When Peter had first laid eyes on the lake house, he felt breathless.
The first time he was invited to see it -- after Thanos, and the snap, and five years of grieving, and then a battle in a crater that was once the compound, and some lady finally swooping in and getting the dirty work done -- Peter just stood outside and stared.
It was after his lungs started to burn did he realize that he hadn’t taken in any air. He managed to force out a compliment around the lump in his throat.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Tony had asked, clapping the kid on the shoulder.
Peter nodded. Tony looked pleased.
When they walked inside, Peter once again forgot how to breathe. It was as if someone had reached down his throat and stolen the air from his lungs because everything inside the house exudes family.
Of course, he knew that Tony now had a daughter. That he was finally married to Pepper and they had a child that was bordering on five years old. That in the time that half the population was gone, he had been making a life for himself. Creating a world that Peter had been wanting for years, even before he met the man.
Peter walked the house, running his fingers over tabletops and couch backs; furniture he had never seen before and never expected to see in Tony Stark’s own home.
He stopped in the hallway and admired the pictures hanging on the walls. Different sized frames showing off experiences that he missed. Moments from before Morgan was born, until this very day.
Weddings, birthday parties, moving days, vacations, family photos. Everything and everyone was there, except for him. Not a single photo of Peter, even though the boy knew that Tony had dozens of them.
He tried not to show his hurt when he delivered yet another compliment. Tony just lead him on, claiming there was more to see.
Peter spent the rest of the tour faking enthusiasm, oohing and awwing over bedrooms and bathrooms, and giving praise to Tony’s workshop. They ended it all standing on the end of the dock, the sun starting to fall, and Morgan hanging onto Tony’s hand.
Although Tony was watching the sunset, Peter was watching the child. She was spinning in circles, looking like a ballerina from a music box, using Tony’s grasp to keep her upright as she almost topples over.
He couldn’t help but feel jealous. This was a child who didn’t even realize how lucky she was. How she had five whole years with Tony, which was three years more than Peter had gotten. She breathed Stark. She was every bit her father; an aching reminder to Peter that she was living a life that he longed for.
When Morgan glared at him for staring too long, Peter looked out at the sunset, trying to ignore the five-year-old’s gaze.
They had dinner on the porch, sitting at a picnic table and eating grilled salmon, asparagus cooked in butter and garlic, and sipping lemonade. Peter hadn’t had dinner this good since… well, he couldn’t remember.
He had just been stunned to learn that Tony was the one to cook this; the same man burned milk he tried to microwave a night Peter couldn’t sleep.
“You okay, Pete?” Tony asked, reaching over and placing a gentle hand over the kid's.
That was another thing Peter had recognized. Tony was being a lot gentler than he had been before. The man had always had a different way of approaching Peter than he did for others, but it had never felt this purely paternal. Something else the boy missed over those years.
“Yeah,” Peter says, nodding his head and smiling wide. “It’s just a lot to digest.”
“What? The fish? I didn’t realize you had a problem with seafood--”
“No,” Peter chuckles, feeling the slightest bit of tension slip away. “No, not that. The fish is great.” Tony laughs, and Peter cuts into his meal. “I just meant… all of this.”
Peter gestures to the house and then to the landscape, his movement falling short just before he meets Morgan. He can’t help but notice the child staring at him once more; sizing him up and trying to figure him out.
“I know it may seem stifling, Honey,” Pepper says from across the table. “We can’t expect you to take it in so smoothly all at once. You’ve only been back with us for two weeks.”
Peter nods, taking a bite of salmon. “Yeah, but I’m glad you guys are being so understanding.”
Pepper smiles warmly. “Of course. Oh, I spoke to May an hour ago. She said you could stay for the whole weekend.”
Peter nods once more, but his eyes are on Morgan. The young girl is glaring at him, her eyes nothing more than slits, her eyebrows pulled so close together that they could be one. Peter’s heart gives one loud thump, and he tries to focus on Pepper who is still smiling in his direction.
“Thank you,” Peter mutters, then a little louder, “I’m glad.”
“Us too, Pete,” Tony says.
Peter looks back at Morgan. A lump forms in his throat. She’s four. You’re Spider-Man. Calm down and nothing will happen.
Morgan slides closer towards Pepper as if to say, Mine. Not yours.
Peter looks at his plate before his hands start shaking.
----
He sleeps in the guest room closest to the main bedrooms. The room is large, but not as big as his one at the compound. A part of him wondered if he even still had that room at the compound. Maybe after the snap, they decided to take down all of his posters and fold up his comforter covered in constellations.
Or maybe they couldn’t even bear to go inside, his lego models and StarWars pillowcases still sitting around and collecting dust.
He hopes for the latter. After Thanos, May had to move out of her place, and all of his stuff got put into storage. So even when he came back two weeks ago, he didn’t have the comfort of his own room to welcome him. His new one was smaller and empty; it had the exact same feeling like the guest room he stood in now.
“I’m out,” Tony’s voice filters in from behind, and Peter spins around to see his mentor standing in the open doorway. He’s already wearing pajamas.
“Already?” Peter asks, “It’s 9:45.”
Tony shrugs. “What can I say? I guess my sleeping habits only got better after Morgan. Either that or I’m just more tired.”
“Oh, okay.”
“You all good? I’m not gonna give you lights out time, only just ask for you to keep it down a little,” Tony chuckles, but it feels one-sided. “If Morgan wakes up, she’s up for good.”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Peter smiles and rubs the back of his neck. Noise shouldn’t be a problem. He was just planning on going to bed anyway. “I had a good time today. Glad to be back.”
Tony smiled, but it looked tired. “I’m more than just glad your back, Pete. God, I can’t even put it into words. I just--”
“Daddy!”
Tony looks down the hall and sighs. “Pete, I’m sorry. I don’t have too…”
“No, really. It’s okay. We can talk again in the morning.”
Tony nods, giving the kid one last look. “You’re the best. Sleep tight. Love you.”
“Oh, okay. Love you, too,” Peter calls after him, watching the man disappear in a rush to get to his daughter.
He was left standing in the bedroom, alone. Before, he would have at least gotten a pat on the shoulder; maybe even a hug if he was lucky. But tonight, he was left with the feeling like he was missing something. Like a weight had been taken from his arms too soon.
He wanted to run after him. Look at Tony and tell him he loved him again, this time with more confidence. Because he meant it. He really did. It’s just that saying those words were so new and foreign when it was about him.
Peter had always thought it; he just never had the chance to say it.
But he didn’t go. Instead, he just stood next to his bed and stared at the soft grey of the comforter. The pillowcases that didn’t have StarWars characters on them. He listened to Tony read a story to Morgan, using goofy voices to illustrate the different characters.
So now, trying to desperately tune out the other voices, Peter shuffles over to the door and shuts it quickly. He then walks over to his suitcase and pulls out his pajamas, putting them on slowly since his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Come on, Peter. Calm down. Calm down.
He buried himself under the covers, shoving his face into the over fluffed pillow and trying not to cry, all while listening to Tony sing to his child and hopelessly wishing that it was him.
----
Peter woke up at eleven, his room dark and bladder aching.
He groaned, rolling over and trying to rouse himself enough to get out of bed. Once his feet hit the floor, a shiver rolls up his spine and he stumbles towards the door, pushing it open and practically falling into the hallway.
The house felt cold, so Peter ran on soft feet towards the bathroom. He made sure to pee quickly, wincing at any sound he made as the faucet seemed ten times louder in the quiet.
As he was walking back towards his room, a photo on the wall caught his eye. He paused mid-yawn to stare at it, the moonlight from the window catching the corner of the frame.
In the darkness, Peter could make out the image of Tony holding a baby Morgan on the day she was born, surrounded by Happy, Rhodey, and a tired-looking Pepper. The expression on Tony’s face is what makes Peter continue to stare at the image.
It’s a look of pure, uncut joy. A look of love that Peter had never seen him wear before; even in the many photos that they have of the two of them.
He has to look away because his eyes are starting to burn and now he feels himself longing for that hug he didn’t receive earlier. He wants Tony to tell him that he loves him again because right now, he is starting to find that notion harder and harder to believe.
Go to bed, his mind decides. You’re tired.
He sighs softly, turning and starting towards his bedroom when a movement at the opposite end of the hall catches his attention. His head whips in that direction, and when he catches a glimpse of a dark shadow on the wall, his heart leaps into his throat.
He screws his eyes shut, afraid. You’re tired. You’re tired.
When he opens his eyes, the shadow is gone, but that doesn’t stop him from racing towards his room, shutting the door, and diving under the covers; not daring to look out again.
----
The second time Peter opens his eyes, he can’t tell what time it is, but he can see that it’s still dark, and the house is still. He doesn't pay it too much mind, eyes falling shut, hoping they will stay that way until morning, but then a residual bang comes from beyond his door, and he jumps.
He stares at the wall -- the one standing between him and the rest of the house -- with wide eyes. His fingers grip at his comforter, waiting for a voice to accompany the noise because maybe it was just Tony or Pepper going to the washroom. Maybe one of them hit their foot on the wall and would soon spout out a soft curse that only Peter could hear.
Except nothing followed. No voices or soft swearing. Just an airy silence that set Peter even more on edge.
Before when he saw the shadow, he just thought it was his sleep-deprived imagination; but now he knew that he didn’t make up that sound. So, slowly but surely, Peter slid out of bed and crept towards the door, peeking out into the hallway only to find… nothing.
He let out a sigh of relief, about to go back to bed when he noticed something small on the floor, not ten feet away. Confused, he moved towards it swiftly. His breath caught when he realized what he was looking at.
It was the picture from earlier-- the same one that stopped him in his tracks on the way back from the washroom. The glass was shattered, the frame broke in two, but the picture was fine; just covered in a spattering of splintered glass.
Peter kneeled over it, trying to carefully pick it up without making any noise, but a sudden movement to his left has him yelping. He slaps a hand over his mouth, too late to muffle the noise from the rest of the house.
He looks back to the movement, and his stomach sank because this time there definitely was someone standing at the end of the hallway.
He narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out who he was looking at, but the figure was completely dark; nothing more than a silhouette. Peter ignored his pounding heart as he stood, confronting the person in nothing more than his pajamas.
“Who are you?” He whispered, trying to make his voice heard.
The figure didn’t respond. Instead, it turned and darted down the staircase, running towards the second floor. Peter dashed after it, not letting it escape, and whisper-shouting, “Hey! Stop!”
He loses sight of it while tearing down the staircase, but as soon as his feet touch the hardwood of the living room, he skids to a stop. He’s startled because the lights are on, and he knew for a fact that they were turned out before Tony went to bed.
Peter looked around the house, trying to find the figure, but instead, he is met with something much more shocking. Standing beside the sofa is a man he had only recognized from photos. In fact, if Peter looked to his right, he would find a picture of this man on one of the bookcases.
“I’m sorry,” Jarvis says, taking a tentative step forward. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Peter just stares at him. The only thing he can think is: You’re supposed to be dead.
“How do you do, Peter?” The man asks, smiling the tiniest bit at the mention of the boy’s name.
“I’m dreaming,” Peter says, thinking out loud. “This is a dream.”
“I’m afraid I cannot confirm or deny that.”
“Y-- you’re supposed to be dead,” Peter states, not realizing how insensitive that might sound.
Jarvis’s smile falls. “I am also afraid that that is true. But, we shall not dwell on this now. Our guests await.”
Peter watches the man walk towards the kitchen. The boy instantly took note of how young the man looked. He was still recognizable as the man from Tony’s pictures, but he wasn’t as old as he would have been when he died. He also sounded exactly like Vision, which just let Peter know how well Tony got the man’s voice down.
Peter slowly followed him into the other room, only to freeze once more when he realizes two other people are sitting at the dining table. People he feels like he shouldn’t recognize so quickly, despite the fact that he does.
Maria and Howard Stark. Both sipping tea. Both staring at him.
“Tea?”
Peter looks over to Jarvis. The man holds a kettle like the object was a prized heirloom.
“Pardon?” Peter asks, feeling a stutter rise with the words.
“Would you like some tea, Peter?”
He immediately shakes his head. “N-no thank you, sir.”
Jarvis smiles at the boy’s mannerisms and puts the kettle down.
“Come and sit,” Maria says, her voice drawing Peter’s attention. She uses one long, graceful hand to gesture to an empty chair. Peter gulps before moving towards the seat; his legs shakey.
He sits and stares at the other two people at the table. Maria and her warm smile, like he was her own flesh and blood. Howard and his fixed gaze, his mouth pressed like he didn’t know what to make of the boy yet.
“This is weird,” Peter finally says, speaking without thinking.
Maria takes a sip of her tea, chuckling. “Yes, I guess it is.”
Peter shuts his mouth, leaning back in his chair and trying to avoid Howard’s eyes. The man doesn’t drink his tea. His mug sits on the tabletop, untouched, steam drifting from the surface and dancing like fog over the water.
“Oh, how I miss him,” Maria says after a few minutes of untouched silence.
No one asks her who, so Peter does it for them. “Who, Mrs. Stark?”
“But I am proud,” she continues, ignoring Peter. “Very proud.”
“He ruined the company’s values,” Howard suddenly pipes in, speaking for the first time.
Maria’s grip on her mug tightens, obviously offended by what Howard just said. “Howard,” she starts, her voice tight. “You know he had good reasons. What we were doing wasn’t good for anyone.”
Howard’s mustache screwed up in annoyance. “We left him a multi-billion organization, and he had to go and change everything. Change all that we had been doing for the past decade. If it’s not broken, don’t fix it. He couldn’t even follow those rules.”
Peter suddenly knew who they were talking about. Tony. They were speaking about Tony as if the man wasn’t upstairs, sleeping soundly. As if his own protege wasn’t sitting at their very table.
“Do you even listen to yourself?” Maria asks, getting defensive. “We left him the company. It’s his. He can do what he chooses. And Anthony is a smart man, we both know that better than anyone. He chose what was he wanted, and that was what was best. Maybe you were in the wrong.”
Peter felt like he was intruding on an argument that they had been having for years. He watched Howard’s eye twitch.
“Maria,” Howard starts, sounding like he was having a hard time staying level headed. “Anthony doesn’t know this company as well as I did--”
“He saved the world,” Peter cuts in, his tone firm. “He saved everyone in the entire universe. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t even be here… I owe him my life. And he does know what he’s doing because if I’m not mistaken, Stark Industries’ income doubled when Tony decided to change the company’s morals and products. He realized that weapons weren’t what the world needed, and instead, he created something that could be helpful on all fronts.
“He made a company that believes in strength and safety. He started making things that kept people together instead of driving them apart. And then he became a hero in a different way. He made IronMan to protect the people who couldn’t protect himself. He’s a global treasure, and he did that all on his own.”
Peter glared at Howard. The man stared back, looking gobsmacked and speechless. Maria and Jarvis were grinning.
Peter stood up suddenly, his chair squeaking against the floor. “And sure, maybe you don’t believe he’s the strongest hero because, in the end, it was Carol Danvers who snapped, but I think that that is wrong. He is the strongest. He didn’t snap despite wanting too. He stayed back to make sure he was able to get back home to a child who needed him -- your grandaughter -- and to make sure he had a family who could continue with him by their sides. He the strongest because even though he lost half the people he loved, he continued over those five years. He didn’t let their names go in vain. He-- he didn’t forget me.”
Peter took a deep breath, his eyes burning. “Maybe right now it’s harder for him to love me as he did before, but I know he’s not giving up on me. And also I know he’s the strongest because even though you treated him like shit his entire life, he persevered. He found himself through other means and became a person who is selfless and helps. Unlike you.”
Tears are fully streaming down Peter’s face now, and he watches Howard, waiting for a reaction. The man just stares at him, before sighing and shaking his head with a grin.
“Now I know why he chose you.”
Peter’s scowl vanished, a look of surprise taking its place. “What?”
“It makes sense that he would gravitate towards someone who loved him so deeply. Anthony has always been insecure. It would be a safe option to take in a child who worshiped him. Wouldn’t have to worry about you even turning your back.”
Peter bites the inside of his lip, his breathing picking up with rage.
“Anthony doesn’t care for you. At least, not in the same way he cares for his daughter. His flesh and blood. He just keeps you around to make himself feel good.”
“You didn’t care for him, even though he was your flesh and blood.”
Howard rolls his eyes. “I don’t care for anyone.”
Peter swallows thickly, trying to ignore his tears. “You’re not right. You don’t know us.”
Howard leaned in close. “Kid, I know you better than anyone.”
Peter stumbled back, his chair falling with a loud crash. Howard just stared at him, sizing him up as the boy struggled not to become a sobbing mess on the floor. The older man stood, looking down at Peter and pointing towards the back door.
“Now, if you are done, I think you have one last person to disappoint.”
Peter looked towards the backdoor, and when he saw the figure beyond the glass, his breath caught in his chest. Ben was standing on the other side of the door, his hand pressed against the screen. He stared at his nephew with fear.
“Uncle Ben!” Peter practically screamed, picking himself up and tearing towards the door.
Ben started running in the opposite direction, and Peter threw open the door, chasing after the man as he jumped from the back porch and down towards the surrounding woods. It was only when Peter stepped out from under the awning did he realize it was pouring rain.
When did it start raining?
He couldn’t care. His uncle was getting away, and this time Peter wouldn’t let him. He weaved through trees and over rocks, the ground soft and muddy against his bare feet. Peter screamed for his uncle, his voice getting lost in the rain. If Ben heard him, he chose to ignore it.
“Uncle Ben! Uncle Ben, wait!”
He ran for miles. He must have because soon he was in forest thicker than he remembered seeing before.
It happened in a flash. One moment, Ben was in front of him, sprinting without missing a beat, and then he was gone. Peter slowed, confused and looking around, but then his foot slipped in the mud.
His spider-sense screamed at him to grab something quickly, but he hit his head on the hard ground before he could reach out. The pain was harsh and sudden, and it took him a moment to realize that what he was now staring at was the roots of trees, as half his face was buried in the mud.
“Ben,” he called weakly, his vision already fading. A part of his head hurt, and he wondered if he had split it when he fell. “Ben,” this time it sounded more like a whine.
His head really hurt.
The world fell into darkness before he could call out again.
----
“Petey, you gotta get up.”
Peter whined because that was Ben’s voice right beside his ear. He couldn’t talk, his lips felt as though they were glued together.
The ground was cold and sharp below him, and the rain pierced his body as it fell in fast daggers. He was shivering. When did it get so cold?
“Come on, Petey,” Ben says again, softer this time. “You have to get up for me.”
I can’t. I can’t. But it’s okay. You’ll save me, Uncle Ben.
I’m safe with you.
----
He couldn’t feel the rain. He couldn’t feel his fingers, or his hands, or his toes, or his feet.
He wasn’t shivering anymore, but he definitely wasn’t warm. Ben was gone, and Peter was starting to accept the feeling of the mud seeping through his clothes and coating his skin. His head pounded, causing every heartbeat to feel like a drum against his skull.
“Peter!” Someone called out, except it wasn’t Ben. “Peter, where are you?”
Peter moaned, but the sound ricocheted through his brain and only caused him more pain. He could vaguely feel his face twist in sharp agony.
“Peter!” The voice was screaming now. Peter winced, wanting to call back.
Suddenly, there was a gasp and footsteps pounding against the ground. Someone kneeled down beside him, and even though he couldn’t see them, he could feel their warmth. A hand was on his face, and distantly, a part of Peter knew who that was. Calloused fingers. Palm so big that it cupped his whole cheek.
“Pete, Kiddo,” the voice says softly, “can you open your eyes for me?”
Peter groans and regrets it.
“Bub, please,” the voice sounds like it’s on the brink of tears. “Please, just try.”
With more strength than he had, Peter peeled his eyes open into slivers. The world was blurry, and through the light spattering of rain, he could make out a hunched figure above him.
“That’s it,” the voice praised. “That’s so good, Bub.”
A bright light suddenly invaded his sight, and he whimpered, screwing his eyes shut.
“Pep, turn the light off,” the voice said, sounding worried.
“Tony,” a new voice said, this one sharper than the one before. “Look at his head.”
There was a gasp, and then feather-light fingers were drifting over a spot on Peter’s head. It was painful, and Peter blindly tried to push the touch away with numb hands.
“We have to get him back, Tony,” the sharp voice says, “look at his lips. They’re blue. He most likely has hypothermia and a concussion.”
Suddenly, someone was picking him up and Peter whined when he was jostled. “I’m sorry, Baby,” the first voice whispered, leaning the boy’s head against something solid. A shoulder. “But we’re gonna fix this. I promise you.”
----
Peter opens his eyes to warmth. It takes a second, but then he realizes that he’s in his bed at the lakehouse, and he allows himself to sink into the mattress.
His eyes have just fallen shut when he realized that there was something pressed against his back. He looks back, his eyelids nothing more than slits, and realizes that Tony is sleeping next to him.
The man snores softly, his lips party slightly.
“Tony,” Peter whispers because his throat feels raw and his head is pounding too much to do anything more. “Tony, wake up.”
Tony suddenly jolts awake, his eyes flying open. “Huh?”
“Calm down. It’s me.”
“Oh, Pete, hi.” Tony smiles, propping himself up on an elbow and looking down at the boy. “I’m glad you’re up. How are you?”
How was he? His body felt partly numb, and his throat was sore, and it felt as if someone took a brick to his head, but other than that… “My head hurts. So does my throat.”
“Yeah,” Tony’s eyes flooded with sympathy. “You hit your head last night. Concussion. I would be surprised if you even remembered anything.”
“I remember the rain, and being cold… and then you were there. And Pepper. She was there too.” His voice was soft.
Tony brushed the kid’s hair back, curls unruly from the rain. “Yeah. You must have been sleepwalking, or something. Pep went to the washroom last night and noticed some lights on downstairs. Thought you might be down there, but you weren’t, and then she found the broken picture. So when she went to check on you, you weren’t in bed, and we realized that you had left the house. We found you about a mile and half away.” Tony’s finger danced over Peter’s forehead. “You must have slipped in some mud, the rain was pretty bad, and hit your head on some rocks. There’s a cut, but it’ll clear. You were also in the early stages of hypothermia, but we warmed you up.”
As Tony tells the story, memories from the night before come crashing back. Hearing the photo break. Chasing the silhouette, only for it to be Jarvis. Talking to Maria and Howard, listening to them fight, and then getting angry at Howard. Seeing Ben, chasing him, falling… pain, cold.
“You really had me worried, Kiddo,” Tony says, quietly.
Then Peter remembered what Howard told him after. How Tony only kept him around to make himself feel better. How Peter wasn’t wanted for anything more than to boost Tony’s self-esteem.
Tears suddenly pricked the kid’s eyes, and he screwed them shut, trying desperately not to cry. A sob caught in his chest, and he let it bubbled out as it burned his throat.
“Hey, what’s wrong, Bub?”
Peter cried, burying his face into Tony’s shirt. The man held him in his arms, rocking them slightly, calloused fingers carding through chocolate curls.
“It’s okay if you don’t want me,” Peter sobs, not willing to look at Tony as he says it. “I-- I ca-- can go.”
“What?” Tony asks, sounding shocked.
“I understand. You don’t have to keep me around any longer than you have too.”
“Pete, what the hell are you talking about?”
“You can stay with your real family. I get it. What we had was great, but now it’s a novelty.” Even as Peter says it, he sobs, not wanting any of this to be real. But maybe Howard was right.
Tony’s hand stilled its motions, and even that was enough for Peter to feel heartbroken.
“Peter,” Tony says slowly, “I will never ask you to leave. Never ever. You understand?”
Peter doesn’t respond.
“You are everything to me, Peter. You are. Those five years were the hardest of my life because I didn’t have my Peter by my side. I only said yes to Lang’s incredulous time travel scheme because it gave me the chance to hold you in my arms again. I don’t know where you got the notion that you weren’t my family, because that is bogus. You are every bit my family as Morgan or Pepper. You are my son, you got that?”
Peter nodded slowly.
“Good, because I need you to know that everything that I have right now, I have because of you. You are one of the few incredible things that have happened to me. So if you ever think that I want you to go, please know that it isn’t true, because I could never have enough of you.”
Now Peter was sobbing for an entirely different reason. “B--but,” he started, “you don’t have any pictures of me on the walls.” It felt pathetic, but he had to say it.
Tony sighed, pulling his boy in closer. “Oh, Bub. I keep all of your pictures in my workshop. I’m sorry if I upset you… they were just too precious to keep around where Morgan could get to them. I had to keep them safe. I’m sorry.”
Peter sob in relief. “No, it’s okay. That’s okay.”
“I love you so much, Pete. More than you could know.”
“I love you too…” Peter says, “and I like these hugs. This is nice.”
Tony chuckled. “I like these hugs, too. I love them.”
Peter allowed himself to drift off, the worry from before washing away and being replaced with warmth and love.
----
Peter realized later that day that quite a few new photos have sprung up around the lakehouse. Once he noticed, he walked around, smiling and searching for them.
Three new ones on the hallway wall. One of him with the Avengers; one of Tony and him at the beach; and even a baby photo, but he had no idea how Tony had that one in his possession.
There was one over the mantel. A picture of him at a decathlon championship was hanging in the dining room. Two more were on bookshelves, including next to the portrait of Jarvis. There was a school photo hanging next to Morgan’s, and another picture of a ten-year-old Peter wearing IronMan pajamas.
The last one he found was placed on a shelf over the kitchen sink. A picture that was taken when he received his Stark Internship certificate. In the image, Peter held the certificate upside down and was making a goofy face at the camera. Tony had his arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders.
Peter laughed, that photo making him feel happier than any other.