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Transcendental (i)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Words: 4.7k

Chapter Summary: Life goes on, even if you don’t want it to.

Warnings: Canon divergence, angst (!!!!), mentions of death and mourning. You’ll notice that this series will have a lot of ups and downs, but I promise it’ll even out in the next few chapters.

Author’s Note: So here’s the first actual chapter (be sure to find the prologue in the masterlist if you haven’t already)! Still mostly laying the ground work for the plot, but shit really starts happening next chapter. So there’s that. Please let me know what you think with a like/reblog/comment—I love hearing from you!

And as always, special thanks to @blackwidws for creating the banner for this series and just being perfection personified.

Series Masterlist

Chapter One

Then

You winced as a cornstalk whipped back to hit you in the square in the face, but you pushed on, panting and sweating. Your bare thighs were taking the brunt of the abuse, another stalk slicing into your skin as you shot past it, and you were once again reminded that running barefoot through a corn field in nothing but your underwear and an AC/DC t-shirt was a resoundingly bad idea. You were a superhero though, and you had faced worse than this. So you carried on, determined to not get caught.

But determination could only get you so far. You could hear him catching up to you, his feet pounding the ground at a much faster rate than yours. He had always been faster than you, you knew that, but you still cursed internally, careful to keep your ragged breathing as quiet as possible, even if it waspointless. You knew it was only a matter of time before—

“Gotcha!” was the last thing you heard before you felt the sting of webbing smack against your shoulder, and then you were flying backwards, directly into your pursuer’s chest.

Though you had anticipated this move, as it was unquestionably his favorite, you couldn’t contain the gasp that whooshed out of you at the contact. Nor could you repress the exhilarated giggle that burst out of you once you were back in his arms.

“You could have at least let me get a little farther,” you complained, mock pout forming on your lips as you tilted your head back to look up at him.

Peter only laughed, eyes twinkling the way they always did when he was happy. It made your heart swell just to see it, to know that you were the cause of it.

“I could have, but we both know your sense of direction is deeply flawed without AI assistance, so there’s no telling where you would have ended up if I had. And—wait,” Peter cut himself off, expression bemused as he glanced down for the first time since he found you, “are you not wearing pants?”

You raised a single eyebrow in challenge. “Does it look like I’m wearing pants?”

“No,” Peter said decidedly. “You are most definitely not wearing pants. What happened to your pants?”

Your mind instantly flashed to the bush you had fallen into after you had leapt over a fence post to get into the field. The thorns had bitten into your skin, but they had snared your shorts entirely, latching into the pocket and refusing to let go. In a moment of true wisdom, you had decided to cut your losses and shimmy out of the pants before continuing your sprint into the cornfield.

None of which you felt inclined to share with him, knowing he would just laugh at your expense, effectively ruining the tone you were attempting to set by instigating this little chase.

So, you shrugged noncommittally, and offered a half-truth as an explanation. “I was hot.”

Peter’s brows lifted in skepticism. “Uh huh. And you thought running into a cornfield was the best way to cool off?”

“I thought that running into a cornfield was the best way to get your attention,” you shot back, smirking when he laughed.

“Oh? And I thought dragging me all the way to Kansas to have a picnic in a field ‘just like in the movies’ was supposed to get my attention. I also thought it was supposed to be ‘peaceful, quiet, and with absolutely zero interruptions from global disasters and—wait for it—any form of physical exercise.’ And you know,” he continued, giving you a look when you opened your mouth to protest, “some would consider interrupting said picnic to take off running through a field as exercise.”

“Yes well, that was beforeyou decided to eat all the watermelon,” you defended, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes in mock reproach. “You left me with no other option. It was either run away from my feelings or kill you, and you know I love you too much to do that.”

“But you’re allergic to watermelon,” Peter reminded you in exasperation. “Which is why I packed you the apple—the apple that you ate without complaint, by the way.”

“That… is beside the point,” you finished lamely, suddenly losing confidence once you were standing still and facing him once more. You considered taking off again, but judging by the look Peter was giving you, he knew it, and he had no intention of playing along this time. “And besides, I’m only mildly allergic to watermelon.”

He gave you an unimpressed look, and you knew that he was perilously close to ending your game.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Peter urged, giving you an encouraging smile. “Just tell me what all of this is about. What are youreally running from here?”

And there it was. The game of cat and mouse was effectively over.

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to dodge the issue even as your grip on his arms tightened.

You wanted this—you knew you did. But you also knew that the thought of ruining this thing—this genuine bit of happiness that you had found—was terrifying.

“You know what I mean,” Peter said, voice gentle and coaxing, still smiling at you like you were the most important thing in the world.

And suddenly you remembered why it was you were doing this.

You and Peter weren’t like other people your age. Most 20-year-olds were worried about finding a job or finishing college. But you were superheroes, and you put your lives on the line every single day. And every time you opened your eyes, you weren’t sure if that day would be your last.

But if there was one thing you were sure of, it was that you loved Peter and he loved you. So you decided that you had done enough stalling, and it was time to just go for it.

“Will you marry me?”

The stunned look on his face was the only indicator that the words had in fact left your mouth. It was also a solid indication that maybe you could have led up to that a little bit better. The Starks were known for their charming words and long-windedness, but they were also known for their impulsivity and bad decisions, so the chances of this going well for you were about 50-50. Of course, this would be one of the times it didn’t—

“Did you really just ask me to marry you, or is this some kind of watermelon-induced hallucination?”

Your mouth suddenly felt very dry, but you managed a sharp nod in affirmation. When he only continued to stare at you, wide-eyed and speechless, your brain decided to grace you with the ability to speak again. Which historically only made things worse for you.

“I did, uh… ask you to marry me. And I mean, I know we’re young. Some would say too young, but most people don’t have jobs that involve saving the world on a daily basis, so you know. Fuck what they think, I guess. Unless you’re worried about what other people think, which is understandable. I mean, it would be very public, because you know. I’m the heiress to one of the largest fortunes in the world. And the daughter of a superhero, who is also secretly a superhero. It kind of complicates things. But most things with us are complicated—well, things with Spider-Man and Siren are complicated, but things with Peter and (Y/N) never are, which is one of the things I love most about our relationship. And I love you, of course, and I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, no matter how short it may be. So I figure, why not get married now? Why wait for something that may never come when I’m sure about this? I mean, that’s assuming that you are—”

Peter, finally taking mercy on you, abruptly lurched forward, claiming your lips in a searing kiss that almost made you forget about how awful your previous ranting was. The kiss was slow and sweet, but brief as he was soon breaking away to stare at you with those heartbreakingly beautiful eyes.

“I love you,” he said, and your breath caught in your throat because no matter how many times he said it, it still always surprised you. “I love you, (Y/N) Stark, and I do want to spend the rest of my life with you. I was just surprised. I mean, it’s not every day the girl of your dreams proposes to you.”

You rolled your eyes in an attempt to hide your relief, but also because Peter was ridiculous. As always. “Don’t tell me you think it’s a man’s job to do the proposing.”

“Of course not.” Peter looked affronted, the sight enough to make you giggle and lean in closer to him despite the summer heat. He smiled down at you, pure adoration in his eyes. “But I do wish that I could have talked to your dads first—you know, to make sure that they don’t kill me. And I want to get you a ring, which could be a real problem on a full-time student’s salary. Though I could always sell a kidney… or state secrets. Whichever goes for more, I guess.”

You only laughed, bright and airy, shaking your head before sealing your lips over his again, watermelon mixing with apple in a delicious combination as he pulled you closer and deepened the kiss.

You pulled away several minutes later, breathing hard, and rested your forehead against his. Your lips were tingling, and you weren’t sure if it was an allergic reaction from the watermelon or just the usual affect that Peter had on you. Probably both, if you had to guess, but you ignored it.

“I don’t care about rings or big weddings or anything like that. All I want is you, Peter Parker. Well,” you amended, pulling back and glancing down when you felt something shift around your feet—likely a snake, “you, and to get the hell out of this cornfield. Probably the entire state of Kansas as well.”

“And some pants?” Peter suggested, following your line of sight to take in your bare legs.

You felt your cheeks warm, and you could only hope he would blame it on the heat. “Yeah, some pants might be nice too.”

“Alright then,” Peter said before scooping you up into his arms to carry you back across the field, much to your delight. “So, the to-do list is: me, leave the state of Kansas and find some pants, in that order. Oh, and then get married. I think we can manage that without too much trouble.”

“You better hope so,” you teased, smile so wide it almost hurt. “It only goes downhill from here baby. I’m a very needy person, you know.”

“Oh man, do I,” he sighed dramatically. “It’s a good thing you’re wealthy. To afford all of the medical expenses that come with carrying you on my shoulders for the next decade or so.”

Your laugher rang across the field, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so happy. “The next ten years? Think again Parker. You’re stuck with me for life now.”

Now

(Three years later)

It wasn’t raining, but you thought that it should be.

It always rained in the movies, after all. A group of mourners in black, umbrellas raised to block the rain even as tears fell from their eyes. The camera would zoom in on your expressionless face, cheeks dry as you watched them lower the casket in the ground. A single tear would slide down your cheek, and it would be over.

As it was, this wasn’t a movie and the sun was beating down on you and your father’s hand on your shoulder was uncomfortably warm. Your eyes weren’t dry, though you did your best to keep your face devoid of emotion otherwise. Your hands clenched at your side, aching for an umbrella—for somethingto hold onto. For a distraction.

They said Stark men were made of iron, but Stark women were made of stronger stuff. You had to be, if you were going to survive this.

The hand on your shoulder squeezed tighter as they lowered your husband into the ground.

A sob sounded close by. You thought it may have been you, but you couldn’t be sure of anything as you watched the casket that held what was left of Peter Parker disappear from view. You didn’t think you’d be sure of anything again.

There had been a time where you were sure you would spend the rest of your life with Peter, after all. But there had also been a time when you were sure your father, Tony, would live to see you have children, to see you take over the family business, to simply be there. And well… Looking back now, you felt exceptionally naïve to have hoped for anything at all.

You wished it would rain, if only to drown everything else out.

…

“It was a nice ceremony. A lot of people… I’m sure he would have liked that.”

The comment was made lightly, searchingly. Empty words to fill a silence that cannot truly be filled. But empty words were never really Steve Rogers’s specialty, and they fell flat in the back of the limousine that was taking you back to the Tower.

Still, you nodded, the pain in Steve’s eyes pushing you to play along. To ignore the fact that Peter’s funeral was so large only because he was married to you, the Stark heiress. No one knew who he really was. No one knew that he had died a hero. No one but you and your father, and a handful of other superheroes who couldn’t attend the funeral without creating a stir.

It didn’t feel like enough.

“It was,” was all you said.

The car fell back into a careful silence, and with nothing better to do, you continued to stare at your father’s profile out of the corner of your vision. Keen eyes traced the hard edges of his face, the way his hair shown like gold when the light struck it just right. Sometimes you wished you could find a trace of yourself in his features, that you had a physical connection with him the way you had with your other father. That maybe there would still be someone on Earth that you actually shared blood with.

But Steve had been a father to you in every other way since he joined the team when you were 12, and you knew that he was all you had left now.

First Happy to the Mandarin ten years ago, then Aunt May to a heart attack two years ago, then Tony to his heroics last year, now… Peter. All gone to somewhere you couldn’t reach reach them. Steve was the only family you had left now, if one didn’t count Rhodey or Pepper, who both had thrown themselves into work after Tony’s death. You knew you were the only family he had left too.

It hurt to admit, but it didn’t feel like enough either.

“I…” Steve hesitated, eyes piercing through you in the way they always did. “I gotta say, I’m almost glad your father wasn’t here for this… Awful, isn’t it?”

Your eyes burned at the reminder, and you weren’t sure if you could agree or not.

Tony Stark, your biological father who had raised you ever since your mother left you at his doorstep over twenty-three years ago, had nearly a year ago now (10 months and 12 days if one wanted to be precise, but who was counting really?). He died a hero, as you always feared he would, saving the world from a madman who thought he could bring peace to the universe by destroying it.

He was fifty-two. He had been married to Steve for only three years after dancing around the idea for nine. He had been an outstanding father, and he had died alone.

But most importantly, he had loved both you and Peter fiercely, and it would kill him to see you like this now: widowed and heartbroken at twenty-three; his son-in-law dead because he didn’t know how to not be a hero. Just like Tony.

Perhaps Steve was right. Perhaps it was better this way. But still, you craved the comfort only Tony knew how to give you.

You wished for simpler times, if there ever was such a thing.

But what you said was, “A lot of things are awful. It hardly makes a difference anymore does it?”

“Of course it does.” He said it so quietly, you almost missed it, his jaw was clenching the way it always did when he was fighting off tears. And then he was clearing his throat, the way he always did before he gave you a speech. It was nice, you supposed, how some things never changed even when everything else crumbled around you.

“I… I’ve been trying to think…” he started, unsure in a way that he never was. It made you sit up straighter, coming out of your revere enough to give him your full attention. “What your father—what Tony would say. To make you feel better, to comfort you. To give you hope or love or—God, I don’t know, something to make this better. He was always so much better at comforting you than I was,” he let out a shaky laugh, and your eyes burned at the reminder. Steve had always been a comfort to you, but no one had ever loved you the way Tony did. “But I know that there isn’t anything I can do or say to fix this. That I—that neither of them are coming back, and the only thing to really do is accept that and move on.”

He cut himself off there, seemingly unsure of how to proceed, and you knew it wasn’t his fault but it hurt to think about carrying on after you had already lost so much. What more could you stand to survive? What more would it take to break you?

“Is that what you did?” you deflect instead of giving voice to your fearws, your tone mild and quiet in the backseat of the car. “Move on?”

Your father’s lips twitched up into a heartbreakingly sad smile, and it confirmed your thoughts before his words did. “No, I suppose not.”

You nodded, eyes shifting back to gaze out of the window once more. “I thought so.”

The remainder of the car ride was spent in silence.

…

A week passed by uneventfully.

That is to say that while things may have been taking place in the world outside of your small apartment, you were in no way a part of them.

Steve had begged you to move back to the tower, back home.You didn’t have the heart to tell him that without Peter or Tony, no place really felt like home anymore.

Tony had always told you that a home was a concept more than a place, something that you learned quickly when you were traveling constantly with him for the first 12 years of your life. It was a sentiment that only solidified once you found Peter. And now it meant nothing.

The one-bedroom apartment you currently resided in came the closest though. You and Peter had moved in not long after your engagement, despite Tony’s protests that you could find something a little bigger, a little closer to Manhattan, a little more comfortable. It was cheap and located in a questionable part of Queens, but it was yours and the two of you had been so proud that you had managed the deposits and rent all on your own.

It had been the place you called home for three years, but more importantly than that, it held a lot of memories for you. It’s where you and Peter shared your first night as husband and wife, something that seemed like forever ago even though it had only been two and a half years in reality. But it was also where you sequestered yourself after your father’s death not even two years later. It was where you were hiding once again.

You were aware that it wasn’t healthy, closing yourself off like this. But you had no reason to leave.

Without Tony and without Peter, you had no desire to be a part of the world that had used and abused them so.

There was Steve, of course, but he dealt with grief differently than you did. He had his missions and his avengers and his heroics to occupy his time, and though he called you every morning, you didn’t hear much from him. You assumed it was his way of giving you space.

Rhodey and Pepper were both consumed by their jobs as well, and you couldn’t fault them for it. Rhodey’s position in the military and Pepper’s place as CEO of your father’s—your—company were demanding, and they made time for you whenever they could. They were like an aunt and uncle to you, and they always would be, but things had been more… strained since Tony’s death. You suspected that was your fault as well.

And the Avengers, your team that had been your family since 2012, were scattered across the globe. Natasha called when she could, but she was undercover more often than not these days, and it was hard to stay in touch. Other than Steve, she was probably who you were closest with on the team.

Clint, Bucky, Sam, Thor, Bruce, Carol, Hope, Scott…. They were all still living their lives and fighting the good fight to keep the universe as peaceful as possible. You knew that true heroes couldn’t let the deaths of their friends and comrades hold them back. The world still needed them after all.

Which is how you knew you weren’t a hero, no matter how hard you tried to be like your dad. Like Peter.

This grief and guilt that weighed on your soul was just too heavy. After Tony had died, you had tried to carry on his legacy and become Iron Woman, leaving behind the Siren, along with her black suit and batons that she used to take down would-be rapists and murderers, to bear the weight of red and gold armor instead.

It had been difficult, but manageable with Peter’s support. You had always loved saving people after all, always wanted to be a hero.

But now you found that it was impossible to get out of bed in the morning, let alone worry about saving anyone else.

And that day was meant to be just like the rest: bleak, uneventful, unwanted.

But then you heard the creak of your window opening, and the shattering of a vase quickly followed by muffled cursing.

Your armor surrounded you in an instant, nanotech spreading across your body from the twin metal bracelets on your wrists. You weren’t sure what you were expecting to see when you carefully crept into your living room to investigate, but it certainly wasn’t… this.

“Uh… hey,” the boy in the black Spider-Man costume squeaked, before dropping his tone into a clearly false baritone. “I mean, hey. What’s up?”

You only blinked at him once behind the visor of your suit before letting it recede back into your bracelets. If he was surprised to see who you were, he didn’t show it. Which left just one question.

“Is this some kind of joke?” you ask, voice tightly controlled in an effort to keep the tears at bay.

That, at least, seemed to surprise him.

“No!” he rushed to explain, hands up in a placating gesture. “Of course not, I was, uh… I was told to come here. For help.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Oh yeah? Help with what—fashion advice? And who exactly sent you here?”

The boy—and he most certainly was that, couldn’t be older than 14 based on his voice and stature— hesitated, indecision writ across every line of his body. But then he slowly removed his mask, revealing a mass of curly hair and dark, pleading eyes.

He really was young.

“It was your dad, Captain America I mean,” he explained, eyes lowered to the ground like he doesn’t know what else to say, but things are starting to piece together before your eyes. “He—he saw me scaling a wall in Brooklyn—a complete accident, not my fault. But uh, I told him that I wasn’t really sure what to do with… well, you know…”

“Your powers,” you answered, sparing him the embarrassment of saying it out loud. You could tell he was still struggling to admit it to himself, let alone someone else. “How long have you had them?”

“Just a little over a week,” he says, sounding almost relieved. “I got them the night…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but his meaning is clear.

The night your husband died.

You sucked in a surprised breath. “You know who he was?”

He shrugged, looking even more uncomfortable than he did before. “Yeah, the Captain—Captain America—he told me. About… uh, Spider-Man, and what he meant to him. To you. He said that you were the only person who could really help me with this. That you were the only one a-alive who… knows what it’s like.”

You purse your lips, and you want to curse your father for arranging this, but you can almost see his logic. No one knew what it was like to be Spider-Man better than you did—you had spent several years of your life in love with him after all. But you knew what being a superhero did to someone, especially when they were so young. And you wouldn’t play a part in ruining the life of a kid you didn’t even know.

“So you want to be a superhero then?” you ask, ready to tell him what it really meant and that if he were smart, that he would run away from this and never look back.

But he surprised you.

“No,” he says with conviction. “At least not… not now. I’ve got school and my parents and girls and a million other things to worry about. All I want is to know how to control this, so that I’m not sticking to every doorknob I touch or getting stuck on the ceiling every night.”

His tone implied that this had happened more than once, but you decided not to question it despite your curiosity. Instead, you ask, “And I imagine you got the suit from my father as well?”

He nods, a bit sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m… sorry, if it seems like it’s in like, poor taste or something. And that I uh… made some artistic changes. He just gave it to me and said it was mine if I ever decided I needed it, but I guess maybe I should have asked you first. It was just you know, Captain Americaand when he tells you something you just—”

“You do it,” you cut him off with a roll of your eyes. “Yeah, that’s what everyone says, but here’s your first lesson kid: sometimes the best thing you can do is ignore Captain America. Save yourself the pain.”

Your mouth quirked up into something resembling a smile when his mouth dropped open in shock. It felt odd on your face, but you were almost relieved that you could still do it. “So you don’t want to go into the super hero business, right? You just want someone to teach you the ropes so that you can function as a uh… Spider-Person?”

He blinks at you a couple times before nodding, either still in shock that you had dissed Captain America or that you were willing to help him.

“Alright then, we’ll start with the basics. What’s your name kid?”

“Miles,” he said after a beat of silence. “Miles Morales.”

“Nice to meet you Miles,” you respond, already thinking up training regimens and calculating dietary plans to compete with his increased metabolism, and the excitement that came with the sudden appearance of a purposesurprised you. But all you said was, “Let’s get started.”

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