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Tony stared at the Chip of Friday, his heart a heavy stone. Five years. Five years since he’d chosen the quiet life—abandoning the roar of technology, the blinding flash of Ironman, and the relentless media chase. He’d retreated far from the city, settling into a solitary cabin by the lake. No machines, no trinkets of the past, though a few garbage-digging journalists still tried to profit from stale rumors.
Five years. No, six, precisely, since he’d last seen the kid. And five years of deliberately seeking no news of him, striving for a life so 'normal' it was information-blind.
That blind spot shattered this very morning.
Tony had accepted an invitation from MIT to be the honored alumni guest, speaking at the ceremony for their graduating class. And there he was. The valedictorian, with a perfect score. Tony reached out, his hand shaking slightly, to clasp the boy’s cold, lean one in congratulation. An unfamiliar, thin smile met Tony’s own practiced grin. It was polite. It was distant.
Tony didn't want this. He wanted so much more.
"...with my family, and also my friends Ned and MJ. Thank you all so much." The kid’s commencement address concluded without ever uttering the name Stark. Not even 'Stark Industries.' Tony swallowed the bitter pill. His breath grew tight as he spotted two other kids amidst the sea of graduates—they received the broad, genuine smile he deeply missed.
There was MJ, the tall, pretty girl with curly hair—Tony couldn’t recall what her initials stood for, but Peter had told him once. And the chubby young man, Ned—or was it Fred? Ted? The 'chair guy' behind the habitually lost-on-the-map classic Spiderman. The three bookworms, it turned out, had secured their perfect grades with the boy as their leader.
Tony let out a long, heavy sigh. Everything felt alien. Utterly disconnected.
He then slotted the Friday chip into an empty port beside his laptop. Slowly, a cool blue light filled the small cabin.
"System booting… Hello, Boss. Welcome back."
The mechanical voice was a sudden, electric jolt to Tony's emotions. He closed his eyes, savoring the sound he once heard every minute of every day.
"Hey, Friday. It's good to hear you, girl. I really missed you." Tony's reply was strained, his voice barely concealing a tremor.
"Me too, Boss. How are you today?"
"Oh, I’m fine," Tony answered, his gaze drifting away. He was not fine. Not after this morning. Half his heart was missing, adrift somewhere unknown. His genius mind was already frantically assembling a montage of memories: the kid's endless chatter, his infectious laughter, his incredible aptitude in the lab.
He even remembered the night of the kid’s sixteenth birthday. They were all there, the Avengers, gathered around a table, sharing laughs and stories. Until one day, Friday dropped the truth. The kid was his biological son.
The revelation hadn’t brought joy. Tony still saw the flash of anger, the depth of betrayal in his eyes. He remembered the desperate, tearful sprint into the elevator, the long absence that followed. Of course he was disappointed. His revered mentor was the same father who had abandoned him—the one who had signed the papers giving his mother full custody.
Tony should have known. He should have realized the truth the day the boy talked about his mother, Mary, who died in a plane crash when he was five. Tony should have known that Mary was Maria, the woman he’d briefly encountered during the darkest, most reckless period of his life.
The kid refused to see him for a long time. It terrified Tony. It drove him to work around the clock in the lab, isolating himself, handing all business to Pepper, and focusing on trivial projects. Then the inevitable happened. Thanos. The war. The kid came. He fought, he helped secure the victory. He even shielded Tony a couple of times. But that only intensified Tony's fear. This was his son. He couldn't let the media, or anyone in the world, pry into his life. He wanted to protect him, to give him a chance at a normal, undisturbed existence. That's when Tony made the decision he'd regretted every day since.
That was how he walked away from his life of luxury and heroism. From that moment, he never contacted the kid. It was all for protection, to guard against every possible danger. But Tony hadn't anticipated the cost—the pain of him feeling utterly, completely like a stranger.
"Friday, give me everything on Peter Parker. All of it. Anything you have."
"Gathering data on Peter Parker..."
Tony drew a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cabin air, preparing for whatever Friday was about to deliver.
"Peter Benjamin Parker, born August 10, 2001, to Richard and Mary Parker. Noted for winning the Nobel Prize at the high school level for his advanced crime detection system. He has recently garnered acclaim for several inventions that have proven highly successful. Today, Peter Parker graduated as MIT's valedictorian. He has been living alone since his only remaining relative passed away—"
Tony's heart seized up.
"Wait, Friday. Passed away?" Tony's shock was raw, unconcealed. "What do you mean, passed away?"
"It is reported that May Parker died after being involved in an accident in Manhattan four years ago, Boss."
My God.
Tony felt a physical weight press against his chest. His breathing grew shallow. A warning from Friday’s voice forced him to control his ragged inhales. What have I done?
"Friday, is Peter still living in Queens?" Tony asked carefully. He desperately needed to find Peter now. He was a fool to have let him go this morning without even demanding a moment to just see him—even if Peter would have refused.
"Negative. Peter Parker relocated from Queens after the passing of May Parker, Boss."
Damn it. Think, Tony. Think.
He could call the university for Peter's address, but that would leave a trail. People would dig. And then... then everything—
Wait. The suit.
"Friday, can you track Peter's suit? I'm begging you, find him." Tony was truly desperate.
"Negative, Boss. I am unable to find his location beacon. The system also shows no history for the past four years."
Four years? Had Peter deactivated the tracker after his aunt died? Or...
"I have located Karen. However, this will require authorization from Karen. Would you like to proceed?"
Karen. Peter’s own A.I., which they’d developed together. The one they installed in Peter's suit to help him in the field and keep him connected to Friday. It had been so long since he’d heard that name. But would Peter allow access?
"Yes, Friday. Let Peter know I’m looking for him." Tony wasn't sure, but Peter was a good kid. He clung to that certainty.
"Request for coordinate point approved."
Friday then rattled off an address. It was Peter's current residence—closer to MIT, a little way from Queens. Tony quickly saved the address on his phone. His hand was stiff, aching from clenching his fist too tightly.
Knock, knock.
"Tony, dinner's ready—oh, hi Friday." Pepper’s head appeared in the doorway.
"Hello, Lady Boss. It’s a pleasure to speak with you again."
Pepper smiled warmly at Tony, walking in to squeeze his shoulder. "You turned Friday on."
"Yeah... I missed her a little," Tony replied. Pepper nodded.
"Come on. Morgan is waiting for you."
🕸️
It was 3:15 AM, and Tony still couldn’t close his eyes. He tossed and turned, seeking a comfortable position, but sleep remained elusive. Peter had been alone all this time. What had the kid faced? He was still so young. And Tony, meanwhile, lived in quiet comfort, never wondering what he was doing, how he was, if he was sick, or if he needed help. Tony had chosen to be a father to Morgan, after refusing to acknowledge Peter as his own.
"For God's sake, Tony. You have to sleep." Pepper had woken up several times, reminding him to try and rest.
Tony turned to face his wife, who looked at him with a furrowed brow. "What's keeping you up this late? You’ve been over your insomnia for years."
Tony looked at her with mournful eyes, seeking some absolution from the woman he'd wronged for so long. When Pepper learned the truth, she had urged Tony to embrace Peter, not push him away. Pepper liked Peter, and she’d forgiven Tony’s past, accepting it with open arms. She was the best of women. Yet, Tony had stubbornly refused, convinced he was protecting Peter.
It was Pepper who had gone to May to explain everything, offering an apology on behalf of the guilt-ridden Tony, who remained locked in his lab. May was furious, of course. She wept, finally understanding why her son had changed so drastically. She cursed Tony, and Pepper understood completely. May had thrown Pepper out, forbidding Peter from ever seeing Tony or anything related to him again.
"I went to the MIT graduation this morning," Tony mumbled, one arm tucked beneath his head.
"Yes, that's what you told me before you left. Did something happen there? Did the reporters badger you?"
Tony shook his head. He was silent for a long time, gazing at Pepper, who waited patiently.
"Peter was the valedictorian."
"Well, of course he would be. He's a genius, so—wait. You saw him?" Pepper's eyes widened, and a sharp intake of breath escaped her as Tony nodded again.
"He... he’s grown into a handsome young man. He looked so sharp in his graduation gown. You know, Pepper, he won a Nobel. He’s won so many awards." Pepper smiled softly at Tony’s words.
"You turned Friday on to find out about him? That’s good, Tony." Pepper reached out and grasped his hand.
"May... May died four years ago, Pepper."
"What?"
"He's... he's been alone all this time. Peter... I was so stupid." A single tear slipped down Tony’s cheek.
"Oh, Tony..." Pepper pulled Tony into her embrace, letting her husband weep into her neck. She tightened her arms as Tony began to sob. Tony knew his tears were meaningless, that they couldn't undo the mistake he’d hidden for so long. But he let himself cry, to wash away a fraction of the regret. The memory of Peter's thin, unfamiliar smile on the podium flashed in his mind. The kid had grown up so well.
...or had he?
"I’m going to see him tomorrow. Friday found Karen and gave me the address. Do you think he’ll agree to see me?" Tony whispered against her skin.
"Of course, Tony. He will. He's a good boy. He will accept you." Tony hugged her tighter, letting Pepper stroke his hair and occasionally press a kiss to his head.
"Bring him home, Tony. Morgan would be so happy to meet her big brother."
So, this is where Tony was now. A small, minimalist house in a mid-city complex. A nice place. A car was parked in the driveway. Of course, Peter could afford it. He'd won a Nobel and his patent rights must have been enough to buy a skyscraper. But no, he’d bought a small house and a black Audi, instead of a luxury sports car and a penthouse.
Tony walked up the path and stopped at the door. He stared at the dark wood for a long moment. A stone weighed in his gut, a burden he’d carried for years, but it felt heavier now as he lifted his hand to ring the bell. Before his finger could reach it, the door opened.
And the young man stood there, a phone pressed to his ear. He didn't seem surprised.
"Uh... yeah, yeah. I'll call you back later. ...Yeah. Bye." He ended the call and slipped the phone into his jacket pocket.
"Mr. Stark. You’re here." Tony managed a strained, awkward smile. Peter was right in front of him, dressed neatly, his brown curls falling softly around his face.
"Can I come in?"
Peter offered a thin smile before gesturing him inside. Tony looked around. Peter led him into the living room, which opened into the kitchen. It was a comfortable space with a sofa, a TV, and a video game setup neatly arranged on a shelf.
Beside the shelf, Peter’s numerous awards were displayed in a large glass cabinet. Framed photos covered the walls and the long side table next to the window. Behind the sofa was a decent-sized dining table that could seat six, and a clean, organized kitchen. There was a stack of unwashed mugs and a few plates in the sink—finally, proof that this was the home of a young man.
"Please, make yourself comfortable, Mr. Stark. Coffee?" Peter offered, as the sound of the coffee machine filled the air. Peter approached and poured the liquid into a cup.
"No. I quit drinking it." Tony’s answer made Peter pause briefly.
"Oh, that's good. Apple juice, then?"
"Yes, please. Thank you."
Peter returned with two mugs, handing Tony the one containing a carton of apple juice. He took a sip of his coffee before setting it on the table. Tony watched it all, his lips pressed into a tight line. Peter was a man now. His son had grown up.
"Are you busy today?" Tony asked, making Peter glance at his watch.
"Uh... no. I mean, yes. But I can manage it," Peter answered briefly, grabbing his phone and tapping the screen quickly.
"I tracked Karen yesterday."
"Yeah, Karen told me." Peter put the phone back on the table and sipped his coffee again.
"You didn’t stop her from telling me... Is Karen here?" Tony asked.
"She is. Karen?"
"Hi, Mr. Stark. It’s been a long time."
"Hello, Karen. Good to hear you again." Tony smiled up at the ceiling. The kid had managed to expand Karen's capabilities. Judging by the system data Friday had picked up, Karen was nearly on the same level as Jarvis. He looked back at Peter. The kid was so much like him. His slightly long hair reminded Tony of his own darker past.
"So... how have you been?" Tony asked.
"I’m good. Never better, you know. Graduated well, enough money, I’m fine, Mr. Stark. Thank you." Tony nodded repeatedly. There were so many questions he wanted to ask. Too many, he didn't know where to start. In the silence, Peter picked up his mug and took another drink.
"You should cut back on that. It's a bit unhealthy. I speak from experience." Tony gestured subtly toward the sink behind Peter, at the stack of mugs with dark coffee stains. Peter followed Tony's gaze, then shrugged.
"I have a couple of projects. And I want to finish them quickly." Peter's answer made Tony sigh softly.
Too similar.
"Getting enough sleep will also get everything done on time. What matters here is diligence, and long-term health," Tony said seriously. Peter snorted with a slight smile, taking another sip of coffee, deliberately mocking Tony.
"So... what brings you here, Mr. Stark? I doubt you came all this way not just to tell me to stop drinking coffee."
It felt so foreign. The air around Tony was suddenly cold.
"I hope this isn't about fighting."
Peter glanced toward a box next to his video game shelf. Tony wasn't sure what was inside, but a flash of red peeked out. Don't tell me—
"I’m not doing—Spiderman anymore."
"Yeah—that's okay. I'm not carrying the name 'Iron Man' or 'world hero' anymore, either. But... why? You always wanted to do it, back then."
Peter curled one side of his mouth and leaned back into the sofa.
"Peter, you have an email," Karen's voice sounded.
Peter got up and walked toward the dining table. Tapping the surface twice brought up a large holographic screen displaying several windows, one of which contained schematics for his inventions. The kid focused on his work. Tony also got up, choosing to move toward the glass cabinet. He looked at the awards and a pile of medals in the bottom drawer. Tony was sure he could find more if he dug deeper, noting a medal for a science fair project from 2006.
On the top shelf, he found a picture of Peter with May at the Nobel Prize ceremony. The kid was beaming, his left arm around May’s shoulder, his right hand holding the small gold coin-box engraved with Alfred Nobel’s image, which was now displayed behind the photo. May also looked incredibly proud, holding Peter's Nobel certificate with both hands. Tony should have been there. Pride should have filled his own chest. But he wasn't. Even Howard had acknowledged him as a son, despite never being around.
"Things got complicated, Mr. Stark. And I have a future." Tony briefly turned as Peter answered. The boy was still standing, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other moving deftly across the holographic screen. Of course. Peter couldn't keep saving people when he needed saving himself. And Tony, yet again, hadn't been there for him. For his son.
"Yeah... I also didn't think I'd be in the armor at 70. And I'm 53 now."
A photo of Peter with Ned and MJ was the sweetest thing Tony saw. All three were smeared in webbing, seemingly the result of an exploded experiment. When exactly had this happened? Peter looked so young here.
"Incoming call from Harry Osborn, Peter," Karen’s voice alerted.
Osborn? Since when did Peter interact with the family that owned the company that had a hand in making him a spider-themed hero?
"Connect, Karen."
A window immediately opened, displaying a young man about Peter’s age with dark hair and yellow eyes.
"Hey, Pete."
"Hey, man. Sorry, I really can't today. Ned's going to cover for me," Peter replied, crossing his arms.
"Don't worry about it. So, have you thought about my dad's offer?"
Peter sighed, shrugging his shoulders.
What? What offer?
"Oh, come on, man. I've already imagined myself working all day with you. You know, I'm even dreaming about it!" Tony frowned, wondering if Peter would tell this Harry kid about his presence. Probably not. So, Tony slowly backed away, pretending to be fascinated by Peter’s video game collection.
"Your flirting skills are improving. But, you know, I'm a bit busy here. I'll call you tonight. Say hi to Norman for me."
That was his name. Tony tapped his fingers impatiently on one of his son's video game cases. Osborn.. Peter got to call him by his first name, while Tony was still stuck with 'Mr. Stark'—instead of 'Tony,' or maybe even 'Dad,' if he hadn't been so foolish as to leave Peter alone.
"Of course, Mr. Important. My dad will be happy to hear that. Have fun with the blue map. Karen, just shut down the coffee machine if Peter doesn't sleep again."
Tony saw Peter turn his head, giving a wry smile that was entirely his own.
"Of course, Harry," Karen replied.
"Hey!" Peter called out.
The Osborn youth immediately vanished from the screen, leaving Peter to shake his head and return to his work. Peter turned to Tony, who was still standing by the video game shelf.
"Oh, sorry about that. Harry will keep calling until I pick up."
"No problem. I’m getting comfortable here. It’s a nice place." Tony ran his hand over one of the ornaments on the side table—a statuette of a person in a classic suit holding an aromatherapy candle holder. The base read: 'Best Scientist.'
"Wow, I didn't realize this was an award."
"Yeah, Ned accidentally dropped the globe and it shattered. MJ repurposed it into something useful. And... thank you for the compliment, Mr. Stark. I finally found a place that feels like home. I moved a couple of times hoping to find a house that felt like home, but it turned out that.. it was just May."
The last sentence was a sharp jab, landing directly on Tony’s solar plexus. How could he not expect Peter to deliver lines like that, when Tony himself was branded the ‘drama queen and king of sarcasm’ by Clint? Tony approached Peter, making every effort to control his breathing. The boy was still engrossed in something on the screen titled 'Project Gilbert #14.'
"So... you're thinking about that job offer at Oscorp?" Tony asked.
"Well, not really. Oscorp is the last resort. And SI is after that." Tony felt his face stiffen. Things that should have flowed like a river were now dry and barren. But then Peter’s light laughter broke the tension. Tony saw his son's deer-like eyes narrow in a smile.
"I’m kidding, Mr. Stark. SI is still in the top 10."
"But I’m not interested in becoming an Avenger. Spider-Man is dead."
"The spirit always wanes with age, right? You look great, kid. But I still don't get why you decided to quit being the super-spider."
Peter offered the same thin smile he’d worn since their reunion a few minutes ago. He had never imagined Peter—his son—would grow up to be this quiet. Quiet, that is, for him. Tony was sure Peter was still his old self when he was with his friends, especially MJ and Ned.
Peter gazed into the distance, a slight look of contemplation in his eyes. Then he returned his gaze to Tony, the brown eyes a stubborn legacy of the powerful Howard genes.
"When you first showed up in my bedroom, you asked me why I did what I did, you asked what my purpose was. I wonder if the answer I gave back then still holds true now. Is it? After everything I've done, I forgot one thing. I might be an enhanced person, I might have spider DNA in me. Even so, I’m still human. I can’t save everyone. But no one cares. Everyone always wants help. Without caring about what, who, or how. And when all that's gone, funny things happen." Peter swiped his hand through the air, bringing up a different screen with a headline that read, 'Spider-Man Disappears. Will He Become a Threat?' accompanied by a picture of Spider-Man beating up a criminal.
"You were right, Mr. Stark. I was too good to the world."
"Kid, I am so sorry..."
Sorry for what? For his stupidity in signing the custody papers? For the grief he’d channeled when Peter lost both his parents? Or for never telling Peter how proud he was of everything that happened to him? And maybe, sorry for never claiming him as his son.
"...for May."
Tony could see Peter give him the same crooked smile. It’s fine. Tony had prepared himself for every possibility.
"May is gone. Now, she's probably enjoying a tea party with Ben, my mom, and my dad."
No, kid. Your dad is right here. It's me.
Tony lost his train of thought. What he truly wanted to say had sunk to the bottom of his stomach. He'd been a Father for five years, or literally twenty-one, but it still wasn't enough. He was utterly incapable of having a heart-to-heart. That was Pepper's specialty. If only he had brought her here... No. If Pepper had come, Peter would forever lose faith in him, branding him as the most irresponsible and incompetent father.
"Mr. Stark..." Tony immediately turned, seeing the exhaustion in his son's eyes.
"I’m twenty-one now. I'm an adult, I don't need a guardian watching over me. I may have lost all my family, but I’m okay."
He was twenty-one. His son was truly an adult now. And Tony had lost his role. He’d missed Peter's first word, his first steps, the first word he could read, his first day of school, his first award... and even the moment he won the Nobel. Tony finally realized how often he hadn't been there. Strike often—he was never there.
"I’m still here, kid. I’m still here. I want to show up for you. I truly want to make up for every mistake I’ve made with you, over and over again. I want to take you home."
"...but I am home." Peter answered. Tony was silent.
"Mr. Stark, I completely understand why you didn't want me in the past, and even now. I... it’s okay. My life is supposed to be like this. Everyone who tries to protect me, everyone who loves me, eventually dies."
"It was a huge relief when, at the very end of my thoughts, I realized you weren't there. If you had been there, you probably would have ended up like my Dad and Ben, too."
Something punched Tony in the chest, constricting his breath. Tony thought Thor’s Mjolnir must be resting right on his lungs. But he wasn't lying down now, and Tony had no idea where Thor was.
His son was grateful Tony wasn't in his life. His son carried a mountain of misplaced guilt—a cruel twist of fate, not a responsibility. No one could change it, not even Thor or his other divine friends in the family tree. Tony desperately wanted to refute it, to tell Peter he was precious, that he absolutely didn't deserve to think like that. But Tony had no proof, not even proof that Peter was precious to him, because he had, once again, never been there.
"I am your father, Peter. I am your dad. I would do anything to protect you, including staying out of your life so you could live normally without the paparazzi and the media. I planned everything. I have an account in your name and you're listed in my will, I—"
"I don't need money, Mr. Stark. I don't need your inheritance. I only needed my father. If money meant I couldn’t know my dad, then I’d rather have no money at all. Money isn't everything, Mr. Stark. You can never buy anything that matters to me with your money."
Tony felt a slow burn begin to creep. A wound that had been searing his chest and festering there for over six years. Pepper always reassured him he wouldn't turn out like Howard, but he had become worse. He’d spent his youth squandering his father's money, carousing and womanizing. Now, his son was openly rejecting his money.
"And you even fired yourself from the job of being my father, before I even said I needed you."
The pause was long, continuing even after Peter had turned his attention back to the screen. Undeniably, Tony had run out of words. His heart hammered faster and faster, even as he gripped his hands until his knuckles turned white.
"I detect an increase in your heart rate, Mr. Stark, sir. I advise you to sit down and take a few deep breaths."
Karen's voice made Peter glance up, then look over. Tony cleared his throat in embarrassment and followed Peter's AI’s suggestion, sitting back down on the sofa.
"Yes. Thank you, Karen."
"Everything alright, Mr. Stark?" Peter asked.
"If I told you everything was fine, I'd be lying, kid."
Peter looked at Tony directly. The brown eyes showed a difficult-to-read mixture of emotions: a hint of exhaustion, a touch of deep pain, and a cold understanding. There was no burning anger left, only a lingering sadness.
"I know," Peter replied softly. He shut down the holographic screen on the dining table with a single tap. "Me neither. But that doesn't change anything."
Tony took a heavy breath, trying to gather the remnants of any argument he could throw out. He wanted to reach out, to touch Peter, to convince him that all his past decisions, however wrong, were rooted in misguided love.
"Listen, Kid. I... I know words aren't enough. I can't turn back time. I was wrong. I was a coward. I thought I was protecting you by staying away, but I only hurt you. I hurt you, and I hurt myself. Five years in that cabin felt like a slow death sentence. Every morning, I hoped to see you at the door, asking for spare parts, or complaining that Ted broke something in the lab."
Peter did not return the gaze, his eyes shifting toward the window, where the late afternoon sun was beginning to fade.
"It's Ned. And that was your imagination, Mr. Stark. I never thought about seeing you once in the last five years," Peter said, his voice flat.
"I was busy. Busy keeping myself alive, keeping my grades up, and making sure all of May's sacrifices weren't for nothing. I was focused. Focused on not being a failure, focused on not being the person who needed protection."
He then turned back, a grim smile etched on his face. "And you succeeded. Your protection plan worked. I no longer need protection from the media, because Spider-Man is dead. And I no longer need protection from my father, because my father is gone."
That sentence, delivered with such calm finality, shattered the rest of Tony's defenses. He felt his eyes heat up, but he refused to cry again. He had already shed too many tears in Pepper's arms.
"I am not Howard, Peter," Tony hissed.
"You're worse," Peter cut in immediately, his tone sharp for the first time. "Howard didn't know I existed. You knew. And you still left."
Peter stepped forward, his hands sliding into his jacket pockets. "When May died, I was alone, Mr. Stark. I had Ned and MJ, yes. But when you have to choose between paying the rent or buying food, when you have to sell your birthday gifts to cover funeral costs, you see who's really there. And you weren't."
He walked toward the shelf, picking up the red box Tony had noticed earlier. The box was now clearer: a worn metal container, inside lay the tattered Spider-Man mask and gloves.
"I helped people, but I couldn't help myself. And Iron Man... he never showed up. I get it. It was the consequence of your decision. I accepted it. I'm living with that consequence. So, please, Mr. Stark," Peter lifted the box slightly, offering it, "I've lived with your consequences for six years. Don't show up here now just to disturb the peace I finally found. Don't try to buy me with a late apology."
Tony stared at the box, at the familiar red and blue fabric. It wasn't just a costume; it was tangible proof that Peter had been through everything alone. He swallowed, his chest tightening.
"I just... I want to be your Dad, Peter. For the rest of it. I want to meet my grandkids someday. I want to know what makes you laugh. I want to see you make a mess in my lab again," Tony pleaded.
Peter smiled, not the bitter smile from before, but a genuinely tired one. "I wanted that too. I wanted that years ago. Now..." Peter shook his head slowly. "Now I just want to sleep. And Project Gilbert won't finish itself."
He returned the box to its spot, stepped away from the shelf, and looked back at Tony. Karen's voice broke the long silence.
"Request to shut down the coffee machine is ignored, Peter. You will need one more to finish today's project."
"Thank you, Karen," Peter replied.
He then turned to Tony, his expression calm and professional again, as if the preceding conversation had never happened.
"I appreciate your intention to come all this way, Mr. Stark. But it seems we have nothing else to discuss. Thank you for coming. And I hope you... find the peace you're looking for."
Tony understood. There was nothing more he could say. Peter had closed the door, and this time, the key wasn't with May or the media, but with the pain Tony himself had planted in his son’s heart.
Tony slowly rose from the sofa. He made no move to hug or shake hands. He simply stood, nodding once—a gesture of total, crushing defeat.
"Alright, Kid," Tony said, his voice hoarse. He walked toward the door without looking back. "I understand."
As Tony's hand touched the doorknob, Peter called out to him.
"Mr. Stark."
Tony froze, his heart pounding with foolish hope.
"The apple juice earlier," Peter said, pointing to the mug on the table. "It was packaged, not squeezed. I don't have time to juice. That's why I drink coffee."
Tony merely sighed, opened the door, and stepped out, leaving Peter alone in the house that finally felt like home to him.
Outside the house, Tony trudged down the sidewalk toward his car. The air that afternoon felt cold. He reached for his phone and hit a number.
"Friday," he said, without waiting for a reply. "Cancel all plans for today. And contact Pepper. Tell her I failed. And tell her... I need to come home."
Inside the house, Peter walked back to the table, turning his holographic screen back on. Project Gilbert #14 reappeared. He sipped his coffee, but his hand was trembling slightly.
"Karen," he whispered.
"Yes, Peter?"
"Please track... The Iron Man. Make sure he gets home safely. And," Peter paused, swallowing hard. "If he calls again, don't allow it. Just say I'm busy. Permanently."
"Understood. Initiating tracking of Iron Man Mark L."
Peter took a deep breath, trying to focus on the code in front of him. But the image of Tony Stark’s mournful eyes, eyes so much like his own, continued to plague him. He raised his hand, touching his face. He wasn't sure when, but tears had dried on his cheeks. Peter Parker, the 21-year-old genius, MIT valedictorian, and Nobel winner, finally allowed himself to feel broken, alone, in the home he had built on the wreckage of tragedy.
He just hoped Tony Stark was truly gone this time, so he could continue living without a father, without a protector, and without the pain that accompanied both.