Warnings: Tony Stark-x-Pepper Potts, Minor Character Death, Guilt Issues, Abandonment Issues, Orphaned!Peter, Adoptive Father!Tony, Severe Injuries, Superhero Accidents/Collateral Damage, Making Amends, Original Unimportant Characters
Summary: A diverted attack takes away the last Peter has, and it's all Iron Man's fault.
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Marvel Comics and their various writers. I make no profit from this work of fiction.

BECAUSE WE NEED EACH OTHER
TONY STARK AND PETER PARKER
PART 1

He would be happy if he never had to attend another funeral in his life. There were no jokes to be made, no underhanded comments, or light-hearted, teasing gestures; only solemn silence and grim expressions of sorrow were really acceptable, and Tony couldn't handle that very well. He was the epitome of asshole remarks and the opposite of seriousness. A funeral was just too much.

It was made even worse by the fact that he and his narcissistic oversight were the reason Ben and May Parker were in the ground now. Tony refused to fall back into the moments leading up to their demise, but the images came all the same. There was a D-list villain, and Tony would rightfully call him a nobody. All he wanted was Iron Man's attention so he could take his metal head and prove that Iron Man could be defeated. Who was Tony Stark to deny a fan? The idiot was nothing but a glory-seeker at best and a shit-stirrer at worse.

At least, that's what Tony thought before the man destroyed a level of the parking garage they had found themselves in. It was a level that was deserted. Tony had counted maybe seven vehicles in all, and not one owner or passenger. It was the perfect playground until it wasn't. The Parkers' car descended down the ramp from a higher level, no doubt obvious to the sudden noise and movement that busted in through the concrete not a moment before. How the jackass he fought had found a way to deflect and redirect the pulse from his hand was a mystery he intended to figure out the moment it happened. However, Tony quickly forgot that science project the second his attack collided with the car.

Hollywood would have made the vehicle explode, but the reality was that it crumbled in on itself. The metal shrunk and bent as if frightened, the glass shattered and ran with a piercing shriek, the tires exploded like water balloons, and the hood snapped up almost comically, twisted just enough to spear through the windshield, and lodge itself into the front seats where Ben and May sat. Tony hadn't heard anything from either of them; he liked to think they were gone instantly.

Peter had been another story. The sound he had made was more than a shriek in terror and much more than a scream in pain. From where he stood, Tony could just barely see the top of the young boy's head through the splintered and warped window, and he didn't like the sight of brown hair splattered with red even the tiniest bit, no more than he liked how his yells suddenly disappeared.

"Hang on, kid! I'll-!"

He was flung away by a powerful blow to his side. His plan turned from taking the nobody down to taking him down and relieving him of his limbs. He was careful of his pulses and ammo; Tony wasn't confident that they wouldn't be deflected again, but thankfully, every shot he took landed very cleanly. Iron Man was more than his weapons and armor, and he was more than happy to show off what his fists could do. The Glory-Seeker fell to a heap at his feet all too quickly. Tony wished it had been quicker.

Satisfied that his enemy wouldn't be moving any time soon, he rushed back to the car and wrenched the door from it. The scene was just as he predicted. Ben and May were beyond help, and the young boy, no more than six or seven, was slumped in his seat. His tiny arm had a long gash down the outside of it; both legs were tangled in loose metal, one more so than the other; and his head was freckled with glass and painted in red swirls. Tony wasted no time in delicately bending and folding back the pieces that held the boy captive and ripping the seat belt from him. When he was lifted, he weighed nothing and sagged against red and gold.

"JARVIS."

"He's still alive, sir."

"Notify the authorities."

"Already done, sir. Estimated time of arrival is one-minute forty-seconds."

"I won't be waiting."

"Of course."

Tony wanted to say that the rush to the hospital was a blur, but he remembered every cloud and building that passed him by. He remembered keenly the cacophony of doctors and nurses and medical equipment rushing around him and terms being tossed about that he knew he should have known but couldn't bring to the forefront of his mind. It only became slower and murkier when the child was taken from his arms and was wheeled away.

He could have left. Some small part of him told him that his job was done and that he should leave, but he couldn't. Still in armor and unaware of the stares and whispers and exclamations of happy surprise, he sat in the waiting room and gazed ahead, replaying the events leading up to where he currently was. He talked to no one that approached, not even the occasional excited child eager for his attention. Thankfully, the parents of those children were more receptive to the atmosphere and gently steered them away with a worried look thrown toward him.

Tony answered no phone calls, muted JARVIS, and waited in total silence. How and when Pepper found him, he wasn't sure. She tried speaking to him, just as the children had, but when he didn't counter back with a smart quip or counterargument, she too fell quiet. She knew all too well that no matter how much Tony tried to hide, it, whatever it may be, would eventually surface. She just hoped that it wouldn't blow up in their faces and/or cause her a panic-induced heart attack as per usual.

"Mister Stark?"

The woman's voice startled him and caused him to jump from his seat. He stood in front of her, helmet off and eyes filled with impatient worry. To ease him, she smiled softly.

"Don't look so grim," She cooed, "He's stable, and things look promising."

"Him?" Pepper inquired, rising to stand next to Tony, "Who is he? Who are we talking about?"

The doctor straightened a bit, took a deep breath, and released it, "He woke for a moment during our stitch work. He told me his name is Peter and that he'll be eight soon," Her smile wanted to pull her lips back up, but they remained set in a line, "That's as much as I got out of him before he fell unconscious again. He's still asleep for now.

"Peter has a grand total of forty-seven stitches, three fractured ribs, a distal radius fracture, and, the most severe, a femoral shaft fracture. Unfortunately, we cannot cast or splint his chest as it would restrict his breaking, but we can cast his wrist, and his ribs should heal nicely on their own. Our x-rays show there is no chipping or complete breakage, but we will be keeping a close eye on him to see if there are any breathing difficulties or internal bleeding. What we will need to do is operate on his leg.

"While the bone didn't slip too badly out of place or break into many pieces, his femur will need to be stabilized if it's to heal properly. It's pretty routine. In my experience, people recover quite well during and after, and I have high hopes for Peter. Unfortunately, I cannot continue without proper consent. It's not a life-threatening injury, but neither should it be classified as elective."

"Well, you have it," Tony instantly replied.

"Mister Stark, are you his legal guardian?"

"No."

"Do you know how I can reach someone for him?"

Tony hesitated, "No, but I can find out."

"Please do," She nodded, "Do you have any questions for me? Concerns?"

"Can I see him?" Tony asked before Pepper could chime in.

The doctor licked her lips, "I'll have to advise against that for right now, Mister Stark. He's resting and still being looked over. Once we're sure he's settled completely and there's less fuss, you're more than welcome to visit. I'll keep you posted until such a time."

He could only nod and fade out of the conversation. Pepper began asking all the right things immediately, all the while flicking her gaze toward Tony with questions filling the air between them. He didn't acknowledge them. They were for another time. His thoughts went straight to Peter.

The next few days were filled with reports, plans, a surgery, questioning, and more than a few jabs at him. Normally, the sharpened barbs thrown about by the media and critics would give Tony a thing or two to giggle at while he worked, but he heard and took every word to heart. If he hadn't known better, he would swear the shrapnel in his chest had finally met its mark because it was true. Every nasty comment and critique was true and tore straight through him. It was almost enough of a deterrent towards seeing Peter.

Almost.

The reality was that Tony had been permitted to see him that evening, but the boy had been fast asleep on not just the first but every occasion Tony visited. Iron Man was beginning to think that Peter was hiding, somehow knowing that he was coming and shutting his eyes just in time to play pretend. Tony couldn't blame him if that was the truth, but logic said that Peter couldn't possibly be that lucky, and the child did need his rest. The plaster, bandages, and medicines were testimony to that.

So Tony tried whenever he could until finally he caught Peter awake. A woman dressed to the nines in floral patterns and white passed him by as he entered. She gave him no second or even a first glance and seemed on a mission as she left. Tony knew her instantly to be a member of social services. The air about her reeked of foster care and good intentions and gave him a slight shiver as well as an awful aftertaste.

Peter looked up at him as he slipped through the drawn curtain, and their eyes locked. Neither spoke or made any move, and both were very caught. It suddenly struck Tony that he hadn't the slightest idea as to what to say to Peter; he'd selfishly wanted to visit for one reason: to make sure he hadn't died. The doctors and nurses had told him that much already, and while it was true that seeing was believing, he didn't think he needed that kind of verification. It was with jarring clarity that he realized he wanted more than proof of life. Tony felt a debilitating guilt and a sadness deeper than any measurable depth, and some part of him wanted Peter to spit that back at him and give him concrete proof that his emotions were spot on.

But he didn't. Peter sat amongst the white and metal, wrapped in a splash of red and blue plaster, and waited for Tony, as the adult, to make the first move so he knew how to react in turn. Tony wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse to be in the position of control.

He forced himself to speak regardless, "Hi, Peter. I'm-" Tony trailed off, shut his eyes, and sighed. It seemed ridiculous to introduce himself when he was so well-known.

"Tony Stark," Peter finished for him after a few heartbeats, "Iron Man. Which do you like better?"

"Whichever. I mean, whatever you want to call me."

"I like Tony," Peter said with finality.

"Yeah," Tony nodded, then rambled on, "Yeah, me too. My mom picked it. Good job, if I had to say anything about it."

"My mom picked mine too. Uncle Ben told me."

As he usually did, Tony decided to jump in feet first, "Is that who you'll be staying with? Your Uncle Ben?"

Peter looked down at the red cast on his wrist, "I was staying with Uncle Ben and Aunt May already."

"Yeah?" Tony swallowed the knot in his throat. He knew where this was going even before Peter continued.

"Mom and Dad are dead. We had a funeral for them. Now Aunt May and Uncle Ben are going to get one too," Tony opened his mouth to spill out his apologies, but Peter didn't let him. Doe-like eyes looked back up at him with sharp understanding and held his gaze like a metal to a magnet, "I knew they would. People like leaving me."

"That's not true. I don't think that's true at all."

"You sound like Betty. And the nurses. And that one doctor that told me she fixed my leg," Peter finally broke his stare, and Tony felt himself able to take a satisfying breath, "Betty likes to lie, so I don't believe her when she says things to me. The people she talks to on the phone don't call her Betty, so I know that's not her name. If she's lying about that, then she could lie about other things, right? She could lie about people leaving me and how I'll really like my new home."

"New home," Tony repeated. Peter took it as a question.

"Mhm. She says she's trying to keep me close to school, so I don't have to 'readjust much,' but there 'aren't many fostering families in the city anymore.' She didn't tell me this. Just some lady on the phone. I know it means that I'll have to move again.

"Maybe if I ask Harry really, really nice when he comes to visit again, he can ask his dad to take me. That way we won't be far away from each other and we can still be friends. Harry isn't allowed out much though. I don't know when I'll see him."

The knot in Tony's throat didn't go away after his fourth swallow. Peter's brutal honesty would have been met with nothing short of a smartass remark had the setting and circumstances been different. All the while, Tony would have been admiring the truthfulness and bluntness with an almost snobbish appreciation, but every word made him feel grimy and cold as if submerged in muck. Tony knew loneliness and abandonment as intimately as he knew the inner workings of his armor. Hearing Peter mirror near-identical thoughts Tony himself had as a child hurt . It reopened old wounds and created quite a few more, especially since Tony was the reason-

No, he and Pepper had this conversation. He couldn't lie about the events, but it hardly helped anyone to play the only wounded party.

"Are you feeling any better, Peter?" He asked as he sat in the rolly chair Peter's doctor normally occupied and slid Peter's side, "Still hurting?"

Peter nodded, "My chest hurts. It feels like a bruise all over. Like when I slammed my fingers in the door but around my middle."

"I'm sorry," Tony said earnestly, "Really, really sorry. I wish I could have done more. Helped your aunt and uncle too. I didn't try hard enough-"

Peter's tiny hand cut him off as it covered the back of his. The squeeze he tried to give it was weak but crippled Tony under its weight. Peter's half-smile was just an additional kick that knocked the wind from him.

"It's okay, Tony. I'm sad too."

Tony hardly left Peter's side after that. He even went so far as to move Peter into a private room, fill it with toys he thought the boy would like, and helped Peter along when he couldn't answer any of Betty's questions or comments. He even funded the very funeral he was currently attending. Ben and May weren't without instructions pertaining to the event of their deaths, but hadn't planned past where they wanted to be buried when it came to their own bodies. Tony couldn't begrudge them; no person ever thought they would kick it early, especially with a child in the house and a lot to look forward to.

Peter had looked very small the entire service. He was utterly lost in the sea of people much older than him, and yet, he stuck out like a rose among weeds in his wheelchair and casts. Whether he was immune to the various, numerous looks being thrown his way, Tony was in no position to say. Peter didn't react to any of them. He looked straight at the closed twin coffins and made no move to stop any of his silent tears. The only indication that he was even remotely present was his seeking of Tony's hand, which he grabbed with surprising strength and squeezed.

He got no better (no worse?) as the procession moved from the funeral home to grave site. A sea of black and forlorn faces followed the men carrying Ben and May on their shoulders. Tony was deaf to the crying, whimpering, whispering, and sniffling. The image of the dead pair flashed vividly across his mind's eye, as if he was back in the moment he pulled Peter from their mangled car. His heart raced in his chest, and his teeth grinded together so loudly, he knew everyone around could hear. Peter didn't even react to his distress, and Tony didn't want him to.

Neither heard the man speak as Ben and May Parker were put into their final resting places. The only hiccup in the grim silence was Peter, who, after all this time of being deathly quiet, finally wailed. It conquered all other sadness and seemed to carry for miles. Many sprung up to their feet at the sound and surrounded Peter, ready to comfort and smother the awful noise. Tony, who had been sitting just to Peter's left, did nothing more than reach out, cover his tiny hand with his broad, calloused one, and squeeze. It earned him more than a few nasty glares and a handful of confused expressions.

A little awkwardly and a little too quickly, Peter turned in his chair to cling to Tony's arm, bury his face into his bicep, and bawl. He was shushed and fussed over still, but he ignored all his aunt's and uncle's close friends in favor of wrapping his arms tighter around Tony's. Tony didn't try to smother his agony by asking him to calm down; he let him carry on in whatever way he saw fit.

No one stayed for very long after the mounds had been made. When all realized that Peter wanted nothing to do with anyone other than Tony, they left him with only a few lingering looks and heavy sympathy.

Tony pushed Peter closer to the graves. He wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, but it quelled the boy's howling and focused him. It was almost a challenge and most certainly heartbreaking to pull free of Peter's hold, but at the very least, he kept a loose grip on his hand. An hour was contained in a second, and the sun raced through the sky as if eager to sleep and have the day killed. Even the sun couldn't stand the weight of sorrow Peter was feeling.

When blue began to speckle with pinks, purples, and oranges, Tony blurted out, "Peter, how'd you like to come home with me?"

Peter's wide, tear-flooded eyes finally snapped away from Ben and May Parkers' graves. With a blink, the last hot droplets fell from his lashes and down his cheeks. Tony squatted down to Peter's level to make sure Peter knew he was hearing exactly what he was saying.

"What do you say? Wanna come live with me?"

"You," The boy started, but his voice was weak from misuse and failed him. Tony was more patient than he had ever been in his entire life as he waited for Peter to continue, "You want me to live with you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Why?" It was an innocent enough question, until he added, "Why do you want me?"

"Because I think we need each other."

"Betty said she found me a family," Peter whispered sadly, as if all was final, "They're nice. I met them. Misses Rose and Mister Ethan Brown. They want me to live with them very much. They'll take me as soon as Doctor Lexi says I can go."

Tony waved the idea away like a bad smell, "Don't worry about them. I wanna know what you want. I'm not going to make you go with me."

Peter stared, and Tony found himself unable to decipher the emotions swirling in the earthy brown. The boy's facial muscles didn't twitch or morph, and his lips stayed in a firm, sad line. Nothing betrayed any of his thoughts.

"If I say no, you'll leave me, won't you?" More tears rolled down his face. Tony didn't think anyone had that much fluid in them to cry as much as Peter had.

"No," Tony whispered, but cleared his throat and added, "Only if you want me to, that is."

It was all the spark, all the unintended confirmation, Peter's panic needed to burst into a roaring, uncontrollable flame. The look of absolute terror and hysteria that consumed his face had Tony trying to backpedal. However, the damage had been done. Thankfully, Peter didn't withdraw and hide; instead, he sought out Tony's frame like one would a log in a stormy sea. His skinny arms wrapped tightly enough around his neck to choke him, and his whole being shook with jarring tremors.

"Don't leave me!" Peter began to chant, curling his pleading fingers into talons against Tony's shoulder blades.

With great uncertainty, Tony hugged back, "No one's leaving anyone."

"Mom and Dad left!" Peter wailed anew, "Uncle Ben and Aunt May left! I don't want Tony to leave too! I don't wanna go with Rose and Ethan! I don't wanna make new friends! I don't wanna hafta move again! I wanna go home! I want Mom and Dad and Uncle Ben and Aunt May back!"

"I know," Tony repeated over and over to him. He knew Peter wasn't listening, and it made him feel no better to reply without anything more concrete, but he had to say something. The tones of his voice soothed him as much as Peter's anguish wounded. He wanted desperately to tell him that it would all be okay, but Tony knew the phrase wouldn't help.

It was nearly dark when Peter's wails and sobs dimmed down to hiccups and snorting sniffles, and he was exhausted. His slowly loosening hold spoke all the levels of fatigue that Peter was incapable of putting into words, but he was able to say other feelings.

"I don't want to go with Rose and Ethan," Peter faltered through his lingering cries, "I don't like them much."

"They're nice, but you don't like them?"

"They're nice like teachers are nice."

It struck and impressed him once again how perceptive Peter was, "You can still come with me, Peter. We'll stay right here. You won't have to go anywhere far."

Peter was quiet for so long that Tony thought he'd fallen asleep. Finally, he nodded his head against his shoulder.

"Okay."

"Okay," Tony confirmed.

"I want Tony to stay."

"I can do that."

.::|~|::.

The next year was filled once again with grievances and annoyances, necessities and unnecessities, physical therapy and recovery, and a full blown social war. Tony was used to getting his way at the snap of his fingers, and when that didn't work, he was used to waving around a full fan of cash and still getting what he wanted. This time, neither method worked.

Ethan and Rose Brown had not taken too kindly to having the boy they were promised snatched away so suddenly (and in their own words viciously) by Tony "Iron Man" Stark. They argued Tony's track record and his current record. They argued his emotional state and his state of fault. They argued his status as a detached CEO, a reckless vigilante, and a whoremangering, narcissistic, parasitic booze-tub to make their case. Tony could only honestly argue against two of the three titles unfortunately. The last everyone was fully aware of; most even embraced it.

Social Services was not one of those entities that tolerated Tony's aforementioned flaws, as far behind him as they may be. Ethan and Rose had pristine records, and, what's better, they had little to no notoriety. They weren't frequent targets, nor were they in any danger of accidentally getting Peter blown up, kidnapped, killed, or maimed. Well, killed or maimed went with almost any parent regardless of how careful they were. Kids were going to get hurt somehow. They lived for it.

The one thing Tony had going for him was Peter himself. Though Peter wasn't twelve, the age of consent in adoption, he was listened to, and he had a lot of noise to make. If Tony didn't know Peter at all, he would have said he was the single worst brat on the planet. Whenever Ethan and Rose decided to make an appearance, the fit would begin. Tony didn't think it possible for anyone, let alone a child, to be such a monster while still recovering from multiple injuries. The visits usually ended with Ethan and Rose red-faced, flustered, and beside themselves, and Peter positively worn out from acting out of character.

Tony took great pride that Peter was the picture of perfection and happiness whenever he was around.

Needless to say, it was a trying, lengthy time that Tony wouldn't wish on his worst enemy (not that he wanted his worst enemy adopting, God forbid), and in the end, Tony won. Despite his past and despite the negative attention he naturally attracted, Tony became Peter's guardian, much to Ethan's and Rose's ire. But they didn't matter anymore than their arguments mattered when all was said and done. Tony was the winner, as per usual, as it should be.

The win didn't come without baggage, however. He was closely watched and always bothered, and Peter hadn't even been able to come home with him yet. Too much still had to be done. Doctor visits and a clear room had to be made for the boy, as well as a trip to Peter's previous home. Most everything had been left to him in Ben's and May's wills, and as a result, the sheer amount of stuff was enough to bury anyone, especially a young child with too much emotional strain as it was. The endeavor was as exhausting as it was stressful, overwhelming, and unfruitful. Only Peter's bed, a box of clothes, and a favorite and well-loved toy made it to Tony's home that night. Tony resolved to just hire the right people to maintain the property until Peter was ready to shuffle through the endless amount of things again.

Somehow, Tony knew it would be no easier the next time than it was the last and was kicking himself for even suggesting going back to the Parkers' home to Peter.

Peter's new room wasn't empty by any means, however, when he finally did arrive. Everything he had accumulated during his stay in the hospital was moved promptly and the bedroom looked nearly lived-in. All it needed was a little boy to play pretend in, run around in, dirty, and sleep in it. As soon as Peter was given the okay to rough-house, there would hardly be an issue.

Thankfully, that was one area that had nearly no hitches: Peter's recovery. He bounced back like a new rubber ball. The cast on his wrist came off at seven weeks, his ribs were given the okay at eight, and finally, after six and a half months of rigorous do-almost-nothing while his femur healed, Peter was cleared for physical therapy, which he took to gratefully. Even after moving in with Tony, he continued, as per doctor's orders, his scheduled exercises and visits and listened very politely and obediently when told he still couldn't run, but that would be over soon enough, and he could tear the house and synthetic yard up at his leisure.

At the moment, however, he was very content to sit on the opposite end of Tony's couch and secretly watch him tinker with a robotic part he'd been fussing over for three hours. After what seemed like Tony's millionth hissed curse, Peter crawled over the cushions and sat himself right down in Tony's lap. Tony's eyebrows knitted as he took in the event. It was surprising, spectacular, and a little annoying; Tony would call it the solar eclipse of social interactions.

"Pretty presumptuous aren't you?"

"Was that a snarky comment?"

"Of course."

Peter beamed, "I knew it!"

"Why ask?"

Peter's toes curled against the couch's fabric, his fingers fiddling with the toy in his hands, "Steve said you were King of Snarky Comments. I heard him."

Tony smirked. He had use for a snitch, "Did he now?"

"Snarky Starky."

Tony laughed, "That Steve's too?"

"Nope! Mine!" Peter exclaimed happily, "Better than 'Iron Man'!"

"Nothing's better than Iron Man," He replied haughtily.

"Why are you Iron Man if your suit isn't iron?"

"It's catchier."

"The Tin Cup," added Peter thoughtfully, "The Metallic Motormouth."

Tony was actually impressed, "You're good."

"Those were Bruce's."

It was comfortable between the two of them after Tony managed to hurdle their closeness. He could work just as easily with Peter in his lap as he could without, and Peter was hardly a nuisance. Tony wasn't used to quiet children. Most rushed up to him with such excitement, determination, and happiness that it almost grated against his aura. Had he been a weaker or more anxious or introverted man, the attention would have taken its toll, but Tony was none of those things usually.

He couldn't deny, however, Peter's presence was a balm the past few weeks the child has been living with him. While quiet, he still made the slightest bit of white noise; currently, it was the way he played with the knotted puzzle in his fingers. The slightest click, the gentlest sigh, and the tiniest rustle of clothing as he moved were comforting things. It was nice to have a constant presence about, even if that presence assumed too much and cuddled without asking.

It was because of Peter's continuous white noise that Tony was hyper aware of its absence. He looked down and found the child fast asleep against him.

"JARVIS."

"Yes, sir?"

"Help."

"You don't seem to be in any distress."

"Don't feel too bad, but that's where you are very wrong."

Tony sat stiffly, unwilling to take a deep breath or move too suddenly lest he wake the child in his lap. Peter was beyond being jarred awake by such simple movements; head tucked neatly under Tony's jaw, body molded against his chest, and good leg bent against his side, he was rooted in like a tick and just as comfortable, and Tony couldn't make heads or tails of the situation.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pepper's silhouette glide down the steps. She paused for a moment and stared, but quickly enough decided to leave the pair be and continue on about her business.

"Pepper," Tony hissed. Peter squirmed minutely and smack his lips. Tony bit his own and held his breath until he thought Peter had settled again, "Pepper!"

She appeared behind the sofa, leaned against it, and smiled teasingly at him with her chin in her palm, "Don't you two look comfy."

"What do I do?" He hastily asked.

"What do you mean 'what do I do'? You don't have to do anything."

"If I move, he'll wake up."

"Then don't move."

"But-"

Pepper's smile returned in gentle fashion as she pressed a finger to Tony's lips and gave him a silencing look, "Take a nap, Tony."

She left him there with only that simple sentence. Tony stared after her for a moment, watched her disappear around the corner, and was immersed into bearable helplessness.

.::|~|::.

Pepper would return a couple hours later to check on her two favorite boys, only to find Peter right where he had fallen asleep and Tony with his mouth open, head lolled back, and a quiet snore leaving him. With a bitten back chuckle, she snapped a picture and left them be.

Author's Note: For those expecting a SuperFamily fic, I apologize, but it will never be as such.

On another note, this piece is simply a background work for a larger series I'm planning. It's been rolling around in my head for a little while, and it needed to be dumped out before it exploded into something I couldn't control. I loved the idea of Tony playing parent, and I love Peter Parker regardless of situation, so I combined the two. I hope I did an alright job.

If you would like to see more scenes about Life with Tony and Peter, I'd be more than willing to pen them. They'd remain as nonconsecutive chapters on this, Part One, and probably wouldn't be updated frequently, but with a little hope and pretty words, they'd at least be enjoyable.

Finally, to all you hardcore Marvel fans out there, I have an apology. I have only seen the movies, so I don't think it's fair of me to ask you to expect anything more than that meager knowledge. I've wanted to educate myself with the comics, but the endeavor is much too great an undertaking. Thus far, I've only managed to read Spider-Gwen, Silk, Spider-Woman, and Spiderman/Deadpool, all really recent comic series that I've found some enjoyment in. Unfortunately, I won't be going much further than that. I haven't the time, energy, or money.