Great Expectations

Prologue

His hands were shaking. (When did they start shaking?)

Peter readjusts his grip on his pen for the third time to avoid dropping it. It felt like his arms were convulsing, not just his hands. The chair was shaking with the force at which he was bouncing his right leg. It creaked and squeaked, it was an old desk chair— secondhand, of course.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking. (Why were his hands shaking?)

And wasn't that the brightest thing that has popped into Peter's head throughout this whole afternoon. He ponders on that question. The document on his computer lays empty on his desk. The blinking cursor feels like a bad joke. He has never had problems writing an essay, for God's sake! His last A+ was from an English assignment, and this was the same thing, pick a prompt, and write a kick-ass essay. He just needed to write his outline first, that was the only reason he was holding a pen in the first place. Write down his ideas and then make them make sense. He has done a million essays before, it was easy stuff.

His hands were still shaking, though.

Peter looked down at them. Staring at his hands for what felt like minutes, he didn't let his mind wander, just stared ahead at them. He knew what to do to make it stop, his suit was right there, stuffed at the bottom of his closet. An hour or two of Spider-Maning and he would be fine, he would sit right on the same chair when he was done, grab the same pen, and finish the essay. But maybe, he would do three hours, though, since he turned in early that one time, and really if he was going out why not stay until his curfew? He could finish the essay tomorrow after school, right before Lab day-.

Right. Not just any essay, this was The Essay and Peter had procrastinated all he could procrastinate. God, did that even make sense?

Peter groans, a sound akin to a wounded animal, or a tired teenager. Lets go of his pen and drops his head onto the table with a loud thud. He sighs, lifting his head slowly while rubbing at his forehead, he catches a glance of the blank document, the cursor still blinking steadily.

His hands continue shaking. He knows why.

  |

His problem started with the Blip. More importantly, it started with Morgan.

After Titan, he was told, when he was back alive (I don't know what's happening-), that the Avengers looked for a way to bring everyone back for 5 years. A lot of things happened during that time. They were monuments with "Peter Parker" written on them, his old apartment building was foreclosed, all his things ended up in the trash, and everyone thought that Spider-Man was dead (I don't want to go-). More importantly, Morgan H. Stark was born. A little bundle of joy, Pepper Potts and Tony Stark condensed into the body of a 6-year-old, the brightest little kid he has ever met, and... his sister.

Morgan Stark was born to the sarcastic, standoffish, feeling-avoidant asshole, Tony Stark. Peter's mentor. The man that screamed at him after saving him from almost drowning in a lake, the same one that threw him out of a spaceship at the first opportunity.

Tony Stark wanted Spider-Man to be an Avenger. He invited Peter over to make shit blow up in the lab and then proclaimed a bag of marshmallows their dinner. Let him go to sleep at 7 in the morning and didn't complain when he woke up at 4 in the afternoon. Peter's Mr. Stark wasn't a parent, he wasn't even parent material. Mr. Stark was just a guy he would visit once a week and goof around with. They didn't hug or talk about feelings or fears or hopes and dreams, that's not what they were like (We are not there yet.).

Nevertheless, Morgan Stark grew up with Tony. Correction, she is growing up, present tense, and that's Peter's problem.

Post-Blip Tony, or more accurately Post-Thanos Snap Tony, is a Dad. He sits at Morgan's bedside and comes up with his own original bedtime stories, even when there is a perfectly fine bookshelf full of them right behind him. This Tony wakes up early and cuts up grapes for Morgan, picks her up from pre-school every day, sits next to her on the couch, watches her toddler cartoons, and goes to sleep at a reasonable hour every night, like an old man. Tony cooks, washes dishes, folds laundry, and, more recently, knits. He constantly acts like a Dad, acts like he's Peter's Dad.

He's not Tony Stark anymore, he's just Tony. The guy that argued with May to change his weekend curfew from 2am to 12am. That sends him to the guest room to sleep at eleven at night and bangs on his door if he dares sleep in. He's the reason Peter is sitting at his desk right now, the blank document still open and battery at 32 percent; because Tony acting like his dad is somehow harder to ignore than he thought it would be.

Now, he knows everyone knows the connection between Spider-Man and Iron Man. He made him a suit, has mentioned him in interviews and they have often been seen flying around the city together. So, It's no surprise that the citizens of New York have expectations. They expect him to take on the mantle and his responsibilities as an Avenger now that Mr. Stark is retired for good. And he can definitely handle that.

On the contrary, Peter Parker and Tony Stark don't have that connection. There are no expectations and no stress, he can be free when he is with Mr. Stark.

And yet, when he looks down, his hands are still shaking.

Because Tony, along with all of New York, has expectations. And, somehow, Peter got roped into following every single one.

He doesn't stand up, doesn't grab his suit. His gaze lifts and focuses on his computer screen, fixes on the cursor, blinking. He takes a breath and picks up his pen. Tomorrow is a lab day, Peter will go to Tony's apartment in the city and show him the first draft of The Essay. The one he'll submit in about 4 months, along with his MIT application. Since that's what he's supposed to do.