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dandelion-blues · 4 days ago

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It's Been So Long

{ @house-of-dadneto }

Now on ao3

Summary:

The reveal finally happens! Erik Lehnsherr knows Pietro Maximoff is his son.

Peter just didn't expect it would be because Apocalypse injured him and his mom was called, leaving her and Erik to talk.

Of course, Peter too-drugged up on painkillers to even hear the juicy details. Not cool Hank!

Confession

Peter should have expected this, he really should have — just because he was an “adult” doesn’t mean that his mom wouldn’t be worried.

It certainly doesn’t matter that she was hours away, and surely busy with work. Because when she got a call about his broken leg and arm in a (definitely badass) fight she would never just go ‘huh, alright.’

No, Marya Maximoff, for all she’s Pietro Django Maximoff aunt by blood, she was his mom for all but 2 years of his life — so one can bet their ass that she would race over to Xavier’s Institute (breaking several speed limits undoubtedly) and march up to the front door with the fury of a mama bear facing any threats for her cubs.

Really, Peter should have seen this coming.

Unfortunately for him, his dad, ex(current?) terrorist Magneto, was still helping rebuild the school and thus in full view and revealed to the full fury of Marya Maximoff storming up to the front door. A woman he recognized on sight, despite the growing greys and new wrinkles on her bronze skin.

“Marya?” Erik asks in stunned surprise, his blue eyes like a cloudy sky — murky with past memories, “Is that you?”

Marya twisted back, withholding a snarl at the man who interrupted her path to her son, and fell back in shock when she looked at the man.

Her ex brother-in-law — the father she kept away from her son all these twenty-six years.

“Max Eisenhardt or is it Erik Lehnsherr or perhaps Henryk Gurzsky, or is it some new name now?” Marya spat, “Why in God’s name are you at this school? Didn’t you just try to destroy the world days ago?!”

Erik’s Adam apple bobbed as he wetted his lips to explain, “I-,” The words died in his throat as he eyed Marya’s stern glare and he bowed his head, “I’m helping rebuild the school.”

“Oh?” Marya raised a brow, “And why did the school need rebuilding in the first place?” The accusation was clear in her voice.

Unluckily, or perhaps luckily, Erik was interrupted by the newly-placed mahogany (Charles Xavier was rich after all) front door opening, and the bald man himself came wheeling out, “Marya Maximoff, if you would please follow me, your son is conscious now and probably would be best if you come and explain why he should stay off his legs for a bit longer. Since he found out you were coming, he’s been buzzing with energy and quite frankly isn’t what you would call a rule-follower.” Charles chuckled fondly at that remission on the teen that broke into the pentagon all for the thrill of his kleptomaniac heart.

Marya’s eyes softened with relief upon hearing her son was up, and her lips quirked up with fond exasperation, “That boy,” She doesn’t give Magento a second glance and looks imploringly at Charles Xavier, “Please. I would appreciate seeing Peter now.”

‘Peter?’ Erik thought silently to himself, and oh the memories of the silver-haired boy flew by him. Of the boy — who was the first person to smile nicely at him in ten years and free him from the pentagon. Of the boy that never looked at Erik like he was a monster, even when he was set to destroy the world.

“I’m your… I’m here for family too.”

“I’m holding your neck so you don’t get whiplash,”“Whip…laaaaaaaaaash.”

“They told me you control metal.”

“You know, my mom once knew a guy who could do that.”

“Oh,” Erik gasped softly, ‘Even after everything the boy still thought of us as family… my nephew.”

Tears line his eyes at the thought. The peace and joy he felt with Magna — of being welcomed into the Maximoff family. Of having his first daughter Anya… until it all went in flames — literally.

Erik doesn’t blame Magna for leaving. Even if he still holds the belief that all those humans deserved to die for killing his baby — just as the ones who killed his dear Nina and his second-wife (coincidentally named) Magna. He should have controlled his anger and showed that he would have never hurt his wife despite his feelings on other humans.

Alas, that’s all in the past now, and he can do nothing but regret and drown in the pain of his past — hoping to repent for all his sins.

𖥔ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ𖥔

Peter found himself bounding with overwhelming energy. He needed to move… everything was just so slow! But he was trapped in the damned infermany on ‘doctor’s’ orders! Hank’s not even that kind of doctor!

But whatever, Peter just has to wait minutes (hours to him) and his mom will be here. She’s already called ahead that she was at the front gate.

Peter found his good leg bouncing and vibrating on the tile before him.

“Peter!” Hank sternly called, “No powers! We don’t want your metabolism to increase more than it already has and wear off the painkillers in your system.”

Peter sheepishly stopped vibrating in place, but he still couldn’t help but fidget.

He needed to move, like a fish needs water. It was torturous to keep him in one place for so long! Torture!

“It’s not torture Peter,” Hank rolls his eyes.

“Oh, I said that outloud didn’t I?” Peter said, keeping his words slow (it’s practically second nature now) so Hank could understand.

“Yes, Peter,” Hanks said amused, “And oh, look your mom and professor are already here. She can now scold you about not using your powers.”

Peter slumped down dramatically in the medical bed, but smiled as his mom came into view, “That’s not fair man, sicking my mom on me like that!”

Marya rolled her eyes, “Peter, you can handle staying still for a week. You’re just lucky your bones heal so fast.”

“Fiiiiiiiine!”

𖥔ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ𖥔

Marya smiles, seeing that her son is alright and will fully recover. However, Hank soon puts him on more painkillers as Peter grimaces in pain.

Unfortunately that also has the effect of making Peter incredibly sleepy and he soon passes out, which leaves Marya to have the much needed adult conversation now that she knows her son is alright.

…

Oh, if Peter wasn’t already so injured, she would grab him by the ear and give him an earful of his impulsive decisions and endangering his life, but for now all Marya can do is thank God that he is alright and that her baby returned to her.

And Max! Ugh, if he wasn’t Peter’s father Marya would kill that man!

Marya soon found himself making a coffee upstairs, doing her best to stay away after hours of driving. As much as she would love to fall asleep, she knows that her Lorna will be calling her soon — and despite knowing Peter is fine, she still is on edge. A mother’s plight, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world. Even if it came attached to the incredible but dangerous heritage that is Magneto.

And speak of the devil! Max decides to appear right in the kitchen.

Marya sighs and just asks, “Why did you do it?” There’s no need to explain what the ‘it’ is — ending the world is a pretty big neon sign after all.

She needs to know what in God’s name made him want to end the world. She has an idea, a horrible one. But she recognizes the kind of rage that Max went through — the kind of a parent’s loss, the soul aching pain that makes the world seem worthless.

Marya grips her coffee closer, biting her lip to stop tears from forming as she thinks of Wanda, her oldest (‘Only by 12 minutes!’ Peter would remind her). Even after 14 years… it still feels so fresh.

Erik looks up at the ceiling full of anguish, “Humans killed my daughter and wife.”

Marya stares blankly at her cooling drink, her lips feeling quite dry and she chucks the drink like a shot and stares right into Erik’s steely eyes, “Tell me about them.” She asks softly, her tone rekindling of the family she once was to the broken man.

Erik smiles sadly, “After your son broke me out of the pentagon, and I failed in killing the president-”

“Really, what’s up with you and US presidents?” Marya jokes, despite the seriousness of such a task, but she held no love for Nixon — his derogatory views for Jews enough for that opinion to form. Sure, she was Romani, but it sure didn’t make a difference to Nazi’s when they rounded up all the ‘bad bloods’. And she would fight tooth and nail before letting another drag her people — through suffering and loss and pain — through the mud.

She’s had a lifetime enough of being seen as the ‘inferior people’, and she absently rubs her forearm — the faded inked numbers still scarred into her skin.

Erik gives her a half smile, “Yes, well I did try to save JFK. He was a mutant after all. But Nixon…,” Erik scowled, and oh Marya knew that look, “He was trying to eradicate all of us just because we were born with a gift! Trying to kill us like cattle to slaughter and we are the Homo superiors — the next step in evolution!”

“Chill it with the speech Magneto.” Marya said dryly, “And sit your ass down, or is talking to your ex-human-sister-in-law too demeaning for you?”

Erik paused, his skin heated with embarrassment, and gracefully sat down, “My apologies Marya. I’m just rather… passionate about mutant rights as all mutants should be.”

“Yeah, well after seeing you talk all about your superiority on live-television in front of my mutant son who happens to love his very human little sister and mom, Peter wasn’t exactly in agreement with you.” Marya responded with a bit of a bite.

Erik sighs, “I never have the right words. Magna surely would have.” Then, he grimaces, “My latest wife that is, not that my first wife wouldn’t have. She would have just been-”

“A spit-fire.” Marya laughs, “Yeah Wanda inherited that from her.”

Erik perks up, “Wanda?”

Marya’s face pales and she bites her lip, “Peter’s twin.” She looked down, shallowing hard.

“I’m sorry,” Erik says, knowing all too-well that like his Nina her Wanda died, “Nina was only eight.”

“Wanda was twelve.”

Marya sighs and looks over to Erik. She sees so much of the man, her brother-in-law, that she once knew. There’s still that anger coiled in his veins, but there’s also that deep-rooted anguish and love for his family.

“Max, I have something to tell you.” Marya said, straightening her back. She knows that Peter desperately wanted his father to know of their relationship — how he spoke up it with such longing, but was afraid of her reaction when she demanded he stay away.

This is her duty to her son, and it’s Erik’s choice how he'll react after. She just hopes she’s right about this, as much as part of her is screaming not not saying anymore.

“Peter and Wanda were Magna’s Erik.” Marya spoke, her words like an admission of guilt.

Erik stood stoically freezing in place, his face impassive — not letting an ounce of… anything through.

Marya looked at the man sadly, “She didn’t know she was pregnant at the time, but then… the fire happened and you left and she was scared.”

“Then, nine months Wanda Marya Maximoff was born first followed by Pietro Django Maximoff. And God,” Marya let out a wet chuckle, “Wanda looked so much like Anya, and Peter was a mini-you minus his brown eyes and nose.”

Erik let out a stuttering breath — he felt like he'd just been punched as he listened to Marya. Even if he wished to rage against her words, deny it all. He knows it’s true.

And just like that he feels grief overwhelm him. Another child died, and he never even knew her. His daughter. A son was almost killed because of him.

Anya, Nina, Wanda, Pietro.

Their names like a damnation upon him.

Anya.

His oldest daughter disappeared before his eyes like ash. Dark charcoal leaving nothing of her beautiful smile behind. Only screams that haunted his nightmares.

He feels Marya’s arms wrap around him as he lets out choking, raspy, sobs.

Nina.

His youngest’s eyes turned vividly blue in fear as he tried to appeal to the human authority. But she couldn’t control her powers and her blue eyes dimmed as her blood soaked the ground. Just gone.

He feels her tears wet his shirt, and just-like-always he pulls away.

Wanda.

Wanda, another child. A daughter he only knew by name, but he can imagine her playing with her sisters. Wracking up some mischievous scheme with her twin.

Pietro.

His son. His alive son.

He hardly knows what he’s doing as he storms around Charles’ mansion, until he finds himself outside the medical bay.

Not even noticing as Marya followed close behind.

Erik looks at the unconscious boy — no man, no matter how young he still is, he’s an adult now (twenty-six years of never knowing, of being in his own son’s life) — and he allows himself to see himself in his own son. They have the same cheekbones and chin, and his eyes curve just like his while his eyes and nose are all Magna’s. Along with his shock of silver-hair all his own that frames his young face.

This is his son.

Erik didn't notice when tears started falling down his eyes again or when Marya gripped his hand tightly, but he couldn’t stop.

He’s failed another child. He almost let his own son die.

Erik can hear his son’s screams as his bones were shattered… and Erik looked away, content to do nothing!

The metal begins to warp and rattle in his vicinity.

His son’s brow furrows in his sleep at the noise, and Erik takes a deep breath in and controls himself.

Perhaps, it was for the best that Erik never knew of their relationship — that the boy was kept hidden from it, or he would surely have been destroyed by being in Erik’s presence.

It was only when they were apart, after all, that let the boy live to adulthood — and only when Erik was around the boy that he was put in danger.

Really, how reckless was it to allow a sixteen year old to break a terrorist out of the pentagon? To break him out of the pentagon?

And then, because the boy was simply seeking Erik out, he almost died because Erik was wrapped in a foolish plot with a delusional ‘mutant god’.

It would be better for everyone involved if Erik simply stayed away.

“Dad?” A drowsy voice spoke, and Erik's eyes snapped into focus to clearly see his son.

His son’s brown eyes were clearly foggy, and he wasn’t all lucid with the frankly unbelievable amount of drugs being pumped through him to keep the pain away — but he still, on some level, recognized Erik.

He called him dad.

That word felt like an arrow through the heart and Erik didn’t have to think before he sat before his son’s bedside and gripped his limp hand, “Yes, Pietro, I’m here. Mein Sohn.”

Peter blinked slowly, his brow furrowed a bit in confusion before he smiled, “That’s good dad. Love you.”

Erik shakily breathed in, as his son’s eyes fluttered close, and he kissed his son’s brow, “I love you too my boy. Mein Wundersohn.”

Marya smiled at the precious moment and she-for-once would admit she was wrong about this. Erik would never harm Peter, and as Erik fell asleep at Peter’s bedside holding his son's hand like a lifeline, Marya knew she was leaving her son in good hands.

Notes:

I absolutely love how this turned out! Also, I am currently so obsessed with Dadneto so I was super excited that House of Dadneto 2025 event is still ongoing!

Next Dadneto One-shot

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dandelion-blues · 5 minutes ago

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Someone, Somewhere, Right Now

{ @house-of-dadneto }

Now on ao3

Summary:

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m full.” Peter exclaimed, a full grin upon his face, as he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes in bliss. He would have broken someone out of the pentagon sooner if it meant eating like that again!

Of course, the teen, thus missed the concerned looks that all the adults gave each other at such a remark.

Somehow, this leads to Pietro spilling his guts, because no one will ever blame his wonderful mother. Magna Maximoff is a saint, and it's not her fault Pietro probably eats enough to feed a whole football team.

Unfortunately, Erik did not get the memo that he had a son, but he'll do his best to be there for him know. And giving his son a hug and a talk about how wonderful he is isn't a bad way to start.

Embrace

Peter wasn’t asking for a lot of thanks for literally saving everyone’s asses. I mean moving bullets and knocking out all those guards—anyone!

At least Claws, Logan, whatever, gave Peter a thank you. But really, what Peter really wants for his epicness is some food.

C’mon he’s fifteen and his superspeed burns up a lot of calories. A man’s gotta eat after all!

So, when he’s jammed in-between Claws and Magnets (Erik yeesh, hope this terrorist isn’t the guy mom was talking about) he practically begs high-as-kites Hippy Dude (Charles, and that sounds like a snobby British name if Peter’s ever heard one. Not that he can complain since his birth name is Pietro. Ugh, talk about a name that everyone makes fun of! Kids are not nice!) and Glasses (Hank, honestly he’s just a normal nerd) to pull over for some fast food because, once again he is starving!!!

Anyways, Peter eventually convinced (more like worn down) everyone to get him some food. And man, God bless McDonalds (whoever came up with those burgers, chicken nuggets, and fries knew what they were doing!).

Peter simply engorged himself on 6 burgers, 8 fires, and 40 chicken nuggets. Oh, and like 3 liters worth of sprite before he licked his lips and sat back with a sigh.

Ignoring the looks of disgust, awe, and disbelief that were thrown his way all throughout his feast.

Wow, for once he couldn’t eat a single more morsal. That’s never happened before!

Of course, the teen, thus missed the concerned looks that all the adults gave each other at such a remark.

Hank decided to speak up, adjusting his glasses as he gave a quick glance to the backseat from the driver’s side, “Peter… you’ve never been full before?”

Peter blinked his eyes open, his stomach full and his thoughts calm for once as he practically sat in a food coma.

“I mean I’m sure I have when I was little,” Peter worded out slowly and unsure, “But I can hardly remember a time before I was fast.”

Charles spoke up, “You mean before your mutation activated. What age was that?”

Pietro signed, relaxing into his seat, “I don’t know like six, seven? A decade ago man.”

‘That’s so young,’ Charles thought alarmed.

Erik looked over to the young man concerned, “How old are you now?”

Charles sent Erik a sharp look, likely to retort about not recruiting teens for his Brotherhood.

“Almost sixteen!” Peter said happily, “As of March 12th I’ll be able to get my license. I’m super stoked!”

Erik returned a scathing glare to Charles and practically spit out, “You sent a fifteen year old to break a terrorist out of the pentagon!”

“Hey man!” Peter called out but was ignored as the two once-friends-and-lovers-turned-enemies argued.

“It wasn’t my idea!” Charles defended scandalized, “Ask Logan here!”

Logan simply pretended to sleep, snoring rather obnoxiously. It was clear he wasn’t in the mood to answer any questions.

“Don’t deflect your blame Charles!” Erik yelled, for some reason rather protective of the teen.

Logan seemed to snort a bit before going back to his loud snoring. While Hank just shook his head and stared straight ahead, determined to drive without getting distracted.

Peter simply watched as the two adults went back and forth like an amusing tennis match.

(If the match was full of sexual tension and would likely end in some heated making out that is).

Charles rolled his eyes, “Really Erik? You want to talk about taking responsibility. You, who could never accept a peaceful life and one where not everyone is out to get you. Where dozens of innocent men died trying to protect Raven and the other’s when the old Brotherhood attacked! Where humans like Moira were working with and even liked us?!.”

“Moria shot you!” Erik yelled full of venom, his hatred for that woman clear even now. For hurting the man he loved.

“No! She shot you. You are the one that deflected the bullet that ultimately paralyzed me!” Charles roared back, his hurt still displayed as the man in the end held him oh so gently like he was a precious treasure, but then left him leaving him like some scorned widow.

Erik’s face flickered with shame and regret, and he breathed deeply in, “Charles, I’m sorry.” I’m sorry I couldn’t be the man you wanted me to be. That I left you that day. That I couldn’t just try and compromise.

Charles looked like he wanted to do anything but forgive Erik, but then he looked into his once friend’s eyes seeing the deep sincerity and regret in those blues.

The ex-telepath sighed, “My apologies Erik, I know it was an accident. I shouldn’t have said that.” Charles never truly blamed Erik for that, but his lover leaving and finding himself unable to walk again was a kind of hell that he never wanted to fall into again.

Erik shook his head, “No you were right to.” He hurt the man he loved after all.

Then, before the two could say more, because Peter couldn’t hold in his question anymore, “Wait you're paralyzed?! How?! Sorry, but just you’re walking, right? Unless I’m crazy. Did I somehow manage to imagine this whole thing? That’s a new level of crazy if that’s the case. I mean-"

“Peter!” Charles interrupted the teen’s rambling, “Yes, I’m paralyzed. Hank managed to come up with a treatment for my spinal injury though, so I could walk.”

Peter nodded his head, “Oh, that makes sense!”

Hank sighed in relief as the tension seemed to finally completely dissipate, and now his scientific mind could finally address his concerns with the teen’s appetite now, “So Peter, do you usually eat that much?” Wow, Hank, that was an awkward way to bring back the topic.

Peter looked at Glasses a bit weirdly before shrugging, “I mean I guess not. I mean I eat a lot, but I’ve never bothered to keep track. I probably have like a million meals a day, and well,” Peter fidgeted a bit in his seat, a bit embarrassed, “I steal most of my food since Mom, ya know, can’t exactly afford to pay for all the food I need to consume.”

Peter rushed out, though, before anyone could say anything, “But don’t blame her. My mom’s the best mom that could mom. She really does her best. I mean I’m a complete loser who can barely pass my classes, and ya know she’s an immigrant from Transia, and not a lot of white-pricket fenced Americans are exactly nice to immigrants let alone a Romani and a single mom at that!”

Peter sighed reminiscing, “I barely remember Transia, but I remember coming to America. God, by then my silver hair was fully in! I used to have auburn hair man! Like Magnets here,” Peter gestured to Erik.

“And, everything was just so slow all the time. I mean it still is, but I just didn’t understand it then — my powers, or mutation, then. I couldn’t sit still or talk slowly, or normal I guess, and I was hungry all the time!” Peter let out with frustration.

“Mom practically worked herself to the bone to provide for me. I mean I can’t imagine the food bill alone, and I was tiny back then. I didn’t eat nearly as much!” Peter sighed frustrated with himself.

“And that’s not coming up with all the other stupid shit I did. I mean I was just a stupid kid with weird hair and an accent coming to America, and kids of course made fun of me. And the teacher demanded I speak proper English.”

Peter scoffed, “Like I wasn’t fluent in speaking English, German, and Polish, and still, ya know, learning to read and write properly. But just because I had a bit of an accent and didn’t accept any of the other kids bullying — I was the delinquent kid!”

Peter signed. “And don’t even get me started on the butchering of my birth name. It’s really not that hard to say Pietro Maximoff, is it?!”

Erik choked at the name (it couldn’t be right? Not the same Magna Maximoff. Surely, not his ex-wife.).

Peter simply continued, not noticing Magnet's weird reaction, “But wherever, I’m cool with Peter now, even prefer it most of the time after all these years.”

“So yeah, my mom’s amazing! So don’t blame her for thinking she’s starving me!” Peter glared at all the adults around him — fiercely protective of his mom.

Erik decided to speak up first, “She sounds lovely, child. Was she…” Erik swallows, “Is your mom’s name Magma Maximoff per chance?”

The only sound could be heard was the car’s hum, and even Logan’s faux snores completely stopped as everyone held their breaths.

Peter looked wide-eyed at the man — his neurons firing at rapid rates, pulling things together much faster than anyone else. For all everyone claims he is stupid — it’s just everything is so slow for him, but if he’s allowed to think and work as fast as he can there’s nothing that would stop him from figuring things out.

And there’s certainly nothing stopping him from connecting his mom’s words of knowing a man that could control metal.

Of comforting a young Pietro with silver hair on his freakish nature by explaining that he’s simply gifted like a man she knew long ago. Of how his mom’s eyes crinkled with bittersweet joy as she told Pietro of the man’s gifts and how he inherited special traits like that man.

God, Pietro really is stupid isn’t he.

“My mom knew a man who could control metal,” Pietro chokes out, his words losing a more of his American accent the further he spoke, “My mom is Magna Maximoff, survivor of the holocaust. A Romani woman who fell in love with a Jewish man when they escaped. When they fled to Transia and had my oldest sister Anya. When everything all fell apart in a fire, killing my sister. And then my mom fled unknowingly pregnant because the man, my father, was out for vengeance.”

Erik had tears streaming down his face like comets — wishes that never came true, of candles blown out that he never witnessed.

“Oh, my son.” Erik practically sobbed, “I’m so sorry. If I knew, I would have never left your mother and you.”

Pietro’s lip wobbled, but he steeled himself desperately trying to claw the feeling of shame of crying in front of others. His ex-stepfather’s words echoing in his head that men don’t cry, “Words mean nothing, old man.”

Erik’s eyes, though full of tears, were full of ironed steel — an unrusted edge even as time stood against him, true and honest and strong, “You are my son, and nothing would have kept me from you had I known. Nothing would have kept me from loving you.”

Pietro felt tears leaking in his eyes and wetly said, “You can’t say that!” He yelled full of self deprecation. “I’m a screw up, good-for-nothing asshole. I am a moron who can’t sit still and-”

“You are mein Sohn.” Erik said full of conviction, and Pietro couldn’t stand that look full of pride and love, but Erik gently tilted the teen’s face to face him, “And there is nothing that would keep me from loving you.”

Tears escaped Pietro’s eyes and he tried to stop them, but they just kept coming.

“And you are a brilliant young man with an amazing gift,” Erik smiled a genuine and true smile held for his most precious gift, “After all, I don’t think just anyone would be able to get me out of the Pentagon in mere seconds and save everyone on top of that. So thank you, mein kostbarster Sohn.”

My most precious son.

Pietro, no longer able to hold himself back, crashed in his dad’s open arms. And despite himself, found himself crying on his dad’s shirt, just glad that he was hidden from view, for as long as he was in his dad’s arms nothing would harm or judge him there.

This is what it felt like to be hugged by a father. To be loved by a father.

Pietro sobbed and hugged his dad back tighter, and his dad gripped back just as tight. Father and son together again, and for once everything in the world was just right.

Notes:

So happy with this! I honestly love this so much! I can't wait to write more Dadneto stuff!

First - Next Dadneto One-shot

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