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“Why did May give you this baby picture of me?” Peter stared at the frame on the wall as the boys left the kitchen,
“That’s not you, it’s me…”
“No, it’s not… I have hundreds of pictures of me with that baby blanket. It was made specially for me-“
“Hate to tell ya, Kid, but that,” Tony poked at the frame, “is me. And my mother made me that blanket,”
“But. Those are the exact same colours as mine… and I had initials embroidered on the bottom right hand side… “
“Freaky coincidence…” Tony dismissed,
“You’re lying,” Peter accused,
“Why would I lie about a picture of me?”
“It’s not you, it’s me. See…” Peter scrambled for his phone, “I can prove it. The window frame in the background is the same.”
Peter flashed Tony a photo, and the man had no idea how to describe the way it made him feel.
His stomach swooped, fell to his feet. He burned hot, a chill ran down his spine. His mouth was dry, and yet, he was choking on his saliva.
“See. I have dark hair, and chubby cheeks. And I did that funny thing with my hands, and the blanket is exactly the same stripes, just like the picture… except… that… frame has a different bassinet…”
Tony thought he might vomit from the pressure of the thoughts running through his head,
“How could we have almost identical baby pictures… you would’ve been born into wealth. That hospital would’ve been a hundred times fancier than the one I was born in. And your Mum would’ve spent a fortune on fabric… and… and that handbag on the window- it’s the same…”
Maria was elegant, but simple. She’d repurchased the exact same handbag decades in a row, and always placed it down the exact same way. Her own mother had taught her to, something about respect and elegance. Image had always been everything.
The blanket was a family tradition. Somewhere deep in a box at the bottom of a cupboard, Tony still had that tiny blanky, perfect, muted, steely grey, beige, and army green coloured strips. Somehow, his mother had made it look less tacky than it sounds.
They’re Stark colours.
His parents branding.
As a boy, he’d only been dressed in those three colours. His father’s creations all matched. Their own attire, decor, Christmas card colours, and even the pens they wrote with were only their colours.
And Peter’s photo perfectly matched the old blue-grey of Howard’s suits, the military green of his projects, and the beige of young Tony’s dress shirts.
Tony short-circuited.
He didn’t know what to do except pull the boy into his chest and hold him.
That was the only certain thing. He and Peter. He. And. Peter.
“Oh my god…” Tony breathed,
“What-“
“He let it slip, once…” Tony’s memories supplied, “said he looked just like me, and my mother… my mother sent Dad out, and told me we were both talking nonsense… they knew. My parents knew everything, and I…”
“What did they know?” Peter pushed,
“Peter…” Tony willed him to understand,
The boys voice was shaky, unsure, “You think…”
“It’s right there…”
“You’re my…”
“Dad.”
Peter went quiet, and it set Tony’s nerves further on edge.
He didn’t say anything, just stood in silence, cheek pressed to Tony’s shoulder as he stared at the frame on the wall.
Tony didn’t interrupt him, fearing that he could lose the boy if he startled him. If Peter was unhappy with the revelation, or embarrassed or disappointed, then he could run.
Tony didn’t know what to think or feel, but he knew damn well that he didn’t want Peter to go.
Intern, or ward, or friend or son, did not matter. Peter being here, in his lab, in his office. That had become something he wouldn’t live without.
“I want to talk to May,”Peter broke the silence eventually,
“Of course,” Tony allowed,
“The three of us…”
“…Okay.”
Peter pulled away, almost clinically, professional, even, making his way to the door, and Tony had no choice but to follow.
Tony drove, and they spent the trip in silence. Peter stared out the window the entire time, not turning his head to even see out the windshield.
Tony felt removed from him. Like Peter had built this wall to kept them each on one side. He didn’t like how that felt.
As much as it scared him to think that he was an actual father, not being in Peter’s life at all scared him a hell of a lot more.
May understood, the moment they walked in the door.
It must’ve been the look on Peter’s face.
She’d been cutting bread in the kitchen when Peter flew through the door, and she silently brushed his hands off on her hips before moving to the arm rest of the couch in the living room, sitting a few meters away from Peter, giving him space to sit.
She waited, her own negotiation until Peter sat, and Tony was grateful once he realised, that Peter couldn’t run so easily this way.
It also made him smaller, and hopefully extinguished some fuel from the fire burning under the surface.
In a daze, Tony moved to perch on the other couch- all three of them keeping their own distance.
There was a picture- the picture, almost identical to Tony’s, sat on the side table, May fetching it before she started to talk. As though looking at it encouraged all of her memories of Peter’s birth rushing back to her.
Peter scoffed, and Tony caught the roll of his eyes. May’s attention set on him instead, and Tony suddenly thought he might be sick having this conversation.
“Your mother was very excited… she was insistent on the blanket,” May smiled softly, meeting Tony’s eyes, “it was the only time we ever saw them. Before…”
“Why wouldn’t they tell me?” Tony wondered, trying to comprehend,
“She wanted to…”
“And you?” Peter demanded,
“Peter wasn’t my baby… it wasn’t my place,” May looked back at her lap,
“That shouldn’t have mattered,” Peter dismissed, “You should’ve-“
“I know, Pete… I know you have feelings about this based on the fact that you know each other now… but you have to understand, back then…”
“I wasn’t me,” Tony finished for her, “I didn’t deserve to be a father, and I wouldn’t have made even a decent Dad…”
“We deserved to know the truth,” Peter argued, “you’ve had all this time,” he looked sharply to his aunt,
“I know… I considered it many times. I just thought it better for both of you that you bond in your own way, without any forced intention to.”
The explanation hadn’t calmed Peter any.
He would barely look at her now. Tony could feel the waves of heat coursing off of him.
Tony on the other hand felt frozen. Like he couldn’t place reality. Was he dreaming? Was he sick? Was someone in his head, jumbling his thoughts?
“You just watched us together. All the time,” Peter started again, “that very first day. Tony sat on your couch and you acted totally normal. But you knew the truth,”
“He gave me a hell of a shock at the door…” she admitted, “I thought he must’ve found out. Then he started talking about you, and your potential, and I knew that he didn’t know, and if I told him, and he didn’t take the news well, or thought I was trying to trick him… I’d take a really good opportunity away from you- a chance at a decent future,”
“And every time after that?” Peter pushed again,
“I thought about it. And I just kept thinking, ‘one day. One day…’ then you had such a beautiful relationship without even knowing, and I just didn’t want anything to change.”
May and Tony both.
He could understand her take, but he was still reeling.
How the hell had his parents known? Who found them, and why hadn’t they said anything? Why hadn’t he been allowed to hold his baby?
Who decided to rob him of that?
“Peter, come here,” Tony extended a hand, willing him closer.
Peter was still pouting, defiant now against them both, staring Tony down for a long moment. He relented eventually, huffing as he hauled himself off the couch and over to Tony.
The man pulled him down into his lap, wrapping his arms around the kid and letting his chin fall on Peter’s head.
The weight of Peter felt right. Like a deep connection, two pieces made to fit together, finally colliding home. Tony could feel the familiarity of their souls in his chest.
He closed his eyes and took it in.
May left quietly, quiet footsteps wandering down the hall of the small apartment, and Tony took a breath, savouring the smell of Peter’s shampoo.
“I know it’s a lot to process- I’m drowning here too… but we’re still you and me, right? ...’cause you’re still my little Spiderling, and I need to know this hasn’t changed the way you see me… you don’t think of me like a failure now, do you?”
“No. Why would I do that?”
Tony shrugged, “‘cause now you’re connected to me… I just didn’t want you to feel embarrassed, or burdened or ashamed-“
“I don’t feel those things about you…” Peter mumbled, twisting to look at Tony, “I don’t know how I feel… but it’s not… bad… okay, maybe I’m angry…” he admitted, “…but I’m not unhappy…”
“I don’t know if I’m happy, or scared, or confused, or tricked… But I know I’m still in this… even if it’s gonna look a little different in the end… I won’t run away from this,” Tony promised, “the feelings I have about my parents involvement, and about May keeping it a secret are entirely seperate to how I feel about you. I know how I feel about you. You’re my Peter, in any and every way…”
“…Can I just be angry and confused for a while?”
“Sure… can I just be scared and confused for a while?”
“…Yeah…”
“Together?”
Peter snuggled back in, tucking his head under Tony’s chin, “together.”
Tomorrow, Tony decided, they would deal with it. For now, they could take their time. They could let the emotions work through them at a healthier pace, and when they were ready, they could hear May out some more.
Tony kicked his feet up on the table, settling them in.
May had left the frame behind, and with a bit of wiggling, Tony managed to get a couple fingertips on it to slide closer.
He pulled it to his face- his eyes weren’t so good these days.
“You were a cute kid,” he smiled,
“Shut up,” Peter hit him in the chest, “I look exactly like you,”
“Oh. No wonder I’ve been voted most handsome man in the world the past twenty years,”
“Get over yourself,” Tony could hear the little smile in the words,
“Promise me, that if this changes anything, it’s only for the better,” Tony requested,
“I promise.”
Tony squeezed his kid, closing his eyes and taking it all in.
Despite the muddle of thoughts in his head, he could very safely say, he had never felt so at peace before, holding Peter.
A piece of him that had felt missing for the past seventeen years finally felt whole. And he understood.
Peter was his baby, and finally, he was home.