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kumeko · 1 year

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A/N: For the @irondadandspidersonzine! Strictly movie-verse, because that’s really where I see this type of relationship (comics…not so much). I wanted something that took place post-Endgame—I kinda wish the movies/shows would explore the characters/world picking up the pieces after everything was said and done. Maybe a series of vignettes? (but alas, action genre, so I’ll take what I get).

Also my apologies to Rhodey, you are mentioned everywhere in this story but I didn’t get to write you in. T_T

…

Every day, on her way to school, Morgan walked past her father’s statue. Not that she had to go out of her way for that; it was hard to spit in New York without hitting something celebrating the Avengers. There were murals and plaques and even a softball team (they were always second last). Houses had garden Hulks and there were at least three streets named after Black Widow. It was in fact harder to find a route that didn’t have anything.

Still, the statue that Morgan passed every day was special. It was a copper, life-sized version of her dad, of Tony Stark and not Iron Man. There was a single, long crack that along the back, and she used to imagine that bugs made their home inside, that if she cracked open the metal casing a huge butterfly would escape. Her mom didn’t like seeing it, but Morgan would stop at it every day, taking note of how the copper dulled over time, of how the moss slowly crept up the legs. Science had told her it was oxidization that made her father green. Uncle Rhodey had told her it was how Tony looked the first time he flew.

It was more out of habit than anything else that she stopped by him again today. Standing next to him, she rested a hand on her head and compared her height to her father’s. He had an inch on her, maybe two, her head almost reaching his eyes. At fifteen, Morgan had maybe a few more months left in her growth spurt, a year or two if she was very lucky. Her mother had at least two inches on her short dad, so there was a chance that she’d grow taller than him. That he’d have to look up at her.

There wasn’t a statue for that.

She didn’t want to grow.

-x-

“What did you say you were working on again?” Uncle Peter asked, his hologram walking through her messy workshop as he took in the scattered metal scraps and discarded tools. There was something uncanny by how soundlessly he moved, about the way his fingers disappeared into tables and chairs. It was ghostlike.

(In case of my untimely death, her father had started, and she had spent years watching and rewatching that hologram, memorizing the pauses between his words.)

But Uncle Peter was alive, she had seen him just last week, and the blue pallor of his skin was just the light from U’s lights. The robot followed him around, its camera fixed firmly on Peter’s figure. Its metal feet sounded heavier in comparison to Peter’s silence.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Morgan sighed and scratched her head. Dressed in a pair of overalls and smudged with oil, she looked like a proper grease monkey. Her mother wouldn’t be happy. Her lips would thin, her eyes narrow, the face of a CEO who had fought many a hostile takeover. Morgan wondered how many times her father had faced that sight, how many times they locked horns and battled. Her mother had said a few times, Peter claimed none, and Happy admitted it was all the time; the truth most likely lay in-between. Maybe it was more than how many times she and her mom fought.

She hoped it wasn’t less.

Peter coughed and she snapped back to the present. Hastily getting up, she rubbed her hands against her pants, removing any oil before she headed to the table. “A better mask for Iron Man.”

“Oh.” Peter’s breath hitched. One day, she would recognize that sound for what it was, for the pain held in it. He was only ten years older than her, a gap that felt like forever at her age. Peter was an adult, he was always an adult, but he had only been a kid when her father died. For all that he’d experienced, he was only twenty-five now. It was a young age, comparatively. It was too young for all wounds to have healed.

But right now she was fifteen and everyone over twenty was old. She hadn’t yet learned of real regret. Only of loss, of the absence that someone could leave in someone’s life. Morgan picked up her prototype of the mask. The bright red and yellow metals contrasted wildly to her grease-stained fingers. “I can’t get the chip to work.”

Peter’s voice returned to normal, not that she’d noticed. “Maybe you didn’t smoulder it right? It’s very precise after all, lots of fine-tuning is needed. Pretty easy to make a mistake there.”

“I don’t think so, but maybe.” Morgan shrugged. She leaned on the table, pointing at her design sketches. “What do you think?”

“Me? Hmm…” Peter leaned forward. His eyes widened. “What’s that you’re making?”

“Huh?” Watching as he studied a schematic, his fingers hovering over the paper, Morgan remembered just what was on the table. Idle sketches of a fanciful robot, blueprints of an idea she wasn’t sure she wanted to make. She almost tripped over her feet as she grabbed her drawings. “T-that’s nothing! Just ignore it!”

“Nothing?” Peter looked at her, raising a brow. “That’s definitely not nothing.”

“It is!” she insisted, hugging the large papers close. They crumpled in her grip, bending to the curves of her body. “Look at the real schematic. Please.”

For a moment, Peter said nothing, and she feared he would press the issue. Then he leaned against the table, crossing his arms. “If you say so—”

Only Peter wasn’t actually here, in this room. No, he was miles away in his office in New York, an office where there wasn’t actually a table there, and he let out a surprised yelp as he fell through the desk. After a few seconds, his head rose from the center of the table, a sheepish look on his face. “Don’t know how I keep doing that.”

Morgan laughed, a rough thing. She calmed, relaxing her death grip on her sketches. “Me neither. You should try leaning over an actual table or something.”

“Don’t tell MJ, okay?” Peter pleaded, rubbing his forehead. Holograph technology now was far better than it was in her father’s time, and she could see the red from the bump. “She laughs at me enough as it is.”

“That’s cause you give her a lot to laugh at,” Morgan retorted. She thought her father might have made a joke like that. Yet she was ever her mother’s daughter and she smiled. “Fine, I won’t.”

Peter sighed, his shoulders relaxing. “Thanks—”

“But only if you figure out what’s wrong with the chip,” Morgan interrupted. It wasn’t smiles that won her mother her position, after all.

“You’re a taskmaster,” Peter grumbled good-naturedly, pouring over the sketches and blueprints once more. He didn’t say anything as she carefully folded her other sketches and hid them away in a drawer.

-x-

“Morgan! It’s time!”

Dimly, Morgan registered her mother’s voice. Numbers and code swirled around her brain, a tempest of possible solutions and answers. They were all half-formed, waiting to be examined, chosen, and worked on. As she shifted through them, she subconsciously analyzed the white noise of her mother’s voice, pulling apart the tone. Her mom didn’t sound urgent. That meant it didn’t have to happen now. “I’m coming,” she uttered noncommittedly, her eyes still trained on her laptop as she adjusted the code to her chip.

Several successful brainstorming sessions with Uncle Peter and she had it, the final piece to the puzzle. All that was left was the fixes and testing. Then again, testing was always half the work in the first place. Maybe if she—

“Morgan! Hun, come on, we have to get dinner started now!”

The second time, her mother’s voice pulled out of her thoughts harder. Words filtered in, demanding to be registered. Morgan stared blankly at the clock on her laptop, at the small white digits declaring 6:35pm. Dinner. 6:35pm. Mom. The words ran through her mind several times before she comprehended them.

“Don’t make me come up there!”

“Shit!” she hissed, almost dropping her laptop as she hurriedly got up. “Coming! I’M COMING!” The last time this happened, her mom actually had dragged her down by the scuff of her neck like she was some wayward kitten. That would have been bad enough on its own, but Rhodey and Peter had been there and she was pretty sure they still had pictures.

Pictures which she still couldn’t forcibly delete, unfortunately.

As she scrambled into the kitchen, panting, Morgan yelped, “I’m here! I’m here!”

“I can see that,” her mother replied wryly, grabbing her apron off a hook. “Remember to breathe.”

Morgan shot her a dirty look. Honestly, it was nice that they cooked together once a week, a guaranteed time where they both had to be present for dinner. It was fun, experimenting with different foods, discovering just how bad they both were at cooking. Morgan was too impatient and her mom too precise, which led to mishap more often than not.

Still, there was something grating about getting pulled out of her work. Morgan grumbled, “You didn’t have to threaten.”

“Only way to get you here,” her mother replied cheerfully, rolling up the sleeves to her good mint blouse. Even though she wasn’t wearing her work clothes, she still looked nice. Morgan was convinced there was nothing in her mother’s closest that was even close to the ratty t-shirts her uncles liked to relax in. “If you don’t want me to threaten, come at the first call.”

“Fine.” Calming down, Morgan glanced at the kitchen counter, silently counting the supplies neatly organized there. 2 packages of ground meat. A 5kg bag of potatoes. 7 bottles of a variety of sauces. A plastic bag full of beansprouts. 3 containers of panko breadcrumbs. As she studied the salad supplies, she asked, “Is someone coming for dinner?”

Her mom’s face scrunched as she shook her head, her hands carefully tying her apron strings behind her back. “No, why?”

“Are we making a feast then?” Morgan pulled her own apron off the hook, slipping into it. It was slightly frillier than her mom’s, a practical blue checkered pattern mixed with pretty green lace. Unfortunately, the large sauce stain on the front marred the whole thing. “That’s a lot of food.”

“That…” Pepper trailed off as she looked at the food on the counter. Sheepishly, she giggled. “Well, it’s a hard recipe and you know how we are in the kitchen. I just wanted backups in case we made a mistake. I might have went overboard with that, huh?”

Morgan held up her hand, pinching together two fingers. “Just a little.”

“Alright, alright, no need to be a smartass.” Her mother rolled her eyes playfully. “One thing I’ve learned, it’s better to be prepared than to worry later.”

She wondered if that had to do with her father or the Avengers. “I think you might be too prepared.”

“We can always call over Peter after, he eats like an elephant anyways.” Pulling out a tablet, her mother set it down on the kitchen counter. “We’re going to make croquettes, okay? And this strange little salad this cook recommends with it.”

“That sounds fancy.” Morgan leaned forward, scratching her neck as she read the recipe.

“Nothing too bad.” Opening a cupboard, her mom started to pull out small jars of spices. There was no consistency to the different spices they owned, each bought for a recipe that would only get used again six months down the line. “Sorry we had to move this down a day, it took longer than I thought to finalize that merger.”

“It’s okay.” Morgan reached into a drawer and pulled out their plastic cutting boards. “You got it?”

“Yeah.” Her mom looked over her shoulder and winked. “Like there was any doubt.”

And her mom liked to call her cocky. Morgan snorted. “You did need extra time.”

“You can’t rush some things.” Spices found, she closed the cupboard. Reaching down into a cabinet beneath the counter, she rifled through the mess of pots and pans as she searched for a mixing bowl. “That reminds me, Peter told me you were working on something new.”

“Yeah…” Morgan hoped he didn’t mention her new invention. She’d grabbed the sketches before he could study them too deeply, but his memory was surprisingly good when it came to tech. “I wanted to make some changes to Dad’s…” The word didn’t sound quite right. Not like Mom did. She had always called him Daddy, still thought of him as Daddy, but she was too old for that childish nickname now. Clearing her throat, she continued, “Dad’s helmet. I wanted to make it more efficient.”

“You’re what?” Her mom paused, pursing her lips thoughtfully. A shadow flitted across her face, so fast Morgan almost missed it. It was the same expression she’d see sometimes when her mom stood at the threshold to the lab, her jaw tight, her eyes narrowed. At the threshold, but never crossing it. Her mom almost never entered the lab, not if she could help it. “Honey, it’s fine to tinker, but those suits aren’t to be used anymore.”

“It’s for Uncle Rhodey,” Morgan quickly lied, before her mother could shut down the project entirely. “I can’t exactly work on his helmet, right? So I’m using this one as a practice one.”

Brow furrowed, her mom stared at her suspiciously. She wasn’t buying it. “Uh-huh.”

“Yeah, it’s a surprise.” Morgan forced a smile. She’d heard her father was a great liar. She had inherited none of that ability. “A big one. We all want Uncle Rhodey to be safe, right?”

Her mom sighed exasperatedly and went back to work. Grabbing several potatoes, she started to wash them. “Alright, let’s pretend that’s the case. Just be careful with it, okay?”

“R-right!” Sighing with relief, Morgan slumped slightly. Tension left her body quickly. Weakly, she set a pot of water to boil on the stove. “That’s why Uncle Peter’s helping me.”

“‘Uncle’, huh? I bet he doesn’t like that.” Shifting to the cutting board, she started to carefully slice the potatoes. Her eyes were focused on the board but Morgan knew better than to trust her attention was fully on it.

“A little.” Morgan grinned slyly. “Part of why I call him that.”

“You brat.” Her mom chuckled. “You’re just like Tony, you know that?”

“I am?” Morgan stopped working, turning to her mother. This was new information, possibly. A side to her father she might not know. It was hard to know someone living, impossible to know them dead, and Morgan had to ferret out information like a predator on the hunt. “How?”

“Well, Tony also liked to give people nicknames. Some they liked and others…” Her mom sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “Well, they got used to it. Or beat him up and then got used to it. Tony was an adult brat.” She glanced at Morgan, pointing her knife. “It’s very hard to stop being an adult brat, so make sure you don’t end up like that.”

Shaking her head, Morgan replied, “What’d he call them?”

“Oh, he had so many nicknames, where do I even start? Build-a-bear, Legolas, Manchurian Candidate…oh, there was Capsicle for Steve.” Her mom giggled. “Admittedly, that one is clever, but if I ever told him that, he’d have gotten a swelled head. Besides, he overused them to the point they stopped being funny.”

Morgan was entranced. Her father gave nicknames. Terrible nicknames. Non-stop. “Is that why the robots are called Dum-Me and U?”

“Probably.” Wiping her hand on her apron, she reached over and affectionately ruffled Morgan’s hair. “And that’s why I refused to let him name you. Though I guess in the end, he actually did pick the name.”

“He did?” This she hadn’t heard before.

“Yeah, after my uncle. It was years ago; I didn’t take him seriously at the time.” Her mom’s eyes lowered, her voice soft. She wasn’t looking at Morgan anymore, but at the past, at this Tony that Morgan could only imagine.

When had her father suggested it? Why? She wished her father had recorded more than just his lab, had taken his camera with him everywhere and filmed everything. They made movies now, of his earlier exploits, movies and comic book tie-ins and even an entire novel series. Her mom liked to buy one every now and then and mark out the inaccuracies, circling them with a red pen or pausing the movie so she could retell the tale perfectly. “I like my name.”

“Me too.” Her mom smiled again, back in the present. “I guess he wasn’t entirely bad at it.”

“Mom, why don’t you like going into the lab?” Morgan asked without thinking. She almost covered her mouth afterwards; this wasn’t what she’d intended to ask. Yet…she wanted—needed to hear the answer.

Her mother stroked her chin thoughtfully. “You want to know, huh? Are you sure?” Her voice dropped an octave and she whispered. “Once you know, you can’t go back.”

“Y-yes.” Morgan swallowed. Everything about her mom’s expression screamed serious and just what was she about to hear?

“Alright then. If you’re sure.” Her mom crossed her arms and smiled menacingly. “I hate the lab because you and Tony spend all your time in it.”

Of all the answers she’d expected to hear, that wasn’t one of them. Morgan stared at her blankly, not sure how to respond aside from a few unintelligent huhs.

“You go into it, and then I don’t hear or see you for the rest of the day.” Her mom’s expression was gentle but there was a heavy, crushing weight to her words. “You don’t come out to eat, to exercise, to even sleep—it’s like the lab is the only room in the house. If I call, it takes five tries for you to even notice me. So I hate that lab.”

“O-oh.” Morgan rubbed her arm uncomfortably. Well, it was true that she wasn’t in the best shape. Maybe she could get out of her lab a little more often. “I’ll come down quicker,” she promised.

Her mother beamed, turning back to her cutting board. “That’s a start. Now, get back to work; it’s almost dinner and I’m starved.”

-x-

Morgan remembered her father like this: the scent of oil and spicy cologne wafting off his skin, the sound of his finger tapping on the table as he considered his ideas, the way his beard tickled her cheek when he kissed her. Morgan remembered her father in fragments, in bits and chunks that couldn’t make a whole. She spent hours assembling the jigsaw pieces from her family, twisting and turning her mother’s facts and uncles’ facts so that they aligned. They never did.

Sometimes she liked to sit on the floor of her workshop and watch her father’s old lab recordings. Her father aged before her eyes, the video image becoming sharper and crisper the older he got. Some videos had bits of static, the clip played over and over until bits of data were lost.

He had the mouth of a man who smiled a lot. Sharp eyes glanced at the camera, a sharper mouth making fun of himself as he worked. Her father didn’t look older than Peter did some days. How old would he look now, with grey peppering his hair? Would he even let it? Her mother said he was vain, so maybe his hair would have always been brown.

It was easy to tell the videos where her mom was nearby. Her father, usually keen on his work, was always distracted, his hands fiddling with one useless adjustment to the next. His expression was soft, so very soft, and love shone in his eyes. How did her mom miss it back then? How did her dad not realize it? Morgan couldn’t understand it, it was as clear as day when she watched them together.

Was that how he looked when he was with Morgan? When he held her hand in his big ones, his grip reassuring as he walked her to the kitchen. His eyes must have looked the same. That big love. That wry smirk.

And if she showed him her ideas, her inventions, would his expression have morphed to pride?

There were no pictures, no videos of pride. All that she had were her mother’s words and her imagination.

-x-

At the lobby to Peter’s business, the elderly receptionist looked up from his desk and smiled as Morgan entered the lobby. “Miss. Stark, it’s good to see you again.”

“Thanks, Ben.” Morgan smiled brightly, trying not to bounce. She liked the way he said her name, the little miss tacked to the front. It made her feel grownup. Professional, even.

Ben beamed back, his eyes crinkling as he gestured at the elevators. “Here to see Mr. Parker? Go on ahead, I’ll ring him up.”

It only took five minutes to reach his office, five minutes spent grasping her backpack’s straps tightly and worrying at her lip. Morgan wasn’t sure why she was here. This was pointless. They met often enough as it was virtually, she didn’t need to come here in person.

“Hey, Morgan!” Peter waved at her cheerfully as she entered his office. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind him. “What’s up?”

It was too late; she was here already. Forcing herself to approach his desk, she smiled nervously. “Nothing much, Uncle Peter.”

Immediately he frowned, scrunching his nose distastefully. “Uncle.” He winced. “That makes me sound old.”

Morgan giggled. This was such an old argument, it was almost like a greeting. “You are old.”

“What, want me to start yelling at you to get off my lawn? I’m not as old as you think.” Peter’s cheeks puffed and he pouted. “I’m only ten years older than you.”

“Fifteen,” she corrected, smirking. “Legally.”

“Legally.” He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t exist for five of those years. Anyways, what’s up?”

“I…I wanted to get your opinion on something.” Morgan swallowed as she took off her backpack and unzipped it. Staring inside at her father’s mask, her fingers brushed against the cool metal. It would be easier to just take this out, to pretend that this was what she wanted to show him. “I…”

When she didn’t say anything, paralyzed over her decision, Peter coughed. “That reminds me, I found something the other day.” Pulling out his phone, he tapped on it a few times before holding the screen out to her.

On it was a picture of her dad, when he was younger. Next to him was a small, beaming teenage boy, his expression a cross between excitement and nervousness. While he wasn’t wearing a mask, the costume he wore made it obvious just who he was: Spider-man.

Peter Parker. Morgan looked up at him. “You look like a nerd.”

“Takes one to know one,” he retorted, chuckling. “This was when Tony almost made me an Avenger.”

“Wait, what?” Morgan stared at the photo again. Peter looked like he had to be her age. There was no way he was any older, he looked so small. “You were going to be an Avenger as a teenager?”

Peter nodded solemnly. “I know. Probably not the best decision, so let’s just say it’s a good thing it never happened.” Pocketing his phone, he added, “You know, Tony made that suit for me.”

That wasn’t entirely new—she’d seen the logs of her father building it. Sensing a story, Morgan sat on Peter’s desk. “Yeah.”

He pursed his lips at the action but didn’t rebuke her. “I’m not sure how he knew my size, but it fit perfectly. Worked really well too. And then he took it away from me.”

Now that, that was new. Morgan’s brow raised. “Why?”

“I wasn’t ready for it at the time.” Peter shrugged, a rueful smile on his lip. “I mean, I was just fifteen. I couldn’t handle the school dance, let alone fighting crime. Still…” A wry fondness made its way into his tone. “It was tough, but I learned to manage without it. And then after that—there were no end to these tests Tony gave me. He was always pushing me, you know. To break past my boundaries, to go beyond my limits. It’s something he did all the time and he wouldn’t let me do less.”

“Mom said he liked challenges,” Morgan murmured.

“Yeah, that might have been part of it. I mean, he didn’t just train me—or, actually, train me at all, really. But he would celebrate with me and help me out…” Peter paused, his voice growing softer. There was something sad about his expression, something that she couldn’t quite place. “You know…I never had a father…but Tony…”

He trailed off and Morgan finished the sentence for him. “Was like a father?”

“Kinda…He was what I thought a father might be like, you know. I mean, I only knew him for a year. I never…that isn’t that long. I never…got to figure it out.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t cry. Morgan would never know how long it took him to get to that state, to be able to talk about Tony and not break down. “I guess we’re both alike, huh.” He looked up at her now, his face doleful. “Just searching for fragments of Tony.”

“I…” Morgan stammered, not sure how to respond. Uncle Rhodey had told her father liked to make jokes when he was feeling emotional, masking away his true feelings. She didn’t think she could do that. Slipping off the desk, she reached down and hugged Peter. “Yeah, we are.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t cry either.

Peter wrapped his arms around her tightly, squeezing her. “Thanks.” Then, patting her back, he asked, “So what was it you wanted to show me?”

Morgan pulled away and glanced at her back. Her father never stopped pushing, inventing, finding something new. She shouldn’t settle for any less either. As she pulled out her own invention, she commented, “You know, Peter, you’re more like a brother than an uncle.”

Peter’s eyes widened before he laughed. “That’s what I’ve been telling you all along!”

-x-

Every day, Morgan passed by a statue of her dad. They were a dime a dozen, each one showing a different expression, a different pose. She wondered if he’d have found them cheesy or liked the attention. She wondered if he’d have taken her to each one, taking selfies as they mapped out their locations.

Today was no different. As Morgan walked home, she glanced at the statue of her dad, with its familiar crack on the back. If she was lucky, she’d be taller than her dad. He’d have liked that, she thought. He’d have mocked himself and said he was in the company of giants.

A butterfly rested on his head, resting up before flying away.

-x-

“Alright!” Morgan clapped her hands as she entered her lab. Dum E and U started up automatically, the machines following her as she walked over to her work bench. Carefully, she rolled up her plans for her father’s mask, her ideas for improving her mother’s suit.

She’d work on them again, one day. Perhaps her greatest tribute to her father would be improving his own inventions. He’d have liked that too. But that day wasn’t today. No, today Morgan was going to start working on her own ideas.

“We’re going to start something new—create a new archive, U.”

#peter parker #spiderman #iron man #pepper potts #morgan stark #tony stark #marvel cinamatic universe #fanfic #i should have posted this a while ago #but i can say that about everything i post really

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mar-iiposa · 3 years

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"Just Stay Here for Me"

chapter 1 - "germany"

chapter prompt: Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, comes to you on a spring day of 2016 and requests for you and another teenager to consider joining his team for the arrest and battle against Captain America’s team.

masterlist: w.i.p.

a/n: at the end of the chapter ! please read it and give me feedback and thoughts in the comments for this post!!! I own none of the characters used in this story.

warning(s): some foul language.

desc.: gender neutral y/n, peter parker x reader

word count: 4.3k words

"Y/N, I can't keep waiting for you to wake up forever. Get up, kid."

Brightness filled the span of your vision, from corner to corner as you blinked desperately to regain your sight. You look to your left and see Tony Stark close and lock the door to your bedroom. You sit up on your bed, staring. Tony turned towards you, noticing you were still in your school clothes. How odd it seemed for someone to not almost immediately change out into some sweats after class. At least, that’s what many would do.

“Anyway, I got this great opportunity for you,” Tony looked out the window of your bedroom, out to the city view, “can’t reject it.” There was a pause between the both of you, before you spoke out. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me about this “opportunity”?” His gaze flickered over to you, deliberating over exactly how much he should tell you. “Oh, yeah. Well,” He began, “I’m Iron Man, right?” You gave a nod, now sitting on the edge of your bed. “So, no questioning what openings I give you.” You managed to see a shot of his smirk from the side, searching for your own words as he looked around your room. “Funkos? Got any Iron Man ones?” He held up the box in front of him, you took it from his hold, putting it back, “Just don’t take it out of the box.” You put the still figure back in its place, your back facing the billionaire.

“How do I know if I want this offer?” He went silent. “Because you won’t go to jail if you’re on my team.” You take a hard few blinks, your brows furrowing together as your mouth was agape, surprised. “Excuse me, what?” You turn your head, looking over your shoulder, in disbelief of what just came out of his mouth. What was meant by jail?! He took out the chair from your small workspace, one leg over the other as his fingers rested upon his temple. He was looking at you, a small sigh heard escaping from him, “I’m getting the hint that you’re not interested?” You groan to yourself, burying your face into your hands, elbows on your knees as you sit down. You slump, slightly, “Thi- This is insane, I don’t even know who you’re up against, I-“ Tony shrugged, holding his hands up to the side, “Save yourself the time and make a decision. Or not.

“Look, kid, do you want to be on my team or not? Just say something.” You make a face, appalled by the audacity of him. But it was nothing you didn’t expect. “How can I even say anything yet? Tony, you haven’t even told me even a word about this missio-!” Tony shushed you, holding up his index finger, getting up from the chair. “Hey, hey, hey,” He cut you off, “me, now. This is me. Talking now.” You stare up at him, tepid by what he was pulling with you. “You know Captain America, right? ‘Course you do, he’s a human soldier popsicle.” Your arms are folded against your chest, giving a short nod as you went on to listen. “He's gone crazy, alright? You've seen news coverage of the Sokovia Accords?" He knew what kind of answer to expect from you: of course you knew about the Accords and what had happened in Lagos. Considering the fatality of the disaster, and all of the destruction caused by him, he was undoubtedly sure everyone knew what had happened. "Everyone at school's been talking about it. It's everywhere," You answer honestly, Tony nodding in response. "He doesn't want to sign them. The Accords, Cap. Far from willing to do that. But I want you on my team. In Germany." You hesitate, inhaling sharply, quietly.

"Who else is on our team?" Tony raises finger-by-finger on his hand, counting away as he listed off names, "Clint, Vision, T'Challa, Rhodey, Vision, Natasha (maybe), and a kid about your age." Eyebrows raised, you become curious about this kid. "My age?" You slightly tilt your head to the side, "what's his name?" Tony reflected an image of the onesie suit swinging around New York, catching a rogue car from crashing into a city transport bus. You watch the video until it ends. It's impressive. "His name is 'Spider-Man.'" You raise a brow, letting yourself grin and relax. "'Spider-Man'? Didn't you say he's my age?" Tony switched off the device, "Kid probably likes the ring of it. Anyways, you need to pack."

"How do you know I'm interested?" You questioned, a bit shocked at the fact of traveling to some place in Germany. A good eight hours from here on a flight. "One: you said "our team", and two: you just said you are." Although still vexed by the idea of traveling to a foreign country in Europe to fight some old patriotic man from the 1940s, you did know that Tony would have your back in keeping you safe (to an extent, you knew the him and how he was), security shouldn’t be too big of a problem there. Oh but what would you tell your parents? And your school? “When do we have to leave?” Tony sighed out a little, adjusting the famous Stark glasses he always dawned. “Tomorrow.” You cast a glance back up at him, slowly giving a couple of nods, “What am I supposed to tell my parents? They used to work for you, they know your tricks!” Tony shook his head a bit, “This is the Internship, the Stark Internship. That started after they retired. Matter of fact, why did they retire?”

”Mr. Stark-“ You sigh. “My parents thought it would be safer for us to resign from working for you. Especially after the 2012 New York aliens attack. They were right.” Tony rose a brow, puzzled, “And you’re here, accepting my offer to be an Avenger?” You searched for words, knowing that he was right in a way. It seemed hypocritical to tell that working for him was dangerous, and, now, this would be working with him. But in your defense, you were different from your parents: you would rather run to the battle to help rather than run from it. “They were right: in some way. But not really in my way.” Tony listened for more, holding his chin in hand. “Your way is?”

”I don’t run from things.”

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ 　.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .　

“We’re on a tight schedule here!” You heard Happy yell at you from downstairs. You rummaged through your things, checking over to make sure you had exactly everything you needed at your stay in Germany. “Seriously, do they really take this long?” Happy pointed up to the ceiling, asking the L/Ns (your Last Name), your parents. Your father shrugged, taking a sip from his morning mug of espresso, your mother busy preparing some food for you. Down the stairs of your home, you hold your bag, slung over your shoulder, Happy carrying the rest of them out to the limo. “Mom, I think they’ll have enough food for me over there,” You pick up the small bag of cereal, “I don’t think you need to pack all of this for me?”

“You’re never so sure,” She grinned, handing you a juice box. “And I’m not six,” You remind, yet still poking the straw into the box, sipping from it. She gestured towards your actions whilst arching a brow towards you, “Alright, well, call me when you get there.” She patted you on the shoulder, not the firm and active believer in physical affection. She never really was. You didn’t have the best relationship together, but it was a process you were slowly working on. You were hoping it would just work. “You done in here?” Happy peaked from the front door, you sent a short nod. You clutch your bag still, your palms becoming sweaty as you think to yourself. You were literally traveling to a foreign country to fight some mutants, Avengers, and whoever else there was on the opposing team. All you were aware of, really, was that The Vision, Black Widow, King (then Prince) T’Challa, Iron Man, War Machine, and some Spider-person (“Spider-Man”?) was on your team. Whoever this new person your age was, you wanted to meet him if you got the opportunity to. “Are we staring off into space or what? Look, kid, we gotta go. Now?”

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ 　.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .　

The hotel was swanky, expensive. Clearly, if it was Tony being the one paying for it. You were instructed to “hurry up and put the suit on” as you were “on a tight schedule.” But where was the suit? You raise your chin up, swirling in circles over the space of the room, looking for this suit. Unable to see the piece of fabric and armor, you sit down on the hotel bed, only to feel a dark briefcase poke at your arm. You open it, feeling dumbfounded as you mentally questioned your lack of intelligence: there the suit was, inside the case. You assumed it was a package for your appreciated stay. You marvel in awe at the colors and texture of your new suit, which was far better than you could ever have imagined. You didn’t think Tony would spoil you this much. You grab hold of it, holding it up to your neck as you gaze into the hotel room mirror nearby, watching your reflection carefully. The colors greatly complimented your e/c eyes (your eye color) and your skin tone. Once you try it on, you observe, the suit fitting you in all the best places. Unwrinkled, fitting, and comfortable, you felt like this suit was so surreal, it truly felt like it was yours. Not someone else’s. Because it wasn’t. It never will be. A knock came from the door, you peek out, the door slightly creaking open, seeing Happy.

“Ready?”

”Ready.”

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ 　.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

The weather was warm, fluffy, seemingly weightless clouds floating slowly horizontally in the atmosphere. Germany looked breathtaking, modern with old placed pieces of architecture. You fidget with a loose piece of the suit, anxious before the fight. Currently, you were at this airport in Schkeuditz, waiting for your call to go walk out onto the airport outdoors platform.

　 “Let me guess, you’re the other new one?” You jump a tad, turning around to see a ginger-haired woman, with sharp green eyes staring right at you, arms folded against her own dark suit. You nod slowly, intimidated by the presence of the Black Widow. She extends her hand out towards you, “Natasha Romanoff.” She raised a brow back at you, awaiting for the reply of your name. “Y/N L/N.”

"Y/N." Natasha hummed, clearing her throat. The grip was firm, solid, in her handshake, "What's special about you?" For a second, you pause, a little offended but trying to suppress it. "I mean, your powers? Or?"

"Oh, oh!" Natasha smiled a bit at your reaction. "Well, I have precognition. Plus, I’ve known Tony since I was a kid, so.” Natasha nods, listening. “I’ve known Tony for years too. It’s- an experience,” She chuckles with you, attempting to lighten up the mood some more. “Anyway,” You smile still, “you’re on our team?” The ex-assassin lets out a long sigh, “Things are complicated.” She shifted her gaze away, staring off. You frown a little, about to speak before you were cut off. “Come on,” She nudged you, heading off to where you didn’t know where. Above, you hear what sounds like jets, only to discover the War Machine and Iron Man.

“Wow, it's so weird how you run into people at the airport. Don't you think that's weird?”

”Definitely weird.”

You look over at Natasha, following shortly behind her after a while. “Steve,” With a stern look, “you know what's about to happen. Do you really wanna punch your way out of this one?“ You recognize all of the heroes gathered here, except for just one. Who was it?

“Alright. I’ve run out of patience: Underoos!”

And just like the name, a spider flipped into motion: “Spider-Man.”

What looks like some white silly string (no, webs) ties both of Captain America's wrists together, the new super nailing a precise landing, stealing the shield. “Nice job, kid.” The figure stands back up, looking down at the shield, then at Tony, “Thanks! Well, I could've stuck the landing a little better; it's just the new suit— Well it's nothing, Mr. Stark! It's- it's perfect, thank you.” Tony shook his head at the boy (judging from the cracking puberty voice), “Yeah, we don’t really need to start a conversation.” Spider-Man moved his gaze over to Captain, giving a quick salute, “Okay. Uh, Cap- Captain. Big fan. I'm Spider-Man.” Clearly having enough of this, Tony motioned for the hero to just zip it. “Yeah, we'll talk about it later. Just-“

“Hey everyone.”

“-good job..”

You smirk to yourself at the nature of the teenage boy; whoever he was, he sure liked to talk. “You’ve been busy,” Cap grinned, Tony’s frustration beginning to just show. “And you’ve been a complete idiot. Dragging in Clint, “rescuing” Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave: a safe place! I'm trying to keep— I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart.”

“You did that when you signed.”

“Alright- We’re done. You’re gonna turn Barnes over; you're gonna come with us: Now! Because it's us! Or a squad of J-SOC guys, with no compunction about being impolite. Come on..”

Unexpectedly, you whip your gaze up to see an arrow cut through the web binding Captain’s wrist together. “Alright, Lang.” Lang? Who was Lang?! You weren’t informed about a “Lang”! Looking alarmed, the new member in red and blue speaks up, “Hey, guys, something—“ And within seconds, something or someone came out of thin air, knocking Spider-Man over, stealing the shield from the kid’s grasp. “I believe this is yours, Captain America.” Hey, who was this new guy? “Oh, great- Alright, there's two on the parking deck: one of them's Maximoff, I'm gonna grab her. Rhodey, you want to take Cap?” You look to Natasha, for some sort of guidance. She looked back towards you, standing there, looks of conflict written all over her face.

“Hey, Mr. Stark, what should I do?”

“What we discussed: keep your distance, web 'em up.”

“Okay, copy that!” You hear Spider-Man shout back, swinging off somewhere with his webbing. You look over with Natasha, noticing the “Lang” approach near the both of you. “Look, I really don't want to hurt you,” He faces you after her, “and you.” She seems to shrug, “I wouldn’t stress about it.” Without warning or any sign of hesitation, she knees him in the groin, Lang groaning in pain while you attempt to help; however, she shoots you a look of “wait” instead. Lang clicks something, suddenly disappearing before your eyes. What in the- “Where did he-?” The auburn-haired woman zaps something off of her wrist. Was that Lang? You look around, confused to now only discover a sudden dent in a nearby truck. You turn around, Rhodes swooping in. “Sorry, Cap, this won't kill you but it ain't gonna tickle either.” With him unleashing mace onto Cap’s shield, you see yourself running to assist, but Captain kicks War Machine, breaking his mace. After he tosses something, a regular sized truck appears out of complete thin air. Hearing Mark 46, you immediately turn around to see Tony helping Nat back up. “Is this part of the plan?” She turns to see the devastation from the vehicle. “Well, my plan was to go easy on them. You wanna switch it up?”

“Captain Rogers,” A flying figure floats towards the WWII soldier, “I know you believe what you're doing is right, but for the collective good, you must surrender now.” As the android continued approaching, the entire team, including you, lined up, facing the opposing one. Natasha sighs under her breath, “This is gonna end well.” You cast an antsy look to Tony to your right, but he was too fixated on Cap, not bothering to spare a glance back towards you. However, trying to impress and convince Tony to invite you to more of these, you put on a face of grim persistency. “They're.. not stopping?”

“Neither are we.”

Sprinting. Both sides start to sprint towards each other, fierce enough to withstand backing out of this one. You feel the cool breeze brush through your hair, and you can see the other side, running towards all of you. Soon enough, your weapon quickly clashes with another’s: a bow. You see Natasha on the opposite side of Clint, about to pin her down to the floor until you catch him with your weapon. Natasha stares over at you, eyes widened. “Go!” You groan, trying your very best to hold him still with what strength you had. That didn’t last long, as you felt a warm, strong force raising you up, your feet hovering over the ground. Whipping your gaze over to your right, you see Wanda Maximoff, each of her hands surrounded with a glowing red energy. She projects you elsewhere, to her left, and you try to regain your balance, stumbling backward on your feet until you bump into someone tall. You look up to see the red and blue famous Super Soldier towering over you. From your case, he doesn’t view you as much of a threat right now; instead, he runs and aims, swiftly flinging his shield upwards. You hear someone fall with a thump, then see them catch themself and regain balance. “That thing does not obey the laws of physics at all!” You see Spider-Man peer over behind Captain, sending a wave your way, “hi.”

You return the greeting, causing this to smile at the nature of the boy, blushing slightly whilst mouthing a “hi” back. Ignoring the interaction currently excluding him, Steve looks back towards Spider-Man, “Look, kid, there's a lot going on here that you don't understand.” You watch this, your turn to be temporarily excluded. “Mr. Stark said you'd say that, wow,” Without a second thought to it, he fires his webs, sticking to Steve's shield and ankle. He pulls Steve towards him with them; Spider-Man kicks him backwards. “He also said to go for your legs.” He notices Steve running to retain his shield, webbing Steve’s hands, pulling him again. Steve grits his teeth and somersaults, attempting to shoot him into the air towards you. You strive to catch him, succeeding in doing so, Spider-Man’s “eyes” widening back towards you, clearly impressed, “How did you- ?” Both of you stop, watching Cap use the web to tug Spider-Man towards him, and you let him go to protect yourself, Steve knocking him down with his own shield. The fellow new recruit jumps and pulls his weight on top of an airport gangway, carefully pulling you with him. “Stark tell you anything else?” Steve looks at him and then you, too. You shrug, looking next to the other hero, wondering if Tony had told him anything, “He just said you’re crazy.” Steve nods, shrugging himself, knowing he most-likely did that say that, before glancing to the other. “That you're wrong, you think you're right. That makes you dangerous,” He swings down, and you jump onto the ground, Steve leaping to kick him backwards onto the leg of the gangway. You look up to see the gangway get closer towards you, pausing like a deer in absolute headlights before you watch the gangway abruptly stop. The hero besides you remains, holding it up for you, somehow.

“Guess he had a point,” Steve watched as the hero ushered to save you from the gangway, “You got heart, kid. Where're you from?” You both answer, clearly distracted with the falling gangway. “Queens.” Smiling at this, Steve gives a single nod before leaving. “Brooklyn.” Taking a double-take, you and the new super briskly take a look at each other, eyes wide.

“Q- Queens?” He drops the gangway after you both safely get out from underneath it. Both take chances to catch your breaths. You nod slowly, grinning as you pant. “Queens.” He looks back at you for a silent while before webbing to something, “I’ll- Uh, bye!” Up ahead, in the distance after a few minutes, you see a giant.. “Lang” (?) reach out to grip onto a War Machine in the air. You hear the background from what sounded like Spider-Man and his “Holy shit!”

“Give me back my Rhodey.” Catching up to the action, you find yourself ducking as Big Lang throws War Machine, only to be webbed by Spider-Man in an attempt to be caught or whatever. Do these people know this still was a functioning airport? You try your best to dodge anything and everything that was now exploding and/or on fire. “Okay, anybody on our side hiding any shocking and fantastic abilities they'd like to disclose? I'm open to suggestion.” You feel intuition say to turn around, and you, thankfully, you catch Sam. “Look out!” You shout out to Tony over the ruckus, and he moves out of Sam’s way, Sam firing Redwing instead to hit Stark. You see another explosion, from a truck, anxiety coursing through you to see Spider-Man crawling atop of Lang. Be careful. And just when you think so, Vision emerges, going through Lang’s mass. “Something just flew in me!”

You look to Natasha, one of the only few ones without super advanced suits and complex powers. You just had dreams and super strong intuition to guide you. But at least the two of you knew combat. You dodge the debris from War Machine, Lang, Wanda, and now Vision. Natasha guides you to some sort of “shelter” space, knowing you were young and new to all of this. You watch as Wanda loses control and grip on a tower, screaming as she desperately clutches the sides of her head. Steve arrived, Natasha giving a look of disappointment. But she expected this from him. “You’re not gonna stop.” Steve shook his head a little, “You know I can’t.” And letting out one, long, aggravated sigh, she looks to you and flickers to glance at Steve again. “I'm gonna regret this,” She stuns T'Challa who's arrived behind the two of them, “go.” Steve nods and he and Bucky Barnes run for a Quinjet. You look to her, wondering what she’s now done. From outside, you hear a loud thump, assuming it was the giant Lang. “Natasha!” You give a look of concern, watching her continue to stun T’Challa, “what are you doing?!” Once the Quinjet takes off, he stands up, looking at her.

“I said I'd help you find him, not catch him. There's a difference.”

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ 　.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

“The doctors say he shattered L4 through S1. Extreme laceration in the spinal cord. Probably looking at some form of paralysis.” You stand behind both Tony and Natasha, worried for the well-being of James. There was a silence, until Nat spoke back up. “Steve's not gonna stop. If you don't either, Rhodey's gonna be the best case scenario.”

“You let them go, Nat.”

“We played this wrong.”

“'We'? Boy, it must be hard to shake the whole double agent thing, huh? It sticks in the DNA.”

“Are you incapable of letting go of your ego for one goddamn second?”

“T'Challa told Ross what you did, so- they're coming for you.”

“I'm not the one that needs to watch their back."

She leaves, not even sparing a glance at you. You look down, thinking Tony might be disappointed in you too. “You’re going home,” His voice is stern, almost father-like. “And Happy is picking you up here. Now.” Feeling ashamed to felt to have not been able to do anything to prevent the Quinjet from taking off, you nod quietly, your eyes sticking to the cold ground in silence. You felt your throat tighten, a lump forming as you feel your stomach turn, ashamed to have let Tony down. Turning his back to you, Tony looks down at his watch, now addressing F.R.I.D.A.Y.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ 　.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

“Did it go well?”

You remain quiet, lowly gazing to your fingers as you pick at your nails, cleaning them to distract yourself. Happy doesn’t even have the inside window up, looking in the mirror from time to time, seeing you sitting in the back of the limo. “He does that, kid, it’s okay. We’ll- They’ll just call you next time.

“I’m sure he’s not mad. Just— he’s got a lot now, with Rhodes.”

The car comes to a stop at your street, the sunset pouring out above the city. “Thanks, Happy. I’ve got my things.” The limo door closes behind you as you push it. He rolls down the window, trying to give a reassuring smile. “Good night, kid.” He drove off, making sure your parents were to answer the door. “Hey!” Your dad happily grabs your shoulders, excited to see how, “how was Germany?”

“Good, good.” You smile, not wanting them to see your eyes and push into you spilling anything. “Don’t worry, I called Midtown, you’ll be back to school Monday. Okay?” You nod, going upstairs. “We have Alfredo, eat your dinner.” Nodding to them again, you go into your room, quietly locking the door as you sit down on the edge of your bed, looking to the chair where Tony sat, not so long ago. You sigh, head in your hands, brushing through your hair. Where are you when I need somebody to talk to, Spider-Man?

-----

author’s note: first of all, a BIG thanks to everyone that read this and left, or will leave, feedback!! it means a whole lot to me as a writer, still learning the ropes even after so many years. I chose to write a Marvel series because I felt that I would want to be known as another well-known Marvel fanfic writer. other than that, I’ve grown up watching the Iron Man films since I was a little kid, and I’ve been watching since then until now. the movies bring me joy and comfort in times of boredom to times of sadness. overall, writing this was fun, even though a deadline can be scary and/or stressful, but I would totally love to keep this series up on tumblr. some points came across where I wanted to include more in this chapter; however, I had to make a few cuts and decisions of cutting scenes out. one thing that was scary to me was getting the characters right. I had to ask my fellow friends, that also love the MCU, if my portrayals of Tony, Natasha, etc. seemed accurate. personally, I found it most fun to write Tony Stark, since he is practically the king of sarcasm. but it also hurt when including that last scene of disapproval towards the reader. I really felt for Y/N there. with this work, I felt I really grew with being more and more observant to portraying characters, although it can be such a challenge in most cases. I’m very thankful with the online scripts of the MCU movies and my Disney plus subscription to help me observe characteristics of these people. but nonetheless, I cannot wait to continue this peter x reader into a series on my own. thank you for reading and leaving me feedback. have a good day / night - Mare :)

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