Innocent eyes

The bell chimed softly as Peter and May stepped into the rental shop, the scent of pressed fabric and polished shoes filling the air. Rows of suits lined the walls, neatly arranged by color and style. Peter shoved his hands into his pockets, already feeling a little out of place.

May had practically begged Peter to let her buy or at least rent a suit for him for homecoming. He had resisted at first, insisting he could just wear one of Ben's old suits—even if they were at least two or three sizes too big. It didn't seem practical to spend money on something he'd only wear for a few hours, especially when money was already tight. But May had been horrified at the very thought, adamant that her nephew wasn't going to show up to such an important event looking like he was drowning in fabric.

Now, standing in the middle of neatly pressed suits and shimmering dress shoes, Peter couldn't shake the strange feeling bubbling in his chest. This wasn't just about looking good for a dance. It was about something more—about May wanting this for him, about making a memory, about taking a step forward.

He had worn suits before—stiff, uncomfortable ones at funerals. Those had felt heavy, constricting, like they carried the weight of grief with every stitch. But this? This felt different. Less like an obligation, more like a milestone. And yet, that didn't make it any easier.

May nudged him playfully. "Alright, Romeo, let's find you something that'll knock your date's socks off."

Peter forced a chuckle, but his stomach twisted as he looked around. "I don't know, May." he shrugs, "We don't have to spend money on this."

May turned to him, hands on her hips. "Peter Benjamin Parker, if you think for one second that I'm letting you show up to your first big dance looking anything less than incredible, you're out of your mind."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just... with everything—the medical bills, the rent—I don't want to waste money on something I'm only wearing for a few hours."

May's expression softened, and she reached up, tucking a stray curl behind his ear like she used to when he was little. "Honey, I've been saving for this. For you. Since the day you came to live with me, I knew there'd be moments like this—moments where I get to see you being a normal kid, doing normal things. And you deserve that."

Peter swallowed, his throat tight. "May..."

She shook her head. "No arguments. This is happening. Now, go find a suit before I start crying in public."

He let out a small laugh, his heart feeling a little lighter as he let her pull him toward the racks.

They wandered through the aisles, May pulling jackets off the racks and holding them up against Peter's frame. "Too big. Too fancy. Too much like a mob boss," she mused, shaking her head at a pinstripe suit before Peter could protest.

Eventually, they settled on a classic black suit—sleek, fitted, and, according to May, "just the right amount of charming."

Next came the necktie. Peter stared at the endless wall of colors and patterns, rubbing the back of his neck. "How am I supposed to pick one? This is, like, a science."

May chuckled. "Oh, honey, if picking a tie is science, then I have failed you as a guardian." She grabbed a deep blue tie. "Here, this brings out your eyes."

Peter frowned. "I thought I had brown eyes?"

May winked. "Trust me."

With their selections in hand, they headed to the checkout, and soon enough, they were back at the apartment, the suit hanging neatly in Peter's closet.

"Alright, tie time," May announced, pulling up a chair and gesturing for Peter to do the same. She draped the tie over his neck, her expression confident—until she actually tried tying it. "Okay, loop this over... no, wait. Maybe under?"

Peter watched her struggle for a few seconds before snorting. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?"

"I thought I did," May admitted, biting her lip as she stared at the mess of fabric hanging from his collar. "Ben always made it look so easy."

Peter sighed dramatically. "Well, guess it's YouTube to the rescue."

He grabbed his phone, pulling up a tutorial while May peered over his shoulder. "Okay, okay. Start with one side longer than the other... wait, pause it. I missed that part."

Peter rewound the video, following the instructions step by step. After multiple failed attempts, some exaggerated groaning, and a whole lot of laughter, they finally managed a passable Windsor knot.

May stepped back, hands on her hips. "Look at that. We did it. Team Parker for the win."

Peter adjusted the tie, looking at himself in the mirror. It actually wasn't bad. "Not gonna lie, I kinda feel like James Bond."

May grinned. "Well, if James Bond had a doting aunt who had to Google how to tie his tie."

Peter laughed. "Thanks, May. For... all of this."

She ruffled his hair. "Anytime, kid. Now, let's get out of here before I really start crying."

Laughing, they moved to the couch, their dinner sprawled out on the table and the TV ready for another round of movie marathon.

The soft glow of the TV flickered across the dimly lit living room as Peter and May sat curled up on the couch, a bowl of popcorn between them. The familiar green code of The Matrix streamed across the screen, setting the stage for a world where reality wasn't what it seemed.

May crunched on a handful of popcorn. "Man, I forgot how good this movie is."

Peter nodded absentmindedly, his eyes fixed on the screen but his mind somewhere else. The idea of living in a fabricated reality, of dreams blending with truth, hit a little too close to home. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie, thoughts swirling in his head.

Dreams.

He had been having so many of them lately. About Ben. About that night. The gunshot. The blood on his hands. And then there was the car crash—one that felt so real he didn't even know if it was a fragment of his imagination or a memory. But if it was just a dream, then... why did it feel so real? Why did he wake up gasping for breath, his pulse hammering like he had actually been there?

On screen, Neo asked, "What is real? How do you define real?" and Peter swallowed hard.

What if he wasn't just dreaming? What if his mind was trying to tell him something—something he had forgotten?

May nudged him lightly. "You okay, Pete? You look like you're having an existential crisis over there."

Peter forced a chuckle. "Yeah... just thinking."

May smirked. "Dangerous pastime."

He let out a breath, shaking his head, but the weight in his chest didn't lift. "You ever have dreams that feel... too real? Like, so real that when you wake up, you feel like it actually happened?"

May considered this, chewing on a piece of popcorn. "Yeah. I've had dreams about your Uncle Ben like that. Sometimes, they feel so real I wake up expecting to hear his voice in the kitchen, making coffee. It hurts, but... it's also kind of nice. Like he's still here."

Peter nodded, but his dreams didn't feel nice. They felt like puzzles with missing pieces.

"Do you think dreams can be, like... memories? Ones we don't remember when we're awake?" His voice was careful, hesitant.

May glanced at him, her expression softening. "I think dreams are our brain's way of sorting through things. Some are just weird nonsense, but others? Maybe they're our subconscious trying to tell us something."

Peter swallowed, May's words settling in his chest like a stone.

Maybe his dreams were trying to tell him something.

He just wasn't sure he was ready to hear it.

The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of traffic outside. Peter sat at the kitchen table, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the wood. May stood at the sink, rinsing out her coffee mug, her back turned to him. The Matrix's plot still lingered in his mind—festering like an itch wanting to be scratched.

It had been years since Ben died, and they had never really talked about it—not beyond the surface-level condolences, the necessary conversations. But now, something inside Peter was pushing him to ask.

"May?" His voice was softer than he intended, almost hesitant.

May paused, setting the mug aside. She turned, drying her hands on a dish towel. "What's up, sweetheart?"

Peter swallowed, forcing himself to meet her eyes. "Can we talk about... that night?" He didn't need to say more. The weight of the words hung between them, thick and suffocating.

For a moment, May just stared at him, her lips parting slightly as if she wasn't sure she had heard him correctly. Peter couldn't blame her—he had spent so long avoiding the topic, refusing to speak about it, shutting down whenever she tried to reach out.

"Peter... are you sure?" she asked, carefully measuring her tone.

He nodded, though his chest felt tight. "I don't... I don't really remember what happened. But I've been having dreams—every night—about that night. Little snippets, flashes of things, but never the full picture. It's like I'm missing something, and I don't know why."

May took a slow breath, pulling out the chair across from him. She sat down, folding her hands together, her expression unreadable. "It was a school day," she began quietly. "I came home, and Ben was in a hurry. I asked him what was going on, and he said something about you two getting into an argument. He left right after that, saying he needed to find you."

Peter's brow furrowed. "An argument?"

May gave him a sad smile. "I don't know what it was about. He didn't tell me. Just that he had to go after you." She hesitated for a beat before asking, "Do you remember what you two were fighting about?"

Peter shook his head, frustration flickering across his face. "I wish I did. I want to remember, but it's just... blank."

May reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "Maybe it'll come back in time. But Peter, whatever it was—it doesn't change anything. It wasn't your fault."

Peter swallowed, his throat tight. "Then why does it feel like it was?"

May's grip on his hand tightened. "Because you're carrying something you were never meant to carry." She searched his face, her eyes filled with nothing but love and understanding. "I saw you that night, Peter. You were just a kid. A kid who lost someone he loved. And no matter what happened before, it doesn't change the fact that Ben chose to go after you because he loved you. That was his decision—not yours."

Peter looked down at their joined hands, his fingers trembling slightly. "I don't know if I'll ever remember."

"And that's okay," May assured him softly. "Maybe your mind is protecting you. Maybe it's not time yet. But whenever you're ready, I'll be here. Always."

Peter hesitated, then glanced at May again. "May... was there ever a car accident? With me and Ben?"

May blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Peter rubbed his hands together, frowning. "I've been dreaming about that too. About being in the car with Ben, and then... crashing. It feels real, but I don't remember it actually happening."

May shook her head slowly. "No, sweetheart. That never happened. You and Ben were never in a car accident together."

Peter frowned, confused. "Are you sure? Because the dreams—they feel different. Almost like memories."

May reached out and brushed his arm gently. "I promise you, Peter, that never happened. Maybe it's just a dream, not like the ones you've been having about that night."

Peter swallowed, nodding slowly. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was just a dream—his brain mixing things up, creating something that wasn't real. But something deep inside him felt... uncertain. Still, he pushed the thought aside. There were already too many unanswered questions swirling in his head. He didn't need to add another mystery to the pile.

For now, he let it go.

--

The ballroom of the Peter Stark Foundation was bathed in warm golden light, the chandeliers casting a soft glow over the elegantly dressed guests. Waiters moved gracefully through the crowd, offering champagne and hors d'oeuvres, while a live string quartet played in the background. The annual gala was in full swing, a night of celebration, remembrance, and most importantly, hope.

Tony Stark stood near the edge of the room, watching as families mingled with doctors, researchers, and generous donors. It was one of the few nights where he could momentarily step away from being Iron Man and simply be a man honoring his son's memory. The Peter Stark Foundation had started as a small initiative—a way to fund cancer research after losing Peter Stark to leukemia. Over the years, it had grown into something much bigger, providing financial support to families struggling with medical expenses, funding groundbreaking treatments, and offering resources to those facing the same battle his son once fought.

He took a sip of his drink, scanning the room until his gaze landed on a small group of children—patients, some bald from chemotherapy, others wearing their best dresses and suits, their eyes filled with wonder at the grand event. His chest ached, but in a way that felt almost... healing.

An announcer stepped onto the stage, tapping the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the founder of the Peter Stark Foundation, Mr. Tony Stark."

The applause was polite, respectful, as Tony set his glass down and walked toward the stage. He adjusted his cufflinks—a nervous habit—before stepping up to the podium. The room quieted as he looked out over the crowd, pausing for a moment before he spoke.

"You know, when I started this foundation, I didn't do it because I thought I could change the world," Tony began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. "I did it because I wanted to change his world. My son, Peter Stark, was the bravest kid I ever knew. Not because he fought cancer—but because he lived in spite of it. He laughed, he dreamed, he made plans for a future he never got to have."

He swallowed, exhaling softly before continuing. "And I know that for so many of you here tonight, you understand exactly what that feels like. The fear, the exhaustion, the helplessness of watching someone you love fight something you can't punch, outthink, or buy your way out of. And that's why we're here. Because no one should fight alone. Because every child deserves a chance. Because parents shouldn't have to choose between keeping their home and saving their child."

The room was silent, the weight of his words settling over them. Then, Tony straightened, his voice lighter but no less sincere. "So tonight, we're not just celebrating the progress we've made—we're expanding it. More research, more funding, more support for the families who need it most. And I'll be personally doubling the grants given to pediatric oncology programs across the country. Because I made a promise to my son that I would never stop fighting for kids like him. And I keep my promises."

A wave of applause filled the room, but Tony barely heard it. His gaze had shifted back to the kids near the front, their eyes shining with something close to hope.

After the speech, Tony spent the rest of the evening making his rounds, stopping to talk with the children and their families. He crouched beside a little girl named Emily, who was wearing a bright red dress and had a stuffed Iron Man clutched tightly in her hands.

"Hey, kiddo. That's some impressive merch you got there."

She giggled. "Iron Man's my favorite."

"Well, obviously, you've got great taste," Tony said with a smirk. "How's it holding up? Need an upgrade?"

She nodded enthusiastically, and Tony pulled out a small Iron Man pin from his pocket, carefully attaching it to her dress. "There. Now you're officially part of the team."

Her mother, standing nearby, placed a hand over her heart. "Thank you for this, Mr. Stark. Not just for tonight—for everything. We wouldn't have been able to afford Emily's treatment without the foundation."

Tony's throat tightened, but he nodded. "You're not alone in this. None of you are."

As the night went on, he spoke to more families, more kids, each story carving itself into his heart. And for all the pain that these events carried, for all the reminders of what he had lost, there was something else too.

Healing.

Because even though Peter Stark was gone, his legacy wasn't. And as long as Tony was breathing, neither was the fight to save more kids like him.

Tony was about to step away when a familiar voice stopped him. "You did good up there."

He turned to find Pepper standing beside him, her expression warm, her eyes filled with something he couldn't quite name. Pride, maybe. Or something deeper.

"Yeah, well, I had a pretty good reason to," Tony said, voice lighter than he felt.

Pepper smiled, slipping her arm through his. "Come with me. I want to introduce you to someone."

She led him across the ballroom to a small boy no older than five. He had big, bright eyes and a beaming smile, despite the IV port taped to his arm. "Tony, this is Louis. Louis, this is Mr. Stark."

Louis' face lit up instantly. "Iron Man!"

Tony grinned, crouching down to be at eye level with the boy. "That's me. You a fan?"

Louis nodded enthusiastically. "You and War Machine! You guys are the best!"

Tony chuckled. "Rhodey is gonna love that."

Louis' eyes sparkled. "Do you really fly in the suit? Like, actually fly?"

Tony smirked. "Oh, yeah. Full-on zoom-zoom. Even got cool landing poses. You ever see a superhero land without breaking something? 'Cause I haven't."

Louis giggled. "Can I get a suit too?"

Tony tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. I don't know, kid. You might have to go through a whole lot of training. And, well, the paperwork? Nightmare. But hey, I might be able to hook you up with something special."

He pulled out another Iron Man pin and carefully fastened it to Louis' little blazer. "This? Limited edition Stark tech. Makes you an honorary Avenger."

Louis gasped, staring at the pin like it was the most precious thing in the world. "Really?!"

"Really," Tony said with a nod, the he pauses, pondering whether to say it or not but after careful deliberation, Tony smiles as he levels with Louis, "But with great power comes great responsibility. Think you can handle that?"

Louis straightened his posture, nodding seriously. "Yes, sir!"

Tony grinned, ruffling the kid's hair. "That's what I like to hear."

For the rest of the night, Louis stayed by Tony's side, talking endlessly about superheroes, cartoons, and all the adventures he planned to have when he grew up. Tony listened, laughed, and answered every one of his questions, fully invested in their conversation. And somewhere in the middle of it all, he realized something.

Louis reminded him of Peter.

Not his Peter Stark, not entirely, but there was something about the way he spoke, the way he looked up at him with that same unwavering belief that heroes existed. It pulled at something deep inside Tony, something both painful and comforting.

Pepper watched from afar, smiling softly, knowing that even though Tony's heart would always ache, nights like this helped him heal, little by little.

The ballroom was nearly empty now, the echoes of laughter and conversation fading into the distant hum of the cleanup crew. Tables were being cleared, decorations carefully taken down, and the last few guests trickled out into the cool night air. Tony leaned against the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching the remnants of the evening slowly disappear.

The annual Peter Stark Foundation Ball had been a success. The speeches had been made, donations had poured in, and for a few hours, Tony had felt like he was doing something right. He exhaled deeply, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, when the distinct sound of military-grade boots against polished floors caught his attention.

Rhodey.

Tony smirked before even turning around. "Well, well, if it isn't Colonel 'Better Late Than Never.'"

Rhodey walked up, his suit slightly rumpled, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I missed the whole thing. You can already hear Peter whining from up there, huh?"

Tony let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Oh, absolutely. Kid's got a grudge list longer than mine, but lucky for you, he has a very simple forgiveness policy."

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what's that?"

Tony downed the rest of his drink before setting the glass aside. "A generous donation to the Lego and Star Wars fund."

Rhodey laughed, shaking his head. "That's extortion."

"That's survival, my friend," Tony shot back with a smirk. "This one kid's been eyeing the UCS Millennium Falcon set like it's the holy grail. Another kid was adamant that I bring her the whole Harry Potter set. The Stark foundation will be bankrupt for Christmas, colonel."

Rhodey groaned dramatically. "Fine. But I'm writing it off as charity."

"Smart move." Tony smirked before his expression softened. "You really should've been here, man."

Rhodey sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wanted to be. Got held up with meetings, military brass, the usual. But I'm here now. And from the looks of things, it went well."

Tony nodded, glancing around at the last of the guests filtering out. "Yeah, it did. But you know how these things go. It's never really done. The fight keeps going."

Rhodey placed a firm hand on Tony's shoulder. "And you're still in it. That's what counts."

Tony glanced at his friend, then smirked. "Damn right it does. Now come on, let's get out of here before they put us to work cleaning up."

The neon glow of the Burger King sign flickered above them as Tony and Rhodey pulled into the near-empty parking lot. Midnight had come and gone, leaving the streets quiet, save for the occasional car passing by. It was the perfect time—no fans, no reporters, no expectations. Just two old friends grabbing burgers after a long night.

They walked inside, the smell of frying oil and grilled meat hitting them instantly. The lone cashier barely looked up from his phone as Tony approached the counter, scanning the overhead menu.

"Alright, Colonel, what's your poison?" Tony asked, tapping his fingers against the counter.

Rhodey hummed in thought. "Double Whopper, large fries, and a Coke."

Tony smirked. "Solid choice. I'll take the same, but make mine a chocolate shake."

"Real sophisticated, Stark."

"Hey, if I'm gonna clog my arteries, I might as well enjoy it."

With their orders placed, they found a booth in the corner, the red vinyl seats cracked from years of wear. Tony leaned back, stretching his legs as Rhodey unwrapped his burger, the paper crinkling in the quiet space.

Rhodey took a bite before speaking. "So, any new developments at the kid's foundation? Heard from Mrs. Calloway that you got Lane a scholarship at that science school."

"Oh yeah," Tony nodded, wiping a stray fry crumb from his fingers. "Gave some of the older kids scholarships to this school in Brooklyn. Well, especially Lane and Walker—those two are geniuses. Plus, Walker's dad just told me the kid's cancer-free now."

Rhodey's mouth dropped mid-chew. "He is?! That's amazing, Tones!"

Tony just shrugged, but there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes. "One of the many reasons why I love doing these kinds of things. I get to save kids from the same battle Peter had to fight and, well, provide so much more."

Rhodey's expression softened. "Yeah. That's right."

A beat of silence passed between them, comfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts. Then Tony spoke again, almost offhandedly. "You think Peter would've gone to a science school too? Or would he have chosen something more in the arts?"

Rhodey paused mid-bite, lowering his burger as he glanced at Tony. There it was—that brief window into the parts of Tony Stark he rarely let anyone see. The way he still wondered, still imagined, still lived in the what-ifs.

Tony caught the look and rolled his eyes. "Gosh, don't make that face again. This is not a pity party, Rhodey."

"No, I just—"

Tony exhaled, his fingers tapping against the table as he looked at Rhodey with a quiet sort of resolve. "I know it's hard to believe... hard to talk about the what-ifs," he admitted, his voice softer now. "But the jar's bigger now—the foundation helped, helping other kids helped. And somehow, grief isn't too suffocating anymore."

He paused, as if measuring his own emotions, before continuing. "I'm just thinking about it now that I get to watch Peter grow up vicariously through them. There's just so many things I spend time thinking about, you know? Peter was always a science nerd, but the kid was a Picasso too. He was good with his hands, so I don't know..." He shrugged, but it wasn’t dismissive—it was genuine curiosity. A reflection, not a lamentation.

Rhodey studied him for a moment, the warmth in his chest growing. It had been years since Peter, years since he had seen Tony talk about him like this—so naturally, so openly, without that haunted look in his eyes. Sure, Tony had moved forward, had thrown himself into the foundation, into making a difference. But hearing him speak about Peter with a fondness, with something like peace? That was different. That was new.

Rhodey let out a slow breath, a small smile creeping onto his face. He couldn't help but feel proud—proud of Tony, proud of how far he had come, proud that he could sit here, eating burgers at a rundown fast food joint, and hear his best friend speak about his son with happiness rather than sorrow.

He smirked, shaking his head. "100% the Air Force."

Tony groaned. "Shut up. The kid's supposed to be in high school, not at the freaking Air Force—especially not the Air Force."

Rhodey chuckled. "Oh, if he were here, I'm sure it'd be one of his choices. Screw college, the kid's going with me."

Tony raised his brows. "My kid wouldn't have betrayed me like that."

"MIT?"

"Definitely not! I would not allow him to go to college at 14, Rhodey."

"Touché," Rhodey mumbled, sipping his Coke.

For a moment, they just sat there, the hum of the restaurant's fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above them. A simple night, a simple meal. But it meant something—at least to them.

The conversation lingered between them, a comfortable silence settling in as they picked at their food. The fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead, the only sound aside from the occasional rustle of paper wrappers.

Tony exhaled, leaning back in his seat, seemingly lost in thought. Rhodey watched him for a moment before deciding to break the quiet.

"So," Rhodey started cleaning up the crumbs left on his face, "I was a bit of a dick about Parker, huh?"

Tony raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything at first, taking a slow sip of his shake. Finally, he shrugged. "Yeah, but I get it."

Rhodey sighed, setting his Coke down. "I didn't mean to doubt you, man. It's just—you know how it looked. This kid, looking almost like... well, him, and suddenly he's in your life. I just—I didn't want you to get hurt again."

Tony nodded, absentmindedly picking at the fries in front of him. "I know. And I appreciate it, really. But Parker? He's different."

Rhodey tilted his head. "Yeah? How so?"

Tony leaned forward slightly. "For one, he's way too good for this world. Like, disgustingly good. Kid's got this insane moral compass—doesn't even hesitate when it comes to helping people. Doesn't matter if it screws him over. He'll do it anyway."

Rhodey chuckled. "Sounds like someone else I know."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But seriously—Parker's smart, like scary smart. And he's been doing the whole hero thing way before I ever showed up. Just a kid from Queens trying to keep his neighborhood safe. And get this—he builds his own tech. Homemade web shooters, suit mods, the works. It's rough, but it's brilliant."

Rhodey whistled. "Alright, I'll admit—that's impressive."

Tony smirked. "And he's a nerd. Huge Star Wars fan, which, you know, immediately bumps him up like five notches."

Rhodey shook his head, laughing. "Of course that matters to you."

"Hey, details are important," Tony said, pointing a fry at him. "Kid even has a Lego Death Star."

"Alright, now I know you bribed him with Legos."

Tony gave a mock gasp. "How dare you accuse me of such things? I am an upstanding mentor."

Rhodey snorted. "Yeah, sure. So, what's the deal with his health? I overheard a bit, but I never got the full picture."

Tony's expression sobered slightly. "Dilated cardiomyopathy. Kid's heart doesn't work like it should. He manages it, but it's not something that just goes away. And, you know, the whole Spider-Man thing? Not exactly a low-risk lifestyle."

Rhodey frowned. "And he still does it?"

Tony sighed, rubbing his temple. "Yeah. And trust me, I've tried the whole 'you could literally drop dead' speech. Didn't stick. He just hit me with the 'with great power comes great responsibility' line, and what am I supposed to say to that?"

Rhodey sat back, nodding slowly. "Damn. Kid's got guts."

"Yeah. And an unhealthy disregard for his own safety. But that's where I come in. Someone's gotta make sure he doesn't get himself killed."

Rhodey studied Tony for a long moment before smirking. "You like the kid."

Tony huffed, grabbing another fry. "No comment."

Rhodey chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. I get it now. You're looking out for him because he's Parker. Not because of anything else."

Tony nodded. "Exactly."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, eating their food, letting the conversation settle. Midnight had turned into early morning, and the world outside remained still, the city momentarily at peace.

Rhodey took a sip of his drink, side-eyeing Tony. "So, how much do I have to donate to this Lego and Star Wars fund to get back in Peter's good graces?"

Tony grinned. "Oh, let's say... a couple grand? UCS Millennium Falcon isn't cheap."

Rhodey groaned. "This is extortion."

Tony smirked. "It's for a good cause."

--

Peter stood in front of the bathroom mirror, still struggling with his tie. He had watched at least three different YouTube tutorials, but somehow, the knot still looked like a tangled mess. "May, I think this tie has a personal vendetta against me."

May walked into the room, holding a lint roller and stifling a laugh. "It's a tie, Peter, not an enemy combatant. Here, let me help." She swiped the roller over his suit, then reached up to fix the tie with practiced ease. "See? No need to panic. I think watching those video tutorials truly did help a little."

Peter tugged at the now properly tied knot, sighing. "You really think Liz is gonna be impressed?"

May stepped back, giving him an appraising look. "Peter, you look great. And if she doesn't think so, then clearly she has no taste."

Peter rolled his eyes but smiled. "Alright, alright. I just... haven't really done the whole 'normal high school thing' in a while."

May nodded, softening. "Which is exactly why you should enjoy tonight. No thinking about homework, no worrying about anything—just have fun. And speaking of fun..."

Peter froze as May suddenly took on that tone—the one that made his stomach drop. "Uh, May? What are you—"

She smirked, arms crossing. "We should probably talk about... safety."

Peter immediately turned red. "Oh my God, May, no—"

"Oh, yes," she interrupted, undeterred. "Peter, you're growing up, and I just want to make sure that you're being smart. It's not just about protection—it's about respect and communication—"

"May, I am begging you to stop talking," Peter groaned, covering his face.

"I will not stop talking!" she said, grinning now. "I am your guardian, and it is my duty to ensure that you are informed—"

Peter let out a strangled noise and dramatically flopped against the bathroom counter. "I hate this. I hate everything about this."

May patted his shoulder sympathetically. "That's how I know I'm doing my job right."

After what felt like an eternity of mortifying conversation, they finally made their way to the car. The drive to Liz's house was mercifully quiet, aside from Peter's occasional grumbles about never being able to erase this moment from his memory.

May glanced at him as they pulled up in front of Liz's house. "Alright, kid. Nervous?"

Peter exhaled, staring at the house, "Yeah. But, you know, in a good way."

May smiled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "That's what I like to hear. Now, go have fun. Take pictures. And please don't do anything that would require me to give you another talk."

Peter groaned, opening the car door. "No promises."

May laughed as he stepped out, adjusting his suit one last time before heading toward Liz's front door.

Peter took a steadying breath as he climbed the steps to Liz's porch. He was a nervous wreck—his palms were sweaty, his throat dry, and he couldn't tell if the thunderous pounding in his chest was from excitement or if he was about to have a heart attack. Taking a girl to homecoming was already nerve-wracking enough, but tonight felt different. Something gnawed at the back of his mind, an unease he couldn't quite place.

He adjusted his tie, wiped his clammy hands against his slacks, and knocked on the door.

A moment later, the door swung open, and Peter felt the ground shift beneath him.

Standing there, wearing an easy smile, was Adrian Toomes.

For a second, Peter's brain stuttered, his breath catching in his throat. The man in front of him wasn't just Liz's father—he was the man Peter had seen at the ferry. The man he suspected of being the Vulture.

"Ah, you must be Peter," Toomes said, his voice warm and casual, like this was just another normal night.

Peter swallowed, barely managing to nod. His stomach lurched, the weight of the realization slamming into him all at once.

Liz's dad is the Vulture—the weapons near this house... at the party, him at the ferry, his voice.

Peter's blood ran cold, but he forced himself to stay still, to keep his face neutral. He couldn't let anything slip. Not now.

Toomes extended a hand. "I'm Liz's dad."

Peter hesitated for half a second before shaking it. The grip was firm, strong—almost testing. "Hell of a grip," Toomes remarked with a chuckle as he pulled Peter inside the house. "Come on in. Come on."

Peter hesitated, his feet feeling like lead as he stepped over the threshold. Every part of his brain was screaming at him to turn around and leave, but he forced himself to move forward, scanning the space, taking in the details. He needed to stay calm, to act normal.

A voice suddenly cut through his thoughts. "Hi, Peter." Peter nearly jumped out of his skin, barely biting back the gasp that threatened to escape. He turned quickly, his pulse still racing. Liz's mom smiled warmly at him. "You look very handsome."

Peter exhaled shakily, pasting on a nervous smile. "Thank you."

His mind was still reeling, trying to process, trying to find a way to handle this situation. Because now, everything had changed.

"I'm gonna go get Liz," Mrs. Toomes says, smiling warmly at him.

"Okay," Peter replied, exhaling a little too quickly. His nerves were getting the best of him, and he knew it.

He rocked on his heels, trying to shake off the tension, only to glance back at Toomes, who was watching him with an easygoing expression. Peter immediately straightened, forcing himself to stay composed.

"You alright, Pete?" Toomes asked, his voice casual but laced with curiosity.

"Yeah," Peter managed a nod.

"Cause you look pale," Toomes remarks, looking concerned, "You want something to drink? A bourbon or a scotch, or something like that?" he asks, probably to loose Peter's obvious nerves.

Peter quickly shook his head. "I'm not old enough to drink."

Toomes let out a laugh, clearly pleased. "That’s the right answer." Peter barely had a chance to relax before Toomes' expression shifted, his eyes lighting up with something softer. "Wow," he murmured, looking past Peter.

Peter turned, and for a moment, his world tilted again—but this time, for a different reason. She looked breathtaking. The bright pink of her dress complimented the glow of her smile, and Peter almost forgot about the nightmare unfolding around him. Almost.

"Wow, wow, wow." Toomes mused, beaming with pride. "Do you look beautiful."

Liz rolled her eyes fondly. "Please don’t embarrass me, Dad."

Toomes chuckled before turning back to Peter. "Doesn’t she, Pete?"

Peter’s face heated, the words catching in his throat. He managed to nod, his voice a little quieter than before. "Yeah, you look really good."

Liz grinned as she stepped down the stairs, entirely unaware of the hurricane of emotions raging inside Peter.

"Once again, that's the right answer," Toomes said, flashing an approving smile. He seemed pleased with everything Peter was showing tonight—respectful, polite, exactly the kind of boy a father would want his daughter to be with.

"Is that a corsage?" Liz asked, noticing the small box in Peter’s hands. Peter, still distracted, absently handed it over, his attention lingering on Toomes rather than Liz.

"Thanks," Liz mumbled, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. Peter looked tense—too tense. His jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid. And his eyes… Liz tilted her head slightly, studying him. But before she could ask, she shook the thought away, chalking it up to pre-dance jitters.

"Well, here we go, I'm your chauffeur tonight," Toomes announced, clapping his hands together. "So, let’s get this show on the road."

"Sir, you don’t have to drive us," Peter said quickly, his voice a touch too eager. Every instinct in him screamed to get away from this man as fast as possible.

"No, no, it’s not a big deal," Toomes said, waving off Peter’s protest. "I’m heading out of town anyway. It’s right on my way."

Liz’s mom smiled warmly at Peter, reassuring him. "He's always coming and going. Work keeps him busy."

"For the last time," Toomes muttered absentmindedly, adjusting his jacket. "Promise."

Peter swallowed hard, the words ringing in his ears. Something about the way Toomes said it made his stomach twist. His skin felt tight, his breaths short, and though he was standing still, it felt like the ground beneath him was shifting. He forced himself to nod, to smile, to pretend like his heart wasn’t pounding against his ribs.

His mind raced. This was too much of a coincidence. It had to be. But what could he do? Say something now, in front of Liz? Confront Toomes and risk everything unraveling before he could make sense of it all?

No. Not yet.

"Alright then," Toomes said, grabbing his keys. "Let’s roll."

Peter nodded, tightening his fists at his sides before forcing himself to move. As he stepped outside, the cool air did nothing to calm his nerves. He glanced at Liz, laughing at something her dad said, completely at ease.

For her, he told himself. Just get through this for her.

But as he climbed into the car, feeling the weight of Toomes’ presence beside him, Peter knew—this night was far from over.