Spider-Man Imagines I

Tightrope (Part Eight) | Peter Parker [TH]

Peter couldn't stand the thought of letting you go.

All the way to headquarters, he held you close. In the car, you were practically in his lap. He had his arms around you and looked around nervously, as if the war could come back any minute and put you in even more danger.

But Thanos was gone (for now, Mr. Stark had said, but he would be back) and everything was over. The city was in ruins. The sky was an odd color. You were quiet.

Peter knew he should be relieved, but it was so hard to not expect something to happen. He still felt the hand around his neck, still saw the blood on your scalp, still heard your terrified shouts and pained whimpers, still saw Mr. Stark's eyes, filled with so much sickness and pain as he watched Pepper get taken from him-

Peter looked over at Mr. Stark. He was gazing out the window, his fist, all covered in dirt and blood and bruises, pressed against his mouth. T'Challa and Thor were on the bench in front of them, looking beyond exhausted. Peter reached over and grabbed Mr. Stark's other hand, the one that was on his lap. Mr. Stark didn't look at him, but blinked back tears and held his hand right back, his grip tight and warm.

At headquarters, everyone sat around, silent.

Then, slowly, everyone warmed up. Relief began to settle in, and it all stemmed from them seeing you smile up at Peter, who hadn't stepped away from Mr. Stark for even a moment.

Then, gently, everyone embraced one another, patting each other's backs, talking and laughing, quietly at first, and it was suddenly okay.

You had your arms around Peter's waist and your head on his chest. He loved holding you like this, he realized, because he felt like he could ensure your safety if you just stayed glued to his side and never let him go.

He rubbed circles on your back continuously. From across the kitchen, he caught eyes with Peter Quill, who was holding Gamora in a similar fashion. They smiled at one another.

Thor and Bruce cracked open a bottle of wine and a bottle of champagne to go around the entire team. Other bottles of alcohol were opened as more glasses were removed from cabinets. New friends were celebrated, the victory was acknowledged, and everyone settled in.

You and Peter didn't drink, but sat on one of the sofas, holding one another, too afraid to let go.

Then, you lifted your head. Peter looked down at you.

"I need to call my mom," you said quietly.

"Okay," he said. He held you tighter for a moment. He smiled and nodded, then dropped his arm. "Okay."

You got up and wandered off to find a phone. Mr. Stark handed you one, a small, black cellphone, and you stood by a wall of windows, directly in Peter's sight, as you dialed the number. Peter leaned against an edge of a wall and watched you lovingly, smiling softly.

You stared at your shoes as the other line picked up. "Hey," you said softly. You smiled and nodded, and Peter saw you were crying. "Hey, Mom. Yeah, I'm okay."

His heart was swelling, because he was realizing things that he hadn't wanted to admit to himself when things were particularly bad and dangerous. But now it was after, and he had already almost lost you, after he had pushed you away and refused to admit any feelings at all, and he could now look at you and see everything you felt for him, and how strong you felt those feelings.

"Hey, kid."

Peter turned his head and saw Mr. Stark. He dropped his arms from his chest and turned towards him.

"Hey," he said, eyebrows pulling together in concern. Never had he seen Mr. Stark look so sad and lost. He was without Pepper now, and she wouldn't be back this time.

Mr. Stark reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. He took a deep breath, looking ten years older, and gave him a weak smile.

"Are you alright?" Peter asked.

He nodded. "I'll be fine," he said. He looked down. "Kid... I've never been a dad before. I've never understood that kind of responsibility or wanted it."

"Okay," Peter said.

"But I've lost everything," he whispered, eyes full of tears. He shrugged and sniffed. "And you, kid... you're it for me. It's you and me now. And I know I'm not family-"

"You are," Peter said quietly. "You are family to me, Mr. Stark." He had tears in his eyes. "Look, it's been me and May for a while. And then it was me and May and Ned, and now ___, but you, too. You're family to me."

He squeezed Peter's shoulder. "I'll do everything to keep you two safe," he said, glancing at you. You were hanging up the phone. "Anything," he assured Peter, and Peter nodded.

"T-thank you, Mr. Stark," he said.

You approached them slowly, almost unsure if it was okay to interrupt their conversation. When they both smiled at you, you handed Mr. Stark his phone and then wrapped your hand around Peter's and leaned against him.

"How is your mom?" he asked.

"Relieved," you said. "I worried her so bad."

"Yeah, me too," he said, and he looked at your scalp. "How do you feel?"

"I'm okay," you told him. "Maybe after a shower and everything..."

"You can take a shower at my place," he offered. He looked at Mr. Stark. "I want to go home. Aunt May-"

"I get it, kid," he said. "I'll have Happy drive you in an hour, so long as the roads are clear enough."

"Tony," Steve said, and he turned. He gave him a thin lipped, apologetic smile, and handed him a glass of bourbon.

Tony took it and nodded, smiling gently, holding the glass with three fingers, glancing around the room at his team.

At his family.