For @merelypassingtime who had an extremely valid headcanon to go along with mine:
Headcanon: The first time Mycroft woke from a nightmare was the first time he heard Greg sing. He was so shocked at how good his voice was that he forgot what he had been dreaming about and settled down peacefully.
Mycroft gasped loudly as he woke abruptly from a horribly vivid nightmare that involved way too much blood to not be completely unsettling. He lay staring at the ceiling while he tried in vain to calm his racing heart.
His hands, that were clutching helplessly at the covers across his chest, were suddenly taken in warmer hands, gently pried apart, and tugged until his whole body was pulled onto his side. He was now facing a sleepy Gregory. The other man was smiling kindly at him but there was a glint in his eyes that made Mycroft forget his terror in favour of suspicion. He narrowed his eyes at his love and his eyebrows creased in confusion.
Greg’s smile grew wider and a small huff of laughter escaped him before he began singing.
“Never gonna give you up. Never gonna let you down. Never gonna run around and desert you.”
Mycroft gawked and it took him a moment before his complete shock had him in stitches, laughing at the idiot in his bed.
“Never gonna make you cry. Never gonna say goodbye. Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.”
He had no choice but to pull Gregory into a kiss in order to shut him up and stop the nonsense. He pressed their lips together until Greg stopped laughing enough to kiss back. When they pulled apart they were still both smiling stupidly at each other.
“I can’t believe you just rick rolled me. In bed.”
“I can’t believe you know that I just rick rolled you.”
Mycroft shook his head in amusement and lay his head back down on their now shared pillow. “You are a ridiculous man.”
“Yeah, and you love it.”
“That I do.” Mycroft replied and then they both let the silence stretch until they fell back into a much more restful sleep.
An Ironstrange, Iron Dad, Doctor Dad, and Spider Son fic.
A few notes before we get started: I love Aunt May and Pepper Potts, so I will not be ignoring them in this fic. That being said, Tony and Pepper are still “on a break” in this. Also, this story will be focusing on Peter discovering more about his birth parents, however, and his developing father/son bond with Tony and Stephen.
Also, please check the endnotes with each update, as I will have a little bit of a teaser for the upcoming chapter.
And last but certainly not least, a HUGE thank you to @merelypassingtime for betaing this, talking plot with me, and for her endless abundance of encouragement.
Also on AO3.
Chapter 1: Another Brick in the Wall (Part 1)
Daddy's flown across the ocean
Leaving just a memory
Snapshot in the family album
Daddy what else did you leave for me?
~”Another Brick in the Wall (Part 1)”
For a moment, Peter thought he saw his father.
It wasn’t the first time it had happened, in the years since he’d begun to live with Uncle Ben and Aunt May. It actually used to happen pretty frequently in the beginning; seeing him through the window as they were sitting down to eat, or watching from an aisle in Delmar’s Deli when Uncle Ben took him to get sandwiches. Symptoms of trauma, a child psychologist told them with a well-practiced sympathetic smile on her saccharine face. A natural result from surviving the car accident. May had questioned why he’d see his father, who was still alive, rather than the mother he lost in the crash.
“Maybe because the bastard abandoned him,” his uncle supplied, the loathing in his voice palpable even to a six-year-old.
May threw him an admonishing look, gesturing to Peter, and Ben gave him an apologetic smile and ruffled his hair.
Uncle Ben’s hatred for Peter’s father was not a secret, even though Ben had tried not to show it for his nephew’s sake. He really did. It was just that, well, it was kind of his father’s fault that they crashed. He’d been driving, at least, and had admitted to having a whiskey before they left, though he’d been well within the legal blood alcohol content limit. That never placated Uncle Ben, though, who had lost his only sister as a result, the loss of whom was keenly felt even if they bordered on estranged. The two hadn’t talked much for several years, mostly due to her choice in husband. His uncle had never been a fan of his brother-in-law, the reasons for which had never been revealed to Peter. Ben’s opinion had only worsened substantially following the accident and his father’s subsequent decision to leave Peter with Ben and May while he tried to get their life back together. Still, his aunt and uncle had made it a rule quite early on into his stay with them to hold back from saying harsh words about Peter’s father, at least in front of Peter himself. For the most part they adhered to it, except for the occasional slip when Ben couldn’t hold back in the first couple of years.
Then, when Peter was eight, his dad died.
Even seven years later, Peter wasn’t exactly sure how he had died. He remembered the way Aunt May and Uncle Ben had looked as they sat down with him in the living room, their faces betraying some unidentifiable emotion that set Peter’s stomach-churning long before they said anything. Died overseas, they told him. No funeral. Just a box of ashes and a broken watch sent over the Atlantic for his only child. Peter never heard a harsh word about his father again.
The “sightings” of his father got a lot worse after that.
Well, maybe not so much worse as happened all the freaking time. It felt like not a day went by that Peter didn’t see him, out of the corner of his eye, or at the end of the street, or in a dream. The dreams were the worst, really. Thinking you see your dead dad for a split second in the real world was one thing; talking to him, playing with him, just being with him, only to wake up to the dark underside of the bunk above you, your room silent aside from the unending street noise outside the window...it was like having someone stitch a missing part of your heart back together, only for them to rip it out just as you began to feel whole again. He barely even remembered him, but the missing piece was still there.
Things came to a head one afternoon, about a year after his dad’s death.
Peter and Ned had just gotten out of school, quickly making their way to Uncle Ben’s waiting car, when Peter saw him; he was standing across the street, sharp blue eyes watching him with the same intensity he remembered. Ned, talking animatedly about the Millenium Falcon Lego set he had tucked safely away in his backpack for them to put together that evening, didn’t notice him stop. Uncle Ben, however, did, and rolled down the passenger window.
“Pete?” he called out. “Everything alright?”
“It’s him.”
Uncle Ben’s countenance darkened, something knowing deep in his eyes, as he glanced in the direction Peter was indicating. He shook his head, looking back at his nephew.
“Peter...he isn’t there.”
“Yes, he is!” Peter gestured wildly in his father’s direction. “He’s right there! Next to the mailbox! He’s got a big, red scarf on. See?”
Uncle Ben said nothing, did not even look back at the street corner. He watched Peter silently, his eyes heavy. When he spoke, it was with a false sense of cheer. “Come on, get in the car, Pete. We’ll grab some sandwiches from Delmar’s on the way. What do you say?”
“That sounds great, Mr. Parker, sir!” Ned whooped, immediately hopping into the back seat.
“No,” Peter said petulantly. “Uncle Ben, please.” He swayed where he stood, looking back and forth between his dad and uncle, both of whom seemed to be now wearing similar expressions of concern. “He’s really there. Just look!”
“Peter, please get in the car.”
At the corner, his dad began to walk back into the crowd.
“No!”
And Peter rushed right into the street, making a beeline for his father’s back. At his shout, his father’s head turned sharply toward him, eyes wide.
Then Peter heard squealing breaks, his uncle’s voice shouting something with enough panic that the words were distorted beyond recognition.
For a moment, he saw the car bearing down on him. In the next second, it steered out of the way preternaturally, so quick he couldn’t really make out what happened. One second it was feet from his left shoulder, and the next it was stopped 10 feet away, it’s front bumper kissing the curb on the other side of the road.
Firm arms wrapped around his shoulders and lifted him up, and his uncle’s face swarmed into view. He’d never seen Ben look so terrified.
As Ben carried him to the other side, frantically checking him over for injury, Peter looked over his shoulder, back to the street corner. His dad was gone.
The next morning, Ben and May took Peter to another child psychologist. He was out in Brooklyn, but he was the first they found with availability that day. Hallucinations were one thing, but running out into New York traffic to catch one was another. Medication? Weekly therapy sessions? Something more drastic? They started with sessions twice a week. Twice a week Peter had to talk about his dad, and sometimes his mom. Twice a week, he had to relive his visions, his dreams, all of it. Twice a week, he had to sit in that office and wonder if he was just a little bit crazy. It sucked. But it seemed to work; He hadn’t seen his dad since the sessions started.
Until today.
And, like most of his “dad visions” in the past, it came at a really inconvenient moment.
For the most part, Peter really did try to just be a friendly neighborhood Spiderman. Really! Stop a mugging here, prevent a bank robbery there, help a little old lady old lady cross the street on the way home, celebrate with a churro. Boom, done. It wasn’t like he went out seeking bigger fish to fry; not anymore, at least, not since Toomes. So, it wasn’t like he was trying to find some kind of extra-dimensional creature that looked like a hundred foot long lamprey with spines.
What was Peter supposed to do? Ignore it? Go up to it like it was one of his normal lost tourists and say, Oh, hey there, freaky slime worm! Sorry, I don’t know where the nearest sewer entrance is. Have you tried asking Lizard?
Now granted, Peter could have asked Karen to call Mr. Stark up for backup, but what if it turned out to be a lot easier to handle than it looked? What if he called in Iron Man, only to have it all tied up with a big (webby) bow when he got there? Then he’d look like an idiot, and the last thing he wanted to do was waste his mentor’s time.
Well, not the last thing, he could think of several things he’d like less than that, but...still. It wasn’t high on his list of “Good Things.”
Whatever the case, it was a bit too late to not get involved, not when he was already ankle deep in some alien slime.
“Ah, man,” he grumbled, wiping at some that was stuck to his thigh. A thick string of the goop came away with his hand, still attached to his leg. “This is going to be so tough to get out. And I bet this suit is dry clean only.”
The spiny lamprey...thing let out an unearthly wail, the weird beak in the middle of its mouth clicking angrily. Around them, the street was in absolute chaos as civilians ran, screaming in terror. A few of the braver (or stupid) sect stood some yards away, their phones out and recording the confrontation. Apparently, they trusted Spiderman to protect them.
Better make sure they’re right.
“Hey, Eldritch horror!” Peter shouted, waving his hands about to get its attention. The thing didn’t have any discernible eyes, but the way its head tilted his way seemed to indicate he succeeded. Running through the list of web shooters, he quickly selected ‘Taser Web.’ “Why don’t you try taking a bite out of this?”
The shot managed to encompass most of the creature’s head. It gave a great cry as electricity pierced its body, thrashing about wildly. Its tail swept aside a car, sending it flying into a building across the street as its head took a chunk out of the brick building behind it.
It also seemed to have grown.
“It would appear that electricity only enhances its power,” Karen reported in her professionally clipped tone. “Would you like me to activate Instant Kill?”
“Okay, we seriously need to sit down and talk about your obsession with Instant Kill, Karen,” Peter grunted as he dodged a bite from the creature.
“It might be necessary to kill the Eldritch horror in order to protect the people. Your webbing does not seem to be strong enough to hold it.”
Karen had a point, but Peter was loath to admit it. He really, really didn’t want to kill the creature. He didn’t want to have to kill anything if he could help it. It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t occurred to him; he knew he was fighting off a lot of bad guys, so there was a good chance he’d end up killing someone eventually, intentionally or not. And even if he managed to avoid killing right now, that left the problem of what exactly he was supposed to do with the creature if he managed to subdue it. Give it to a zoo? And he seriously didn’t think Aunt May would let him keep it, even if he wanted to. Still, the idea of killing it left a vile taste in his mouth.
“We’ll think of something else, Karen. Try another scan, see if you can find a weakne-”
The rest of Peter’s command was cut off as his mouth dropped open in shock. Something bright and fiery had sparked to life beneath the lamprey. For a moment, the creature seemed confused, making a sound Peter would almost call questioning. Then, the circle of fire opened up into a dark hole that looked like a bottomless pit of fluorescent oil, and with a screech, the creature was sucked into it. A moment later, the flaming hole closed up, and the street was silent.
Silent for about two seconds, at least. Then the crowd descended into confused shouts as people looked around for the source of the ring.
“Karen, what the heck was that?”
“Unfortunately, my scanners could not identify anything about that burst. It appears to be completely foreign from anything listed in my database.”
“Great, great, so the unidentifiable Eldritch Horror was swallowed by an unidentifiable ring of fire. That’s not ominous at all!”
Peter scanned the crowd frantically, looking for something, anything suspicious. That flash definitely didn’t look like anything one of the Avengers was capable of, except perhaps that witch lady on Team Cap, but she was MIA. Besides, her magic was always red from what he’d seen, and this had been a warm orange.
Still, Peter swept over the area, looking for her or anyone else who could have been a source of the circle, but the speed with which the agitated New Yorkers were pushing their way out of the fight zone made catching sight of one suspicious person difficult. A balding dudebro was still slamming down his sub as he shoved passed a woman with a stroller; a group of teenagers gaggled together, too caught up in documenting their harrowing experience on their phones to get out of the way of people trying to get through; an older woman curling her lip at him as she walked with hurried but calculated steps.
Peter was trying to decide if the expression was a smile or a sneer when the woman passed a man who was also looking towards him. He sucked in a sharp breath, and forgot to exhale.
His dad.
It was only a second. The next moment, the woman stalked past where he had been standing, and he was gone. Or at least it felt like it. Peter was pretty sure every part of his body froze and ceased to function for a few seconds there.
“Peter, is everything alright? Your heart rate has increased rapidly. Would you like me to contact-”
“No, no,” Peter interrupted with a rapid shake of his head. “It-it’s alright, Karen. I just...”
Peter trailed off and forced himself to suck in a deep breath. It wasn’t going to do him any good to panic now.
Sirens barreling down towards him pulled Peter fully back out of his head. With one last glance at the crowd, he swung away towards home.
Almost as soon as he walked in the door, Aunt May gave him that look. She had an unerring ability to know when it was one of those days when he needed her to ask what was wrong, or just let him come out and say it when he was ready. Today it was the latter. She gave him a quick, tight hug, rubbing his back in a comforting motion.
“I’m thinking we should get some Thai food tonight. I’m in a larb-y mood. How does that sound?”
Peter managed a weak smile. He could do that, for her. “I’d larb some.”
May smiled indulgently, and told him with a sniff and a grimace to get a shower first. Apparently, the slime smelled like burnt rubber. Peter supposed he was too inured to the stuff to even notice.
Dinner was, as expected, great. May did her part to distract Peter from whatever was upsetting him, overusing the word larb in a creative assortment of puns, regaling him with stories from the homeless shelter she volunteered at (some of the patrons had the best stories to tell, and Aunt May was legendary at repeating them). For the most part, she was successful at it, and Peter found himself feeling significantly lighter than he had before. It wasn’t until they arrived back home that the dark pit in his chest began to make itself known again.
Peter quietly thanked May for dinner, hugging her and kissing her cheek before going to his room. He undressed methodically, kicking off his shoes, tossing his clothes into a corner of his room, and tugging on the first sleep worthy t-shirt he found. With a deep sigh he felt in his bones, Peter collapsed on his bed.
Peter had told May he was going to bed early, but...sleep just wasn’t going to happen. Not tonight.
At least it was Friday.
When Peter had left therapy he’d been warned that the hallucinations of his father might recur, but for some reason, he’d thought it unlikely. Maybe it had just been wishful thinking, or maybe he’d truly thought he’d gotten over his dad’s death, made peace with it, the whole shebang. The only time he’d really considered the possibility of their return was after Uncle Ben’s death. Seemed almost poetic, to start seeing Uncle Ben haunting him everywhere after his mistake. A small part of him actually was kind of...hoping he would. He knew it’d be traumatizing to see him everywhere, to feel like he was looking over his shoulder disapprovingly for not doing more, for not stepping in when he should have.
But...he’d really wanted to see him again.
Yet nothing. Not one sighting, in his periphery or otherwise. Maybe that meant he was coping well with Uncle Ben’s death, but that thought made Peter feel kind of...guilty.
Peter made a frustrated noise and rubbed at his face roughly. Sitting up, he propped his leg up and rested his elbow on his knee, looking out the window towards the street below.
He’d had a dream, a week or so after Uncle Ben died, that his father visited him through that window.
The dream was more like a bleary pieced together feeling than a memory. He’d had a lot of those in the week following Uncle Ben’s murder, most of them featuring his uncle dying in his arms after he’d failed to stop his killer from robbing the Minit Mart. This one had started out much the same, with the same feelings of fear, and guilt, and- God, the blood seeping into his clothes and covering his hands- but then it shifted, the way dreams often do. His father had been sitting in the window, watching over him as he tried to sleep. He couldn’t see him, just...felt him there. It was strange, how despite all the years since he’d actually known it, the feeling was as familiar to him as breathing. Like waves rocking him to sleep.
Footsteps approached his bed, padding lightly across the floor. A soft creak as his father sat on the edge of his bed, the recognizable smell of sandalwood and mint calming Peter instantly.
“I’m so sorry, Peter,” he’d murmured in the low, gravelly voice Peter remembered from childhood. It had always brought him comfort, the gentle vibrations reminding him of a deep purr. “I’m so, so sorry. I wish I could fix this. You deserve so, so much better.”
Cold, trembling fingers brushed his forehead in a surprisingly reassuring gesture, his dream whiting out at the touch.
Peter hadn’t dreamt of Uncle Ben’s death since.
Maybe that was the difference, between Ben and his dad. His dad was always a comforting presence, reassuring, even when it was tinged with longing for a man he hardly knew. But it was distant, detached. Uncle Ben’s was...real. Not some figment of his traumatized imagination, spurred on by vague memories and a broken watch. It was a complete picture, one that maybe was just...too difficult to think about.
Peter never wore the watch his father had left him. As clumsy as he was, there was a good chance of losing it or damaging it further. He didn’t want it repaired, either. Keeping it the way his father had it was...some kind of weird way to stay connected to him, really. Like he was looking at the same cracks and chips his dad had looked at. He’d made an absurd number of assumptions about his dad based on that watch.
In the span of a thought, the pit in his chest felt overwhelmingly oppressive, and Peter sucked in a gasping breath.
He really didn't want to be alone right now.
For a second, he seriously considered getting Aunt May. She’d coached him through this more times than he could count. But...he hesitated. She’d been through so much in the last several months, with Uncle Ben’s death, and trying to navigate the world of single-motherhood and all the expenses and stresses that came with that. Adding in a return of the hallucinations of his father, after all the fear and strain they had put on her and Uncle Ben before...it seemed so unfair. He could call Ned, but...as much as he loved his best friend, he wasn’t exactly the best at talking to someone about things like this. Chewing his lip, he gazed at his backpack by his desk.
“Hey, Karen!” Peter said with cheer he didn’t really feel after he slipped the mask on. Throwing himself back on his bed, he gazed up at the bunk above him. “How’s it going?”
“I’m well. How are you, Peter?”
When he’d first started talking to Karen, he’d felt a bit weird only asking her about things related to the suit. It seemed natural to talk to her like she was a friend, even if she was just an A.I programmed into his suit. Thankfully, Mr. Stark seemed to feel the same way (or just anticipated Peter’s reaction), because she was fully capable of holding mundane conversations.
Which came in quite convenient at times like this.
“Honestly, I’m...I’m not doing so good.” Peter paused for a moment, tapping his fingers on his chest. “I want to talk to you about something, but can you swear you won’t report it back to Mr. Stark? I don’t think I want him to know about this.”
“Of course, Peter. What is it you want to tell me?”
Peter wasn’t positive he could trust that, but he’d go with it for now. “I, um...well, what do you think about hallucinations? I mean, like, seeing someone who is dead, but they aren’t really there.”
“Like a ghost?”
“No! No, at least, I don’t think so. I hope not, because that’s a whole other kind of impossible I don’t want to think about right now. No, I mean...actually hallucinating that they are there when they aren’t. Do you...do you think someone can do that without being crazy?”
Karen was momentarily silent, before piping up with “From what I have gathered in a search of that symptom, it is a fairly common reaction to grief. I don’t think you are crazy, Peter.”
Peter smiled wobbly. “Thanks a lot, Karen. I needed that.”
“You’re welcome, Peter.”
Karen went silent. Peter looked at the pallet boards underneath the upper bunk, tracing the grains in the wood.
“It’s really rough, seeing someone that isn’t there,” he said softly, pillowing his head with an arm as he kept a steady, tapping beat against his chest with his other hand. “Especially when it is someone you really want to see, you know? Sometimes, it feels so real, like he is standing right there, and if I could just get to him in time, I could grab him and he’d be...he’d be there.”
Peter broke off with a self-deprecating scoff. “Like today. I know my dad’s dead, has been for years, I even have his ashes on my shelf. But...it’s like I can’t help wondering if he was really there, if maybe, with all the impossible things that are, you know, possible now, maybe this could be, too. Maybe he really was there, watching me fight.” He paused. “I really hate that.”
“Would it help to review the footage from today?”
Peter's body instantly stiffened. “What?”
“I could queue up the video taken from today’s encounter with the Eldritch horror. If you tell me when you saw him during the battle, I could play it over so you can be sure.”
For once, Peter was lost for words. That hadn’t even occurred to him. All these years, after every encounter, he’d wanted so bad to be able to look back and prove what he’d seen. It was the reason for his near-death experience four years ago, when it had become too much, when he’d had to prove to Uncle Ben that his dad was alive. But what were the odds that during those split moment encounters he’d have a camera or something to capture it?
Without knowing it, Mr. Stark had accidentally given him the best gift possible. Or the worst. He wasn’t sure which yet.
“O-okay, yeah. You know what, let’s do this. Play it, Karen.”
“Where should I start it?”
“Right after the ring of fire disappeared.”
Watching replay was still so weird. It was like being in a super advanced virtual reality system with an added dose of deja vu; Peter could swear he could feel that goop all over him again. The Eldritch Horror towered over him again, it’s mouth gaping horribly as it prepared to attack. His stomach dropped a bit at the sight. As preoccupied as he had been trying to figure out a way to save the creature, he hadn’t even seen that attack coming in his direction. That ring of fire hadn’t just been convenient, it could have been life-saving. How could he have missed that with his “spidey sense?”
He watched as the ring closed, and the crowd began to disperse messily. Then he saw the bald dudebro again, and the gaggle of teenagers, and the curled lip woman, and-
“Freeze it!” he gasped out hoarsely.
There, standing just behind the woman, was the unmistakable figure of his father.
----
So each chapter will be titled after a song by Pink Floyd, either due to lyrics or something poetic about the title. As a little bit of a teaser, I'll give you guys the title for the next chapter so you can try to figure out the reasons why. ;)
Next chapter: "Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun"
@merelypassingtime replied to your post “GUYS I LOVE YOU ALL!”
Okay, how about the hospital is loudly being searched, but Molly just ignores it until she is opening a cadaver drawer (is that the right term? I dunno) and finds a very live Mary hiding in it...
This is VERY good! Absolutely what you’d expect from Mary!
merelypassingtime replied to your post “I’m losing it I was watching a platypus video this morning and this...”
Platypuses (platypi?) are venomous too though... they have a spur on their foot that delivers 'a vemon capable of causing severe pain to humans'.
platapeople?
Oh I’m well aware of that!! That’s another reason why I love them so much~ And the King Brown snake isn’t actually all that deadly. But it’s more so the mental image of it all? Like, with the almost universal fear of snakes.
