Archive of Our Own

The streets of New York were never quiet. 

The bright lights and downtown bars, from drunks to taxis, there was always movement, a cacophony of sound that proved life was ingrained in the roots of the city.

Normally, Peter would find comfort in the noise. It reminded him that he wasn’t as alone as he felt. Gave him the motivation to keep going, because there was always someone who needed his help out there, someone who needed him.

Ever since the spell, loneliness had crept around him like a blanket, holding him down and suffocating him. 

Peter had scraped up enough money from the settlement after May’s death to rent out a shitty apartment on the rougher side of Queens. His landlady called him Pedro. His neighbour tried to bash his head in for daring to say hello. His apartment got broken into 3 times because he had no money to get himself some better security.

In fairness, that also meant barely anything had ever been stolen, as most of his valuables were kept hidden underneath the solid closet that no normal petty thief would even dream of lifting.

Even then, these valuables mostly consisted of memorabilia that only mattered to Peter either way.

A teddy bear Aunt May had gotten him that used to say “I wuv you!” but now merely emitted the low hums of battery acid disolving on its voice box.

A plastic bag with the duplicate pieces from the Death Star he had built with Ned.

A half-burnt book MJ had lent him.

A few caramels Happy would secretly sneak into his bag when he knew Peter had had a rough day, which were probably long past their expiration date.

A smudged Post-it note saying “Great Job. Don’t do it again. See you next Thursday, Und-ro--” in Mr Stark’s clipped handwriting.

Many would look at these as garbage, but Peter saw them as his most precious treasure.

Underneath them were photos he managed to hold onto from all of the people he loved. All of the people who no longer knew he existed.

People whom Peter would die for. People who would be as affected by Peter’s death as by a crushed spider on the sidewalk.

As Peter looked at the night sky, he wished for quiet.

It had been quiet on the Titan as he felt himself fade away. He remembered clinging to his mentor, clawing at him, desperate for an anchor. But then he felt the silence reverberate through him. Overwhelming yet, oh so peaceful.

Peter reached down and clutched his side, wincing as his hands came out wet and sticky.

It had just been a typical mugging at 1 am on a Saturday. Spiderman had it handled. He had felt his Spidey sense warn him that the guy was about to pull out a knife. He knew the guy would swing it at him. 

Yet he hadn’t dodged.

It hadn’t been a conscious decision. Usually, his reflexes never failed him, drawing him out of danger in a split second, no matter how unexpected. But Peter was so tired. He had enough forethought for his brain to muster up a “This will hurt,” but had otherwise just stood there as the guy’s knife tore through his side and his head hit the back wall so roughly his ears rang.

His elbow came crashing down on the man’s arm, probably breaking it in the process, but the man had seemed so shocked at having actually stabbed Spiderman that it took him a second for his brain to catch up to his body and scream.

The fight was over pretty quickly afterwards, and Peter rounded up the bad guys, staying with the victim just until he heard the sirens blaring and the familiar sight of blue and red lighting up the alleyway, making him sigh in relief.

“S-spiderman?” The girl couldn’t be much older than him, yet she seemed so young in the dead of night. Peter hadn’t thought of himself as young in quite a while, but he guessed that to others, he might still be viewed as a kid. “Should… shouldn’t you get yourself checked out? Y-you’re bleeding quite a bit…”

Peter exhaled softly, “This? Oh, this ain’t- ‘tis but a scratch.” He did his best to convey a smile through the mask and hoped it would seem reassuring, “Not to worry about Miss.”

As he heard the footsteps of a police man reaching the alley, he shot a web at the opposite building and swung away.

He made it a couple of steps through the roof before collapsing, roughly rolling himself onto his back. He counted the stars as the blood pooled around him. He wondered who would find him.

After a few minutes, he pulled out his mask and grabbed the one Tony had made him all those years ago. He always took it with him on patrol as a good luck charm, an assurance that Tony was still with him, no matter where he went. A physical reminder that he hadn’t made it all up.

Proof that he was real.

As he slipped on the mask, he could breathe again as the AI’s voice filled his ears, and he could’ve sobbed if it hadn’t felt so draining to do so.

“Karen.”

“Hello, Peter.” He let out a soft whimper at the name. 

Barely anyone used that name for him anymore. His boss spat out “Parker” whenever he was running late or falling asleep on the job, and none of his coworkers cared enough to actually talk to him. Miss Sampaio refused to learn his name, and his lovely neighbour would growl “13 B” with the venom of someone uttering a slur.

“You seem to be hurt, a concussion and a tear at the abdominal oblique muscles, no clear sign of organ damage, but I will need you to equip your full suit for a full body scan. As per my program, I have tried to contact FRIDAY and Mr Stark, but have been unsuccessful.”

The world was beginning to blur, and his head clung to the words “Mr Stark”. He missed him. 

“Karen, can you take me to Mister Stark?” His voice came out rougher than he intended.

“I can guide you to his location. Would that be helpful?” Karen’s voice soothed something in him as he stumbled forward as he got up.

“That would be lovely, Karen, thank you.” Peter felt dizzy, but he couldn’t point out why besides the slight sting on his side and the back of his head.

Nonetheless, he stuck his arm out and began to swing.

At some point, he must have landed on a truck or something because he just felt himself lie down, giddy and dizzy.

“Peter, you seem to be losing a lot of blood. Are you sure you want to continue? It’s a three-and-a-half-hour drive, and this truck would not be able to take you all the way. The risk of death is increasing by 13 per cent when taking this risk.”

“Mister Stark will fix me.” Peter whispered.

If Karen replied, Peter didn’t hear it.

His mind had settled onto one single track of thought of “Find Mr Stark. Find Tony Stark. Find Mr Stark.”

Peter wasn’t sure how long it had been until Karen had warned him to leave the truck, and Peter just blindly followed.

The final 30-minute stretch to the cabin had been agony.

Peter’s body was ever so aware of the stab wound, though his foggy brain didn’t have the capacity to fully process, so he kept stumbling as one half of him wanted to swing forward, but every instinct he had urged him to cling to his side, to curl up into a ball and protect itself from the strenuous effort that was undoubtedly tearing his body up further.

As he dragged himself forward, he was met with the countryside cicadas as the sun began to rise on the horizon. 

“You have reached your destination.” Peter looked around, confused. He could vaguely recall the location. A lake. Toney’s hologram. Tony’s-

Tony’s hologram.

Tony was dead.

No one was coming to fix him.

No one was coming to save him.

Peter was alone.

A sob bubbled from his throat as he dropped to his knees, his forehead digging into the mud, his exhausted body finally giving into oblivion.

The first thing he felt upon waking up was the softness of the pillow beneath his head, the silky blanket beneath his fingers.

His apartment consisted of a mere bed with the world's hardest and most disgusting mattress that had probably been used by 20 people before Peter, a closet, a kitchenette with only a microwave and sink, and a shelf that had been installed incorrectly and therefore was perpetually leaning, making it impossible to store anything on it.

Peter had learned that the hard way and lost 3 glasses to the monstrosity against good engineering.

His job gave him the luxury of sitting down on an old, ratty couch on his break, but the thing was definitely infested with termites, and Peter would rather not take those home if he could help it, as he had enough problems as it was, so he would only lie on it on those days when he was beyond exhaustion.

Even then, the couch was scratchy and frankly one of the most uncomfortable sleeping options a man could have, but beggars can’t be choosers, and Peter would rather this than fall asleep on the train and accidentally break a guy’s nose as they startle him awake from an attempt at mugging him. Again.

Compared to that, Peter could feel a groan of approval erupt from his throat as his body adjusted to the fluffy cushions. 

“You’re awake.” Pete’s mind shifted around for the source of the voice, trying to place it. 

“Tony, don’t let the kid stay up too late, it’s a school day.”

The sound of metal and sparks.

“Do you take sugar with your tea, Peter?”

The smell of ginger and cinnamon.

“Call me Pepper, Pete, please, you’re making me feel old.”

Tony Stark’s hoodie is too big for Peter, yet so comfortable.

“It’s okay, you can rest now.”

The familiar feeling of loss as the light left his mentor’s eyes.

Peter jerked up, his eyes flying open, landing on Pepper Potts.

She looked a lot more tired than the last time Peter had seen her. Though the two of them had never been particularly close, he had missed her. She would usually join them at dinner after Tony started requesting him to come over to the compound and help him out on some projects, and she had always been so kind to him, asking about him in the calm, caring way one’s mother might. 

He had never truly known his parents; he was so young when he lost them, and in many ways, Aunt May had been his mother after the plane crash. 

But she had been so young when she was thrust with the responsibility of caring for a kid that wasn’t hers, and as much as she tried to convince him otherwise, he had always sort of felt that he ruined her life.

And he was proven right through her death. 

“Mind telling me what you are doing in my living room?” Miss Potts crossed her arms over her chest and quirked an eyebrow up in an expression so like Mr Stark that Peter had to swallow a burst of tears that threatened to spill over.

After a beat, Peter’s mouth started moving without his permission: “I mean, technically, I was outside?”

She didn’t seem impressed and simply took a step forward, making him unconsciously curl up at the edge of the sofa. “Right. Mind telling me why Spiderman was bleeding out on my yard then?”

Peter’s eyes dropped to the ground, embarrassed.

He had seen her after Mr Stark’s death, during the funeral, holding up a child on her hip. 

Morgan Stark. Tony’s daughter.

Peter had felt disgusted with himself at the pang of jealousy, his stomach churning as self-hatred settled in his gut. 

But the truth was that he was jealous. It was revolting and deplorable, but he couldn’t help silently resenting the child for getting to call Tony “father” and “dad”, something Peter had never had the courage to attempt, fearing the inevitable rejection.

It was irrational and unfair. She had just lost her dad. Peter wanted to throw up.

As he turned to leave with May, he passed by Pepper, his head hung low as he shared his condolences.

“He did it for you, you know,” Pepper said, not unkindly, reaching for him, caressing his cheek as she had done a million times before. It was comforting until he looked into her eyes. “He had lost a piece of himself when he saw you disappear, and he would do anything to get it back. Did everything to bring you back.”

The guilt ate him alive, and he just stared at her. Peter could tell that, on some level, she blamed him. Peter was the reason Morgan would grow up without a father. Why she had lost her husband. He had ruined her life. 

Peter all but ran away in shame. He knew Pepper enough to know that she would never tell him so, but she was right in resenting him.

It had been his fault.

“Alright then. Do you mind telling me why I have around 30 pictures of you and my husband around the house?” His head snapped up. “Pictures that I don’t remember hanging up, or existing at all for that matter.”

“I-I-don’t.” Peter truly looked around for the first time since waking up at the living room. 

He had been inside the cabin during the funeral, but he was so out of it that it hadn’t really counted for much. Now that he was paying attention, he could make out at least 3 pictures in the back wall of him and Tony, besides a few others of Pepper and Morgan and the three of them.

“Or why I have a voicemail I never heard before of my husband talking about Spiderman as the kid, his kid. About making him come over for Friday instead of Thursday dinner, which was apparently a regular thing, dated 2 weeks before the blip?” She took another step.

“It’s not- I didn’t-” Peter shrank back. He couldn’t do this, not here, not now. Not ever.

“Or why my 6-year-old daughter keeps asking me to tell her stories about “big brother Petey” like daddy used to, while I have no recollection of either Tony or me having another child.”

“She- She knows about me?” Peter couldn’t help but ask, and Pepper stiffened.

“So you admit it.” She turned her head. “How could he not have told me that he had a child. This whole time, and he didn’t-”

“No, no, please, it’s not like that! I swear- no I-” as Peter tried to get up, his side flared and he gasped as he clutched his side and dropped down.

“Shit- kid, you’re not supposed to move, you’ll tear the stitches!”

“Shit!” A tiny voice echoed, and they both froze.

Morgan Stark stood at the end of the hall, peering over a door with a mischievous smile on her face, holding his mask in her tiny hands. 

For the first time since this whole interaction started, he was keenly aware that he wasn’t wearing it. He felt naked, exposed. Vulnerable.

Now that no one knew his identity, he had become a lot more conscientious in keeping it that way. 

No more taking his mask out in public, no more climbing in through the bedroom window because walking up the stairs was just too annoying. He was no longer the naive boy who would let a mistake jeopardise the people around him.

As much as he hadn’t let anyone in since the spell, he couldn’t let Ms Sampaio, or his boss, or even his occasionally murderous neighbour, be hurt by his carelessness.

So having people see him like this again was terrifying. 

Morgan started walking closer, and Pepper broke out of her daze.

“Morgan, sweetie, why don’t you go back to your room while the grown-ups take care of something, ok?” Pepper kept her voice steady as Morgan looked between the two. Suddenly, recognition sparked in her eyes.

“Petey!” Next thing Peter knew, the little girl threw herself forward. 

“Morgan, stop, you’ll-” Pepper exclaimed, but cut herself off as she looked at Peter, frozen as the girl wrapped herself around him, tears streaming down his face. She whispered in his ear: “Daddy always said you’d be back!”

It was as if a dam had broken, and he was clutching at her like a starving man, running his hands over her head across her hair, sobs and hiccups coursing through his body in bursts of uncontrollable shivers. 

“What’s wrong, Petey?” Morgan asked, confused, “I didn’t mean to upset you!”

“No, you didn’t, you- it’s just that I-” Peter managed to gasp. “I’ve always wanted to meet you.”

He had thought about asking Pepper a few times, but didn’t want to overwhelm the recently widowed single mother with the annoying teen she never asked for.

Besides, what claim did he have to Morgan? She was the daughter of his mentor, and he couldn’t reason any type of relationship with the child, no matter how much he wanted to get to know her.

He wondered, had things gone differently if Tony… it was a futile train of thought and yet…

He hoped he meant as much to Tony Stark as the man had meant to him. He had been his father figure, as much as he berated himself for forcing the man into that responsibility.

Those two years after the fight with the vulture had been some of the best in his life. Thursday dinners with the Starks, the occasional mission with the Avengers that made him feel important even if he wasn’t ready to accept the official title yet, becoming Mr Stark’s personal intern as more than just a shiny title to justify his absences, truly contributing. 

Having May. Ned. MJ. 

He would give everything to go back to that time, even for just a minute. To hug Mr Stark, tell May how much he loved her, do their handshake with Ned and just… to exist with MJ.

He would sometimes go to the cafe she worked at before she left for MIT. 

It was a bit horrible. Peter felt like a creep, just staring at her from a distance. But he couldn’t bring himself to talk to her.

How could he? 

Things would never return to before. Peter’s world had tilted on its axis, and there were some things that would always be like the glasses on his crooked shelf. Broken beyond repair.

The relationships he had, the bonds of trust and love, had been severed the moment that spell took effect, and he didn’t have the mental capacity to mend them together, knowing that something would always feel incomplete.

Morgan was different. 

He had never known her, and yet she was a solid, incandescent reminder of the life he had before. It felt terrifying to hold something so precious, so fragile and trusting. Her arms wrapped around him, so small and yet so secure. Peter hadn’t been hugged in so long.

“How do you- I don’t understand, no one is supposed to remember-” Peter gasped as she looked at him. Her eyes were all Tony, and it took everything in him not to start sobbing again 

“What do you mean?” Her head tilted in the perfect picture of childhood innocence. “Why wouldn’t I remember?”

Peter sneaked a glance at Pepper, who was staring at him as if he were a complicated puzzle. She had clearly already figured out that things were a lot more complicated than they appeared, but nothing would prepare her for the clusterfuck of bad decisions that had led to Peter’s current situation.

“I’m not sure if I should- I don’t think you-” 

“Morgan, go play in your room, me and- and Petey? Have a lot to talk about. Grown-up business, alright, my love?” Pepper interrupted.

“It’s Peter. Peter Parker.” He managed to let out.

The lack of recognition on her face never lost its sting. 

He had tried to tell MJ about everything on multiple occasions, but his brain never seemed to find the words to express how much he missed her, how everything had been his fault. He had nearly ruined her life: who did he think he was, trying to insert himself in it once more after everything? She was better off without him.

Even so, every time he went to that coffee shop, he felt the sorrow of having her call out his name with the uninterested tone of the underpaid. It was torture to have her be there, calling him, yet not actually seeing the man she had once loved.

After another look from Pepper, Morgan deflated and complied, shooting him one last curious glance before disappearing behind the door.

Pepper waited until the door of her room clicked shut before she turned to him once more.

“Well, Peter Parker. Mind telling me what you’re doing here?”

“It’s a long story…” Peter shifted uncomfortably under her scrutinising gaze.

“Why don’t we start from the beginning then?”

Peter had always been something of a crybaby.

He remembered having a friend when he was a little kid who would always make fun of him for it: “Boys don’t cry” and all that jazz.

Ever since the spell, he had been so emotionally exhausted it was as if his tear ducts had dried out and he hadn’t cried in months. Not over Happy or Ned or MJ.

Peter refused to think about May. He stored all the guilt and pain at her death in a box in the corner of his mind. He knew the minute he let him think about it, he wouldn’t be able to recover.

He was just so tired all the time. At that point, Peter had been drowning for so long that he had stopped struggling and just let the current drag him under.  It felt easier to just let himself sink.

Today, however… today was confirming to him that he was still very much the crybaby he had been at 6 years old when Tyler pushed him off the seesaw.

“And that’s when I realised there was no going back. Being near me is dangerous; they’re better off not knowing me.” The tears streamed down his face, and he blinked. He had been talking for so long that his voice had become rough and strained. 

At some point, Pepper had given him a mug of tea with a child’s drawing of Mr Stark and the words “WE LOVE YOU DADDY” with the D’s spelt backwards, and was now sitting on the couch opposite him, listening intently.

After a beat, she cleared her throat, “When I first met Tony, I thought he was an arrogant, spoiled nepo baby. And I was right, of course.” She stirred her tea methodically, a smile playing on her lips, “But he was so much more than that. He was a hero. And I never once regretted meeting him. Falling in love with him, getting to have a life, a child…” She looked at a portrait of the three of them, sharing an ice cream cone with a sense of longing Peter was all too familiar with “Well, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“They wouldn’t believe me.” Peter sniffed. “They wouldn’t have believed me, and even if they did, it wouldn’t change anything. They are not the people I know, not really. I would be constantly looking for a sign that my friends were still there, but I am scared that I won't recognise them.”

“Peter…” She shifted so that her hand could hold his, her face full of sympathy “I am so sorry.” 

They stayed like that for a while, just letting the seconds pass. “Listen, I need to go make dinner, it’s already quite late… my husband clearly trusted you a lot, so would you mind looking over Morgan? I will be just outside the room…”

“Yeah, I- Of course! I’ve always wanted to meet her- well, properly meet her, I mean-” Peter cut himself off as Pepper smiled. 

“Maguna, I know you’re here, come out and play with Peter for a bit, will you?” Suddenly, the girl fell from the ceiling, much to Peter’s surprise, while Pepper just sighed. “And be careful, he’s still healing.”

“M’kay!” As Pepper left, Peter was abruptly reminded that he had never taken care of a child. There was the occasional missing kid on patrol, but he wasn’t expected to play with them. How would he even begin to talk to her?

“Daddy always said that you liked How to Train Your Dragon, like me!” She bounced on the balls of her feet, clearly forcing herself not to throw herself around him again in case she hurt him. 

Peter found that overwhelmingly touching. 

“Who’s your favourite dragon? I like Toothless because he’s fast and he spits purple fire. Daddy liked the ball one, but I think is b’cause I said once, I said to him that I didn’t like it, and he’s weird, and Daddy likes weird so he said it was like him, and I said that- I said okay, then I like the ball one two and-” 

Morgan carried on talking, occasionally looking up at him for confirmation or his input. She gave him a plushie of a dragon and made him kidnap a princess while she played the knight. Ten minutes later, she told him he was doing it wrong and that the Dragon and the knight were going to run away together.

“Who is your favourite superhero?” She asked, taking Peter by surprise, “I like Iron Man because Daddy was Iron Man. But I also like Spider-Man. You must like Spider-Man, too, right? Is that why you had a mask like his?” 

“Oh- I- yes, that’s it. Big fan. I uhm… met him.” He wasn’t fully sure how much he should be telling her, so he tried to keep it vague, but the question was off-putting. Had Tony not told her? Was that why she remembered him? Because she didn’t know that Peter Parker was Spider-Man?

“Really! Daddy and Spiderman have fought together, he told me some stories!” She started brushing her princess doll’s hair with her fingers. She had a pained smile every time she talked about her father, and Peter felt a pang of guilt. “He told me stories about you, too.”

“Did he?” His voice was quiet, almost whispered.

She nodded and shut her eyes. “He always said you were very kind and funny. And that you would have been an amazing big brother. I thought- I thought you were not real because mommy said she didn’t remember the bedtime stories. I was scared that I made big brother Petey up.”

Peter’s breath caught as tears started streaming down her face. “And if you were just part of my Mima- Imar- Magination, then maybe I had made everything up, and Daddy didn’t…” her voice got small, and Peter was abruptly reminded of just how young she was when she lost her dad. “What if Daddy didn’t love me?”

Peter’s heart broke as he scooped her up in a hug. “Your daddy loved you so much. I know it. He was sarcastic and tough at times, but when you were someone he cared about? There was nothing he wouldn’t do for you. And he cared about you so much, Morgan, so, so much.”

“Even more than 3000?”

“Yes, Morgan, he loved you even more than 3000”  Peter kissed her forehead softly and pulled her into a hug once more.

“Petey.” Peter hummed. “What’s sarcastic?”

“Oh, uhm.”

“You said that Daddy was sarcastic. What is sarcastic?” She tilted her head to the side.

“Well, it uh- it means that someone says something and they mean the opposite.”

“Like a liar?” She looked mortified at the idea, and Peter quickly brought his hands up trying to soothe her.

“No, no! Like a joke! Like… Like if someone is really late and you turn to say: “Wow, you’re early!” 

“But that’s a lie! Daddy was a liar?!” Her expression was becoming increasingly panicked by the second, and Peter was starting to fear for his life: if Pepper found out that, after leaving him alone with her daughter, he had immediately made her believe her own father was a liar, after failing to explain sarcasm to her.

Though he was pretty sure she could hear anything he was saying right now. He didn’t think she would actually put Morgan in the care of a complete stranger, no matter how sad his sob story was, so if he went by his spidey sense, he was one wrong move away from being beaten into the ground.

The fact that he hadn’t yet gave him hope that he hadn’t completely messed up his chance to meet his mentor's daughter.

“No, he was just… he had a very particular sense of humour, one that a lot of people didn’t understand. But when you got to know him, you knew he didn’t mean it maliciously. He did those jokes because he cared and because it was who he was.”

“Oh. Can you tell me a story?” 

“A story?” She nodded and hugged her teddy bear tighter.

“Oh, well, alright. Well, uhm… once upon a time in a far-off kingdom lived-” 

“No, no, a story about you and Daddy!” She interrupted, “Tell me the one with the cat!”

“The one with the- Oh! You mean when that cat broke in and-” Morgan’s “Yes, yes!” promptly confirmed so, and Peter laughed. “Well, since you know the story already, I’ll skip ahead a bit. So, Mr Stark- uhm, your daddy, we were at dinner because we had just built this HUGE “Peter’s eyes widened as he lifted his arms up to mimic the size, and Morgan giggled” mockup and-”

“A mockup is a model or replica of a machine or structure, used for inst’uctional or exeperimental porposes!” She interrupted, and Peter laughed.

“Very well! Aren’t you a smart little girl? I didn’t know what that word meant until I was like 14!”

“Daddy told me all about it when I was 4!” Morgan exclaimed. “Story, story!”

“Okay, okay! So I had left the door open because I am an idiot and-”

“Mommy always says we can’t call anyone idiots, even if it’s ourselveses.” She leaned in conspiratorily “But Daddy always said that if they were being idiots, it was okay.”

Peter laughed and carried on the story. It usually wouldn’t have taken more than 3 minutes to tell: Peter left the door open, a stray cat got in and kicked their mockup to the ground and they had to start over.

But with Morgan’s constant interruptions and the natural instinct to embellish a story when one is telling it to a child, by the time Pepper had come over with three bowls of bolognese, he had only just finished.

“I figured that since Peter is hurt, we could eat on the couch and have a movie night. What do we think?”

Morgan started jumping up and down, and Peter let out a “hooray!” as Pepper booted up the movie and settled next to him on the couch.

“You weren’t lying.” Pepper mused, passing him a one. Peter looked up at her. “You think I was going to let my daughter unsupervised with a stranger? I had Friday on standby.”

Peter laughed. “Yeah, I figured as much.”

“I can hear nothing!” Morgan cried from her chair, and Pepper smiled and leaned back.

Peter wasn’t paying much attention to the movie, hyperaware of the situation he was in. Just yesterday, he was having a sandwich on top of a rooftop, completely alone. Now he sat between the two.

At some point, Morgan fell asleep, and Peter watched as Pepper seemed to wrestle with her thoughts.

She turned off the movie and turned to him. She stayed like that for a bit, just staring at him until she sighed and gave him his mask back.

“Thanks.” He tried to smile at her, but her expression made his lips falter.

“I can’t… You know I can’t- I don’t know you, Peter.” Pepper started, “I can’t just- I want to help you, I do, but I can’t risk it. Morgan-”

“I know. It’s okay. I’ll…” Peter moved to stand and was immediately brought back down as pain shot through his side.

“Stay the night. You can have the couch. Morgan usually sneaks into my bed more often than not.” 

Peter hesitated before nodding. Pepper smiled and caressed his cheek in the familiar way she used to before the spell, and they both froze.

Perhaps it had been muscle memory. It had always been how they said goodnight, and as much as she didn’t remember it, her body did.

“Goodnight, Mrs Stark.”

“Call me Pepper,” She whispered, and for a split second, Peter could see the hint of recognition in her eyes “You’re making me feel old.”

But just like that, it was gone, and she withdrew her hand, picking Morgan up and hurrying to her room.

Just as she was almost around the corner, she turned to him: 

“Why today?” Peter’s brows furrowed in confusion “Why did you choose to come today? What was so special about it?” Pepper asked, “Did something happen, or did everything just become too much?” 

“Today is my birthday.” Pepper’s breath hitched in compassion. “Today is my eighteenth birthday, and he wasn’t here.”

Peter lifted his head to stare at a picture of Mr Stark, hanging on the nearest wall. 

He wondered what he would make of Peter now. 

Would he be proud of the mess of anxiety and shame and self-hatred he had become? Would he be ashamed of the high school dropout superhero, living paycheck to paycheck in a shitty apartment he could barely afford, eating instant ramen every other meal, idly wondering if any of this was worth it?

Even without the stupid spell, would the man he had once considered a father recognise the broken wreck he had grown up to be?

“Oh,” Pepper replied, and Peter dropped the mask in his hands.

“Happy Birthday, Pete.” Peter looked up and smiled, but she had already turned the corner.

When Pepper Stark woke the next morning, she found her living room empty, the only sign Peter had been there at all was a small note on the desk:

“Thank you for reminding me why it is worth it :)”

She went back to bed and hugged her daughter, hoping she had done the right thing.