleep beside him, her face buried in her pillow, one arm stretched out across the bed. She looks peaceful, her breathing slow and steady, and Tony decides to let her sleep a little longer.

He fires off a text to Rhodey:

Merry Christmas, Platypus. Don’t forget dinner tonight. Bring your appetite.

The response is almost instant:

Merry Christmas, Tony. Tell Pepper I said hi. See you tonight! Excited to meet this kid Pepper has been telling me about.

Tony smirks, typing out a quick reply.

Will do. He’s gret… talks a lot so be prepared.

Next, he shoots a text to Happy:

Merry Christmas, Hap. Don’t forget to pick up the Parkers later for dinner.

Happy’s reply takes a bit longer, and Tony imagines him sitting in his car somewhere, trying to figure out if he should add a holiday emoji to his message. When it finally comes through, it’s simple:

Got it, boss. Merry Christmas to you and Miss Potts.

Tony chuckles, setting his coffee mug down on the nightstand as he leans back against the headboard. His thumb hovers over the old Avengers group chat, which, predictably, is alive with activity now that the rogues have been officially pardoned.

Dozens of holiday greetings are pouring in, mostly from the rogue Avengers. Steve’s message is straightforward and polite—Merry Christmas to everyone. Stay safe. Sam and Wanda follow up with their own cheerful notes. Even Clint has chimed in, though his message is predictably chaotic:

Nat’s forcing me to bake cookies. Send help.

Tony stares at the screen, debating whether or not to join in. His fingers hover over the keyboard, but he doesn’t type anything. The holiday cheer is nice, sure, but it still feels… complicated.

He locks the phone instead, tossing it onto the nightstand. A second later, Pepper stirs beside him, rolling over to face him with a sleepy smile.

“Morning,” she murmurs, her voice soft and warm, still thick with sleep.

Tony smiles, leaning over to brush a strand of hair out of her face. “Merry Christmas, Miss Potts.”

She hums, her smile growing as she props herself up on one elbow. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Stark. Have you been up long?”

“Long enough to text Rhodey and Happy,” he says, grinning as he reaches for his coffee. “Oh, and I contemplated throwing my two cents into the Avengers group chat, but decided against it.”

“Wise choice,” she says, shaking her head as she sits up and stretches. “Let me guess—Clint’s already causing chaos?”

“Bingo.”

They sit there for a moment, the quiet hum of the city outside filling the space between them. Tony can’t help but watch her, the way the light catches in her hair, the way she cradles her coffee mug like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“You know,” he says, setting his mug aside as he leans closer to her, “I think I might like you more on Christmas mornings.”

“Oh, really?” she teases, raising an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“Because you’re all soft and glowy,” he says, smirking as he brushes a kiss against her temple. “It’s very festive.Like the star on top of the tree”

Pepper laughs, swatting at his arm. “Soft and glowy? That’s your big romantic Christmas line?”

“Hey, I thought it was pretty good,” he protests, grinning. “But if you’d like, I can come up with something sappier. Maybe something about how you’re the best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten?”

“That’s better,” she says, leaning into him with a smile.

Tony wraps an arm around her, pulling her close. For a moment, everything feels perfect. The world outside can wait—texts, group chats, responsibilities. Right now, it’s just the two of them, tangled up in warmth and soft laughter, starting the day the way they should.

“Hey,” Pepper says after a moment, glancing up at him. “You did remember to tell Happy to pick up Peter and May, right?”

Tony smirks. “Of course I did. Don’t worry—I’ve got everything covered.”

For once, it feels like he actually does.

The morning stretches on, slow and easy, the kind of lazy Christmas neither of them has ever really known before. Pepper leans against Tony, her head resting on his shoulder as they share the last dregs of coffee from their mugs. The penthouse feels quiet, but not in a hollow way—it’s the kind of quiet that wraps around them like a blanket, soft and comforting.

Pepper breaks the silence first, her voice thoughtful. “It’s crazy how different this Christmas feels from last year.”

Tony hums, tilting his head slightly to glance at her. “Yeah. Last year…” He trails off, his mind flickering back to the memories. The holidays had been quieter then. Lonelier. He’d spent Christmas holed up in the lab, tinkering with something he can’t even remember now, while Pepper worked late hours to keep the company running smoothly.

She looks up at him, her eyes soft. “For as long as I’ve known you, Tony, this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you during the holidays.”

“Really?” he asks, his tone teasing but laced with curiosity.

“Mm-hmm,” she says, sitting up slightly to face him. “Not counting the years you were drunk off your ass, of course.”

Tony chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, thanks for the glowing review, Miss Potts.”

Pepper smiles, but her expression is reflective. Neither of them says it out loud, but the thought lingers between them: Peter.

It’s Peter who’s made the difference this year. The kid has brought this unexpected layer of warmth and chaos into their lives, turning the holidays into something Tony never thought he’d look forward to. He doesn’t say it—can’t say it—but Pepper knows.

Instead, Tony leans back against the headboard and smirks. “Never thought I’d spend Christmas thinking about a teenager’s gift list.”

Pepper laughs, the sound bright and genuine. “Oh, please. You didn’t just think about it. You practically turned into Santa Claus. The way you agonized over every detail, making sure everything was perfect for him…” She trails off, raising an eyebrow at him.

Tony waves her off, trying to look nonchalant. “It’s called being a good mentor. Kid looks up to me—I’m just trying to set the bar high.”

Pepper leans closer, her smile amused but knowing. “Tony, you had Happy searching the city for the perfect shade of red wrapping paper to match Spider-Man’s suit. You can’t tell me that’s just ‘mentoring.’”

“Hey,” Tony says, pointing a finger at her. “That was for aesthetic purposes. Presentation matters, Potts.”

Pepper doesn’t say anything right away, and the silence feels heavier this time. She’s watching him, her gaze thoughtful, like she’s piecing something together.

“You know what I’ve noticed?” she says finally, her voice quieter now.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “This should be good.”

She ignores the sarcasm, leaning back slightly as she folds her arms. “The way you look at him. When you think no one’s paying attention.”

Tony freezes, his smirk faltering just a little. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s something… different,” she continues, her tone soft but insistent. “Something softer. Protective.”

Tony opens his mouth to deflect, to say something snarky, but Pepper keeps going.

“I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that before, Tony.”

The words land differently than he expects. They sit there, unspoken but heavy, pressing against his chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says finally, reaching for his coffee mug even though it’s empty. “I’m just trying to make sure the kid doesn’t end up getting himself killed. That’s all.”

“Tony,” Pepper says, her voice firm but gentle. She reaches out, placing a hand on his arm. “You care about him. More than you want to admit.”

Her words catch him off guard, and for a moment, he doesn’t know how to respond. He wants to brush it off with a joke, to redirect the conversation, but the usual quips feel hollow now.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he looks away. “Yeah, well,” he mutters, his voice quieter than before. “Kid’s got a way of sneaking up on you.”

Pepper smiles, her expression warm and understanding. She doesn’t press him further, but the look she gives him says it all.

And for once, Tony doesn’t try to argue.

-

The cold bites at Peter’s face as he and May rush toward the black sedan idling by the curb. Happy leans over from the driver’s seat to pop the door open for them, and Peter practically dives into the backseat, sighing in relief as the warmth of the car wraps around him.

May, however, decides to sit up front. Of course she does.

“Hey, thanks for picking us up, Happy,” she says, flashing him a smile as she buckles her seatbelt.

“No problem,” Happy replies, glancing at her before shifting the car into drive. “Figured I’d better do it before Stark sends me another ‘friendly reminder’ text.”

May chuckles, turning in her seat to look at him. “I take it those ‘friendly reminders’ come with at least three exclamation points and a threat?”

“And sometimes an emoji,” Happy says, grinning.

Peter rolls his eyes from the backseat, already regretting letting May sit up front. The exchange is light, harmless, but there’s this edge of playfulness to it that makes him sit up a little straighter.

“Well, we appreciate it,” May says, her tone teasing. “Though I’m sure Peter and I could’ve braved the subway if you were too busy.”

Happy snorts. “Yeah, right. Stark would’ve had my head if I let you freeze on the subway. Besides, I wouldn’t want to deprive you of my excellent company.”

Peter groans dramatically from the backseat, leaning his head against the window. “Oh, please. Do I need to get you two a private car or something?”

May glances back at him, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t be rude, Peter.”

“I’m just saying, if this turns into some rom-com car ride, I’m jumping out at the next red light.”

Happy laughs, but Peter notices the way his hand taps the steering wheel just a little nervously. “Relax, kid. I’m just being nice.”

Peter huffs, crossing his arms. Nice. Right. That’s what this is. He tries not to think about the way May’s smile lingers a little longer than usual or how Happy keeps glancing at her when he thinks Peter’s not looking.

“So, May,” Happy says, his tone suspiciously casual, “do you always load the kid up with cinnamon rolls, or is that just a special Christmas thing?”

May laughs, shaking her head. “Oh, that’s a special thing. He earned it by not stealing too much frosting this morning.”

“Hey!” Peter protests from the backseat. “I was taste-testing! There’s a difference!”

“Oh, sure,” May says, smirking as she looks back at him. “That’s what all frosting thieves say.”

Happy chuckles, glancing at May. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

“Full? Please. I’ve got him trained,” she says with a grin, and Happy laughs again, this low, easy sound that fills the car.

Peter leans back in his seat, pretending to gag loudly. “Ugh, can you two not?”

May turns in her seat, giving him a mock-stern look. “What? We’re just talking.”

“Talking?” Peter says, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what they’re calling it now?”

Happy glances at him in the rearview mirror, grinning. “Jealous much, Parker?”

Peter groans, covering his face with his hands. “I take it back. I’ll take the subway next time. I don’t care if I freeze to death.”

The truth is, the flirting doesn’t really bother him. Or maybe it does. He can’t quite tell. It’s weird, hearing May laugh like this with someone who isn’t Ben. It’s been so long since she’s let herself be this open, this carefree, and Peter knows she deserves it. She deserves to be happy.

But still, there’s this tightness in his chest he can’t quite shake, this little voice in the back of his mind whispering that maybe this means she’s ready to move on. Maybe she’s ready to leave Ben behind.

And maybe that’s what’s bothering him.

Peter shakes the thought away, determined not to let it ruin his mood. Today’s Christmas. They’re on their way to spend it with Mr. Stark and Pepper, and that’s what he’s focusing on. Not whatever weird, uncomfortable feelings May and Happy’s flirting might be stirring up.

Still, as the car fills with more laughter, Peter leans his head against the window and closes his eyes, letting the soft hum of the engine drown out his thoughts.

“Big softie,” May teases, and Peter doesn’t have to look up to know she’s grinning at Happy.

“Not in front of the kid,” Happy grumbles, his voice low and rough, like he’s trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

Peter groans from the backseat, louder this time, just to make sure they know he’s still here. “Can you not? Like, at all?”

May glances over her shoulder, her smile wide and unapologetic. “What? Don’t tell me this is bothering you, Peter.”

“Bothering me?” Peter scoffs, pulling his headphones out of his bag. “It’s horrifying. Traumatizing, even. I may never recover.”

Happy snorts, muttering something under his breath about “teenagers” and “drama queens,” which only makes May laugh harder.

Peter shoves his headphones over his ears, drowning out whatever comes next. Not that it matters—he’s pretty sure he could hear May’s laughter through a brick wall. He pretends to scroll through his playlist, letting the music drown out their voices as much as it can.

Still, his mind doesn’t stop.

Happy Hogan. Of all people. Happy Hogan.

It’s not that Peter doesn’t like the guy. He does. Happy’s reliable, solid, kind in a gruff, no-nonsense sort of way. He’s not against May and Happy… not really. But watching them—seeing the way Happy makes May laugh like that, the way her smile lingers longer than it used to—it’s… weird.

Weird, because it’s not Ben.

Weird, because Peter’s spent years thinking of May and Ben as this unshakable, unchangeable thing. And now? Now it’s May sitting in the passenger seat of a car, teasing and laughing with Happy Hogan of all people.

Peter sighs, leaning his head back against the seat and staring at the car’s ceiling. He’s happy for her. He is. Or at least he’s trying to be. Because if May can smile like this—if she can laugh like this after everything—then she deserves it.

And maybe it’s not about replacing Ben. Maybe it’s just… healing.

The thought settles in Peter’s chest, uncomfortable but not unbearable. If it’s okay for him to let someone else fill the space Uncle Ben left behind—if Mr. Stark can be there, not as a replacement but as something different, something new—then maybe it’s okay for May too.

It should be okay.

Peter closes his eyes, trying to block out the tangle of emotions threatening to dampen his mood. It’s Christmas, after all. He doesn’t want to ruin it by spiraling into a black hole of feelings.

A sudden burst of laughter from the front seat jolts him out of his thoughts. He peeks out from under his headphones just in time to see Happy smirking, his hand gripping the wheel like he’s trying to maintain his cool. May’s leaning back in her seat, still laughing, her face lit up in a way Peter hasn’t seen in a long time.

He slides the headphones back over his ears, shaking his head as he tries to fight the small smile tugging at his lips.

Fine, he thinks. If Happy Hogan makes May smile like that, then fine. But I’m still not calling him Uncle Happy.

The elevator ride to the 90th floor is quiet, save for the occasional hum of the machinery and Happy clearing his throat. He’s holding the cinnamon rolls May insisted on bringing, tucked carefully into a bakery box she wouldn’t let Peter carry for fear he’d “sample” more of the frosting.

When the doors slide open, Peter is hit with a wave of déjà vu. The penthouse is exactly as extravagant as he remembers—polished floors, walls of glass showcasing Manhattan, and more holiday cheer than he thought possible in a space this modern. A Christmas tree that probably required its own assembly crew dominates the living room, decked out in perfect symmetry, from its shimmering ornaments to the star on top.

“Guess you’ve been busy,” May teases as she steps inside, nodding toward the tree.

Tony, already striding forward with a grin, waves her comment off. “Professionals. Not my thing. Come on, you haven’t seen anything yet!” He gestures wildly, ushering them inside like a kid showing off a new toy.

Happy lingers by the elevator, holding the door as if he’s ready to leave. “I’ll catch you all later,” he says gruffly, lifting a hand in a quick wave. “Gonna spend some time with my brother and mom, but I’ll be back for dinner.”

“Tell them we said hi,” May calls, her voice warm.

“Sure thing,” Happy replies, though his gaze flicks to her for just a second too long. Peter notices it, of course he does, but he pointedly ignores it.

As the elevator doors slide shut, Peter can already feel the tension starting to creep into his chest. He knows Happy will be back, and the thought of more flirting between him and May… Yeah, he’s not ready to deal with that. Not yet.

Thankfully, Tony’s already halfway across the room, ushering everyone toward the living room. “Come on, come on,” he says, practically bouncing on his heels. “We’ve got stockings, presents, food—it’s the whole deal. Let’s get to it!”

Before Peter can fully take in the setup, May stops by Pepper, handing her a bottle of wine she’s pulled from her bag. “This is for you and Tony,” she says, looking sheepish. “I know it’s not much, and I’m sorry for not being more prepared, but this was all so last-minute.”

Pepper waves her off with a laugh, accepting the bottle with a warm smile. “May, stop. This is perfect. And honestly, the best gift you’ve ever given us is Peter.”

The words hit Peter hard.

“What?” he says, his voice cracking slightly.

Pepper laughs, glancing over at him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve been such a joy to have around, Peter.”

His face heats instantly, his cheeks burning as he looks between her and May. “I—I mean, uh, thanks, Miss Potts. But really, it’s not… I didn’t…”

“Oh, come on,” May interjects, grinning as she pats Peter’s arm. “I told you he was a good kid.”

Peter looks to Tony, desperate for some kind of sarcastic comment to break the tension, but Tony stays silent. Instead, he’s looking at Peter with an expression the kid can’t quite place—soft, maybe, but with something heavier behind it.

Tony clears his throat after a beat, waving his hand toward the tree. “All right, enough of this. Let’s get to the good stuff before someone starts crying.”

Peter doesn’t hesitate to follow, grateful for the excuse to focus on something else. But as he sits down near the towering tree, the words Pepper said still linger in his mind.

The best gift you’ve ever given us is Peter.

He doesn’t know if he believes her—he doesn’t think he deserves that kind of praise. But the thought, fleeting and fragile as it is, sticks with him.

And for now, he lets it.

-

Tony leans back against the arm of the couch, sipping his sparkling cider as Pepper pulls an envelope from under the tree. The professional decorations and towering Christmas tree suddenly feel less extravagant and more… fitting. Like this moment, with May and Peter here, is exactly what it’s all meant for.

“Okay, May,” Pepper says with a grin, holding the envelope out to her. “This one’s for you.”

May looks surprised, her brows pulling together as she hesitantly takes the envelope. “Pepper, you didn’t have to—”

“Open it,” Pepper insists, her voice light but firm.

Tony watches as May carefully slides the voucher out, her expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “A spa weekend?” she says, her voice pitching slightly. She looks between Pepper and Tony like they’ve just handed her a winning lottery ticket. “Pepper, Tony… this is too much.”

Pepper shakes her head, her smile softening. “It’s not just for you, May. It’s for us—together.”

May’s mouth opens, but no words come out.

“It’s been ages since I’ve taken a real break, and I’m sure it’s the same for you,” Pepper continues, her tone gentle but convincing. “I figured we could use this as an excuse to relax and just… breathe for a weekend. No work, no responsibilities—just us being spoiled for a couple of days.”

May blinks rapidly, the emotion creeping into her expression unmistakable. “I—I don’t know what to say,” she stammers. “That’s so generous. I don’t deserve—”

“Stop right there,” Tony cuts in, crossing one ankle over his knee. “She’s been planning this for weeks, May. If you don’t say yes, she’ll be devastated. It’ll ruin Christmas.”

Pepper rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “What he means is, you do deserve it. And I’d really like it if you came with me. Please?”

May hesitates, her fingers brushing over the edge of the voucher. “It’s just… so much. I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“You can thank us by going,” Pepper says, reaching out to squeeze May’s arm. “And by letting Tony and Happy swing by the apartment to take care of those repairs while we’re gone.”

May’s head snaps up, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What repairs?”

Tony smirks, leaning forward. “Don’t play dumb. That dishwasher of yours is older than me, and I’m pretty sure some of those floorboards are one bad step away from disaster.”

May opens her mouth to argue, but Pepper jumps in smoothly. “Consider it part of the gift. We take you to the spa, and while we’re gone, Tony gets to feel useful. Win-win.”

For a moment, May looks like she’s about to protest again, but then she exhales, her shoulders dropping slightly. “You two are impossible,” she says softly, shaking her head.

“Take that as a yes,” Tony says, raising his glass in mock celebration.

“Thank you,” May says after a beat, her voice thick with emotion. Her gaze shifts between them, and Tony can see how overwhelmed she is.

Pepper smiles warmly, leaning in closer. “I’m serious, May. This is going to be fun. We’ll come back completely refreshed—probably glowing.”

May laughs at that, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “You’re terrible at taking no for an answer, aren’t you?”

“It’s a skill,” Pepper replies with a wink.

Tony watches the exchange, a quiet warmth settling in his chest. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Pepper connect with someone like this, outside of their usual circle of chaos and business dealings. And for May, who’s been through more than her fair share of struggles, it’s clear how much this moment means.

As Pepper and May continue chatting about spa treatments and itineraries, Tony glances over at Peter, who’s perched on the edge of his seat, watching with a soft smile.

Yeah, Tony thinks, this feels right.

It’s not just about the gifts or the gestures. It’s about these moments—connections, laughter, and the quiet understanding of what it means to care for one another.

Tony leans back in his chair, watching as Peter sits cross-legged on the floor near the massive tree, surrounded by a small pile of gifts with his name scrawled on the tags in Pepper’s elegant handwriting. The kid’s trying to play it cool, but his fingers twitch with barely contained excitement as he picks up the first box.

“Start with that one,” Tony says, nodding toward the gift. “You’ll want to save the big one for last.”

Peter’s grin is wide as he tears into the wrapping paper, revealing a stack of neatly folded clothes inside. Not just any clothes—stuff Tony knows Peter actually likes. Hoodies, jeans, even a vintage-looking Star Wars shirt Pepper picked out after consulting one of Peter’s Pinterest boards.

“Whoa,” Peter says, holding up the hoodie to inspect it. “This is… way cooler than anything I own.”

“Low bar,” Tony teases, earning a laugh from May and a dramatic eye roll from Peter.

The next box holds something much sleeker. Peter’s eyebrows knit together as he tears off the paper, revealing a matte black laptop box.

“Go on,” Tony says, smirking as Peter hesitates for just a second before opening it.

When the lid flips up, Peter freezes. His eyes widen as he stares at the laptop inside—a shiny new Stark Industries model, one that’s not even on the market yet.

“Is this…” Peter starts, his voice cracking slightly. He looks up at Tony, then Pepper, like he’s waiting for someone to tell him this is a prank.

“It’s yours, kid,” Tony says, his voice nonchalant. “May told me about the case she got you, so we figured we’d make it easy on you.”

Peter blinks, then laughs, shaking his head. “Oh man, that makes so much more sense. I was trying to figure out how I was going to make that case work on my old laptop.”

“Good thing you didn’t try duct tape,” Tony quips, grinning.

May laughs from her spot on the couch, looking proud. “We’ve been planning this for weeks,” she says, and Peter glances at her with a look of mock betrayal.

“You two conspired against me?” he says, but the grin on his face gives him away.

“Conspired for you,” Pepper corrects, smiling warmly.

Peter’s fingers trail over the edge of the laptop, his expression shifting into something quieter, more thoughtful. “Thank you,” he says softly, glancing between Tony and Pepper. “Seriously. This is… I don’t even know what to say.”

Tony clears his throat, leaning forward slightly. “Just say you’re not going to spill soda on it,” he says, his tone light but his eyes warm.

Peter laughs, and the moment softens as he sets the laptop aside to grab the next gift. This one’s from Tony himself, and Peter’s excitement is palpable as he tears into it.

“Legos?” Peter exclaims, holding up the first set. His grin is so wide it’s practically splitting his face. “Oh man, this is the one I was looking at with you! And this one too—how did you—”

“Not my first rodeo, kid,” Tony interrupts, his smirk widening. “You practically had hearts in your eyes when we walked past those in the store. I figured you’d want a few.”

“A few?” Peter says, holding up another set. “This is, like, my dream Lego collection.”

Tony leans back, watching as Peter buzzes with excitement, stacking the boxes like they’re the most valuable treasures in the world. And for a moment, Tony just sits there, taking it all in.

It’s not the gifts themselves—though, okay, the Legos were a solid win. It’s the way Peter’s eyes light up, the way his smile is so wide it makes Tony’s chest ache in a way he doesn’t quite know how to describe.

“Don’t stop now,” Pepper says, nodding toward the last envelope on the floor.

Peter picks it up, tearing it open carefully. Inside is a sleek, leather wallet—Tony had gone for something understated but still sophisticated—and tucked into one of the slots is a shiny new debit card.

Peter glances up, holding the wallet like it’s made of gold. “Wow,” he says softly. “I mean, I knew this was coming, but still… It’s real now.”

“Welcome to adulthood,” Tony says, raising an eyebrow. “Try not to blow it all on Legos.”

Peter laughs, but there’s a glint of something in his eyes—gratitude, maybe, or something a little deeper. He nods, slipping the card back into the wallet and carefully setting it aside.

“Thank you,” he says again, looking at Tony this time. “For… all of this. It’s too much, but… thank you.”

Tony shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Don’t mention it, kid. Seriously.”

But as Peter turns back to his pile of gifts, the grin still plastered across his face, Tony can’t help but feel something warm settle in his chest. Maybe it’s the holiday spirit. Or maybe it’s just Peter.

And now they’re heading down to the lab, the last of Peter’s presents waiting down there for him. Tony can’t help the slight smirk tugging at his lips as he leads him down. The kid’s been practically buzzing all morning, and if he thought the gifts under the tree were exciting, this? This is going to blow him away.

“Close your eyes,” Tony says, stopping just before the lab doors.

Peter groans, though he complies, his hands fluttering nervously by his sides. “You know, every time you make me do this, I feel like I’m about to walk into something very Stark-like. And by that, I mean mildly terrifying.”

Tony snorts, typing in the passcode to unlock the lab. “Oh, ye of little faith. You’ll live.”

The doors slide open with a soft hiss, and Tony guides Peter inside, stopping him in the center of the room.

“All right, open up,” Tony says, stepping aside to give Peter the full view.

Peter’s eyes snap open, and for a moment, he just… stares.

The suit gleams on its display rack, sleek and polished, every inch of it practically begging to be admired. It’s the upgraded version of Peter’s current one, built with lighter materials, enhanced capabilities, and a few new bells and whistles Tony knows the kid’s going to lose his mind over.

But what really catches Peter’s attention isn’t the suit.

It’s the workstation.

Peter’s breath hitches as he steps forward, his eyes darting from the shiny new toolbox to the workbench with his name engraved across the front in bold, clean letters. Above it, a small sign reads Parker’s Projects, complete with a little Spider-Man emblem Tony had custom-designed.

The tools themselves are tailored specifically for Peter—lightweight, durable, and designed for his smaller hands. They’re arranged neatly on the bench, alongside a set of blueprints Tony had started for a few potential upgrades Peter had mentioned in passing.

“Is this…” Peter’s voice falters, his hand hovering over the engraved nameplate. “Is this mine?”

Tony crosses his arms, leaning casually against the wall. “What do you think, kid? You see anyone else named Parker running around here?”

Peter laughs softly, shaking his head as his fingers brush over the tools. “This is… I don’t even know what to say.”

Tony steps closer, gesturing toward the workstation. “Figured it was about time you had your own space down here. You’re here enough as it is—might as well make it official.”

Peter looks up at him, his eyes wide and glassy. “Tony, this is… this is too much.”

“Don’t start with that,” Tony says, shaking his head. “You’ve earned it. Between school, Spider-Man, and your never-ending enthusiasm for breaking into places you shouldn’t be—”

“That was one time!” Peter interrupts, but he’s grinning now, and Tony counts that as a win.

“—you’ve more than proven yourself,” Tony finishes, smirking. “You deserve it, kid.”

Peter looks back at the workstation, his fingers tracing the edge of the workbench. “I—thank you,” he says softly, his voice catching slightly.

Tony shrugs, trying to play it cool, but the look on Peter’s face—the mix of awe and gratitude—is enough to make his chest tighten.

“And the suit?” Peter asks, his gaze shifting to the display rack.

“Yours, too,” Tony says, gesturing toward it. “Think of it as an upgrade. Lighter, faster, and a few extra tricks up its sleeves. Literally.”

Peter’s grin widens as he steps closer to the suit, his fingers itching to touch it but stopping just short. “This is incredible,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, well, you’re incredible,” Tony mutters, then clears his throat quickly. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Peter turns back to him, his eyes shining. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know.”

“Maybe not,” Tony says, his voice softer now. “But I wanted to. You’ve got talent, Parker. More than I ever did at your age. It’s about time you had the tools to match.”

Peter’s quiet for a moment, his gaze flicking between the suit and the workstation. “This is… the best Christmas ever,” he says finally, his voice cracking slightly.

Tony chuckles, reaching out to ruffle the kid’s hair. “Don’t go getting all sappy on me, kid. We’ve still got dinner later.”

Peter laughs, swatting at Tony’s hand, and for a moment, everything feels exactly as it should.

The evening settles into a warm hum of laughter and clinking dishes as everyone gathers around the sprawling dining table in the penthouse. The space is alive with the scents of roasted turkey, baked ham, and Pepper’s insistence on a vegetarian casserole that Tony knows no one but her will touch. The chandelier above casts a soft golden glow, catching on the garland draped along the edge of the table and the candles flickering in the centerpiece.

Pepper’s directing the seating arrangements like a pro—May and Happy on one side, Rhodey taking a spot at the far end with his usual easy grin. Peter, predictably, ends up next to Tony, and the kid doesn’t seem to mind one bit.

“Before we dig in,” Pepper starts, raising her glass with a warm smile, “I just want to say how grateful I am to have all of you here. This year has been… different in the best possible way.” Her eyes flick to Tony, and then to May, her smile deepening. “Here’s to new traditions and old friends.”

“Hear, hear,” Rhodey chimes in, lifting his own glass.

Everyone echoes the sentiment, and for a moment, the table falls into a comfortable silence as they start passing dishes and filling their plates.

Tony looks around, taking it all in. It’s hard to explain, the fullness he feels in his chest—like his heart has expanded to make room for this, for them. For family. He’s spent years running from the idea of it, convincing himself that the life he lived was enough, but sitting here now, he knows better.

Pepper’s chatting with May about the spa weekend, her laugh ringing out every so often. Rhodey’s already teasing Happy about something that has him grumbling under his breath, and Peter—Peter is fully in his element, balancing three different conversations at once while sneaking rolls off Tony’s plate when he thinks he’s not looking.

Tony lets him get away with it.

His gaze drifts back to Peter, and for a moment, the kid looks up, catching his eye. They hold the look for a beat longer than usual—no words, no quips, just an understanding that feels… perfect.

Tony’s not great with words, especially ones that dig too close to the truth, but he hopes Peter knows. Hopes he understands how much he’s come to mean to him in such a short time, how grateful Tony is to have him in his life.

Peter gives him a small, sheepish smile before turning back to his plate, and Tony feels that fullness in his chest swell even more.

This—this right here—is the kind of Christmas he never thought he’d have. One filled with people he cares about, with warmth and laughter and more food than anyone could possibly eat.

For the first time in a long time, Tony Stark feels whole.

As the chatter around the table grows louder and someone cracks a joke that has Rhodey nearly spitting out his drink, Tony leans back in his chair, letting the moment wash over him.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself, his lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. “This is the good stuff.”

And as Peter sneaks yet another roll off his plate, Tony doesn’t even bother stopping him.