**Title: Mending the Web**
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Peter Parker stood at the edge of a busy New York rooftop, the cool night breeze ruffling his tousled hair as the city's lights flickered below. The hum of the bustling streets and the distant honking of horns provided a stark contrast to the turmoil inside him. His thoughts were a tangled web, much like the ones he spun as Spider-Man. Yet, these thoughts weren’t about saving the city; they were about his family.
Peter had been Tony Stark’s first-born son, though the world knew him as Peter Parker. When he was young, Tony was often absent, consumed by his work and the endless stream of parties and social events. Peter had learned to cope, but the scars of neglect ran deep. Then, Morgan was born. His little sister. Tony changed. He became a father in every sense of the word. He was there for her first steps, her first words, and every milestone in between. He built her a nursery that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. The walls were painted with soft pastel colors, and he installed a ceiling that mimicked the night sky, complete with twinkling stars. He crafted a crib with his own hands, embedded with tiny arc reactors that gently glowed, providing a comforting nightlight.
Tony made time for bedtime stories, meticulously choosing each one to inspire and comfort Morgan. He would sit beside her tiny bed, a plush Iron Man doll by her side, and read with a warmth and patience Peter had never seen. He sang her lullabies, his voice soft and soothing, a stark contrast to the brash, confident tone he used in public. He never missed a single milestone—first steps, first words, first day at school. It was everything Peter had ever wanted but never received. And it hurt.
Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair, and felt the weight of the flask in his jacket pocket. He knew it wasn’t the answer, but right now, he didn’t care. He took a swig, the burn of the alcohol a welcome distraction from the emotional turmoil inside him. As if on cue, his phone buzzed. It was a message from
Tony: *Where are you, kid? We need to talk.*
Peter scoffed. *Now you want to talk?* he thought bitterly, but he texted back: *On my way.*
He swung through the city, the familiar rhythm of web-slinging providing a temporary escape from his thoughts. The wind whipped past his face, a soothing balm to his raging emotions. When he landed on the balcony of Stark Tower, he took a deep breath before heading inside.
Tony was waiting in the living room, looking out over the city. When he turned to face Peter, his expression was a mix of concern and determination. “Peter, we need to talk,” Tony started, his voice firm but gentle.
Peter dropped into a chair, crossing his arms. “About what? How great of a dad you are to Morgan?” Tony flinched, but he didn’t back down.
Earlier that evening, Tony sat in his office, his brow furrowed with concern. He had received a troubling message from one of his informants: Peter had been seen drinking while out as Spider-Man. The thought of his son risking his life in such a state made Tony’s blood boil with anger and fear. He had been chatting with Pepper about it, initially dismissing it as teenage angst, but the more he thought about it, the more it gnawed at him.
“I think we need to ground him,” Tony said, pacing the room. “He’s acting out, and it’s dangerous. He could get himself killed.” Pepper looked at him, her eyes filled with understanding. “Tony, he’s hurting. We need to find out why. Grounding him might just push him further away.”
Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know, Pep. But I’m scared. I don’t want to lose him.”
But Yep Grounding was Out of Question Now.
“I know I wasn’t there for you the way I should have been. I’ve made mistakes, and I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? That’s it? You think that fixes everything?” Peter’s voice was rising, fueled by the alcohol and years of pent-up frustration. “You weren’t there, Dad. You missed everything. But for Morgan? You’re perfect.”
Tony took a deep breath. “I know. And I hate myself for it. But I’m trying, Peter. I’m trying to be better, for both of you.”
Peter stood up, his anger boiling over. “It’s too late for me, Dad! I needed you then, not now!” He pulled out the joint he had in his pocket and lit it, taking a long drag before blowing the smoke into the air. “This is how I cope. This is what you made me.” Tony’s eyes widened in shock and hurt. “Peter, put that out. This isn’t you.”
“No? Then who am I, Dad? Because I sure as hell don’t know anymore!” Peter’s voice cracked, and for a moment, the anger gave way to vulnerability. “I just wanted you to love me.”
Tony stepped forward, reaching out. “I do love you, Peter. More than you know. And I’m here now. Let me help.” Peter stared at his father, the joint trembling in his fingers. He wanted to believe him, but the pain was too deep. He remembered the nights he spent waiting for Tony to come home, his small frame curled up on the couch with a blanket, only to fall asleep alone. He recalled the birthdays celebrated with just Aunt May because Tony was too busy saving the world. He remembered the tearful nights when he wondered if his father even cared.
Peter felt a lump in his throat as he continued, his doe eyes glistening with unshed tears. His soft, angelic features were marred by the sorrow etched into his expression. "Do you know how it felt, Dad? Watching you build a perfect little world for Morgan while I was left with nothing? You made her a room that looked like it was out of a dream. You read her bedtime stories. You sang her lullabies. Where were you when I needed you?"
Tony’s eyes were filled with regret and hope. "I’ve heard about what you've been doing, Peter. The drinking, the acting out... This isn't you. But I understand why you feel this way. I’ve let you down."
Peter’s voice shook as he spoke, the weight of years of neglect pouring out. “You have no idea how much it hurts. I’ve spent my whole life feeling like I wasn’t good enough for you. I’ve been trying to drown out that pain with alcohol and... other things.” His voice grew harder, almost a growl. “And you think you can just waltz back into my life now and make everything better?”
Tony took a deep breath, bracing himself. “I don’t expect it to be easy, Peter. I know I’ve messed up. But I want to be here for you now. I want to make things right.” Peter’s anger flared again, and he stepped forward, clenching his fists. “You think you can just fix this with words? Do you know how many nights I cried myself to sleep because I thought you didn’t care? Do you have any idea how worthless I felt?”
Tony reached out, but Peter batted his hand away. “Don’t touch me!” he yelled. “You don’t get to pretend to be the perfect dad now. It’s too late for that!” Peter’s fury reached its peak, and he felt a violent urge to lash out. He drew his fist back, ready to punch Tony, but stopped at the last moment, his hand trembling. The room was thick with tension, the air almost crackling with the intensity of their emotions.
“I hate you,” Peter spat, tears streaming down his face. “I hate what you did to me.” Tony stood still, his own eyes glistening with tears. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I’m so, so sorry.”
Peter lowered his fist, his body shaking with sobs. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m done. I’m getting emancipated. I don’t want anything to do with you.” Tony’s face crumpled with anguish. “Peter, please don’t. I know I’ve hurt you, but running away won’t fix this. Let’s try to heal together.” Peter shook his head, stepping back. “You had your chance, Dad. And you blew it.”
Peter stood in front of Tony, his body shaking with rage and pain. “You have got to be fool to assume grounding or taking away My suit me will fix this? You think you can just waltz back into my life and make everything better with a few rules?” Tony took a deep breath. “Bambino, listen to me. I know I messed up. But I love you. I’ve always loved you. I just didn’t know how to show it.”
Peter froze at the nickname, memories flooding back. Tony had called him “bambino” when he was little, back when there had been some semblance of a relationship. The anger in his eyes softened, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. “You don’t get to call me that,” Peter whispered, his voice breaking. “Not anymore.” Tony’s shoulders slumped, but he didn’t back down. “I’m not giving up on you, buddy. I’m here to stay.”
Peter felt a lump in his throat as he remembered where he had gotten the alcohol. It had been MJ, his girlfriend. She had called him a "loser" in that good-natured way of hers as she handed it over. They had both grown up with fathers who were less than ideal, and it had bonded them in a way that was as painful as it was comforting. But this time, the reminder of his father's failures had driven Peter over the edge.
They both stood there, lost in their minds. Peter's thoughts swirled with anger, hurt, and confusion. He thought about all the times he had felt invisible, all the moments he had wished for his father's attention, and how those wishes had gone unanswered. He thought about MJ and how she understood his pain, yet even that comfort felt hollow now.
Tony's mind was a storm of regret and desperation. He saw the pain etched on Peter's face, the same pain he had caused. He thought about the years he had wasted, the moments he had missed, and the love he had failed to show. He wanted to fix it, to make it right, but he knew it wouldn't be easy.
Tony took a step closer to Peter. "Bambino, I’m not giving up on you." Peter's fists clenched, his body tense. "Stay back, Dad. I’ll hit you."
Tony’s voice was steady. "I’ll risk it." He moved closer anyway, his heart pounding. He walked further, hands closed around his super powered kid, His kid too good fir the world. In a moment, he found a sobbing teenager in his arms.
Peter's fists beat weakly against Tony's chest as he cried. "I hate you," he choked out between sobs.
Tony held him tighter, tears streaming down his own face. "I know, buddy. I know. But I love you. I love you so much. I’m so sorry for everything."
Peter continued to cry, the years of hurt and anger pouring out. For the first time, he felt his father’s love, not in words but in the steady, unwavering embrace. And though it didn’t erase the past, it was a start.
The next morning, Peter woke up with a pounding headache. The remnants of last night's emotional storm lingered, but there was also a new sense of calm. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, the smell of pancakes and bacon wafting from the kitchen. Slowly, he got up and made his way downstairs, his steps heavy but purposeful.
In the kitchen, the scene was almost surreal. Morgan sat at the table, her little legs swinging as she eagerly awaited breakfast. She had a bright smile on her face, and when she saw Peter, her eyes lit up. "Peter! Come sit with us!" she called, her voice filled with innocent joy.
Pepper was at the stove, flipping pancakes, while Tony set the table. When Tony saw Peter, he gave a tentative smile. "Morning, buddy. How are you feeling?"
Peter managed a small smile in return. "Hungover," he admitted, rubbing his temples. He walked over to the table and sat down next to Morgan, who handed him a stuffed Iron Man doll.
"Here, you can have Mr. Iron Man. He always makes me feel better," she said, her eyes wide with concern.
Peter chuckled softly and took the doll. "Thanks, Morgan." He looked around the table, seeing his family together. It was a sight he had longed for his entire life.
Pepper brought over a plate of pancakes and set it in front of him. "Eat up, Peter. You need something in your system."
As they sat down for breakfast, Peter felt a warmth he hadn't felt in years. The conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and light-hearted teasing. Morgan babbled about her dreams and her plans for the day, and Tony and Pepper chimed in with their own stories.
Peter watched them, his heart swelling with a cautious hope. For the first time, he felt like he belonged, like he was truly part of this family. He looked at Tony, who met his gaze with a look of understanding and determination.
"I know it's going to take time," Tony said quietly, "but I'm here, Peter. We're all here."
Peter nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. He looked at Morgan, who was now making a pancake tower with a triumphant grin. He smiled at her, feeling a surge of protectiveness and love.
"Maybe… maybe I can give this another chance," Peter thought to himself. He took a deep breath and joined in the conversation, letting the warmth of his family wash over him. It was a new beginning, and for the first time in a long time, Peter felt hopeful about the future...