Chapter 1
Peter Parker had been doing better. His grades were going up. Tony let him keep his last name. May...
May was still weighing him down.
But he could carry it now. He could stumble quietly, break down silently. Just like he did every other time.
But now it was December, and Peter had to bite his tongue to keep back unwanted tears every time he heard No Place Like Home for the Holidays come on the radio in one of Tony’s cars and resort to the familiar fist as more pictures of smiling families with a mom and a dad and a cheery Labrador sprouted up around the city.
All of this he had been able to push down and ignore when he needed to, until he woke up to the muffled noises of what sounded like construction going on downstairs.
He rode the elevator still in his pajamas, yawning and rubbing sleep out of his eyes, waiting out the seven-floor ride. He wondered what had happened. A failed attempt at breaking and entering? A remodeling of the kitchen? The simple consequences of a child’s ill-fated baseball?
He did not expect to see twenty burly men putting the doorway back into place and a trail of pine needles leading to a gigantic, barren Christmas tree propped in the corner of the main living room. He was suddenly self-conscious of Spider-Man pajamas and bare feet against the cold tile floor. All the men were staring at him.
Luckily, Tony swooped in out of nowhere, already dressed in business-casual attire. He took Peter by the shoulders and flashed a winning smile to the workers as he said, “Don’t worry, everyone, just my intern. He worked too late so I let him sleep over.”
The men all exchanged skeptical glances, looking like they wanted to say something, but returned to work. They would just have to speculate about it over their lunch break. Tony let go of Peter, who was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, and stepped backwards, gazing at the gorgeous green monstrosity before him.
”Beautiful, isn’t she? Got her sent over from Washington—well, I didn’t, obviously, but she’ll still kill the magazine covers,” he remarked, brushing some stray needles off of his shirt. He turned back to Peter. “What do you think?”
Peter blinked. It was all a bit overwhelming, and random words—Beautiful, Washington, Magazine—were still circling the drain of his mind, trying their best to be processed. The cacophony of drills and hammering wasn’t helping much.
After a long moment, Peter slowly opened his mouth and replied, “Uh...It’s pretty, Tony.” Both of them could hear the unspoken but that followed.
Tony lifted one eyebrow and set the piercing gaze that Peter knew all too well on him. “And?” He asked.
Peter hesitated; He felt awfully stupid to be asking this. But it was too late now, he’d already dug his grave. “Are you going to...decorate it?”
Tony leaned back and let out a barking laugh. Peter jumped, startled, and had to keep himself from sticking to the high ceiling. “What?” He asked incredulously, crossing his arms over his chest.
Tony let out a wheezing breath and composed himself. “Kid—“ Another faint laugh. “Kid, of course I’m going to decorate it,” he replied, twisting his face in a mocking fashion. Peter felt a flash of hot irritation. “I already hired the decorators! What, you thought I’d just leave it like this?” Peter grew rigid where he stood. What? Tony, though, turned around without waiting for a reply, ready to get back to directing the slightly confused men.
Peter called after him before he could stop himself. “What do you mean ‘decorators’?”
Tony stopped, a ghost of a smile still playing on his lips. “Well, you know,” he explained, “I hire people to decorate the tower so I don’t have to. Just like I let people put up a tree so I don’t have to.” He started all this like it were obvious, making Peter feel like a petulant child.
Peter visibly sagged. “Oh,” was all he muttered, drawing his arms close to himself, not for the first time feeling much too small in this cold, open space.
Tomy, at least, seemed concerned; his eyebrows knitted close together and he took a gentle step towards Peter. “Hey, you alright?” He asked in a softer tone than before.
Don’t ruin this.
Peter straightened his back and plastered on a weak smile, wondering how his morening could have changed so quickly in only five minutes. “Yeah, just still a little groggy,” he lied. Tony seemed convinced.
”Teenagers,” he scoffed. “There should be coffee in the kitchen, that’ll help.” And without another word, he began shouting out orders for what screw should go where because I designed this thing, damnit!
Peter shuffled back to the elevator, wringing his hands and trying his best to ignore the sinking in his stomach. Peter had thought that Christmas here would be extravagant. He had pictured laughing with Pepper while hanging up golden lights or bickering with Sam over where to put the mistletoe.
He supposed that, yet again, he had expected the same experiences that he had had with May. But these people had much more important things to do than placate some kid’s holiday traditions. They had to save the world and stuff.
He slunk back to his room, which was now a permanent residence on one of the top floors, and tried not to huff like a child.
But by he time he reached his bed, he practically fell onto it. He wouldn’t be able to keep a single tradition. He wouldn’t pull Christmas crackers and read the jokes inside with Ben; he’d say a holiday greeting to Tony and Steve then go about his day like normal. He wouldn’t pretend to enjoy May’s cooking before giving up and getting takeout; he’d eat a gourmet meal and listen to the adults talk expense reports. He wouldn’t open one present that always turned out to be special pajamas on Christmas Eve; he’d sit alone in his room remembering how every year his Christmas got a little bit lonelier, a little bit darker, until it finally faded away.
But he couldn’t bother any of them with that. Because no matter how much he felt like a little kid lost in a blizzard with no one looking for them, they all had bigger problems than a teenager whining over a holiday. So for as long as he could, he sucked it up. When he came downstairs three days later to see the building decorated without an ounce of feeling put into it, he smiled then webbed up the cameras in the room over before they could record his quiet sobbing. When he increased his trips to the cemetery by at least three times and his stay at them by two. When he strolled through the stores and noticed that no one had even asked him what he had wanted for Christmas even though by now May would practically be begging him for specifics because It’s so hard to shop for a teenager, Peter, he reopened his old scars again to hold it together until he could find an empty rooftop to rock back and forth on for twenty-six minutes.
But, as he would soon come to find out, the Avengers had eyes everywhere. Even—especially—on him.