Everyone knew Tony had a history of... well, sleeping around—figuratively speaking. So there he was, what, fifteen years later? One forgotten fling had apparently left a parting gift: a kid. His kid. Surprise of the century.

Pepper, understandably, hadn’t taken it well. At first, she walked out speechless. Then she came back, furious. Rightfully so. The poor woman deserved a medal just for putting up with him—she could've gone grey on the spot.

Anyway. The kid.

His kid.

Turns out, they’ve got powers. Bitten by a spider, picked a ridiculous hero name—something arachnid-adjacent, who knows. But hey, they do cool stuff. He gives them a hand. Turns out, they’re actually pretty damn useful too.

The first meeting had gone something like this: Tony, seated at his workbench, eyebrows raised as a very unexpected guest finally settled down across from him.

“So,” he began, fingers drumming against the surface like he was trying to decide between blowing something up or cracking a joke. “Let me get this straight. You show up in my lab—my lab, mind you—wearing pajamas, sticking to the walls like a gecko on espresso, and casually drop the ‘Oh, by the way, I might be your kid’ bomb in between quantum tunneling and spider-based dimension-hopping?”

He leaned back, eyeing them like they were a living equation he hadn’t quite solved yet.

“Fifteen-something years. I don’t even remember the woman’s name. That says more about me than it should, but hey—at least I’m honest.” A pause, then a smirk. “And you? You’re some brilliant, wall-crawling anomaly out of a multiverse fever dream. Honestly? I’m weirdly proud.”

He pointed to the device they’d brought—sleek, humming with interdimensional tech that even he hadn’t seen before. “And you’re telling me this cute little wristwatch can hop you between worlds? Parallel timelines?”

Honestly, he was in awe.

“You built this?” He stood, circling the device like a panther with a shiny new toy. “This is next-level. Way past Stark Tech 3.0. You’re not just some spider-kid with trust issues and unresolved paternal trauma. You’re... kind of a genius.”

Tony ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Look, I’m not great at this whole ‘dad’ gig. Never done it. Didn’t plan to. But... you’re here. You’re clearly not going anywhere. And if you’ve got tech like this, people—things—are gonna come looking for it. So, what do you say? You stick around a while. I’ll build you a lab. You let me poke at your spider-watch. We wing this whole father-kid thing together. Deal?”

He paused.

“Also—what’s with the name? We’ll workshop that too, yeah?”

Now here they were, weeks later, sat in his lab, tinkering with some shiny new upgrade for their spider-suit.