Ben listened to a lot of old rock music.
When Peter was young, he used to watch Ben in wonder as he danced to his old records, spinning May around in the living room like it was just them, like nothing outside their tiny apartment mattered. The first time it happened, the first time Ben put a record on and took May’s hand, guiding her out of the kitchen and into his arms, Peter was only five, still thinking his parents would be home soon to take him back. He was uncomfortable and scared, even as his aunt and uncle swayed to the music.
Finally, Ben pulled away and looked over at Peter, sitting stiffly on the couch. “Hey, kiddo,” he said gently, kneeling down in front of him. “You don’t like the music?”
Peter shook his head. It was loud, and his daddy never played music in the house. He didn’t like any noise as he worked. The overwhelming noise was starting to scare him. How could Ben look so happy?
“That’s okay,” Ben said, and motioned for May to take the record off the player. Suddenly it was silent again and Peter visibly relaxed, blinking up at his uncle. “You know, we can make our own music.”
Peter frowned. “How?” he asked.
“Well, it’s easy,” Ben replied, sitting down on the floor. “Come on down here, buddy.”
Slowly, Peter slid down to join him. “You can make music anywhere,” Ben said, smiling gently. He pointed to his shoes, and tapped on them a few times. “Hear that?” he said, repeating the motion.
Peter nodded; he liked the slight rhythm that came from his uncle tapping on his shoes. It was calming. Gingerly, he leaned over and tapped on his shoes, once, twice, three times.
Ben’s face split into a grin. “See? You got it, kiddo! Try again.”
tap, tap-tap-tap, tap, tap.
Peter giggled. This was fun—he liked this music. Across the room, May watched fondly as her husband and nephew sat on the floor, drumming on their feet, their laughter echoing across their entire apartment.
Over time, it became a bit of a habit for Peter. Whenever he felt scared or lost, he’d lean over and tap Ben’s foot with his own—a silent reminder that he was still there, that he wasn’t alone. And Ben would always tap back, music that was just for them.
At Ben’s funeral, Peter shakily approached the casket and leaned over to tap his uncle’s dress shoe, once, twice, three times, with his finger. And even though he knew it was impossible, he still waited for Ben’s response, to feel his foot tapping back, finishing the song.
But it was over.
—
He didn’t even notice the first time he did it with Tony.
It was two months after he’d returned, and he was staying at Tony’s lake house for a week while May was at a nursing seminar in Chicago. Tony had been worried about how he was coping since coming back, and truthfully, he had every reason to be concerned. Peter’s anxiety was at an all-time high, having suddenly been dropped into a world where he was never meant to be, that had long since forgotten about him. Everywhere he looked, he was reminded of that. Tony’s new life, his daughter, his prosthetic arm—he was not the same person Peter had clung to on a foreign planet years before, and it made him wonder if he was even supposed to have come back.
But Tony was still there. Despite all the changes, he was still there, doing everything he could to take care of Peter. He was more open, now, than he had been before—more loving, not as closed off. Peter wasn’t sure if it was his death or Morgan’s birth that had changed that in him, but Peter welcomed it. It helped ease some of the anxiety that seemed to have made a permanent home in his chest.
Tony invited him to work on a project one afternoon, in the tiny lab he’d set up in the house. He said he hadn’t used it very often since moving in, but offered to spend a day in there with Peter. “Just like old times,” he’d said, a slight twinkle in his eyes that Peter could’ve sworn were tears.
And he was right—it did feel familiar. Morgan and Pepper had left for the day for a “girl’s day out,” leaving Tony and Peter with full reign. They made pizza, blasted Tony’s favorite rock playlist, and worked on building an Iron Man bike for Morgan.
If Peter closed his eyes, he almost felt normal again.
The playlist switched to a new song and Peter started to hum under his breath as he reached across the table to grab a screwdriver. This song felt familiar, although he couldn’t exactly place why. He figured he’d heard it in Tony’s lab before, nothing but background noise as they worked.
He didn’t even notice until he caught Tony staring at him, confusion and amusement playing over his features. “What?” he asked. “Do I have something on my face?”
Tony shook his head. “No, you just keep tapping my foot. You trying to get my attention or something?”
All at once, Peter felt the blood drain from his face. Suddenly he realized why he recognized the song—it was one Ben used to play, one that Peter used to drum along to on his feet when he was a kid.
It was something he hadn’t done since he’d stood at Ben’s casket. And he’d just done it with Tony.
Stammering, he shoved himself away from the table, keeping his head down to avoid Tony’s concerned gaze. “I—I have to go,” he gasped, almost tripping over his chair. “I’m sorry.”
“Pete—“ Tony called, but Peter was already gone, bolting out of the lab and outside, running as fast as he could until he stopped in front of the lake, breathing heavily.
“You’re gonna play drums one day, kid?” Ben teased as an eight year old Peter laid on the floor, drumming on his feet as they watched Jeopardy! “Are you just practicing on me?”
“I dunno,” Peter replied, distracted. “You need to finish the song!”
Ben chuckled, tapping his foot against the carpet. tap, tap-tap, tap, tap, tap-tap-tap.
Peter’s small fingers danced against his uncle’s work shoes. tap-tap, tap, tap-tap-tap, tap, tap.
Ben’s hand weaved through his messy curls fondly as he watched him. “I love you, Peter,” he murmured.
But Peter just kept drumming.
The wind was cold on Peter’s face, but he didn’t even feel it as he sobbed, staring out at the lake without really seeing it.
“That’s a lot of people,” ten year old Peter said nervously, wringing his hands in his lap. He peeked out the car window at the giant crowd of people at Times Square for the winter festival. Ben had surprised them with tickets and Peter was excited—he’d heard about all the desserts and the ice skating and the pretty lights, but seeing how many people there were suddenly made him terrified.
“Yeah, buddy, this is a big festival,” Ben said nonchalantly as he pulled into the parking garage. “But you know the rules, right? As long as you stick with us, nothing bad is gonna happen to you.”
Peter did know the rules—don’t talk to strangers, always be holding Ben or May’s hand, never wander off alone. But that didn’t make him feel better about how many people were going to be surrounding them.
“Uncle Ben, I—I don’t want to go,” he said quietly, just as Ben pulled into a parking space.
He and May turned around to look at him. “Why not, baby?” May asked softly. “You’ve been looking forward to this.”
“There’s too many people,” Peter explained, suddenly feeling like he was going to cry. “I—I don’t want to lose you!”
His lip started to wobble and Ben immediately leaned forward to squeeze his hand. “Hey, Peter, listen to me. I know that’s a lot of people, okay? I do. But you’ve got us, you’ve got your amazing aunt and uncle here to protect you, and you know we’ll never let anything happen to you.”
Peter blinked and a tear slipped down his cheek. “I’m...”
“You know what? If you get scared, I want you to just tap on my foot. Like you’re drumming, okay? So you’ll know I’m still there, right at your side. As long as I’m still drumming, you’ll never be alone.”
Peter swallowed and looked up at Ben, his brown eyes wide. “You’ll finish the song?” he asked tentatively.
Ben grinned at him. “I’ll always finish the song, buddy.”
Peter wiped at his face angrily, but the tears kept coming.
“Pete, come on, you’re gonna be late!” Ben called, knocking on his door.
Peter was terrified. He still felt wrong, after what happened at his field trip the day before—every sound seemed to hurt his ears, even if it wasn’t very loud, and he suddenly didn’t need his glasses; in fact, his vision seemed even better when he wasn’t wearing them. But most confusing of all, when he tried to pull the blanket off him, it stuck to his fingers and he couldn’t get it off.
But he couldn’t tell Ben or May, and he still had to go to school. Hopefully he could just ignore it for the day, get through his classes without being any more of an outcast than he normally was.
He was somehow able to get dressed, and he stepped out of his room to see Ben leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking coffee from his favorite Star Wars mug Peter got him for a gift two years ago. “Finally,” he said with a lazy grin. “You better grab some breakfast to go or you’re gonna miss the subway.”
“Uh, y-yeah,” Peter stammered, hoping his face didn’t look as red as it felt as he searched the cupboards for a granola bar. Please don’t stick, please don’t stick, please don’t stick—
Luckily it didn’t and Peter let out a relieved breath as he shoved it into his jacket pocket. “Gotta go,” he called, grabbing his backpack. “Bye, Ben!”
“Woah, hold on a second,” Ben said, setting his coffee cup down, and Peter felt his blood freeze in his veins. Did he know? “You’re really gonna leave without saying goodbye?”
Peter frowned, confused, but then it hit him and he couldn’t help the laughter that burst from him. “Never,” he said, walking back over to where Ben stood. “Ready?”
Ben grinned, and the tip of his sneaker tapped against Peter’s worn Vans. tap-tap-tap, tap, tap, tap-tap.
Peter’s foot rested on top of his uncle’s, and he echoed the rhythm, a shy smile on his face. tap-tap-tap, tap, tap, tap-tap.
“Atta boy,” Ben said proudly, leaning over to ruffle his hair. “Now go on. Have a good day at school, Peter.”
“Thanks, Uncle Ben.”
“Peter?”
A gentle hand landed on his shoulder and Peter gasped, jerked out of his memories and back into the present, where he stood on the shore, cold wind whipping at him from every direction.
“Woah, hey, it’s just me,” Tony said softly, watching as Peter fought to get his breathing under control. “Pete, you’re shaking. Come on, we gotta get you back inside.”
Peter blinked at him, and all at once the cold feeling hit him, and he realized he was shaking. Worried, Tony wrapped his arm around his shoulders and quickly ushered him back inside, grabbing the nearest blanket and swaddling Peter in it the second they stepped through the threshold.
“I think you need some cocoa,” Tony mused softly as Peter curled up on the couch. “Give me a few minutes, okay?”
Peter nodded silently, still shivering, and Tony went into the kitchen, returning soon with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate filled with mini marshmallows. He put one in Peter’s hands and watched as his icy fingers immediately curled around the mug.
Tony sighed heavily and sank down on the couch, promptly tugging Peter into his arms. The kid didn’t protest, instead sinking into his embrace like he had so many times before. For a few moments they sat in silence, drinking their cocoa, until finally Tony spoke, his voice barely a whisper in the emptiness of the lake house. “You gonna tell me what happened, kiddo?”
Peter stiffened in his arms but made no move to pull away. “I—I used to do that with Ben,” he said, his voice barely audible.
“Do what?” Tony replied just as quietly. “Tapping on his foot?”
Peter flinched and Tony tightened his arms around him. “Y-yeah. He used to listen to the same rock music you do, and he taught me how to make our own music, by letting me drum on his feet... and then it became our own little thing. We’d make songs together, and I’d tap on his foot whenever I was scared, so I knew he was still there... and...” Peter’s voice faded, and his lower lip started to tremble. “And he never finished our song.”
The first sob wretched itself from deep in his chest and then he couldn’t stop them—his shoulder shook as he wept, the memories of Ben too overwhelming for him to handle.
“Oh, Peter,” Tony murmured sadly, gently easing the kid’s head into the crook of his neck as he continued to sob. He let his real hand brush through Peter’s hair, whispering soothing words under his breath and rocking slightly. “Shh, you’re okay, kiddo. Just breathe.”
Peter cried until he couldn’t anymore, until he was just whimpering quietly, his fingers still curled tightly into Tony’s worn t-shirt. “Did it help you?” Tony whispered, rubbing his hand up and down Peter’s back. “Doing that with me?”
Peter swallowed, still half-hidden in Tony’s embrace. “Kind of,” he admitted softly, almost like he was ashamed. “It... it felt familiar. But... I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do that to Ben.”
Tony frowned. “I never met your uncle,” he began gently, “but I know he wouldn’t be mad at you if you kept doing that with someone else. You’re not replacing him, you’re just... you’re continuing the song. You’re letting him live on through you. Pete, if doing that helps you calm down, helps you remember that I’m still here, I know for sure that Ben wouldn’t be mad that you kept doing it. In fact, he’d be so proud of you.”
Finally Peter pulled away, bambi eyes wide and misty but so full of love that always seemed to leave Tony breathless. Not for the first time, he was reminded how much he adored this kid, so much so he’d turned back the hands of time just to bring him home. “You think?” he whispered.
God, he was so precious. Tony fought back his own tears as he nodded. “I know, baby. Ben is so proud of you no matter what, and he would never be mad if you kept his song going.”
Peter looked at him shyly, a small smile playing at his lips. “Do you... do you maybe want to learn?” he whispered.
Tony grinned. “I’d be honored.”
—
It became a secret habit of theirs. No matter what they were doing - working in the lab, watching a movie, playing with Morgan - Tony would always feel Peter’s foot tapping against his own, the same song he’d played with Ben years before. And every time, Tony would tap back, the gesture a silent reminder—I love you. I’m still here.
As the months passed, May and Tony worked out an arrangement where Peter would spend every other weekend at the lake house. It gave Peter time to get back into the swing of things at school and going back out as Spider-Man, but it also gave him time to spend cuddling with Tony, to watch Disney movies with Morgan, to help Pepper cook.
It made Tony so happy he didn’t even have the words for it, to see his kid back and finally with the rest of his family. After everything they’d been through, finally, they were able to rest.
But the nightmares still came, the vivid memories of Peter fading to dust, of his broken voice calling out to him, begging to be saved. Almost every night he was still awoken with a pained gasp, still feeling the dust on his fingers, even when the logical part of his brain knew Peter was just down the hall, still breathing, alive.
“FRIDAY,” he choked out one night as he stumbled out of his room, one hand pressed to his chest as he tried to get his breathing under control. “Is Peter—“
The AI answered readily, her voice gentle. “Peter is currently asleep in his room, sir.”
Tony nodded, inhaling shakily as he forced himself down the hall to Peter’s room. He trusted FRIDAY, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to relax until he saw Peter with his own eyes.
The door was closed, but Tony silently pushed it open, stepping inside to see the boy curled up under his blanket, his messy hair fanned out all over the pillow, mouth slightly open as he snored. He’s okay. He’s okay.
The rush of relief was so strong it almost sent Tony to his knees, but he managed to keep himself upright as he tiptoed forward and knelt at the foot of Peter’s bed. His socked feet stuck out from under the blanket, and Tony swallowed before reaching out his finger to tap against his foot.
tap, tap, tap.
i love you.
And even though he was still asleep, Peter’s foot still twitched in response. Finishing their song.