Dear Karma

It was almost an eternity, but Tony had finally broken through the rough exterior of Peter’s initial reservations around him. He had laughed, he had cried, and he was finally tucked under his arm, hugging him back and pressing his wet eyes into the cotton of Tony’s suit jacket. They were both in a calmer state, falling into a silence that was just short of comfortable, still prickly with their faces wet and their noses running. 

“Um,” Peter began, and pulled away from him, looking uncomfortable and embarrassed. 

“Well,” Tony started, at the same time, and then shook his head. “My turn. I’ve got something to say.” 

“Yeah,” The kid nodded, and then mimicked Tony, frowning and shaking his head from side to side. It was endearing, albeit a bit dizzying. “I mean, go ahead, your turn.” 

“Let me help,” Tony practically begged, his voice dipping into a reserve of plain, inexcusable desperation, gripping his lungs and making his words pinched and sloppy. “Let me Daddy Warbucks you and sweep you away to my posh mansion that’s actually just a cabin in the woods.”

Peter stared at him, and it made him feel almost self conscious in a way, how he could still make it seem like he was looking up to him when they were unavoidably the same height. It made him gain confidence in all the same ways, striving to be better, to seem better for a kid with shaking hands and shining eyes. 

“Does that mean we have to do an elaborate dance number?” Peter joked, halfheartedly and quiet. 

“If it means you’ll come back with me?” Tony spread his hand outwards in a weak attempt at a grand, theatrical gesture. “I will tap dance down four flights of stairs.”

“Aw,” Peter said, and he managed to look amused through the stoic, polite sort of sadness he wore. “Don’t tap dance for me, I think you’ll probably fall down the stairs, and then I’ll be known as the guy who killed Tony Stark. Again.” 

“Fair enough,” He grinned, and Peter puffed out his cheeks and crossed his arms. “I’m serious,” Tony said, taking his cane and pointing it towards Peter. “Pack a bag. Hell, pack up this entire place. I want you to come home.”

Peter’s joking demeanor faltered, the edges of his smile dropping almost at once with the creases forming along his forehead. “Mr. Stark…” He looked vaguely uncomfortable, unsure of where to put his hands, or how to hold himself. This nervousness, the uncertainty, it was the most familiar thing Tony had seen all day. It made something deep in his belly ache and strain. It made him miss something he wasn’t sure he ever had. “I…you shouldn’t feel responsible for me. I’m not a pet project, or—or some charity case. You don’t have to feel like you need to take care of me.”

“Has it crossed your mind that I might want to take care of you? To look after you? To know you’re safe and healthy?” He cracked a smile when Peter opened his mouth, then closed it, losing the argument before it could start. “Let that sink in, Underoos, let that really marinate through that prideful declination of yours,”

Despite his expression, weary and resigned, he continued to protest. “You don’t have to—”

“How many times are you going to try and convince me to disinvite you?” Tony interrupted, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. 

Peter clicked his tongue, matching his tone. “How much time do you have until Colonel Rhodes kicks my door down looking for you?” 

Tony suddenly became aware of the passage of time, glancing at the oven clock and feeling, vaguely, like he was probably giving the two men parked on the street a heart attack. Instead of voicing this, or considering the possibility of Rhodey knocking on every single door in the building until he reached them, he laughed. “Caught that, did you? I brought them along for moral support. And also because I’m not supposed to be driving. Or really doing much of anything, but I’m not really known for sitting still and doing nothing,”

“At least you’re self-aware,” The kid muttered, and Tony pretended to be offended, making a sharp, wounded noise from his throat. 

There was a moment where neither of them said anything, and Peter chewed on his lip while Tony tried to find something else to say, a way to keep the humor in the conversation. He fell short, grasping at straws through the sad, gray muddle of his internal consciousness. It seemed that through the silence, through the bite of his teeth along the dry skin of his bottom lip, Peter broke the quiet. 

“I just don't understand why ,” He admitted, quiet and mystified. “Why are you trying so hard? Why…why did you even come looking for me?” 

“Because…” He let out a sigh, one that had sat just below his throat for a few weeks now. Maybe even since he’d first woken up, gasping for breath but still building an unrelenting pressure that needed to be let go in small, deep puffs of air out of his lungs. “Because I came back to life and there was this huge, Peter-sized hole at my bedside, and everyone was acting like I was crazy for missing you. I’m here because I missed you. I missed you from the moment I opened my eyes and realized you weren’t there. Because you’re important to me, kid, and I…I don’t want to imagine my second chance at life without you in it.”

The kid, his kid, stared at him, and his eyelashes fluttered and his lips trembled, like he was going to laugh or sob, but all at once the tension seemed to freeze, and he took in one long, shuddering breath. Then he nodded. And nodded again, as if trying to solidify a point completely lost to Tony, stuck to his imagination and the slow tilt of his chin up and down. 

“Okay,” Peter said, and he sniffled loudly and wiped at his cheeks before any tears could reach his jawline. “I’ll go with you.”

It was like he was trying to be brave in front of Tony; like he was holding back a revelation, something that made his fingers twitch and the space between them itch and crackle. He wanted the kid to tell him anything and everything that was on his mind. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to ask for such honesty, though, so he stood there, and tapped his cane on the ground, and watched as Peter slowly began to move, retrieving his backpack and scrutinizing his apartment. 

“Y’know, now I’m worried,” Tony spoke into the comfortable silence, still following Peter with his gaze as he picked up clothes and miscellaneous items from his dresser and table. “I think, uh, that I’ll head down and make sure Rhodes and Happy aren’t losing their minds,” 

He also felt like he was intruding, in a way, as the other picked up what little he had left of his life; anything he couldn’t live without was getting shoved into a bag, his back turned, his movements stiff and careful. Tony didn’t need to be there, standing and judging what socks Peter picked out or what toothpaste he used. He didn’t need to be there, so he took his exit, trusting that in the time it took him to hobble back down the stairs, Peter wouldn’t bolt out the window. 

When he reached the ground floor (only after a little struggle and a lot of help from the railing), he was pleasantly surprised to find both of his babysitters still in the car. It was harder to see Rhodey through the tinted windows, but he could see Happy very plainly through the windshield, typing away on his phone and looking only slightly grumpy. He took that as a sign that he hadn’t taken too long, and hoped that Rhodey hadn’t secretly died of boredom, and that he wouldn’t find his corpse in the backseat when they were finally ready to go. 

Tony walked towards the car, stepping off the curb and into the road as he reached the passenger side door. He knocked politely on the window, which began to roll down before he could successfully reach three taps. The unimpressed gaze of his Head of Security met his own, his mouth pulled into a line of worry that betrayed the sentiment. 

He wondered what Rhodey was seeing from the backseat, and didn’t really care much when he heard the sound of shuffling sneakers behind him. Peter had finally reached them, a single, fraying backpack around his shoulders and a small duffle bag gripped tightly in his fist. He looked frozen on the spot, his face neutral, and far too detached after the conversation they had finished barely twenty minutes ago. 

“Haps,” He said, turning back to the crack in the window. “Pop the trunk for me, will ya?”

“Who is that?” He asked instead of doing as he was told, trying to stare through Tony’s rumpled frame. “Who are you letting into my car?” His tone was gruff, but held a strange thoughtfulness to it, as if his curiosity had won over all of his basic training to protect Tony from strange teenagers whom he had actively been seeking out. 

As much as it amused him to see the change of expression, it hurt, too, in the same places, that he didn’t even recognize the kid he spent so many years looking after. It was an ugly type of pang, deep in his gut, to realize once again that no one remembered his kid. That Peter had been dealing with blank faces and furrowed brows for however many years. 

He wet his lips, feigning a confidence he had left a decade in the past, grinning crookedly. “This is Peter,” He told him, a serious edge to his tone that made Happy straighten, even if by a centimeter. “And he’s gonna stay at the lake house for a little while.”

“I can just go back upstairs,” Peter piped up, small and tentative from behind him. His nerves were shining through the tougher edges of his tone, and Tony wanted to do anything to make his voice stop shaking. “If, uh, this is going to be too much trouble,” He was glancing between the front and back seats, obviously seeing more of Rhodey than Tony could, and looking weary and sick because of it. 

“Nuh-uh,” He replied, intelligently, and pointed at Happy as he turned back to him. “Pop the trunk before I go around and try to do it myself. Things to consider: I do not have the keys,” 

“Popping the trunk,” Happy reported, just as the car made a soft noise as the back hatch clicked open. 

Tony returned his attention back to Peter, who had made no move towards the car, but also hadn’t made any hasty retreat. Yet. 

“C’mon, Pete,” He urged, and tried not to sound too desperate. He had found his kid, and he was so close to getting him home. He was so close to having his family back together; whole. “Don’t overthink this. Let me help.”

For however much the sentiment must’ve jarred him, even now, Peter’s mouth simply tightened, and he shuffled around to the trunk obediently. There was a moment where he didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, shoving his bags in and closing the door. He looked younger, in a way, crossing back to the sidewalk and looking towards Tony for direction, or maybe for another set of instructions. He was still sort of working on that part. 

He ushered Peter to the car door, peering in and giving a pointed look to the Colonel before pushing the kid in first. He was just settling into his seat, propping his cane along his knees and trying to find his seatbelt when Peter spoke. 

“Mr. Stark?” He said, shyly, and Tony could feel the anticipation wafting off of Rhodey. The kid reached over and helped his good arm through the buckle, tucking it into place and then letting it go, the bit of slack quickly tightening. “Thank you.”

“Huh?” Tony muttered, torn between throwing back the same gratitude at Peter for helping him, or continuing to flounder in confusion.  ”What did I do?” He settled on. 

Peter looked at him, his jaw set and his eyes wide. “You found me,” He told him, and then went to fiddle with his own seatbelt. 

Happy started the car, and as they were rolling back into traffic, Tony wiped at his eyes, and placed a hand on Peter’s knee.

He found him.