Tomorrow When I Might Lose You.

Do not blame me.
I spent one whole night writing this,
And literally slept AFTER prayed Subuh.

And oh yeah,
While my mind going crazy writing fanfiction,
Technology for Education paper starts tomorrow.

How messed up am I?
REALLY MESSED UP.

Steve talks to Peter why he and Dad are always being grossly-shamelessly lovey dovey with each other.

Peter's parents may have been superheroes, but they were still complete weirdos.

"That can't be actually comfortable." His parents didn't respond. "Seriously? Is it even possible to fall asleep like that?"

When his parents remained unconscious, he slammed the front door shut behind him for good measure. They both startled awake from their position on the couch, Dad half under Pops but with both legs hoisted up over one side of Pops' waist, Pops half on top of Dad with his face buried in Dad's shoulder, legs dangling off the couch, and both arms around and under Dad.

"I'm awake!" Dad pinwheeled, his arms spinning wildly as the slam of the door woke him. He was about to fall off the couch, but Pops yanked him back.

"Whazzit?" Pops glanced up, blearily in spite of his immediate reflex to haul Dad back onto the couch. "Oh. Hey, Pete. School out early?"

"It's four in the afternoon. And those are some real ninja reflexes you guys got going on there." Peter rolled his eyes. "Total mystery how I never guessed your secret identities."

"To be fair." Dad raised a finger. "I'm pushing forty—"

"By which you mean fifty," Peter corrected.

"Though you only look thirty." Pops kissed Dad's cheek.

"Great, Captain America's a liar, another thing to add to my scrapbook." Peter snorted.

"That wasn't a lie, you sassmonster, I am stunning." Dad scowled at him. "The point is that I am pushing an age we can all agree I do not look, and I fought a super villain a week ago. I'm allowed to be tired."

"It's four in the afternoon. You're napping." Peter made a face. "Couldn't you at least have used your own bed?"

"We were watching a movie," Dad defended, "And I was kidnapped twice last week, there are extenuating circumstances."

Pops tightened the arm he had around Dad's waist, but Peter only rolled his eyes.

"Kinda sounds like your own fault." Peter hummed. "I only got kidnapped once."

"Are we sure he's not related to you somehow?" Dad demanded of Pops, "Because that sounds exactly like your sass."

"Funny. He sounds like you, to me." Pops leaned in, and Peter made a face that did absolutely nothing to stop his eternally-honeymooning parents from kissing in the living room.

"I'm going to the kitchen." Peter declared. Still kissing. Great. "Not that you care. I'm also dropping out of school to fight evil, by the way, say nothing if you're okay with it."

"Even Spider-boys need their education," Pops just called after him.

"Spider-Man," Peter complained, "Come on."

"Whatever you say, webhead." Dad chuckled.

"Congratulations." Peter emerged from the kitchen with a banana, to find them no farther apart than when he'd walked in. Why couldn't he have normal parents, or at least parents who didn't mind giving each other an inch of space every once in a while? "You've managed to make having superhero parents as completely boring and totally mortifying as having normal ones. I'm going to my room."

"You can call us superparents if it makes you feel better," Dad teased, striking a dramatic pose with one fist the air and the other planted on his hip. Peter groaned.

How was this the guy from the comic books? Iron Man was supposed to be a tortured soul, an antihero with a guilt complex and a drinking problem. Dad was a fast-talking, carefree goofball, and Peter wasn't sure he'd ever seen him drink in his entire life. Not to mention, the last thing Dad had was any kind of guilt complex. Dad never cared what anyone thought; not when it came to how he appeared to the public, not when it came to acting like a honeymooner all the damn time, not when it came to embarrassing the crap out of Peter at every given opportunity. He did what he wanted, he always had.

Peter just couldn't see it. He gave a sigh at his parents general…ness, and headed to his room. Pops gave him a strangely contemplative sort of look as he left, but Peter ignored it and went off to finish the layout for the yearbook pages he was supposed to turn in by Friday.

When he came back later to use the TV and saw Pops already using it, he figured he'd just go back to his room and play some videogames. Instead, without turning around, Pops clicked the TV off and waved the remote in a come here gesture. Peter blinked in surprise, and Pops chuckled.

"Superhearing. How do you think we always caught you sneaking out?"

"Guess you're not gonna have to hide that sort of stuff anymore, huh?" Peter mused.

"No." Pops smiled, but it faded quickly. "Take a seat for a moment, Peter."

"Okay." Peter did, but he heard something strange in Pops' voice. "Why? Am in trouble? Uh, more trouble?"

"No." Pops shook his head. "I want you to think about this, Peter: if Emma had died, how would you feel?"

"I—" Peter swallowed hard, the thought of it strange and uncomfortable to even consider. "Uh, I—I don't know."

"Even if you could have done nothing, you would feel incredibly guilty. You would replay everything you could've done over in your head, come up with hundreds of ways it all could've gone differently. You would tell yourself it wasn't your fault, and you would take out all the rage building inside you on whoever had killed her, or the next best victim, but you would still feel that the blame fell solely on you, because there had to have been a way to protect her, and you didn't find it."

The words rolled off Pops' tongue easily, and it startled Peter how morbid he was being until it dawned on him how very many people Captain America must have lost. In the war, by coming to the future, on Avengers missions…Peter swallowed, hard.

"I'm sorry, Papa."

"You haven't called me that in a very long time." Pops smiled at him softly, then leaned forward enough to pat Peter's knee. "I don't mean to scare you, or make you feel guiltier than you do. I'm telling you this because I see the disdainful looks you give me and your father."

"They're not disdainful," Peter denied with a wince, but when he looked up Pops didn't seem angry, exactly. Mostly commanding. Kind of like seeing him in the suit, just a little. "Okay, sometimes. You're just…it's weird, I mean, you're my parents."

"We are. But we're people, too." Pops gave a small chuckle. "I understand we're not like your friend's parents, but you need to understand that we're not your friend's parents. I never said anything before because as long as you didn't know who we were, there wasn't anything to say. But you know who we are now, Peter. The things we've done? I've lost track of how many times I've almost lost your father, and that terrifies me. That terrifies me more than anything in this world. It's a fear I'll never forget, and it makes me deeply appreciative of what I have."

Peter thought about that, for a moment. Emma was his sister so it wasn't like he was going to go around kissing her or anything like Dad and Pops, but…he'd hugged her a lot more since it all, and their talking-to-fighting ratio had definitely shifted. It was the same with Rowan, too, and even the adults. He could sort of understand what Pops meant about appreciation; it was like that saying, about not knowing what you have until it's gone. Or, he supposed the superhero version would be more along the lines of 'you don't know what you have until they almost die like four times in an hour'.

"I could've lost your father just a few days ago." Pops shook his head as if he hated the very thought. "I could lose him tomorrow, should another villain from our past decide it's time for Act II. You'll forgive my embarrassing you if I give him a proper kiss when he comes home instead of a disinterested hello from across the house. It took an experimental drug, a crashed plane, seventy years in the Arctic Circle, a well-timed expedition, and the world's first alien invasion just for me to meet him; I learned and I learned real quick that if you love someone and you have the luxury of holding them in your arms, you damn well do so every chance you get."

"I think I get it. I mean, it's still weird to see," Peter admitted, "But I get it. More, anyway."

"I don't know what's so weird about it." Pops gave a huff, though he seemed more chagrined than stern now. "You have parents who love each other, that's hardly a bad thing. Even when you were younger and didn't understand the concept of knocking, it's not as if you've ever run into us indisposed, or even with wandering hands—"

"Ew, god, this is worse, stop talking—"

"I'm only saying you're surprisingly prudish for a Stark," Pops teased him.

"Weren't you born in the forties?" Peter shot him a baffled look. "What're you calling me prudish for?"

"I couldn't have held your father's hand in the forties, much less anything else." Pops gave a rueful sort of sigh. "I don't miss the forties. I miss the people I lost, but I gained a lot of people, too. You know, I've been in this time longer than I was in that one. Still get called the man out of time, but this time has been my home for a while now."

"This is the weirdest conversation I think I've ever had."

"If you're serious about being a superhero, you'll learn soon enough there's no such thing as 'weirdest'." Pops only chuckled. "Something stranger will always come along."

"Wait. If I'm serious? You mean, I could be a…?" Peter's eyes went wide.

"Not until you're at least twenty-one," Dad said from across the room. Peter turned to see him coming in from the hallway. "And not without extensive training. Also, I want a look at those web-shooters of yours, I saw them jam a few times and if you're going out on the streets with those things you're not falling to your death doing it."

"Yes!" Peter leap up over the back of the couch, charging up to hug his dad as tightly as he could. "Thank you thank you thank you, I promise I'll—"

"I don't know what you're so excited about, you're not swinging anywhere for at least another four years." Dad just snorted. "And in the meantime, Clint fights dirty, your Pops is surprisingly vicious, and Natasha will go for the family jewels if you don't take her seriously. Training isn't half as fun as it sounds."

"It's starting to occur to me that everyone in this family could totally kill me."

"Pretty much." Dad shrugged.

"Tony." Pops shot him a look.

"Hey, don't look at me." Dad put his hands in the air innocently. "I'd disagree, but Alexander fried Hammer. I hear he lost brain cells."

"I wasn't aware he had them," Pops grunted.

"Cute." Dad leaned over the back of the couch, tugged Pops into a brief kiss.

"Welp, I'm going to study now…" Peter started backing out of the room. "See you."

"Okay?" Dad seemed confused by his hasty retreat, but Pops just gave him a smile, knowing full well Peter was just giving them space to enjoy their boring, cuddly parent shtick on their own.

"Dinner's at seven."

"You got it." Peter turned, shot him a salute and a grin. "Cap."