#like Peter seems pretty harsh here. and I feel like I didn't get the whole idea of “This is because of war” out very clearly

[brooklynisher]

Alright, I'll post it here. Please be nice, it's my first published writing on here :}

CW for emotional distress, yelling, and animal abuse

Green Light

The Spine has been called on by Peter Walter to participate in a few tests, but The Spine can’t help but feel that there’s something very wrong about these tests.

The Spine stood still counting the number of wires in the room. He counted the wires, then the flasks, then the ratio of flasks, empty to full to partially full. He would read the paper. Making sure to read each and every word carefully and slowly. Refusing to continue until he understood every last bit of what he just read. This is how he spends his free time. It’s not like he has much else to do. Aside from the fact that he and all of the other robots haven’t been around for more than a few months, there’s also a lot he’s simply not allowed to do. But as much as he hates being unable to do anything he wants, he has developed some essential skills considerably faster than the others.

When he learned how to read, that’s all he really did, though he limited himself to the newspapers. He was pretty caught up in current events as a result. Counting, fractioning, identifying things around the room, while being relatively simple tasks to most adults, was a huge learning experience for the titanium robot. Anything he can do to be just a bit smarter was propitious. 

Peter Walter walks in with a strange expression on his face. The Spine can’t tell if he’s angry, passionate, if his feelings are strong or dull, he simply can’t tell. He feels it’s a failure in his ability to identify facial expressions.

“The Spine,” Peter starts.

“Yes sir?” The Spine straightens his posture.

“I need you to come with me.”

He makes a small gesture urging The Spine to follow him. The Spine spine responds with a simple, “Yes sir.” before taking his inventor’s lead. He tries to make sure any anxiety doesn’t show. He’s a robot after all. He’s not supposed to be feeling things like anxiety. Yet he can’t help but feel slightly anxious every time Peter calls on him to do something he doesn’t know anything about. They arrived in a small concrete room. It’s mostly empty with the exception of an oddly colorful board hanging high up on the wall. The board contains the names of each Walter automaton followed by 5 red lightbulbs. A few of the bulbs for each robot are green, but none are out of order. Peter orders The Spine to stay put before leaving the room. The Spine tries to make observations while he waits.

“Rabbit… 3 green lights… 2 red… Zer0… 5 green lights… 0 red… Hatchworth-”

Peter Walter has returned. The Spine straightens his posture once again. Peter seems to be pulling a large wagon of some kind. The contents inside the wagon are covered with a beige tarp. Peter approaches The Spine.

“The Spine,” Peter starts.

“Yes sir?”

“Take my wrist.”

He pulls up his sleeve. The Spine notices that Peter’s wrist seems to be oddly beat up. He’s not sure what this could mean, but he must obey orders. He grips his wrist as gently as possible trying not to harm him.

“Squeeze it,” Peter commands.

Squeeze it? But The Spine is made out of metal. Peter is made out of flesh. The Spine doesn’t have sensory receptors. Peter does. For all he knows, he already has a tight grip around Peter’s wrist. What if he hurts him? What would he do? But The Spine has learned that obedience is better than defiance. Even if it’s at the risk of causing more issues. He squeezes his wrist.

“AUGH!”

Peter pulls his hand away and turns his back towards The Spine. The Spine is instantly filled with regret, grabbing his own hand as if to keep it under control. He canes his neck just enough to see the damage he has caused. Peter’s hand is limp. Oh god.

“Pe- Mister Walter! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean- I- I was just-” He tries to apologize, but the words struggle to escape him. He’s not even allowed to apologize. If he apologizes, then that means he made a mistake. And mistakes are a no-go here.

“Stop your stammering!” Peter hisses at him.

The Spine only hangs his head low. Ready to endure whatever it is that he deserves. Peter takes a big shaky breath in.

“You’re… you’re fine… This is good. You’re very strong. Maybe even the strongest automaton I’ve built yet… I could do without the apologizing and the stuttering.”

What? Good? He just broke his inventor’s wrist! Of all the mistakes The Spine made in his short lifespan, how was THIS the one that Peter excuses? Hell, he seems more angry about him apologizing and stuttering than he is about him breaking his wrist. What kind of twisted logic is that? Does he want The Spine to hurt him? But those are questions for later. The least The Spine can do right now is be considerate. He waits for a couple of moments to gather his thoughts before speaking.

“Sir, will your wrist be alright?”

“The depths of science in which I have delved are unlike any other. If I can build such a great number of automatons in such a short period using a substance I alone have discovered, then surely I can heal a broken wrist.”

He takes a controller out of his pocket with his good hand and pushes a button. One of the lights next to The Spine’s name turns green. He then turns to the wagon and pulls off one of the tarps, unveiling a dummy. He drags it out of the wagon and places it down on the ground using one arm. The Spine feels bad leaving him to struggle on his own like this, but he didn’t ask for help, so it’s best he just leaves it to him.

“Alright The Spine. Hit it.”

“... Anywhere?”

“As hard as you can.”

The Spine nods and faces the dummy. He can’t necessarily hit “hard” as he doesn’t have muscle but he can hit fast. So he curls his hand up into a fist and punches the dummy in the head as the humans do in news stories at full speed. The body is pushed back, head flying off. The head slams into the wall creating a small shockwave of dust. The Spine flinches. Peter side-eyes him but doesn’t say anything. He hits another button, and another bulb by his name goes green. He moves back to the wagon unveiling another dummy. He drags it to the center and looks straight towards The Spine.

“Activate voice protocol. The Spine,”

The Spine nods involuntarily.

“Activate blue matter ray projector arrays.”

And just like so, The Spine’s arm shifts into an intense-looking weapon. This throws The Spine off guard, but he keeps quiet.

“The Spine, I’d like you to shoot that dummy.”

The Spine looks at the dummy, then back at his hand.

“... How… How do I do that sir?” The Spine asks unaware he even had this feature installed.

“You’re going to have to figure it out on your own. Just as you will in order to disable it.”

The Spine looks back up at the dummy. He doesn’t understand what to do but still points his arm in its direction. He tries to move each part of his arm as if it were normal, and to his surprise, he is successful. The blue matter ray charged up. He aimed it toward the chest of the dummy feeling slightly uneasy. Something about this feels wrong, but he shoots. Before the beam hit, Peter managed to open up an umbrella, shielding himself from the bright red substance that now covers the room. The Spine’s body becomes a mess of red. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. What… What was that? While The Spine was still trying to process what had just happened, he didn’t notice Peter’s glare.

“Relax yourself.”

The Spine closes his mouth, straightens his posture, and tries to rest his shoulders and eyes. However, he finds that he is struggling to calm down. He doesn’t know why he feels so distressed, but something about that didn’t sit right with him. The third light next to his name turns green as Peter hits the button. He pulls out one more dummy, which makes The Spine feel nervous. 

“Activate voice protocol. The Spine, activate chainsaw.”

His other arm switches into a chainsaw, alarming him quite a bit. He tries to disable his other arm so that he has a free hand. As he does this, Peter simply stands against a wall and watches. He doesn’t say anything. The Spine looks back at him, hoping he tells him to do something different, but Peter only observes. It’s obvious what he wants him to do. The Spine turned back to the dummy.

“It’s probably just ink…” He thinks to himself still feeling uneasy. He preps his chainsaw and turns it on. The vibrations it produces are undeniably strong. It was almost as if he could feel it. He closes his eyes and slashes the chainsaw through the dummy. His eyes reopened to the sound of screaming. It’s even messier than before. He pulls his chainsaw back staring at the brutalized dummy now dyed red. Did it scream? Was it alive? He doesn’t move. His chainsaw slows to a full stop. What did he do? Another light turned green, he’s now down to his last light before all five of them turn green.

“Are you ready for your final test?” Peter asks.

Is that what they were? Not that it mattered what they were. The Spine was not ready. If anything he was afraid. He was afraid of what came next. He was afraid of Peter Walter. So of course, he nodded. Peter unveils the final hidden object in the wagon as The Spine deactivates his chainsaw. The final hidden object is none other than a crate. A crate… He opens the crate and pulls out a dog…

“No.” The Spine accidentally says out loud. He looks away, trying to hide his face.

“I’ll let you use any method you’d like.”

“No.” Though it was stupid before, it’s almost as though he can’t control himself. He knows what’s going to happen. He’s not going to follow through with this. Peter doesn’t say anything for a second. He then starts to speak.

“You know… there’s a reason why I’m not with the others right now.”

The Spine doesn’t respond.

“The others are sweet robots. And lighthearted ones at that. But they’ve always been a little bit… zany. Compared to you at least.”

The Spine grimaces.

“The only reason why I’m so ‘normal’ compared to the others is because you forced me to be! If I had it my way, I’d be just as wacky as the others, if not a bit more mature.” He wanted to say. But he knew arguing wouldn’t do him any good. Especially in a situation like this where that’s not the problem. So as much as he wanted to fight Peter on this, the best he could do for himself was bite his tongue.

“Such wild and eccentric personalities… They’d never want to hurt a soul… but that doesn’t mean they won’t.”

By now, four of the six main automatons have already achieved all five lights. That leaves one other who has yet to complete the test.

“And I’ll admit, it was partially my fault. My idea of the perfect robot would’ve never led up to this moment, yet it has. So for the sake of humanity, I’m going to need you to let go of some of what I had taught you. Obedience is key. Listen to me The Spine.”

The Spine slouches a little shaking his head.

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“But I can’t.”

“The Spine-”

“It’s a living creature! I can’t make myself do it…” The Spine then makes the mistake of looking at the puppy. It yawns a big yawn before lying down. His resistance grows stronger. How is he supposed to kill this thing?

“Kill the dog The Spine.”

“Why don’t you just make me kill the dog? Won’t that be easier? It’s not like you don’t have the power to.” His response comes out much more disrespectful than he meant it to, but it seems like there’s no stopping himself at this point. Peter’s eyes widen.

“You’re going to kill the dog whether you want to or not.”

“That’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it? You’re asking me to do things on my own accord but not unless you allow me to. What kind of sense does that make?” It was unlike The Spine to talk back so much. Even during moments where he was defiant, he’s never been this much of a brat about it.

“Spine-”

“You want me to kill Rabbit next? Make me kill your favorite robot just so you can yell at me for it afterward?” At this point, The Spine’s retorts became less relevant. Peter is getting fed up with his behavior. His patience now gone.

“DO YOU WANT THE BECILES TO WIN OR NOT?” Peter yells. This is enough to get The Spine to quiet down. He’s not sure if he knows what he means.

“WE ARE ON THE BRINK OF WAR. BECILE HAS GONE MAD AND IF HE WINS THIS COULD DETERMINE MORE THAN THE FATE OF SCIENCE. IT COULD DETERMINE THE FATE OF OUR STATE. IT CAN DETERMINE THE FATE OF THE WORLD. A SCIENTIST AS CRAZY AS HIM SHOULD NOT HAVE ACCESS TO SUCH INTENSE TECHNOLOGY AND SUCH INTENSE POWER. DO YOU WANT HIM TO GET AWAY WITH THAT?”

The Spine only looks down at the ground out of guilt. He’s not quite sure what Peter is talking about, but he knows he’s blaming him for… something. At least, that’s what it feels like. He pauses for a few seconds before finally saying something.

“I’m sorry Mister Walter… but… I can’t help it that I’m… I’m an individual… and I can’t… I can’t kill an innocent creature. I just can’t… I don’t want the Beciles to win, but I’m just not capable of this sort of thing. I’m sorry…”

Peter is about to respond when he hears a small yelp from the other room. The Jon’s 5th light has turned green. He looks back down at The Spine, but he doesn’t say anything. Even so, The Spine knows what he would say. When it comes to animals, The Jon was always the best with them. Something about his presence would just attract animals stronger than any bait. He loves animals, and the animals love him. It could not have been an easy assignment for him to kill a creature of any kind. Especially one as innocent and as sweet as a puppy. Yet he still had the guts to kill it. The Spine’s relationship with animals was minimal, yet he refused to kill one just because he didn’t want to. He knew this made him weak, but it didn’t change his stance. He simply hangs his head low out of shame.

Peter notices that he’s still reluctant to complete the task, so he turns to his last resort. He sighs as he lights a match. The Spine hears this and looks up at him. His eyes widened in terror. He’s heard horror stories about being burned alive. He knows what he’s going to do.

“Don’t. Please Mister Walter don’t hurt it-”

The Spine continues to beg Peter to leave the puppy alone, but ultimately he ignores him. Soon enough, the small animal begins screeching and yelping in pain. The sounds were enough to drive The Spine over the edge. He pulls out his blue matter ray and shoots the poor thing down as quickly as possible. The Spine can feel an intense amount of steam leaving his body, yet his body still feels unbearably hot. It’s as if the steam from his body wasn’t releasing fast enough. That was the last thing The Spine wanted to do, but he really didn’t have another choice. There was nothing he could’ve reliably used to put out the flames and even if he did find something, he wouldn’t know how to heal the small pup. It would only die slower. The only thing he could do was speed up the process.

Peter places a hand on his shoulder. The Spine stiffens. He’s using every last atom in his metal body to resist the urge to tear his inventor apart.

“Why did you kill it?” Peter asks.

“I- You set it on fire! It was suffering! It was in pain! I couldn’t just let it die such a terrible fate like that…”

“Mm..” Peter nods.

“The Spine, there’s something you need to understand.”

The Spine only looks at him.

“In war, everyone is always suffering.”

“...”

“Now, come with me. It’s clear to me that you need some serious repairs.”

The final red light turns green.

[septicstories]

Big Life in a Small Town (Part 1)

A/N: This is based on the song "Santa Fe (Prologue)" from the Newsies musical! It's not based on the plot of the musical. The song will be altered a tad, but not too much! In the next part though, I'll have to do some edits. But for now, you've got this... mess? I dunno, I'm writing this before it's done. This is post-X-men Apocalypse, so Peter is in his late 20's.

Genre: Bittersweet fluff

Warnings: alcohol, drinking, mentions of broken limbs, daddy issues, no beta reader, minimal editing

Word count: 1.3k (1,385 words)

The X-mansion was quiet, the cool midnight air only changing currents occasionally when a silver blur sprinted around.

Pietro had his younger brother in his arms, running around. Peter injured his leg a while ago, stuck on crutches. ANd it was killing the young speedster.

And Pietro noticed.

So he scooped his younger brother up out of his room, running him around the mansion's vast yard until he smiled. That's when he brought him up to one of the rooftop balconies of the mansion.

The two siblings weren't the only ones in their family who lived in the mansion. Pietro's twin, Wanda, was fast asleep, her room near the balcony.

Pietro, as immature as he may seem, was wise beyond his years. He'd seen more things than he ever would have wanted to for a 35-year-old man. Hell, anyone would be unsettled when you find your mother died of sickness, and your father was out of the picture when your younger brother was born a few years after.

Pietro and Peter sat on the balcony, a case of beer between the two, a sudden scoff came from the older speedster.

"What's up, you alright?" Peter asked, looking at his brother.

Pietro's eyes were glued to the ground below them, a sour expression on his face.

"Those streets down there," Pietro began, a dry laugh leaving his lips. "They sucked the life right out of our old man. Well, they aren't doing that to me."

Peter pursed his lips, watching as his older brother took a swig of his beer.

Pietro has always hated staying in one place for too long. The mansion hadn't really ever been his favorite place. Staying at their aunt's house in D.C. was something he looked forward to every summer. But, even then, he could only stay there for a few days before needing to go somewhere else. Not just from his need to move, but the U.S. government still wasn't absolutely fond of mutants.

"But everyone wants to come to New York," Peter let out a small chuckle. To an outsider, it'd sound like he was in disbelief, but he understood how Pietro felt.

Staying in one place was hard. But Peter also managed to make himself a family here at the mansion as he grew up. He met the ever-sweet Jean Grey when he was 20 years old. The poor girl had some trauma that no one but Chuck knew about. He got to meet Hank, and Raven, and all of the other younger kids. He thought of them all as his younger siblings.

He couldn't leave.

"You keep your small life in the big city. Give me a big life in a small town."

Pietro's words snapped Peter out of his thoughts, looking to his older brother. Pietro's eyes had lifted from the ground, looking up to the sky.

"They say folks are dying to get here."

"What about you, Piet?"

"Me? I'm dying to get away... to a little town out west that's spankin' new," Pietro said with a grin. "And while I've never been there, I can see it clear as day! If you want, I bet you, you could see it, too.

Peter has always had a particular question on his mind, that he always knew the answer to.

Then why haven't you gone? What's stopping you?

But, as always, Peter kept his mouth shut. He didn't want Wanda and Pietro to leave, as dumb as it may be. They were the only family he had left. Well, that he knew of and that knew of him.

Erik was another person he'd address when he had the courage.

But not...

Not now.

"Close your eyes."

Peter looked at his brother again, who was staring back at him. Honestly, he was waiting for his brother to snap in his face and use what became his favorite phrase after a few movie nights: "Hello, McFly?"

"Come with me, where it's clean and green and pretty, and they went and made a city out of clay."

Clay? A city out of clay? That sounds... odd. Peter hasn't stayed too long in other parts of the world, opting to stick to the Northeast area of the U.S. Occasionally, he'll go further South or a little bit further West. But never past Kansas.

"Why, the minute that you get there, folks will walk right up and say, 'Welcome home, son. Welcome home to Santa Fe!'"

Being called son was something the Maximoff boys wanted more than they would ever elude to. Their father? Out of the picture for the most part, up until they realized he was a terrorist. And he didn't even know about Peter.

Of course, the townsfolk of Santa Fe may not call you "son" as soon as you land on the premise. But, two bastard sons can dream, can't they?

"Planting crops. Splitting rails. Swapping tales around the fire," Pietro's grin grew as he spoke. He really thought about this a lot, didn't he? "Except for Sunday when you lie around all day."

Peter didn't know how much Pietro truly thought about leaving. Pietro's mind was full of places to go and see, places where he could take his family and live without having to deal with attacks from the U.S. government.

Santa Fe was where they'd go next in the U.S., but Sokovia was certainly the next best option. The U.S. government wouldn't come looking for them in Sokovia.

Right?

"Soon your friends are more like family, and they're begging you to stay! Isn't that neat?" Pietro asked as Peter took a large sip from his beer. "Living sweet in Santa Fe."

Pietro trailed off, almost in a dream-like state, making Peter flinch. He really fucking wanted out, huh?

"Hey, no one worries about a bad leg in Santa Fe. You just hop on a palomino, you'll ride in style!" Pietro joked, knocking his shoulder into his brother's.

"Feature me, ridin' in style," Peter giggled, taking a swig of his beer again.

"Hey, I bet a few months of clean air, you could toss that crutch for good!"

"Santa Fe," Peter and Pietro mumbled in unison, one happy and the other more tired. "You can bet, we won't let those bastards beat us. We won't beg anyone to treat us fair and square. There's a life that's worth the living, and I'm gonna do my share."

"Work the land, chase the sun." Pietro ran his hands through his hair, standing up.

"Swim the whole Rio Grande just for fun!" Pietro and Peter shouted together. The two had massive grins spreading across their faces, just happy to see the other smiling.

"Watch me stand!" Peter stood up quickly, only to feel a sharp pain jolt through his bad leg. His hands flew to the balcony railing, gripping it tightly as he let out a choked noise of pain.

"Watch me run..."

Pietro frowned when he saw his brother's grimace, watching Peter set himself down into a sitting position. The poor kid was gritting his teeth and sucking in harsh breaths as he set himself down.

"Hey, hey..." Pietro began softly, sitting down beside his brother before slapping a hand on his shoulder. "Don't you know that we're a family?"

Peter's eyes met Pietro's, painting over his grimace with a weak grin. "Yeah, b--"

"Would I let you down?" Pietro asked.

Peter let out a weak laugh as his brother continued.

"No way. Just hold on, kid, until that train makes Santa Fe."

The younger speedster let out a yawn, leaning his head on his brother's shoulder.

"Let's get you to bed, okay?" Pietro said, only getting a nod from Peter.

Pietro scooped his younger brother up in his arms, speeding through the mansion into Peter's room before setting him down.

"Good night, Peter."

"Good night, Pietro."

Pietro sped out of Peter's room, only to be stopped when he passed Wanda's room. His sleepy twin gave him a look, one that he didn't see often, and it concerned him.

"Pietro, we're being called to Sokovia," Wanda whispered sleepily.

"What? Why? All three of us?"

"No. Peter needs to stay here. He's got a broken leg, Pietro. Just you and I."

Pietro took in a quick breath before nodding.

"When do we leave?"

"... you didn't see that coming..."

A/N: Haha, cliffhangers are fun, ain't they? Okay, but, here's what you have for now! The other one is already in my drafts, and I've got plans for that! So, I'll get all that shit out, and we'll be good! I've got so much shit in my drafts, holy shit. Okay, uh... I don't have much to say, so thank you for reading! I don't necessarily have a tag list for this sort of stuff, so if you want to be on a tag list, let me know! And please let me know if you find a typo or something that doesn't make sense. Like I said, there's minimal editing.

[stefciastark]

Heir to Stark Industries ~Webpril Day 28

A/N: Tony thinks long and hard about the future of Stark Industries. He didn't think the answer would be standing right in front of him. I had to write this one a bit more quickly than the last ones because life loves to get in the way. I hope you enjoy this one :) x Only two more left to go!

~Read it on AO3

~Read it on FFN

“Could you please pass me the spanner, Mr Stark?”

Not moments after Peter asked for it, Tony let it fall into Peter’s open hand with a thwap.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, kiddo.”

“Almost...done….” Peter’s words were punctuated by harsh twists of the tool in his hands, securing the last of the nuts and bolts in place.

“Let’s do a quick power test, shall we?” Tony called from over by the interface beside the project.

Peter scampered over to where Tony stood and tried to wipe the grin off of his face and keep his excitement at bay. The last eight attempts had failed to even power it on without something short-circuiting, so even if movement wasn’t on the cards, something was better than nothing.

“Your call, boss.” Tony took a step back, giving Peter access to the button that would mark their ninth trial.

“Here goes nothing.” Peter tapped the button rimmed in electric blue and watched as the laboratory lights dimmed. At first, Peter had thought that it was to conserve power, but it was later revealed to be for dramatic effect - of course it was.

The sound of a soft jet engine slowly crescendoed as the electricity travelled through a thick tubed wire that ran into the hip joint of the contraption. Just over thirty seconds after the trial began, it ended in a shower of sparks and Tony leaping for the button that said ‘OFF’ in large capital letters. Peter sighed, glad that he took his own advice and hadn’t gotten his hopes up.

Resisting the urge to swear in a way that would make Tony proud or kick the nearby stool across the room like a child, he leaned over the workshop table, and puffed air out through his cheeks before burying his head in his hands.

“How do you even do stuff like this, Mr Stark?”

Tony clapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I kinda grew up with the whole ‘tech genius’ thing. I had my dad pummelling mathematics and robotics into me before I even knew how to walk. I’m pretty sure I knew advanced calculus before I knew how to wipe.” Tony chuckled humourlessly. “Other than that, he was cold and shrewd. Then came MIT - much like you - and then lots of trial and error.”

Peter looked over at the table where his droid of sorts lay lifeless and cold. Not like it wouldn’t be lifeless and cold once it was able to hold power for more than half a minute, but there was something about watching a creative endeavour come to life and become an entity of its own that made it seem so...alive. Peter was beginning to understand how Tony must have felt when he first designed the Iron Man suits.

After his first year at M.I.T had drawn to a close, Peter had travelled back down to New York during the summer break. He had a pet project he’d wanted to pursue for years but only recently manifested the courage and redeemable points with Tony to ask for his mentor’s help.

Years of watching footage and seeing the Iron Legion in action inspired Peter to want to have one of his own flying amongst them. While the second iteration of the Iron Legion were destroyed after Ultron, Tony had begun reconstructing the battalion of sorts in Peter’s last year of highs school. So, it was with a surprising amount of enthusiasm - Peter expected approval under sufferance - that Tony happily agreed to help Peter make his mark amongst the androids.

Peter also made the decision - he hadn’t decided whether or not that was a mistake - to refuse any solutions from Tony. Peter spent some time studying the Legion and the complexity of them daunted him. Which is why, with stubbornness Peter was sure he picked up from Tony, he wanted to figure it out on his and be able to say: “This was all me.” Well...it wouldn’t be all him...maybe ninety percent him.

When Peter didn’t respond, Tony probed, “Sure you don’t want me to make a few tweaks?”

“No!” Peter responded with a volume he didn’t intend. “Sorry, no...I’m just,” Peter groaned, a frustrated sound that Tony knew all too well, although he had learned to confine the screaming to a small locked box deep inside his brain. Peter didn’t quite finish his sentence, lost for words while his mind raced to come up with an alternative solution to the power problem his droid was facing.

The eyes that stared back at Peter were dark, and it felt strange to him to look at something that looked just like him in those moments when he stopped being Peter Parker and became Spiderman.

“I get it,” Tony said, an almost wistful smile playing at the corners of his lips. There was no question that Tony loved tinkering in the labs and creating and just being Tony. But, and Tony hated thinking about the ‘but’, it was coming time for him to think about retirement. He couldn’t be Iron Man forever, nor could he be the head of Stark Industries forever.

Tony had thought long and hard about the future of Stark Industries. Pepper had said she wanted to retire when he did, and no matter how much they’d bickered and argued over it, Tony ceded. And, after some thought, Tony understood why; Tony was the paintbrush and canvas and Pepper was the splashes of bright and beautiful colour. They needed each other to make art, even if that was retiring in a lakeside cabin.

Then he’d thought about Morgan, but she was far too young, even by the time they took a backseat from it all.

“Oh my god, wait a sec!” Tony jumped slightly, caught off guard when Peter all but leaped off the ground, passion oozing out of him in waves.

Sprinting over to the droid once more, Peter worked quickly, loosening the fasteners and rerouting various wires that sat at its core. Tony watched as Peter sprinted towards a stack of crates at the back of the room that housed the latest batch of miniature arc reactors.

“Can I?” Peter gestured towards the box at the front. Tony nodded and Peter grinned.

Already three out of the fifteen reactors had been taken out, Tony having used them to power some of Peter’s latest upgrades to his suit.

Darting back to his work, Peter crafted and developed a home for the small reactor right where the droid’s heart would be, had it been capable of having one.

Tony had long since taken a seat on the lounges behind the work stations, sipping out of a mug that read ‘#1 Dad’ in large print and reading through the latest industry headlines on his tablet.

“Ready for attempt ten, Mr Stark?” Peter was basically vibrating where he stood. He had a good feeling about this one.

“Fire away, kid.”

Tony watched as Peter pressed the power button once more, and saw the faint glow that lit up Peter’s smile. The kid had done it.

As the android progressively lit up from top to bottom, a soft hum filling the room, Tony kicked himself mentally for not thinking of it before. He almost saw Peter for the first time; not just as a brilliant kid who was going to go places, not just as one of the greatest heroes of his age.

The heir to Stark Industries.