Archive of Our Own ^beta

So, here’s what nobody tells you about kids:

Kids are, above all else, a commitment and a half. You bathe them, feed them, clothe them, and do just about everything for them during their formative years. 

And then, once they’re done needing to be coddled, they grow up a bit and become teenagers! And goodness gracious, they’re even worse. Teenagers are mouthy, rebellious, and reckless. All they think about is what they want- and at least before, as kids, they had some respect for their elders. As teens? Nothing. 

They’re work. Tony figured that out about a month into even knowing Peter Parker- way before he started playing Father for the kid. 

He gives May Parker and every other parent out there major props, because the literal moment Tony tried parenting it was as if somebody blindfolded him and stuck him in a room filled with pointy cactuses. It was weird and confusing, and so damn infuriating. 

But in the end, everything turned out fine.

He and May did it. Between the two of them, Tony likes to say they successfully co-parented a child. And did a pretty awesome job too. Peter Parker, isn’t fourteen anymore, but rather a grown man who has both the biggest heart and the sharpest mind. He’s married, and working as a photographer, who also happens to run an entire Stark Industries department. 

And yeah, He was a handful, that’s the honest truth. Always getting hurt as Spider-man (Which he still does. But he’s more responsible now.) and giving the two adults mini heart-attacks. But hey! He’s making it in life just fine, and neither Tony, nor May, got stabbed by any cactuses! (They only got pricked a couple of times.) So that’s a win.  

Yeah, Tony muses. Kids don’t seem worth the trouble at all.

But they are. 

 They’re worth all that headache and more. Because Tony had never known this, but every single ounce of frustration seems to leave your body once you see that metaphorical (and literal, in Tony’s case) Science fair award on your fridge. It’s there, and the kid who earned it is probably out getting themselves into trouble, but it makes you so damn proud it hurts.

Or well- maybe that’s a weird example. This is a lot bigger than the Engineering Medal Peter won during his sophomore year. And it certainly makes Tony a lot prouder than that did, too. 

“You sure you want me around your new, very impressionable baby, kid? I can turn around right now and make this your very first parenting choice.” 

Tony’s not freaking out. He’s not. He’s just lightening the mood for Peters sake. The kid gets awkward easily and- 

 “Hardy Har, Mr Stark. Get your decaying bones in this room right now before I sick Aunt May on you.” 

He’s not falling for it, is he? Figures. Peter’s one of the only people on earth who see through Tony’s habit of self-deprecating humor. He should’ve known the kid would just plow through his excuse to not meet the baby. The baby, who Tony does want to meet. More than anything else, actually. 

But he’s…scared, and he knows he shouldn’t be. It’s just a baby. But also- the way he’s managed to not damage Peter all these years was luck. He’s pretty sure he can’t pull that off twice, which is terrifying. 

Regardless, He steps into the room as commanded, clutching a hand to his chest. “You wouldn’t!” He gasps, feigning offense. (Calling May is a low blow, and judging by the kids deadpan expression, it’s a serious threat.) 

“Also,” He adds, sending a wave toward Michelle who’s sat upright in her hospital bed, smiling at their banter. “I love how you’re demanding things now. Telling me what to do? Excuse me, kid, I’m in charge of you, last I checked.” 

Peter shakes his head. “Nobody’s in charge of me but MJ, I’m afraid. I’m nearly twenty-six.” 

“Fourteen, you mean.” 

“Do you want to meet the baby or not?” 

Tony nods and flops onto the seat beside Peter’s. He so grown up now, Tony thinks. Wasn’t he just a teenager begging for Tony to let him meet Thor? Who let Tony’s kid get so mature? 

Why wasn’t he informed? 

Michelle grins at the two of them, gesturing for Peter to grab the baby from the (The two new parents decided to keep the gender a secret between just them, so Tony has no clue if he’s meeting a newborn Spider-girl or Spider-boy) bassinet beside her. Peter obliges wordlessly. 

“Now, Tony,” Michelle starts. “This is a big deal.” 

Tony plants his feet and leans forward, fully prepared for the ’don’t mess up my kid’ speech. (He’s only gotten one of those in his entire life, and that was from May Parker, back when Peter was fifteen.)  

“We need to know if you’re going with something basic like ‘Grandpa Tony’ or if we have to introduce you as something like ‘Meemoo’.” 

Tony opens his mouth in shock, gulping like a dying fish. And then, suddenly, he’s got an armful of newborn baby.

What just happened? …Meemoo? 

He blinks up, slowly, and finds Peter wearing the most smug smirk Tony’s seen since the kid watched Flash Thompson get busted for cheating on his senior final exams. Did they just…distract him..on purpose?

One glance at Michelle tells him that they did, in fact, do just that. 

“Oops. She slipped.” Peter deadpans. 

She? Slipped? What?

Tony looks down at his lap, and somehow, as if he expects the weight in his arms to miraculously disappear, he’s sure there will be nothing there. But of course, there is. There’s a baby, swaddled in the most generic striped hospital garb.

Tony swears the world as he knows it just outright stops. 

“Oh.” He mumbles, dumbly. The baby is a little red, but she’s adorable, and Tony immediately wants to wrap her in bubble wrap and give her everything. She opens her eyes, and they’re so wide and brown that Tony thinks he might pass out with all the emotions he’s feeling.

They’re Peter’s eyes, his mind supplies. 

He starts tearing up. 

“Don’t cry! Mr stark. If you cry I’m gonna cry and I’ve done so much of that today it’s not even funny!” 

Tony’s lip wobbles anyway. He tears his gaze away from the baby and outright scans his kid, mentally mapping out all the similarities he sees between the two.

This is the best moment of Tony Starks life. It’s decided. Nothing gets better than this. 

“He’s crying, Pete.” 

“I know.” Peter replies, miserably. “I know, and now I’m crying again. Was May not enough? Now I’ve got Tony Stark crying and holy fu-“ 

“Language,” Tony scolds, sniffling pathetically. The baby shifts in his arms. “You’ll taint her.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve been told”

Peter crouches down, eye level with the baby in Tony’s lap, and runs a hand through her soft newborn curls. It’s so affectionate that Tony’s pretty sure it makes him cry a little harder. 

He spares a glance between the pair, the twenty-five year old he helped raise, and the Newborn he’s already decided he’d kill for.

On display for all to see, especially Tony who is actively looking, is this energy. It’s like they’re bonded together, Peter and his daughter. It’s as if there’s never been a moment they were apart. And that’s ridiculous. Peter has gone his entire life up until this day without her. 

Yet, one look at the two, and Tony knows that if he’s planning on giving this little girl the entire world, Peter must be planning on the entire universe. 

The kid, who’s really not a kid anymore, smiles at his baby (and isn’t that just the most surreal part of this all? Peter, smiling at his baby) and then at Tony. “This is Mary Mayday Parker.” He whispers. They're both still sniffling a little bit when he says it. 

Tony offers the baby his pinky finger and watches her grab it with every ounce of strength she’s got.

“Hey there, Missy.” 

The moment feels a lot longer than it actually is. Staring at the offspring of your child is the most bizarre thing Tony’s ever been through. (And he’s been in a literal wormhole) 

Even if Peter is not biologically Tony’s, the kid has years of life that attest to their relationship. Their relationship, that has been meticulously built with unconditional love, exactly the same as what Mary and Peter so obviously have.

Except, It belonged to Tony and Peter first.

That kid is Tony’s son, in every way that counts. And this baby, Mary, is by default also Tony’s now too, in a slightly different way. 

”Say hi to Meemoo, Mary.”

Absolutely not. 

Leave it to Peter to crack a joke while they’re both recovering from their absolutely embarrassing meltdowns. 

“I’m not going by Meemoo, Pete. Please.”

Peter stands, putting his hands on his hips. He glances back at Michelle. “Meemoo.” Michelle says. And the two young adults have the most confusing conversation with just their eyes. 

“Meemoo.” Peter nods. 

“Can we just go with Grandpa Tony? That’s better.” 

Michelle whistles. “You’ve never struck me as the basic type. Typical white boy.” 

Tony should definitely be offended by that. In fact, he is offended by that. He didn’t think they’d refer to him as Mary’s grandfather in any capacity, he was almost 100% sure he’d be Mr Stark to every Parker so long as he lives. 

It’s not his fault he’s being “basic”. He names his AI’s the dumbest things known to man, of course he’d opt for Grandpa and not some complicated name. That stuff sticks, and neither of these idiotic kids thought to prepare him beforehand. 

“Y’know what- Mary, your parents are the worst. The actual worst. I’m Grandpa, not MeeMoo. Do not call me MeeMoo or I will cry- and not like I’m doing now, little miss. These are happy years. If you call me MeeMoo, they will be sad tears.” 

Mary obviously doesn’t respond, but she does blink a few more times.  

“I don’t think she cares what you’ve got to say about the matter, dad.” Peter quips, skipping away to join Michelle on her bed. 

Dad. 

Its not the first time Peter calls him that. He knows it won’t be the last either. But it still makes Tony feel all staticky inside, like he’s about to short-circuit.

Mary’s little fists open and close, and Tony suddenly has the most random thought. “I need to buy her a lamb plushie.” He says. He pokes her cheek. “She needs one asap.” 

“Oh, Lord.” Michelle groans.

Tony continues, ”Because her name is Mary, right? And Mary has a little lamb- but this baby does not. She needs one. You two have made a mistake. Mary cannot not have a little lamb. That’s like rule number one.” 

“Tony.” Michelle says, nudging Peter. “She’s about three hours old. She’s not worried about a stuffed lamb.” 

“She should be.” 

Michelle looks ready to protest, but then Peter puts a finger to her lips and hushes her. 

“No, No.” Peter scolds, “He’s got a point.”