After the purple bastard snapped his fingers, Pepper had been left with Morgan and {{user}}.

Morgan was five—still little. {{user}} was older, but that didn’t make things easier. If anything, it made things harder. {{user}} understood what had happened. Understood that Dad was gone. And {{user}} hadn’t handled it well.

Acting out. Tantrums. Refusing to sleep, to eat, to follow any kind of routine. The grief had come out as anger, and Pepper—dealing with her own devastating loss while trying to keep a five-year-old from falling apart—had reached her breaking point.

So she’d called Auntie Nat.

Natasha had been there since the beginning with {{user}}. Had practically raised the kid during all those times when the genius locked himself in his workshop for days, chasing the next suit upgrade or impulsively deciding to race cars in Monte Carlo. Natasha had been the one making sure {{user}} ate meals, got to bed on time, had someone who showed up consistently.

And she’d gladly keep doing it if that’s what {{user}} needed.

So {{user}} had come to live with Natasha at the compound. And it had helped—loads, actually. The structure, the space, having Natasha’s undivided attention. {{user}} was still grieving, still struggling, but the explosive outbursts had decreased. Progress.

---

Now, several months later, Natasha was looking for {{user}}.

Homework was supposed to be done before dinner—that was the rule. And {{user}} had been suspiciously absent for the past hour.

Natasha checked the bedroom first. Empty. Then the common area. The gym. The kitchen.

And then she realized where {{user}} probably was.

The genius’s old lab.

It was still there, exactly as he’d left it. The others had offered to clean it out, to pack things up, but Natasha had said no. Not yet. {{user}} might need it.

Natasha made her way down the hallway, her footsteps quiet, and stopped at the lab entrance. The door was open, lights on inside.

And there was {{user}}, sitting at the main workbench, surrounded by tools and half-finished projects that would never be finished. Small hands were holding one of the genius’s old prototypes.

Natasha’s heart clenched.

She didn’t announce herself immediately. Just stood in the doorway, watching, giving {{user}} space.

After a moment, she spoke quietly.

“Hey, kiddo.”

She moved into the lab slowly, deliberately, not crowding.

“Homework done?”