Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I.

“This is what happens when you try to be the hero, kid.”

“All the heroes are dead.”

But then Peter was alive.

He could pinpoint the exact moment he drew air into his lungs. The exact moment his chest expanded, and he reached out with flailing hands, trying to find something to hold onto but nothing would make contact.  Peter felt like a balloon ready to float away if he didn’t tie down and grip, and become whole. His body jolted, practically seized and then there were hands wrapping around his wrists, his forearms. They were shoved back down beside him, and held there. He knew people were speaking. They were talking much too quickly for him to comprehend, but his eyes weren’t opening, though he was almost certainly screaming.

Peter screamed again, and again, and he thrashed madly, begging for someone to release him, but he could tell by their voices they were not speaking to him. There was this feeling underneath his skin that he did not recognize, like being emptied out but swollen and not right. Not in his own flesh with broken bones and wounds that were removing any chance of life that he had. It was something that some people would consider trivial, but Peter had felt so much after the spider bite that now anything that touched him felt heavier than it should have. Felt more intense, sounded louder, and tasted more bitter.

Once, when he had gotten a tooth pulled, he had woken from the anesthetic so out of it that he had pulled a needle from his arm and even though he had been drugged up, he could still remember his aunt’s horrified shouting and his uncle having to hold him so he wouldn’t run from the bed, and down the corridors of the dentist’s surgical office. He had been nine then, and now older it was the same, except it didn’t feel like he had an ounce of pain medicine inside of him, the intense throbbing behind his skull showing itself to be a real threat to the rest of him. It was reanimating, coming to life, but heroes weren’t truly dead, they never really were. Peter appreciated that about story books. Nothing was ever set in stone, because that was what real life was. It was stone.

When his eyes finally did open, in a less than poetic way, not the sort of eye opening moment that drew symphonies, but rather one that pulled out all the bloody gore that was behind them. The light above his head was like the sun, a blinding star threatening him and blocking it partially was a man’s face.

“He’s way too out of it!”

“I told you we shouldn’t be doing this, Director Fury was ridiculous to give this order – “

“Director Fury is in charge…We do what he says. End of story.”

Peter shot forward, into a sitting position and pain bloomed through every muscle in his body. Systemic, top to bottom. Mister Stark’s voice rang out, but Mister Stark was not there. Peter was completely and utterly alone, screaming his throat raw and it felt like he had swallowed shards of glass and was still expected to breathe past it. There were other horrible things in life, but this was topping the list, smothered in blood and Peter could smell it everywhere. Whether it was his heightened senses or he was bleeding out, he didn’t know.

Fire. Hair. Blood. Metal.

Smoke, smoke, smoke…

A cruel laugh.

“All the heroes are dead.”

“Or they end up that way.”

The man’s face that had been above him came into focus. Something pricked his neck and the world blurred around the edges and Peter’s mouth tasted like metal. He felt like vomiting, but only for a moment because he was falling backward onto the metal tabletop, mind whirling and twisting and he missed something that he didn’t know. His heart ached in the way it had after Uncle Ben had been buried. Like a longing that would never be delivered upon.

Maybe all the heroes were dead, but Peter was not.

Dead people didn’t miss things, they were missed.

…

II.

When he woke the second time, things were much clearer.

There was this moment of pure terror, that was shrouded in what he could only assume was some sort of sedative. Because Peter knew he was afraid. He was afraid of the strong smell of antiseptic. He was afraid of the white walls and the fact that his bed and the machines were the only things in the room with him. Needles were taped to the top of his hand, IVs and wires covered his chest underneath a hospital gown.

He was afraid, and he didn’t know what of.

The smell was burning his nose though, and his body felt so heavy he could barely lift his head from off the mattress. It was propped up enough to see a door at the very foot of his bed though and the room was rather small, with no windows, making him feel increasingly distressed. A million scenarios tried to run through his head but whatever drugs they had him on, he could barely feel afraid. He knew he was. He knew he was scared, but he couldn’t feel properly and that was probably what disturbed him most of all.

Peter looked at his hands. They were not covered in blood and he didn’t know why he thought they would be. In fact he was perfectly clean, no wounds apparent, making him wonder why he was attached to so many monitors, why he had an IV, why he had been on some sort of surgical table earlier when things had been so terrifying and he hadn’t been able to scream as much as he wanted. His throat was sore, his body ached, but there were no wounds.

There was an overflow of perplexing thoughts.

He felt so small. Not like fifteen, but smaller. His body seemed thinner and he wondered if maybe he had been out for longer than he thought. He was briefly struggling to connect dots of how he even ended up there, tried to pry more at the voice he had heard in that world between being awake and asleep. It eluded him greatly though and to the best of his ability he was unable to capture it and tie it up. Conundrums had always fascinated him, but Peter did not wish to be one. His life was one enough, with Aunt May and Ned and his secret, and not telling her, hiding from the school, skipping classes.

Vulture.

Oh shit.

Toomes…The plane. Homecoming and leaving Liz.

If Peter had, had the strength he would have shot forward with the sudden panic that enveloped him. He recalled most of it. Leaving the dance, the building dropping on him, the plane crashing and then…And then it was mostly blurry. Sand, he remembered having sand in his mouth and eyes, having to pull his mask off to breathe and all of it falling out. Thinking of how he was going to get out of there alive, and clearly he had, but oh shit. He was probably in so much trouble. Had anyone stopped Toomes?

Did he get away?

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin when the door to the room opened suddenly and a man appeared. Peter didn’t recognize him, and he supposed he wasn’t a doctor or a nurse because he was wearing a black suit and loafers. Peter tried to push himself up onto his elbows, and he didn’t know if he was suddenly afraid or not, but the man looked mild enough and not at all threatening in the way he looked at Peter. His gaze was sort of soft but professional and Peter knew immediately there must have been a purpose to his entrance.

Still, the boy struggled to sit up, but the man entered the room further and held out a hand, “Don’t try to get up. We don’t want a repeat of earlier.”

Peter paused. He wondered if this guy had been there then when Peter had woken so blearily. When he had been pricked in the neck and then the warmth had spread over him. But Peter slowly let himself fall back into his propped-up position, though he could not completely relax as the stranger came into the room further, shutting the door behind himself. There was this odd silence exchanged between the two of them and the man came towards Peter before standing to the right of the bed.

There was no awkward craning of his neck there and the man held out his hand and introduced, very formally, “I’m Phil Coulson, an agent of SHIELD. I was assigned to your case by Director Fury.”

“Director Fury,” Peter echoed, eyes going wide, taking the hand in a shaky limb, though only briefly. He vaguely knew of SHIELD, of Fury, or that world, but only what had passed across the television screen. SHIELD was top secret after all and they didn’t go prancing around. They usually blamed most of their antics on military testing, but Peter knew better, he was a skeptic after all. Peter swallowed past the lump in his throat, it had formed and his heart started to race with a sudden panic, “M-My case? What’s my case?”

There was a pause, then, “SHIELD looks after most of the affairs of altered-humans.”

That’s when the racing in Peter’s heart stopped and he swore he could have flatlined.

His mouth went dry and suddenly he felt very exposed and violated, eyes glancing around the room, almost madly while he searched for an excuse, but could someone lie to a special agent? Could you lie to SHIELD? Peter’s face was burning, whether with frustration or embarrassment he didn’t know. Something about being called an ‘altered-human’ didn’t sit well in his bones and suddenly, he thought maybe they had been experimenting on him when he had woken.

Maybe they had dissected him.

He jumped when Agent Coulson put a hand on his shoulder and reassured, “Don’t worry, Peter. We’ve known for some time.”

“H…How?”

The man didn’t reply immediately. He actually casted Peter a sorry glance, and Peter didn’t feel like he liked that very much, his body going from panicked to uneasy. But it was better than being looked at coldly, Peter didn’t want to feel like a lab rat, poked and prodded in his sleep and not having a say in what they had done to him. His hands were shaking as Agent Coulson asked him, his voice altering, as if speaking to a child and Peter hated feeling so young.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Peter blinked.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure. He remembered the plane…Part of the beach. He remembered feeling so hot, like he was going to combust, and then pain, so much, as if ripping out his intestines and spilling over the sand. Something from a scary movie, if Toomes had just cut him out. Scarier than opening the door to pick Liz up and seeing the man’s face behind it, looking at him, smirking, like he had been cornered. None of his past experiences could compare, and having a building dropped on him didn’t exactly assist.

Peter breathed softly, “A plane…crashing…And I was fighting a man named Toomes…He was going to steal Mister Stark’s stuff.”

Phil Coulson grimaced and Peter’s stomach fluttered with worry, because he didn’t know why. Maybe he had answered wrong, but that was truly what he remembered. He felt like he was failing a test of sorts, but Agent Coulson only sucked in a deep breath and looked…terribly sorry. Until the expression faded and it was replaced by something more clinical. Like a doctor about to tell his patient they were dying and Peter felt like he was dying but also felt okay in the same instance. So why, why, why –

“How old are you, Peter? What year is it?”

“I-I-I,” Peter stuttered, so afraid of getting the answer wrong, “I’m…fifteen…It’s 2016…”

Was he wrong?

He couldn’t be, he had just had homecoming, he knew what year it was, he knew how old he was. He had, had to correct Mister Stark just a few days ago about it because he kept calling him fourteen, even though he knew very well Peter’s birthday had been a month ago in August. Mister Stark had gotten Happy to bring him a suit upgrade and everything. It was all kind of frustrating suddenly, Peter knew he wasn’t wrong.

Agent Coulson reached out, and gripped his shoulder and Peter wanted to shy away from the touch, but didn’t.

“Peter,” The man started, sounding careful, “The year is 2021.”

And Peter…Peter let out a startled laugh, which maybe wasn’t appropriate, but this had to be a joke. Maybe some kind of punishment for going after Toomes and crashing the plane. The startled laugh turned into one that was almost hysterical, but it never got louder than some simple chuckles and Peter shaking his head back forth, almost entertained in a sullen sort of way. A terrified sort of way. Because…2021? No, no, no…

Then it came.

Something much worse.

“You’ve been dead for five years.”

Dead.

Dead.

“All the heroes are dead.”

The voice, familiar, suddenly connected. It was Toomes’ voice. Somewhere in a distant memory and Peter yanked his shoulder away from Agent Coulson, newfound strength hovering within the fear that crashed into his body at lightning speed. There was this brief moment where panic set into his chest and Peter thought maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he’d wake up on the beach, or in his bed, or somewhere other than there in that room with Agent Coulson, panic setting into his bones like being injected with poison.

Peter shook his head, “What?”

“You have been dead for five years,” Coulson repeated, “The plane crash you recall…You and Adrian Toomes survived the initial impact…But Toomes mortally wounded you on that beach…You didn’t survive the night.”

Peter flung himself forward, the weight that had been holding him down disappearing instantly. Coulson didn’t even flinch though and instead grabbed his other shoulder, causing Peter to cringe at the sudden restraint. His heart, and air, and nothing was right and he definitely couldn’t have died. That didn’t make any sense, nothing was making sense and this guy had to be lying because if he was telling the truth then…then –

“No!” Peter shouted, eyes wide and pleading for Coulson to be honest, “No, no that doesn’t make any sense! I’m right here!”

Coulson tried to push him back towards the head of the bed, voice coming out calm and almost soothing, but none of this felt or seemed right and Peter wanted to choke, but he didn’t. He was just going to vomit everywhere as he was pressed to the mattress, but he should have been able to overpower Coulson, he should have been able to fight back but he couldn’t. Peter felt weak, and his strength wasn’t doing what he wanted it to do and he just needed to breathe, he needed to breathe…

It felt like his ribs were ready to shatter as the door opened and people were moving and once again, something was pricked inside of his neck by a pretty woman in scrubs and Peter felt like she could have been his aunt and in that moment that was all he wanted. He wanted Aunt May and he wanted to be home in their apartment. He wanted to be getting ready for school, to be annoyed he wasn’t an Avenger. To call Happy incessantly. To even get in trouble over the Ferry Boat Incident again. He just wanted to be anywhere but there.

The drugs made him not care again, and that seemed so much worse.

…

III.

The third time he woke up, he wasn’t alone.

This time Phil Coulson was already there, standing in the corner of the room, but taking the place beside Peter’s bed, sitting on a small wooden chair, was a man Peter didn’t recognize for a moment. He had a patch over his eye and Peter had a sudden flashback to a haunted house when he was a kid and someone with an eye patch was chasing him with a giant hook for their hand and Peter’s heart fluttered a bit at the memory. But something more traumatic took its place, with the recollection of the conversation with Coulson instead taking hold of his memory and Peter wondered if that was even real.

His mind eventually made a connection though, between the eyepatch and the man’s face and a picture he had once seen on the news. Director Fury. Mostly top-secret stuff, but the time he had supposedly died had been pretty big information for some reason and sometimes government documents got leaked. Director Fury wasn’t exactly an invisible man to the public, his existence had been sort of theorized, but now he was sitting in front of Peter, his hands folded and his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward, very close to Peter’s face.

He leaned back a bit though and greeted, “There you go, kid. Welcome back.”

Welcome back…Welcome back? What a fucking joke. Peter’s shoulders stiffened, his mouth refusing to open, but he could feel his eyes burning with angry tears because there was so much he wanted to say. He was tempted to scream actually, but he didn’t know if his body could take it. He felt heavy again, like he had last time he had woken up and being pumped full of drugs, even with his metabolism couldn’t have been doing a great thing to his body. He felt like he had a right to freak out without getting doped up. He had a right to punch these people in their stupid faces, because clearly…clearly they had done something awful.

Director Fury must have seen the rage in Peter’s expression, along with the unshed tears, because he let out a deep breath and shook his head much like someone guilty would do, but Peter had a feeling this guy had done much worse things and this was probably nothing. Bringing a random kid back from the dead? Simplistic. Easy. Just another Monday morning in his book, but to Peter…It was shredding him, ripping up seams that he didn’t even know existed inside of himself and bringing out a fear that was primal, an escape, desperation.

“I know you’re upset.”

Peter croaked, his voice hoarse from screaming, “You don’t know anything.”

To his surprise, there wasn’t argument. Just a simple glance towards Phil Coulson in the corner of the room before his half-covered gaze returned to Peter. If he was sorry, it didn’t show, it was more of a child caught stealing a candy bar look. Not true empathy, and Peter felt like he was drowning in this clinical work of agents just doing what they do. Was that all Peter was? An assignment.

“I assure you, this is not how we wanted to do this,” Director Fury tried again and if anything it made Peter twist more on the inside, “But this was how it had to be.”

Peter blinked several times, hands trembling and mouth giving way to wanting to cry so he looked in the opposite direction from the men at the wall. He shut his eyes tightly, because he wanted to handle this like a hero, to prove they weren’t all dead, but he felt hollow, and unmanaged. The hinges were tearing open and he was tempted to start clawing out his insides just to prove this was where he was, this was what he was, that he was alive, but had he even been dead in the first place?

Was he really supposed to believe that?

“You have to be lying,” Peter whispered, but didn’t look at them, “This isn’t real.”

He paused, his head whipping towards them as if a sudden realization had struck him. Neither men said anything to his previous statement and instead Peter veered off course, ordering, “Let me talk to my aunt…I-I need to talk to her, I need to see her.”

Director Fury held out a hand that was meant to be calming but it only made Peter flinch in surprise as he assured, “That will come in time. But you need an adjustment period…You’re a fifteen-year-old who just woke up in a world where everyone you know has grown…Has moved and mourned your loss. This is something that will take time. The world has been through a lot of trauma since you’ve died.”

“What kind of trauma?” Peter questioned.

A trauma for the whole world felt…Wrong. But Peter was wrong too, and it couldn’t have just been his death, the world didn’t care that much about Spider-Man, Spider-Man was some kid was from Queens. It had to be more. A cascade filtering into their lives that Peter had missed, if any of this was true. That was scary, to imagine a world altering event.

“War,” It was something ominous and stupid but it still terrified Peter as he didn’t understand, “There was a war…over six stones. A monster named Thanos murdered half the universe, but the Avengers were successful in undoing it. However…a teenager coming back to life probably isn’t the best thing to throw out there. People won’t react well to the knowledge that the dead can be revived.”

“So, you use a fifteen-year-old kid to be your trial run?” Peter snapped bitterly.

Fury shook his head and gestured to Coulson, “Actually, he was our trial run.”

Peter’s attention went towards Coulson in shock. He felt something cold in his spine suddenly and everything he knew, it was being questioned, because death was supposed to be permanent. And yet here was Peter, alive, and he should have been dead and he struggled with his memories, trying to find a moment where the world went black, but it wasn’t within him. There was only the twisting pain in his abdomen, the screaming and Toomes’ voice. Then emptiness and Peter didn’t want that. He wanted to know. He wanted desperately to understand what he couldn’t connect together in his mind through the void.

“We’ve recently tried to come into contact with Stark,” The name captured Peter’s focus instantly, eyes going wide as he looked at the director, “But he’s refusing all of our calls. We’re worried he may abandon the mission to protect the stones from anyone who may want to abuse them and recent intel has told us someone has already made an attempt on one of said stones. We need Stark’s compliance.”

Peter looked horrified, “So what? I-I’m a…I’m a hostage?”

“No,” Fury reassured, “But you are Stark’s motivation. We won’t inform him immediately your return, but you’re an important key in case of emergency. Stark hasn’t been the same since your murder and especially not since the war. If he continues to neglect his duties, that’s when you will come into play.”

There was tightness in Peter’s chest. He wanted to lash out, but the past two times he did that he ended up sedated. But his mind raced, at a million miles per hour, trying to process the words as they filtered down and into him. Right. Right. SHIELD was a government group, willing to do anything for the greater good. And Peter, even if he was a child, had been brought back to life for said greater good and he would be used for such as that.

Peter felt his fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palms, making his teeth feel like ice and he wished to slam his fist into Fury’s face so many times he would bleed and then maybe Peter would feel like he was getting what he deserved. Because right now, nothing was fair. This wasn’t fair and it was childish to think in such terms, but being horrified and unable to breathe were just things that crept into him like a penknife, his heart gushing with contempt.

“You’re supposed to be the good guys,” Peter whispered.

Director Fury made that face again, the guilty one.

“We are the good guys, Peter. But sometimes the good guys have to do what’s necessary to protect the masses.”

Chapter Text

Finding a therapist that specialized in relationships in New York wasn’t the hard part after a cancelled wedding and marital problems before a marriage had even taken place. In fact, it was very easy to find a therapist, he had a long line on speed dial. Maybe not those that specialized in relationships, but at least therapists that could get him in touch with those. No, none of that was the hard part for Tony, the hard part was actually sitting through the damn sessions.

He was relatively familiar with how therapists worked. The shit show his life had been, the PTSD following all of those black holes and memories…It was the kind of gripping existence that took place, but was drowned in things that were less than healthy. Things that ruined engagements, relationships, and landed him in couple’s therapy with the woman that he loved desperately, but sometimes love didn’t outweigh the struggles. After New York and Ultron their relationship had barely survived. But then…The other things. A homecoming dance and then a war brought on by a giant – purple – dickhead.

Tony supposed his hands would never stop shaking.

And he tried for Pepper, he really did, to stay engaged in the sessions. But they were hard, and worst of all, he wasn’t particularly fond of Doctor Burnbank. Not that Burnbank had ever done anything horrible to him, but Tony felt like she had a tendency to choose sides. But Pepper loved her, refused to switch to a new counselor, so there they were in that room again with Tony glaring at the floor, like a petulant child, leg bouncing impatiently because there were other things to do, but he loved Pepper, and what else was there in life than to fight for a relationship that had been ruined by grief, PTSD, and alcohol?

It was their fifth session with the woman and it was clear she thought she knew everything about Tony and had him down pat. A broken soldier, come back from war and was never the same, but the truth was, Tony had been broken beyond that before. The engagement had been an attempt to save his sanity, but that went out the window the moment Thanos’ goons touched down on earth. Then half the universe disappearing, bringing it back, and Tony had, had enough of his suffering. It wasn’t particularly fair, but not many things were when one was a Stark.

Clearly, Doctor Burnbank didn’t know as much as she thought she did, because that day, Pepper’s words had seemingly surprised her. Or confused was probably the better word for it, wrapping it up in a perfect little bow for everyone to see. She had her notepad and pen, listening intently to Pepper’s words, and she always spoke so perfectly –

“I really thought he was doing well with the drinking…” Pepper sighed, “He had quit…But about five years ago it spiked back up and I haven’t seen it stop since. I had kind of hoped after the…well, after the wedding maybe he would calm down, but then everything happened and…no wedding, and it just never stopped.”

Tony swallowed, and Doctor Burnbank’s brows tugged downward, “Let’s backtrack a moment, you say five years…But The War was a little over two years ago.”

The War. It was referred to that, or the Infinity War. Like they had named all the other wars in history and Tony imagined children sitting in school eighty years from now, hearing about it and being bored, and not wanting to pay attention, but they would have no idea. They wouldn’t be able to see the ash in their memories and people floating away. They wouldn’t get it, and then Tony realized what the therapist meant. Five years. Five years. And he remembered not everything centered around a War.

He tightened his right hand, and he remembered what it felt like to drive his fist into the face of someone he had never even met before, but it was the face of someone capable of driving a blade through the abdomen of a fifteen-year-old over and over again. Tony imagined beating that face to a bloody pulp, and he pretended it had never happened, but if he was remembering it, it must have been a memory. Something to be pardoned for. A burst of rage, white-hot angry and a man coughing up blood.

His mind whirled as he looked at Doctor Burnbank. She had said something and he had missed it.

“I’m sorry, what?”

She repeated, no impatience visible, “Pepper mentioned five years…Do you know what brought the drinking on?”

Tony looked at his was-going-to-be-wife but was his not-wife. She looked sorry it had been brought up, because The War, was one thing, but The Incident was another thing. It was on an entirely different spectrum, because The War? That shit had been undone. PTSD remained, but the damage was fixed. The Incident? That was permanent. Never to be fixed. Fifteen-year-olds didn’t come back to life after being stabbed nineteen times in the chest and abdomen.

Tony remembered the puncture wounds. Remembered the pale body lying on the table of the morgue.

He hadn’t been there…Not just physically, but his suit hadn’t been there…Holy fuck.

Then Tony was pushing himself to his feet, without warning, and storming from the room because he couldn’t breathe. He saw a teenager’s small, limp, hand, wrapped around his, but then a woman was screaming, pushing him away, telling him to never come near her again and Tony was sorry. He was so sorry, it made his chest want to explode and he had never wanted anyone to forgive him more than in that moment, but simultaneously knowing he didn’t deserve forgiveness because it was his fault.

“I’m gonna need the suit back.”

Big doe eyes looking completely broken, and Tony should have known a teenager was going to run out in a onesie, he had once been a kid too and adults knew nothing. And as Tony moved to the elevator of the therapist’s office, he could feel his armor crumbling under the man’s face, slamming him into the ground repeatedly in the cell Tony had broken into. His own voice, screaming raw, screaming, screaming louder than the night he got drunk and cried over his parents being dead.

“I’m going to fucking kill you! You get that!? I’m going to kill you!”

Even with Barnes it hadn’t been like that. It hadn’t been that vile and bloody and maybe it was because this guy was defenseless, but Tony hadn’t cared. Suddenly he had realized what it meant to be above the law and he wasn’t breathing. He pressed his hand to the wall above the elevator button, leaning forward and holding a hand to his abdomen. He gulped in oxygen and having a panic attack in public was not how he had intended to spend his Tuesday.

“Tony.”

Pepper’s voice, the one he missed sometimes so much it caused him physical pain, made him look over with wide brown eyes. Triggering memories from five-years-ago clearly hadn’t been her intention, as her eyes were terribly soft and inviting and Tony missed being able to kiss her, sometimes it was just terribly inconvenient to be heartbroken and held at arm’s length. She was eyeing him like something torn in half and really, it kind of felt like he had just been punched in the gut repeatedly, instead of being the one to do the punching in his memories.

Tony didn’t give her a chance to say anything, he stood straight, grabbing his composure, but his hands were still shaking as he explained, “Pepper…I swear I want to fix things.”

He paused, looking back at the room down the hall where Doctor Burnbank had stepped out of her office, looking at them concerned in the distance. Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, and groaned, “But I can’t…I don’t need anyone prying about The Incident, that’s stupid.”

She looked so sorry, but honest.

“Tony, what if that’s the only way to help fix us? Is to talk about everything....”

A beat.

“…including Peter.”

Tony was grateful the elevator dinged at that precise moment, because the moment the name left her mouth, Tony felt like he was going to vomit. He practically dove into the elevator, grateful she didn’t try to chase after him, but the hurt in her eyes at his abandonment was enough to make him nearly go weak at the knees with guilt. He was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid…And nothing was ever going to get fixed, but they were flaws with walls that he could not dare to scale. So, he rode the elevator down, down all the way to the carpark below.

He rushed to his car as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself, practically falling in the front seat. His body let out a horrific sigh and he didn’t know why, but he slammed his hand into the steering wheel three times, only stopping when his palm throbbed painfully. Outbursts were not rare, now, especially when he went so long without a drink and his hands were shaking so much…

“Bad day?”

Tony nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling around to look at the source of the voice from his backseat. He already had his watch folding into that of a blaster, charging, but it felt foolish the moment his brain processed who he was seeing in the back seat, staring unfazed by the weapon pointed directly at his chest. Tony could have punched him in his face, and knocked out every tooth just for the adrenaline pumping through his veins at the unethical action of appearing in ones backseat uninvited.

Doctor Strange.

“You…asshole,” Tony breathed.

There was a whirl, and suddenly Strange was in the front seat beside Tony, causing the billionaire to jump again, snapping back against his seat stiffly and blinking rapidly in irritation. He groaned, retracting his weapon back into a watch before Doctor Strange hummed, “Someone is jumpy.”

“Don’t act all nonchalant, Houdini,” Tony snapped, “I should’ve blasted you through the chest. Maybe some third-degree burns will make you think twice about poofing yourself into someone’s vehicle. You know serial killers wait in the backseat, right?”

Strange nodded, “Yes, I’m a modern Ted Bundy.”

“You’re so funny,” Tony replied bluntly, “What a good prank, I promise I’m laughing on the inside, now get out.”

Strange ignored the order and said, “We need to talk, you haven’t been returning my phone calls.”

“Don’t take it personally, I haven’t been returning anyone’s phone calls,” Tony stated, “I’m retired, in case you forgot our big showdown against the purple giant with a ballsack for a chin – “

Strange held up a hand, making a disgusted face, “Stop sounding like Quill, it’s terribly unbecoming.”

Tony snorted a bit, almost entertained and offended by the sentiment as he started the car and began to drive. He figured the quickest way to get rid of Strange wasn’t by telling him to get out of his car, but to return him to where he belonged. Strange stiffened slightly as Tony took the curve out of the carpark rather sharply, tires squealing as they pulled into traffic. The car sounded like a dream, but Tony supposed he could understand Strange’s distaste for driving quickly in nice cars, his scarred hands holding onto the seat.

Strange sighed, and broke the silence, “I know you’ve heard about the unrest…And the Avengers have been made well aware.”

“That’s great,” Tony glanced from the road a moment before returning his eyes, “That means they can handle it themselves.”

“You should be the first to want to make sure the stones are well guarded,” The wizard’s voice huffed impatiently.

Tony fought the urge to lose his shit for a second. It was kind of like the smallest things now made him want to drive his fist through brick walls. He was angrier than he had ever been in his life, the past five years of his existence had been inside of that rage filled wormhole of nothing but drinking glasses and then throwing them on the ground and feeling the alcohol burn his nose. Tony figured he was in perpetual suffering. It was him, inside of his bones, and he partially hated it but it was also familiar. He needed familiar sometimes more than he needed actual oxygen.

They drew closer to the Sanctum and Tony made Strange sit in silence until they had pulled up to the curb. Finally, Tony turned slightly in his seat, pointing at the necklace around Strange’s neck and saying, “You’re the one that needs to be protecting shit. Listen, I’m trying to salvage what’s left of my personal life. Which isn’t going great considering I just walked out of a therapy session with the woman I’m trying to rekindle things with. So I’ll say it again: get out.”

To his surprise, Strange actually opened the door. But before slamming it in Tony’s face, he leaned down, peering into the vehicle with a darkness behind his eyes.

“You had better hope this isn’t a repeat of Thanos.”

Tony sneered, “Don’t say that fucking name.”

And then the door shut.

Tony, very briefly considered getting out and throwing punches but that would have been stupid and he knew it was just the PTSD and the anger issues trying to get him to do stupid things. Tony wasn’t particularly blind to the idiocy that had become second nature within him. So he didn’t do it and instead made his way home to the penthouse he stayed in when visiting the city. Sometimes moving around as much as possible helped him to avoid the real issues and so staying in New York would probably never produce any permanence unless he could get it together with him and Pepper’s relationship.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly the entire way home and by the time he had parked and made his way inside the building, he had been given the chance to simmer on the entire experience and he couldn’t tell if he was more pissed off or annoyed. Either way, it was very difficult to smile back at the nice secretary at the front desk of the building but he managed to do it anyway. Tony had figured out little everyday activities like that the past several years were more and more difficult.

The Incident had been the beginning. The War had been the last straw.

Tony rode the elevator up, and into the penthouse, darkened and he didn’t bother having Friday turn the lights on because he could feel a blooming headache in the rear of his skull and he figured the sunlight from the windows would be enough to guide his path. Tony made his way towards the mini-bar, mindlessly, because that was it wasn’t it? It was mindless now. Better that way in every sense of the thought, because he couldn’t dwell on the fact that pouring the drink made him feel like absolute shit, because the burn would make that disappear.

He took the first two shots quickly, like nothing, because he wanted to pretend he hadn’t. But the acidic taste lingered, it always did, and he knew even if he washed out his mouth he’d still feel it in the back of his throat. Another day, he had failed, and it was back to square one. Maybe tomorrow he would try harder.

It was always tomorrow.

“Friday,” Tony said as he poured another glass, “Did May Parker pay her own rent this month?”

Friday’s voice replied, ever dutifully, “Yes boss, she withdrew it from her last paycheck.”

“She still not touching the money we send?”

The AI confirmed, “No, not in the five years since setting up the account.”

Tony didn’t know what he was expecting. He hadn’t spoken to May Parker in quite some time and when he did it was very brief. The woman was somehow surviving, and probably doing better than Tony was, but she refused every penny Tony offered her and yet every month, Tony sent more and more, maybe hoping one day she would take some of it. Use it to do something like take a vacation. Quit her job as a nurse and just exist…Get remarried, something. But he didn’t think that was fair of him to want that from her…Because he couldn’t even get his own shit together and it hadn’t been his kid that had died.

“Send her more.”

“Boss, she’s very adamant – “

“I don’t care, Friday. More. Same amount as always.”

A pause, then, “Yes sir.”

Tony slowly sank to the floor, throwing the shot back before he breathed and looked at his reflection in the glass cabinet in front of him. He appeared put together, had gotten up that day to make sure he would seem that way for the counseling session. But that had all gone to shit. Tony raised the drained glass towards the empty eyes staring back at him.

“Happy 20^th birthday, Pete.”

…

Peter couldn’t get his hands to stop shaking.

He had thought maybe it was something about the medicine they were giving him to relax, but it seemed incessant and they had stopped pumping him with the anxiety meds a few days ago. His muscles were still incredibly weak and walking was something of a feat for him. A mountain to climb over and when he wanted to go to the bathroom, a nurse had to walk him there and that was so embarrassing.

Peter hadn’t seen many people besides the nurse, Agent Coulson and Director Fury. Though Director Fury had yet to return again after their conversation and Peter was fine with that. He didn’t want to see him. Really, he didn’t want to see anyone who had anything to do with SHIELD. He was now acutely aware of what they were…Of what they were capable of. Of what they wanted to use him for. They refused to let him contact his aunt, no matter how many times he asked.

All he was, was something to hold over Mister Stark’s head.

But they weren’t even telling Mister Stark about him.

Peter thought they probably hadn’t thought it through well. Maybe they were worried about how Mister Stark would react to what they had done and what they had planned. Peter personally, would have been afraid…Afraid of Mister Stark, if he were standing on the other side of him in the fight. During the fight with Cap, he had been on his team and even that had been scary enough…Or the day his suit had been taken away…The memory of it made him squirm slightly.

“If you even cared, you’d actually be here.”

Suit open. Eyes wide.

Peter tried so hard to remember what had led to him being there, in that place. What this supposed death had been, but Peter was struggling to remember anything past the plane crash. Past the sand. Nothing else in his mind seemed to be comprehending, it was like an empty memory that made absolutely no sense, no matter how desperate Peter was for it to. A wide-open space of horror that Peter was tempted to wrap his fingers around and strangle for answers.

He got none. But that didn’t stop him from wishing for them, nonetheless.

Peter jumped when the door opened. They never knocked. He expected Agent Coulson, or one of the nurses who took care of him to come in, but instead he was greeted by a new face. A man, with white hair on his head and a beard, along with a white lab coat to match. He appeared to be a doctor, or maybe it was just his coat, but Peter stiffened slightly, even though the man’s eyes appeared soft. He had a tablet in his hand, and his smile was sad when he looked at Peter.

“Ah, you’re awake,” The man said, “I’m glad…I was worried you would be sleeping.”

Peter said nothing in return, just watched warily as the man approached the bed. His smile went to less sad, maybe trying to cover itself with comfort as he introduced himself, “I am Doctor Streiten…Director Fury assigned me to you, when you were brought into our facility some time ago.”

Some time ago didn’t reveal much to Peter. He watched silently as the doctor moved towards some of the monitors, studying them before turning to Peter. He reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a small flashlight before questioning, “May I?”

Peter shrugged silently, causing him to set the tablet on the bed and the doctor grabbed his chin in a gentle grip, before shining the light in one of Peter’s eyes. He repeated the action with the other eye, going back and forth two or three times before he seemed satisfied with what he was doing and returned the flashlight to his pocket. There was this awkward silence between them, and the doctor looked as if he wanted to say something, but wasn’t quite sure how to. And Peter wasn’t sure how to ask him what it was…Because he didn’t know him and all the adults around him had been quite silent towards him since his awakening.

“I am…terribly sorry.”

Peter’s head snapped up, his eyes going wide with confusion and the doctor looked…distressed. He had gone from calm to…odd within a few second and Peter felt a bit of fear rise because was something wrong with him? Maybe he was going to die again and it just wasn’t right...He shouldn’t have been alive and this guy was going to freak out on him –

“It was wrong, what we did – what I did,” The doctor continued, shaking his head back and forth, “After Coulson…Well, I thought going off the grid would prevent such a repeat, but Director Fury is capable of finding anyone, I suppose, when necessary.”

Peter tilted his head, mouth opening then closing because he just wasn’t sure. The man sounded genuine, but there was something odd in being apologized to because since he had woken in the facility, he had been ignored most of the time. Sometimes Agent Coulson came…and just hung around. The nurses spoke to him and smiled, but it was brief. No one really talked about him being brought back to life. No one said sorry. Peter wasn’t sure if he wanted people to be sorry…He was alive after all, but after five years felt…It felt wrong and his brain tried to connect why everyone was saying Coulson had died at some point.

Peter didn’t ask about it, he didn’t want to. It felt…off to ask a man how he died and came back to life. There was a weird barrier there that didn’t need to be crossed and Peter had no interest in stepping over it.

“I-I…” Peter’s docile part wanted to say it was alright, but it wasn’t…The man was sorry, it was clear he was genuine, but Peter didn’t feel like any of this was alright, “I feel really…wrong.”

If this was the man that had brought him back, maybe he would know why Peter was so hollow inside and why his hands kept shaking and why he couldn’t remember his ‘death’. His body hurt, but when he looked at himself, he could not see wounds. He was unharmed, but on the inside he felt twisted up.

“That is to be expected,” The doctor reassured, “Though, I believe you will need PT considering you are still healing and the pathways in your brain are…in simple terms, reigniting. There are things your body will have to learn to do again. We had to rebuild your muscles, feed them, your entire being was extremely decayed. But SHIELD has had you on ice for some time…I believe they knew you would be needed.”

Peter swallowed. That all sounded…Awful and he wondered how long SHIELD had his body before actually bringing him back. Months? Years? How far along in decomposing had he gone? How had they put him back together? None of it made much sense and it made his stomach churn with a sudden nausea that was familiar, like riding a roller coaster too many times.

“S-Sir,” Peter stuttered, the illness spreading through him, even to his limbs, “I’d like to go home.”

The doctor hesitated, suddenly looking like he had been slapped with the ‘sorry’ expression again. His mouth was in a line, before he shook his head slowly, “I believe for the time being it’s best that you stay here, Peter. Until we know you are getting stronger.”

Without another word on the subject, he picked up the tablet from the bed. He glanced down at it, typing a few things before he paused, something passing over his face briefly before he moved towards the door. Peter wanted to ask what was wrong, if anything was wrong, but it was answered when the man paused opening the door and he smiled, but it seemed slightly forced.

“Happy birthday.”

Peter’s eyes went wide and he almost couldn’t say anything. That seemed like a foreign concept now, far off in a wasteland. Because to him…it was still September…his birthday had only just passed a month ago, and yet here was this guy telling him that it was supposedly his birthday…and it was warping around. Turning and flipping and Peter hated it so much it burned inside of him. He held up a hand and called, voice shaky, “W-Wait!”

Doctor Streiten hesitated in the doorway, looking at Peter.

“How…How old am I?”

Five years. Would he be…?

“Technically, you would be twenty today,” Doctor Streiten explained, “However, since you died at fifteen…your body was frozen as that. Physically and mentally you’re still five years behind. But don’t worry…I’m sure the Director will have them make some sort of adjustment to your birth certificate…For when you rejoin society.”

If they ever let me…

Peter was left alone after that, but he didn’t think he particularly minded. He drifted suddenly to Ned and his other friends…A realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. They would be twenty, wouldn’t they? No longer fifteen and in high school, but young adults starting their lives and Peter was left behind, stuck in his fifteen-year-old body that had been murdered and buried and resurrected.

Maybe he would have preferred not having been wished a happy birthday at all.

…

Strange preferred when Wong didn’t make coffee.

He just didn’t do it properly, or at least Strange felt so. And though Strange had been trying to cut back, he still struggled sometimes with old habits of medical school, staying up late and studying, but pouring over ancient texts, as he did now, called for the relapse into such things. There were much worse patterns to fall into. After all, he could have been Tony Stark.

“You know, there’s no proof it’s him causing the disturbance.”

Wong’s voice echoed through the room and Strange didn’t bother lifting his head towards the doorway that led into the study. The Sanctum was always quiet, but today it was particularly silent, as Strange preferred it, but Wong just wouldn’t give way to Strange’s theories and kept interrupting his work with ideas of his own. Strange hummed in response, “There’s an awful lot of evidence pointing towards him though.”

“He has no physical form.”

“Wouldn’t stop him if he could find someone else to embody,” Strange lifted his head and sighed at the disbelief on his friend’s face. He pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed, “You act as if it’s unheard of.”

The other man shook his head, “I just think it’s highly improbable.”

However highly improbably, it was all Strange had. And at that point, he was grasping at straws, trying to get a grip on what was going on around him. The threat to the stones was unnerving, and the unrest was unlike any other. Not quite to the magnitude of Thanos, but Strange supposed his own enemy would not be as theatrical with living followers to do his bidding for him. Dead followers gave way to very little progress in the world of thieving stones.

When Strange was silent, apparently for too long, Wong continued, “Maybe it’s all a false alarm.”

Strange raised an eyebrow curiously, “I think the fact that even the government seems to be showing interest in this is just proof that this isn’t something to be taken lightly.”

Few things worried Strange. At least to this point, but having the threat of someone coming for the stones once more, especially after The War, and the pain they had been subjected to in the past, he was not prepared to relive those traumas. He didn’t think many people could, and he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that this guy would want the stones in the first place, his face flashing through Strange’s memory just briefly enough to send away because that entire situation had been extremely fucked up indeed.

But it was so early on, and Strange had no idea how to proceed with this without much more evidence to go on. No physical body…But clearly this person had one. Whoever they were, but Strange couldn’t help but worry that maybe his fear was misplaced somewhere. He was being paranoid, he didn’t want to be that person because he had once found those people to be the bane of his existence when in the medical field. Parents who worried about simple tonsil removal. People who wanted updates every fifteen minutes for an hour long surgery. It was ridiculous, but Strange was being that person.

Apparently with good reason.

His phone chimed suddenly, making him jump in surprise as he looked away from his book and grabbed the device. He half expected to see himself tagged in a stupid meme or something but instead it was a simple alert that had flashed across his phone and without a second thought, he was holding out a hand at the cloak, causing it to whirl towards him. He turned, rushing to the exit as Wong called behind him, “Where’re you going?”

Strange grabbed the doorframe and turned just enough to look at him.

“There was a break in at the Avenger’s Compound. Someone just attempted to steal the Mind Stone.”

Chapter Text

Tony wasn’t asleep, but no one needed to know that.

Considering it was the middle of the night, and he had been drinking since getting home from the therapist, it was probably for the better than no one knew he hadn’t shut his eyes in nearly seventy-two hours. There was no Jarvis to tell him to sleep, and sure there was Friday, but she lacked that sternness. Every part of Jarvis was gone, from the original, to the AI, to Vision. Tony never drank because of Jarvis. He rarely drank because of his parents anymore. He drank for the kid and he drank for a war long since won.

But the alert was an inconvenience at best. Because he knew from the message that came over his com from Friday that the Mind Stone was not in fact stolen. That the person hadn’t really made it far into the Compound, because that was what security was for and Tony wasn’t even worried. So to have his night interrupted by it was just annoying, when he had been dozing off finally, but not asleep, however it came in a welcomed way at the end of the day because he had been imagining, seeing.

A pale body, on a surgical table, doctors rushing to save him. Tony, refusing to leave the room as they stuffed gauze into gaping wounds, and shoved a tube down a child’s throat. Then the flatlining, the biggest puncture on the left side of the chest, oozing, but slowing down. A tiny body, with nineteen stab wounds. In the morgue, the man with blotchy-red skin had turned and looked at Tony, voice quiet:

“It was overkill. The damage to the heart itself would have been fatal.”

The boy had, had more stab wounds than years in his life.

But then Friday’s voice had arrived over the com, removing him from the memory.

Tony took his suit to the Compound just to make the trip quicker and less painful. He had not touched the suit he had been wearing the night of The Incident in five years. He worried there was still blood on it, where he had picked the boy up off the sand. So he never checked, because he didn’t know if he could stomach it, but he didn’t have the heart to scrap the suit either. He ignored its presence, and instead opted for his nanobots to bring him where he needed to go. Though they were a technological miracle, he sometimes he missed his old suits. But that one? He did not miss.

Tony considered turning around half-way through the flight just because he was already mentally done with the entire situation. But he kept going for lack of anything better to do than to dream of things long since passed. He didn’t want to dream, so annoying himself by handling such a trivial situation was better. He knew in the past, maybe he would have cared more, but there were so few things he cared about anymore. Everything was and would always be: idle.

In the distance, Tony could see the police lights and military vehicles surrounding the main building of the facility. A part of him was impressed with the response, but he figured if the person had been smart enough to get away, they had failed at their jobs. The moment he touched down, soldiers and police officers stepped out of his way. It was a rare sight, to see the Iron Man armored up anymore, not since Thanos. Not since the war. Everyone moved aside, and looked at him, filling an awe silence when the suit opened up, the nanobots folding back, and Tony adjusted his collar before he trotted up the steps and into the glass doors.

There was shattered debris on the floor in the entry way, scattered over the marble. Steve Rogers was there, waiting directly in the foyer and the super soldier approached him, a look of reassurance as he spoke, “Don’t worry, the stone is fine. Whoever it was, Wanda intervened.”

“Friday already told me all that,” And then they were moving and talking, walking down the hallway towards the security office. Steve made a face at the curtness of Tony’s tone, and Tony went on, “Sorry, I was having a date night with me-myself-and-I so I wasn’t really planning on having any human interaction.”

Steve’s expression altered into that same sorry look that Tony hated so much. Especially when it came out of Steve because Steve wasn’t always on good terms with him. There wasn’t exactly disdain there, the war had forced them back into friendship, but it wasn’t the same as it was before. Tony didn’t think it ever would be, and Steve had been sorry for some time now. Sorry about the kid, sorry about the war, and Steve hadn’t even found out who the kid was until years later, but the damage was done, the kid was dead.

Sometimes it was just a stupidly painful friendship.

When they entered the security office, unfortunately the first thing he was greeted with was the presence of Stephen Strange. Tony’s shoulders tensed, looking towards Nat who was sitting at the computer monitors and even casting a glance towards Steve before saying, “Um, I’m sorry I didn’t think he was officially a part of the club.”

“I thought you weren’t either,” Strange replied, face blunt and unfaltering, making Tony roll his eyes in irritation, even if the doctor was sort of correct. But Tony hadn’t intended to dream tonight while dozing, and then to get the message from Friday offering an escape from seeing the kid…and yeah. Shit happened sometimes.

Wanda was there as well, a bit further from the group on the other side of the room. Tony put his hands in his pocket, walking up behind Nat where she was illuminated by the computer screens and he looked at Wanda to let her know he was talking to her, “So, heard you had a run in with our wanna-be-thief. What we got?”

“Not much,” Wanda replied, “He broke through the windows at the front entrance…A man in his early thirties, I believe. Dark hair, odd clothing, rather similar to what Strange wears…He also did ‘magic’, or some form of it at least.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, “You got groupies breaking in, Strange?”

“Trust me, my groupies wouldn’t come anywhere near here,” The man hummed. Tony was actually impressed with how quickly he could think of that shit.

Tony shrugged, “Do Asgardian refugees do magic?”

“It wouldn’t be one of them,” Steve defended and Tony really wasn’t serious on the suggestion but of course Captain Spangles took everything to offense, “They’re still in that town in Maine, learning to be integrated into Earth society. We would know if one of them just fell off the grid or something. They’ve lived there for almost three years.”

Tony shook his head. Sometimes he wished Thor hadn’t gone to stay in Maine as well with the rest of his people because he had acted as a good buffer. He found Strange once more, who had a weird expression on his face. Something that was verging on knowing and not wanting something to be true. Which unnerved Tony slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head just enough to the side, pursing his lips.

“You got something you wanna share with the rest of the class, Strange?”

Tony could tell he was hesitant, just by the beat of silence that thumped with the five occupants of the room. An uneasiness, and Tony wasn’t positive, but there was a spark of worry in Strange’s eyes, making that nonchalance from before hover in a way that seemed foolish now. Because maybe this really was a repeat of Thanos. But this person had failed to get into the facility, so it couldn’t be…No, no one could ever be Thanos.

“Several years ago…Before I ever met you all, and definitely before The War, there was a fellow master of the mystic arts who…well to put it bluntly, he went crazy,” Strange explained slowly, “He was called Kaecilius. I fought him…And I thought I had stopped him, and that his physical form was gone. Clearly, I was wrong, and the evidence I’ve gathered has pointed to him having returned and taken on a host.”

“Well, I’ve got a picture of his new mug,” Nat called over her shoulder.

Everyone moved towards the monitors and frozen on the screen was the face of someone Wanda had described. Early thirties…Dark hair. Wanda nodded, confirming, “That’s him.”

“Got him on the security cameras,” Nat explained, “I can run it through the system, see if I can get any facial recognition.”

Strange’s shoulders relaxed in the slightest at the news that he would be helped and Tony would be lying if he didn’t feel a little bad for dismissing the man earlier. But if he was being honest, he definitely didn’t want to be involved. He didn’t want to get tied up in that shit again which was why he clapped his hands together and announced, “Well, looks like you all have this under control.”

He turned on his heels, exiting the office and moving down the hallway with wide strides. However, he was stopped when he heard Nat’s voice call from down the hallway, “Tony.”

It was flat, simple, an order and he turned as the woman approached him with an odd look on her face. And expression Tony didn’t see her wear often, but it might have been worry…concern. Tony was slightly taken aback, hoping she wasn’t going to get weird and ask about his drinking or something because if Pepper had asked her, she probably would have. Tony didn’t want to be there anymore, he didn’t want to be anywhere. He didn’t want to be inside of his body. But he straightened his shoulders, looked unbothered and forced a quirky smirk because shit…he didn’t know who he was.

“Worried I’m leaving too soon, Romanoff?”

Nat didn’t roll her eyes, surprising him slightly. Instead, the concern remained, making him continue to squirm silently. She admitted, “There has been something…bothering me. I haven’t said so because I wasn’t supposed to be looking for anything…but I saw something.”

“That’s…confusing,” Tony admitted, “What did you see?”

She hesitated. Only a moment, before she must have considered her words and thought better and she crossed her arms over her chest, flipping her bangs out of her face as she explained, voice lowering a bit, “I was going through classified SHIELD files a few weeks ago…and I saw your name. I couldn’t get into the file because it was guarded.”

“I’m sure SHIELD has a lot of files with my name on them,” Tony shrugged, “I’m kind of popular with Fury’s people.”

Nat sighed, looking irritated and misunderstood.

“It wasn’t just your name that I saw, Tony.”

He raised an eyebrow, still rather annoyed she had stopped him to tell him something this stupid, but the words that left her mouth next made his stomach plummet through the floor and suddenly he understood…he got it, and grasped it and it felt like solid, brimstone panic. Hot enough to melt into one’s skin.

“The name Peter Parker was there too.”

Tony had avoided that name for so long…But there it was.

…

They had been making Peter walk the halls of the SHIELD facility with a physical therapist for almost an hour now, and Peter had learned very little about where he was, besides the fact that the walls were just as white outside of his room as they were inside. He hadn’t seen a single person besides people in scrubs and people in suits and Peter was beginning to wonder if he was the only person there that wasn’t a part of the organization. There were seemingly no other patients, but a part of him said there had to be because there were so many employees.

It was hard, to get his leg muscles to obey him. They felt so stiff and unused that the woman helping him had to hold his arm the entire time. She had introduced herself as being named Kellie, but Peter felt like that wasn’t really her name. He felt completely lied to by everyone, and confused, disoriented. They had stopped giving him so many drugs and he was now open to the pain his body was producing.

A part of him was happy the drug haze was gone, but it was now replaced by an ache that exhausted him. But he kept walking, kept gritting his teeth and putting one foot in front of the other, because if he was ever going to get out of there, he needed to be able to walk. Actually, he needed to be able to run, so for the time being he would be accepting of the help they offered and the recovery that came with it.

Kellie wasn’t awful, he just didn’t believe her, even when she made small talk to him about supposedly having a two-year-old son at home and she had just had her fifth wedding anniversary. Something about getting married right out of college. She reminded Peter a lot of his Aunt May and he didn’t like that very much, because it made him miss her even more. He wasn’t blind to the way she circumferenced around his questions about the facility and about the people there.

She wasn’t as smooth at this as Phil Coulson was, but she was close.

“I think when Lewis is old enough, we’ll send him to pre-school,” She babbled incessantly, “I know some parents don’t want to send their kid to pre-school and just wait until they’re old enough for kindergarten, but I want Lewis to be familiar with a classroom setting.”

Peter hadn’t asked, but it was fine. He was focusing more on his steps. They entered a small sitting area, and Peter was pretty sure they had passed it four or five times in their stroll around endless hallways and doors. A television in the corner of the room played the news channel, and the cushions were all an ugly mint color. She slowed down and gestured to one of the chairs, “Here, have a seat.”

She helped him sit down, and Peter felt his hands shaking from the physical exertion. He hoped his healing would take care of the stiffness soon and he would be back to his old self. He wasn’t particularly sure how he was going to get out of there or when, but he wanted to see his aunt.

“So,” Peter tried to be nonchalant in the question, “How long have you and your husband lived around here?”

It was more so to get the location out of her. Just to give him an idea of how far he was from civilization. From what he could see out of the windows, they were surrounded by hills and trees, and not in a city. It made Peter slightly nervous, and she made a face, as if she wasn’t sure how to go about answering that question. However, Peter didn’t get the chance to pry anymore, because Phil Coulson walked around the corner into the sitting room. Peter mentally pouted as he approached and Kellie turned to look at him, smiling.

“Hi Agent Coulson,” She greeted, too chipper and Peter could appreciate a happy person, but not when he was literally being held captive, “Come to check on my newest patient?”

Coulson nodded, “Yes actually. I came to see when I should walk him back to his room.”

“Well, he did very well for our first session, better than I expected actually,” Kellie explained, using her hands for emphasis and Peter raised an eyebrow, “But, I think we’re done for the day, so you can bring him back anytime.”

She said her goodbyes and Peter felt kind of bad for being annoyed, because she was nice and she hadn’t done anything wrong. But it felt like everyone in that building was against him somehow. Plotting to hurt him or something. Once he and Phil were alone though, the man drew closer and Peter looked up at him, gripping the armrests a little tighter on the chair as Phil studied him silently. He wasn’t a particularly scary person…but Peter wasn’t happy there. He didn’t feel safe with SHIELD even though he had once thought they were good, it was clear to him now they were willing to do whatever they had to, to get what they wanted.

Including bringing a fifteen-year-old back from the dead.

“You look better,” Coulson commented, hands in his pockets, “You’re not nearly as pale. You must have stopped protesting and decided to eat the food they brought you.”

Peter sighed and looked away. That had been petulant indeed, but he had thought that maybe if he refused to eat they would let him call his aunt. But then he had been threatened with a feeding tube and that was horrifying, so he went ahead and ate the really unappetizing food. Peter swallowed, trying to find his words, repeating a question he had asked several times before.

“When can I call my aunt?”

It was simple, and Peter expected Coulson to look annoyed by now, but his face remained blank, as always. Like a true secret agent. It felt like looking at Black Widow and speaking to her. He had only really met her during Germany but that had been plenty of time to get to know what she was on the exterior. He felt he could know her his whole life and still have been unfamiliar with her true personality.

“The time will come for that,” Coulson said, sliding the question off and replacing his voice with something else…As if he was speaking to a three-year-old, “Right now, you’re a top-secret SHIELD project.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed, trying not to get distracted by the television in the corner behind Phil’s head, “I’m not a project…And d-don’t talk to me like I’m a little kid. I know what this is…You guys are using me to – ”

Peter lost focus, actually looking at the news station on the television when he recognized one of the buildings. It was definitely the Compound and Peter’s eyes went wide as he read the captioning at the bottom, a woman’s face appearing and holding a mic to her mouth…

“…there was reportedly an attempted breach of the Avengers Compound late last night. We’ve been told that the suspect was fended off by Avenger, Wanda Maximoff, but was able to escape before authorities could arrive. Not long after the alarm was triggered, we caught a rare glimpse of Iron Man…”

The screen cut to a clip of the Iron Man suit landing outside the facility surrounded by police cars flashing. Peter’s eyes went wide as the man stepped out, well…not really stepped out, but the suit retracted in a way Peter had never seen it do. The man on the inside didn’t look at any of the cameras and made his way to the front doors. Peter felt a large smile spread across his face, simply at seeing the man and Coulson looked confused, turning around to face the television.

Peter exclaimed, “It’s Mister Stark!”

“…it has been nearly a year since he was last seen in a suit.”

Peter’s brows furrowed. Nearly a year since he was seen in the suit? Steve Rogers was there, meeting Tony inside and Peter felt even more confused, questioning quickly, “Wait, what’s he doing there?”

Phil looked at him and explained, “He and the rogues were welcomed back after the Infinity War…They were pardoned and are considered war heroes.”

The boy’s face lit up, and he wasn’t sure when the last time he felt so warm was. But it made him happy to hear that the Avengers were back. It actually relieved him, because the rogues leaving had really made Mister Stark upset and it had probably helped to have them back together. Peter whispered softly, “I bet he was really happy.”

But the agent didn’t look as…optimistic. He made a face, mostly a grimace and Peter felt the light leave himself, replaced by concern. Peter muttered, “What…What’s wrong?”

“The War was a low point for everyone,” Phil said, “Even before that…Stark wasn’t doing well. The War simply made it worse…Once getting the Avengers back, Stark was reluctant to ever step into his suit again after…Well, after…”

He didn’t finish. Mostly because Peter was distracted again by the television. He wasn’t sure who was speaking then, but the screen was showing clips of some kind of wreckage. A beach with fire and Peter felt something flicker darkly within him in recognition. Something that he knew well, and suddenly…a familiarity slammed into him. He could smell smoke…feel sand in his teeth and blood oozing from his lips. He was not there anymore, but a part of him would always be there, buried in the dirt and washed away from the shore.

“…Tony Stark officially retired after the death of Queens’ own hero, Spider-Man. The crimefighter was murdered while attempting to rescue one of Stark’s planes from serial thief, Adrian Toomes…”

Peter remembered the metal ripping apart, he remembered the feeling of hitting the ground and rolling several feet. It was vivid. Pouring into him and his ears started ringing when Coulson quickly turned off the television, but Peter wasn’t breathing. If he was, it was giant gasps and Peter had never felt so stranded before in his life, not even when he had been under the building. Then Phil’s hands were on his shoulders, but it was Toomes’ face, glaring darkly, angry…So, so angry…Because Peter had crashed the plane, the police were coming, Toomes wasn’t gonna win.

Then Toomes grabbed him. Pulled him from the sand, there was a moment of total silence. Where the world was unbothered besides the sounds of waves and fire crackling. A moment of peace. Peter imagined this was the place where people didn’t know what was coming. Like driving down a serene road before a horrific car crash. Like floating above clouds before a plane starts going down. Everyone wakes in the morning thinking they’ll get into bed to sleep that night. Peter had woken that morning thinking he was going to Homecoming. Thinking he was going on his dream date with the prettiest girl in school. But then he was there…Then he was lifted and life was no longer that…it was a death sentence.

“This is what happens when you try to be the hero, kid.”

The metal pulled away. It burrowed again into his abdomen, and Peter didn’t really remember pain…It didn’t hurt. It felt more like being empty. Like being shocked and over and over again, the stabs came. Peter could have counted, if his mind would have caught up. He was lying on the ground and even there, Toomes continued to drive the blade into him in a blind rage because he wasn’t gonna win.

“Stop! Stop!”

“All the heroes are dead.”

“Stop please!”

“Please!”

“Please!”

“Peter!” Coulson’s voice was louder than him, and hands were holding his wrists and Peter was no longer in the chair, but on the floor in front of it, pressed back against it. Coulson didn’t look scared, but he looked stern, like gravity and Peter wasn’t inside of himself. His face was sticky and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t draw air into himself, and heroes weren’t supposed to beg for their lives, but Peter had done that twice he supposed. Under the rubble and when the blade was digging into him.

Nineteen. He had counted nineteen.

“Toomes, he-he,” Peter’s chest quaked, “He…Toomes – “

“He’s gone,” Coulson reassured, still holding his wrists tightly to stop him from flailing and Peter looked at him with wide, bloodshot eyes, “Toomes is gone, Peter. Stark got rid of him.”

Peter’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. No…But what about Liz? Mister Stark couldn’t have…gotten rid of him. Mister Stark would never do that. He was a hero and heroes didn’t…They didn’t lose control, they were good. And Mister Stark was a good guy, even after the whole suit thing, he was…he was hero and he would never…

Suddenly it all felt very serious. Very adult.

These people really thought he was dead.

Peter gasped, pulling on his wrists, “Agent Coulson…I need to call my aunt…o-or Mister Stark, I need to call someone.”

Coulson started to shake his head and Peter felt so frustrated. Like he didn’t know what to do with what was inside of him so he yanked his hands away and grabbed at his own hair, tugging viciously as Coulson tried to pry his fingers away and for some reason he was able to do so, Peter’s strength not top-notch. Coulson reassured, “The time will come for that, Peter. It’s just not time.”

But when was it time? Because his aunt and Mister Stark spending five years thinking he was dead seemed like plenty of it.

…

Very few people knew where Nick Fury kicked his feet up at the end of a long-hard day.

Tony Stark was one of those people.

It was no secret, the man moved often. Constantly in fact, and it took a lot of patience to find his current apartment. Sometimes it was the Upper East Side, sometimes it was somewhere in the slums. Tony supposed it just depended on how Fury was feeling that month, or week. Tony wasn’t sure how often he relocated himself. Maybe the first time a neighbor mentioned his eyepatch.

The current apartment was on the edge of Manhattan. One bedroom, a tiny bathroom with no tub, just a walk-in shower. But a stackable washer and dryer which as far as Manhattan apartments went, that was a blessing. Tony had paced for several hours after disabling the security system Fury had set into place. Apparently, paranoia wasn’t only a Stark trait, but if Tony was being honest, he half expected spikes to shove their way through the floor. A part of him wondered, around hour two of waiting, if Fury was even coming home or if he was out somewhere assassinating a president or something.

Usually, Tony wouldn’t bother, and definitely wouldn’t put himself on SHIELD’s radar. As annoying as they were, they were still a powerful organization after spending the past several years putting themselves back together in ways Tony couldn’t even imagine. He didn’t even know how far their veins went into society and government and Tony minded his own business because the last thing he wanted was to be wrangled up like he had with the original Avengers initiative. He was trying to cut that part of himself off, after all.

But now he had questions. Questions that needed to be answered and honestly, Tony might not have found this place so quickly without Nat’s help. But she too seemed bothered by what she had found and even though she didn’t share the same attachment to the kid as Tony did, she knew how much his death had crumbled Tony’s exterior. No one needed a repeat of five years ago when Tony had nearly put himself six feet under.

The Avengers had never met Peter, but they knew.

They knew the basics. Spider-Man had been a kid.

A kid named Peter Parker.

But they didn’t know him like Tony knew him. Even then, Tony wished he had known the kid better. Had taken the time to reply to those phone calls instead of just listening to the voicemails. Wishing he wasn’t so afraid to break the kid like Howard had broken him. But the moment he had given Peter that suit, the kid had become his responsibility and Tony had thrown a kid out into the deep end. Then he had taken the suit…And the results were even worse. He missed getting those texts from Happy begging him to make the kid stop calling. He missed listening to the voicemails and the fact that the kid wasn’t broken down and sick of the hero work like everyone else was.

Peter had been a bright-eyed kid, who had looked at Tony like he held up the universe.

It fed Tony’s ego, selfishly, and also terrified him.

In the end, he had let the kid down.

The door opened on hour five of Tony sitting around, being bored out of his mind. Fury must have known something was off, because before he even made it into the living room, his gun was drawn and ready to shoot Tony who sat on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. The man immediately lowered the weapon, letting out an irritated sigh as he returned it to the holster in his belt, rolling his one good eye.

“I could have killed you.”

Tony hummed, “You’ll wish you did.”

With a simple raise of his eyebrow, Fury stood up straight and crossed his arms over his chest, “Oh will I? And to what do I owe this visit, Mister Stark? Last time I checked, you were ‘retired’ and ‘wanted nothing to do with us’.”

“All that still stands,” Tony sat forward, standing to his feet. He sauntered over, hands buried in his pockets and eyes dark, threatening, and it was out of place from a usually exhausted and weary face. This was a particular rage that only a Stark could hold. Only a Stark could carry. The kind that Howard had taught him to wear when something needed to be done. Tony went on, only standing about a foot away from Fury, but squaring his shoulders in a way few people dared to do against the director, especially with a gun on his hip.

Tony went on, speaking slowly, “I’m going to give you one chance to answer me honestly. Why was Peter Parker’s name in your database?”

Fury’s face didn’t react.

He didn’t even flinch, and it frustrated Tony to no end.

“And who told you it was?” Fury questioned, “Romanoff, I presume. Am I going to need to revoke her authorization?”

Tony tilted his head, “Don’t get off topic. Why the hell was he in there? You people…you sons of bitches, you weren’t even supposed to know – “

“We know everything, Stark,” Fury interrupted, and Tony had to resist the urge to punch the man in his jaw, “Which is why his name is in the system. We were updating the database, your personal history to be exact. And the boy is a part of that personal history. You recruited him. You gave him a suit that assisted him in vigilantism. Which led him to our radar…”

Tony stared, jaw clenched as Fury finished…

“Now we have him down as deceased. Because that’s how the story ended.”

As far as throwing fists went, Tony had learned not to be so rash, not since he got into a particularly bad bar fight at twenty-one years old and had gotten arrested. But this was a blind one, and he threw his fist out, with no intention of pulling it, but Fury was faster. Tony had been abusing his body for years, and it wasn’t a surprise his reflexes would have slowed, and the other man simply caught the first and yanked it around, pinning it behind Tony’s back and between his shoulder blades.

Tony groaned, and Fury released almost immediately, causing Tony to stumble forward. He didn’t turn back around to face Fury immediately, body tense and mind whirling with anger. He was tempted to produce his blaster from his watch, but something told him not to. Something said that was the wrong thing and it sounded a lot like Pepper’s voice screaming not to.

“Fuck you,” Tony bit out, “Just…that ending…that was a child.”

Fury nodded, “I know that. But it doesn’t make the ending any different. Despite what you may think, I’m not heartless. Sometimes you have to separate things from feelings. Be clinical. It’s the only way to get the job done. For the greater good.”

“Are we talking about that kid here, or me?” Tony snapped, “What, you think I’m not clinical enough and that’s why I quit? No, Fury, I quit because I was done fighting wars. I was done scraping up dying teenagers off beaches. I was just done.”

Tony moved towards the door, only pausing to turn around and growl lowly, “You keep that kid’s name out of your database. I swear to God, if I hear that you’re even uttering his name, I will come for you and all of your friends.”

He yanked the door open and slammed it behind himself.

Chapter Text

Tony was tired. It was the first time in a while that he was exhausted to the point of probably being able to sleep a full eight hours. However, of course, SHIELD would start doing shady things behind his back when such an opportunity presented itself. So he brewed coffee instead of pouring a drink and he sat himself down to get to work on what had presented itself to him. Which was a problem. SHIELD was a problem. Their files were encrypted and Tony couldn’t get inside of them, no matter what he did.

He had the files scattered around on his desk, at least the ones he had bothered to print on paper to see if he had missed small details. The rest were pulled up on several blue screens around his work station. He preferred the lab in the Compound, honestly, but he didn’t want to go there again. The others would start asking him too many questions. He would be overwhelmed, and he was already feeling that way. Tony had been out of the game for so long, it felt relatively disastrous to step back in now. Especially with everything going on with the world feeling like it was ending at the hands of invisible monsters.

Over-exaggeration…But truth.

Tony’s eyes scanned page after page and had Friday running scans as well, but without being able to get past the encryptions, not much was available to them. It seemed whatever Nat had stumbled upon was gone or was blocked off now, maybe due to Tony’s visit to Fury’s residence – that was probably not even his residence anymore after all that. Not that Tony thought Fury was afraid of him, but he knew Fury was afraid of what Tony would do to the rest of the world.

It was only when the elevator to the penthouse dinged early that morning that Tony finally looked up from his self-given assignment. To find something, anything, because it felt wrong. The entire conversation, despite just being flat out aggressive, was very…suspicious. Fury was a good liar, and it had been smooth sailing, but it also didn’t make much sense. Why were they updating their database on Tony, now, of all times?

Peter was dead for five years and it had been radio silence from there.

It didn’t make any sense.

Pepper’s heels clicked into the room and she blinked confused when she saw Tony surrounded by the monitors. She was carrying a bag, and from the smell Tony knew it was breakfast meant for him. Maybe just a check in after everything that had happened at couple’s therapy. Something to be a peace offering, Tony wasn’t sure. She narrowed her eyes on the screens, coming towards him before she set the bag on the table and spoke slowly…confused.

“What’s all this?”

Tony sighed, setting down the papers, “This…is a bunch of bullshit.”

Pepper’s brows furrowed, and Tony shook his head, continuing, “It’s actually SHIELD files. Most of them are encrypted so I’m missing pieces but…I had a bit of a ‘tiff’ with Fury over Nat finding something in their database that pissed me off.”

“And what did she find?”

Tony considered it a moment. The thing about Pepper was that she was the most important person in Tony’s life. She knew every inch of his personality, good and bad, redeemable and broken. She had a talent for pinpointing what was unfixable about him and stayed away from those pieces and accepted them as fact. Peter was one of those broken pieces, he was something that could not be soothed with soft touches and words. And even though they were in a rough patch, they were trying to fix things. And the thing about fixing them, was that he was going to be open.

He couldn’t lose Pepper again.

“She found Peter’s name,” Tony said, and Pepper’s face shifted into shock, “His name was in a file.”

A startled silence flitted between them. It rocked back and forth and finally Pepper cleared her throat, shoulders going up as she searched for words to say. She bit her lip, “SHIELD…So these are their files?”

“Ones I could get my hands on, yes,” Tony answered.

Pepper replied, “Well, I still have Phil’s number…I can probably ask him – “

“The last thing I need is help from the guy who pretended to be dead to like…what was that, motivate the team or some shit?” Tony ground out, “No thank you, I can figure this out on my own.”

She shook her head, “You don’t know if that’s what really happened with him, Tony. Either way, he was hurt…Whether or not he was pretending to be dead is up for debate.”

“Dead people don’t come back,” The man turned on his stool and pursed his lips in a sort of angry sneer. Truth was, he didn’t know what the hell went down with Coulson and that whole situation. From everything he had understood, Coulson was dead. But then one day he wasn’t, and it was a shock to the system for sure. Tony had actually felt something over that guy’s demise. It felt like it had to be a lie. Most certainly, SHIELD wasn’t powerful enough to do that.

Pepper let out a breath, “Why’re you so worried about Peter’s name being in their system?”

“I don’t know,” He sounded angrier than he meant to, “Okay, it just doesn’t sit well with me. Fury tried to tell me it was because they were updating their system or some shit, but…I don’t believe them.”

Pepper looked sorry, “Tony, you never believe them – “

“Yeah because they pull shit like they did with Coulson!” Tony shouted, “Or with half of their plays in The War. I mean, what, I’m supposed to believe they knew about Danvers the whole time and…That was an entire mess. We still don’t know anything about that or her…What I’m saying Pepper, is if Peter’s name is in there something is wrong.”

She moved forward a bit and Tony ran a hand over his face as she whispered, “I…I think you’re projecting all of this…Peter’s death was hard for you. It’s hard for you to even hear his name, let alone know SHIELD still has files on him…But…I think that’s all it is. Files.”

He moved away slightly on the stool. He should have known better than to tell her. Tony’s eyes averted back down towards the papers and he muttered, “I just need some time.”

“Some time alone,” Pepper provided, sounding disappointed.

Tony bit his tongue, “No…Pepper, I just need some time.”

He could see her head nodding up and down out of the corner of his eye, but she began to move away, leaving the bag on the table. She pointed behind herself simply and explained, “Alright, I’ve got a meeting soon anyway, I’ll head to the office.”

Tony heard her shoes clicking away. He had the urge to stop her, but he didn’t. Instead he allowed her to leave the penthouse and a wave of completele agony punched him in the stomach and he fought the urge to knock all of the papers off the table and onto the floor. Empty air swam through. Empty air that told him he had screwed up royally, but he didn’t look back. Instead he continued to read, and search, and hope for something to pop out at him but nothing did.

In the end it felt like busy work.

His cellphone rang on hour two, and he hesitated to answer it. A part of him hoped it would be Pepper so he would have an excuse to say sorry, but when he looked at the ID, it wasn’t a number he recognized. He answered anyway though, lack of anything better to do and impulsivity ran through his veins like oxygen. He hummed, annoyance in the back, “Stark.”

“You sound thrilled.”

It was Strange’s voice on the other end and Tony groaned deeply, questioning, “How’d you get this number?”

“I have friends in high places, so don’t hang up,” Strange answered simply, “I just called to tell you, Romanoff got a match on the guy’s face. A man named Trenton McArthur.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, interest somewhat peaked…Anything to get away from the SHIELD papers, “And what did you find out about him?”

A sigh settled on the other end of the line, “Not much…His wife reported him missing two months ago. Apparently he never came home from work one night. Police thought it was just a case of marital problems…Maybe an affair. But apparently not, if he’s out practicing the mystic arts and breaking into the Avengers Compound.”

“None of that information really helps us, now does it?” Tony asked.

“Us?”

Tony glared at the wall, “I’m not agreeing to help. But…A person getting this close to home is kind of discomforting. I mean, even if I don’t stay at the Compound anymore, I still fund it.”

That wasn’t the complete truth. Tony didn’t know why he was letting this into himself. Maybe it was the SHIELD thing, opening old wounds and he needed some kind of distraction. Just a little one to reach towards because he could feel the old obsessive habits reawakening inside of him and threatening to do something awful to the life he was trying to put together. Or rather the life that was trying to fall apart right before his very eyes. Tony didn’t want to do this, he didn’t want to help, not really but he wanted…he wanted…

His phone chimed before Strange could respond and Tony pulled it away from his ear, going to his texts while keeping the line open…

This was a number he recognized.

May Parker: Can you meet me for breakfast?

Tony felt ice form in the pit of his stomach.

“Gotta go, Strange.”

…

Five years ago…May Parker’s life was in shambles.

It wasn’t the first time. Not long before that, it had started with her husband. A simple robbery gone wrong and he was left bleeding to death on the sidewalk. It had taken months to put herself back together after that. Months of sobbing into pillows until she eventually realized there was a teenager in her apartment who needed her. Who she loved so much and had to be strong for. Taking care of Peter had quite frankly, saved her life. And she sort of took comfort in the fact that Ben’s death had been an ‘accident’…Just wrong place – wrong time.

But then there had been Peter. This light in a life that had become so difficult to understand. He smiled and hugged her and she loved him more than anything…More than she had loved her own parents, and maybe even more than Ben, but a part of her knew that Ben loved Peter more than he loved her too and that was okay. Because that was how it was supposed to be. Peter was their purpose. Had become that when he was only six-years-old.

It only took one night though, one night for the product of her and Ben’s hard work to be destroyed. Snatched away like it had never existed in the first place. Peter…murdered on a beach. Not in the middle of the street by a robber with a gun…Not because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. In fact, Peter had been right where he had wanted to be. He had been crimefighting, he had been Spider-Man.

And May had, had no idea.

That was probably the part she hated the most. She had just thought he was sneaking out, like she used to do at that age. Normal teenager stuff, and sure it worried her but she had never once thought her nephew was out being a vigilante. Putting himself at risk night after night and then finally, all of that danger caught up with him in the form of nineteen stab wounds, delivered to him by the father of his homecoming date, in all of its ironic glory.

May remembered getting the phone call. A call in the middle of the night by Tony Stark was not what she expected. She had been off work that night, sitting on her couch drinking a glass of wine and stuffing her face with popcorn while watching Gilmore Girls reruns for Christ sake, while her nephew was out fighting for his life.

“You need to come to Metro…Right now.”

“Tony, what is this – “

“Now. May…You need to come now.”

May had gotten there as fast as she could, but by the time she arrived…Peter, her Peter was already lying pale in the morgue. Tony Stark had been holding his hand and suddenly she was so angry…So confused…So…Horrified. She didn’t want him to touch Peter. She didn’t want him anywhere near them. She just wanted him to get away, and she was pushing at him, but she was flailing, a fish out of water, and he had held her. Tony Stark had hugged her tightly.

“What happened!? What happened!? No – no get away from us!”

But Tony had stayed there, with her. Hadn’t let go of her. She wasn’t sure if she was grateful or not, but she hated him in that moment. She hated him every time he sent her money. She hated that no one had told her about Peter and the suit and Spider-Man. No one had told her. And by the time she found out, her nephew was lying dead, nineteen stab wounds to his fifteen-year-old body, and what was she supposed to do with that? The anger had felt better than the suffering.

May remembered that day so vividly sometimes it shocked her into existence. A lot of days, she spent outside of her body. She went to work, she made money, enough for just herself and she returned home to her new apartment on the opposite side of Queens, because she couldn’t pass Peter’s school everyday going to work. She couldn’t look in his bedroom everyday and see it empty. It had almost made her lose her mind more times than she could count and moving had been the best decision for her sanity.

But today she was in her body, finger twirling around the rim of her coffee cup in the tiny diner while she waited for the Tony Stark she had hated to arrive. She didn’t feel angry, or resentful. She felt okay, inside of herself. Five years, a universal war, and some wine glasses later she was picking up pieces that had been scattered on that beach.

She saw him pull up, and May noticed the way Tony hesitated before getting out of his car. Eventually though, he did and he walked in, the bell above the door ringing as he did so. The woman who seated people looked so surprised at the sight of him and he simply gestured towards May’s direction before making his way over and sitting down in front of her. An odd silence passed between them. May hadn’t seen him since…she didn’t know when. She didn’t care to think back. He looked older now though, she knew that much.

“May,” Tony said, and his voice was soft, which she found off, because every time they had spoken before Peter…left, he had, had a voice filled to the brim with charisma, “How are you? Do you…Did you order something? I can get you something.”

May smiled, and it wasn’t forced. It might have been tired, she was always tired now, but this meeting was important, “I’m fine, Tony. Just the coffee.”

The waitress approached briefly and asked to take Tony’s order. He only got a coffee too, but no milk in his like she preferred in hers. It seemed so mundane. But she was the aunt of Spider-Man and he was the retired Iron Man. The young boy they had both loved so dearly was dead and for years May had blamed Tony Stark for it, but now she was there, wanting to ask something of him and it seemed almost…vile of her.

They exchanged small talk until Tony’s coffee arrived. May figured it was the best and kindest thing to do before she started her spiel. Once he took his first sip, she cleared her throat in an attention-seeking way, straightening her back to maybe seem taller. Tony’s eyes were patient with her, not rushing, and she felt that was probably odd for the former CEO. Her heart was nervous, even though she felt it was a reasonable enough request.

“I know this is weird,” May breathed, “I mean…we haven’t spoken since…Well, you know. But, I’ve had this idea for some time now, I’ve just been working up the courage to ask you to approve it.”

Tony’s mouth set in a line, “Anything.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask for,” May said.

The man shook his head, “I don’t care what it is. If you want it, I’ll get it for you.”

May breathed out slowly. This was more painful than she had intended. The wound was nearly closed, but when she saw the man from the morgue, Tony Stark would always be that man, she struggled to cope. She tightened her fingers on the coffee mug, reminding herself why she was there as her eyes found the table top, then Tony’s brown irises once more.

She continued, voice steady, “The money you send every month…I don’t use. It’s just…being wasted. But I wanted to know…If there was some way we could start putting that money into a charitable fund. Like the September Foundation. Something for underprivileged kids who’d like to attend college…”

Pausing briefly, May then finished, “Something…in Peter’s name. ‘The Peter Parker Memorial Fund’.”

And to no surprise, Tony nodded, “Like I said, anything you want, May, it’s done. I’ll set it up.”

May sighed, not annoyed but more sympathetic, “Why do I get the feeling you’re just saying this because you still blame yourself?”

She saw the way Tony’s jaw set. How his mouth pulled into a hard line and his eyes became emptier than they were from the moment he walked in. Her coffee was cold now under her hands and she felt warm with happiness over the green light, but also shaky with concern. She had spent so much time resenting the man…She had put little thought into what he was feeling.

“You hate me,” Tony said, making her jump in surprise, “And I don’t blame you.”

May felt sort of blindsided by the statement, her eyes shifting slightly from his face then back again as she searched for an explanation. She had hated him…At one point. But she didn’t anymore. She hadn’t in a while. The hate had melted into something else. Something she could not name. It wasn’t particularly understanding, but along the wire of that.

She swallowed, “I don’t hate you…I will never forgive you for not telling me about what he was up to…But I don’t hate you, Tony.”

Slowly, May reached into her pocket, pulling out a folded up piece of loose-leaf paper. She unfolded it slowly, smoothing it out, seeing Peter’s handwriting all over the page. She smiled to herself, a quiet smile if such existed. This was a part of it. A part of the healing. A part of the getting better. Because she no longer hated Tony, but him hating himself was an issue as well…And May felt she had a part in fixing it.

“I found this, while boxing up his stuff…It seems like forever ago,” She recalled, “It’s a letter. I think he was practicing how to tell me he was Spider-Man or something. Like a confession. I don’t know if he had plans to give it to me or if he was writing a speech but either way…I found it…A little piece of him.”

She took a breath and continued, “There’s a paragraph in here I think you should hear.”

Tony looked like he really didn’t want to…But she didn’t give him the choice to refuse hearing it before she started to read, “Please don’t be mad at Mister Stark either. He’s awesome, really…He doesn’t always have time, but when he does he’s so cool. I think he’s worried he’s going to overstep boundaries or hurt me. He said something about a cycle of shame that he wants to break, that his dad didn’t give him a lot of support. Maybe instead I can give him support, if he forgives me for the ferry boat. I think if he ever lets down his guard, we could be pretty good friends. I want him to be proud of me.”

She set down the paper in front of her. Tony’s eyes were wide, round and then he ran a hand over the side of his face, fingers settling over his lips as if deep in thought. She slid the letter towards him, pretending her eyes weren’t just as cloudy as his were as he looked down at the paper.

“I want you to keep it,” May said, “I’ve read it so many times, I have it memorized.”

May knew for certain she no longer hated him.

…

Peter was pacing.

He was moving around his room in the facility, the stiffness in his limbs having slowly slipped away as time passed on. But with that, came the antsy feeling in his bones and he had been left alone for some time. People still brought him food. He had the restroom and shower at his disposal, but other than that, it was utter radio silence form the people that were supposed to be handling all of these things. And there was something incredibly unsettling in that.

Peter craved some form of outside communication. For someone to speak to him. He paced so long he had started to use the wall for support, his mind whirling. Ever since the panic attack, no one had been telling him much. And then Mister Stark had been on the news and no one had said anything about when he’d be able to contact May or anyone and God…Peter just wanted to get out of there…

Everyone thought he was dead.

They thought he was dead.

It was a singularly horrifying thought, actually. It burrowed within the pit of his belly and warned him that, yes, this was reality and this was where he was. That everyone had moved five years forward and Peter was still fifteen. Maybe it didn’t matter with the adults, but it mattered with his peers. If SHIELD ever did let him go, would he be sent back to school? Have to find new friends? Or would he be homeschooled?

The thought that Ned and the others had graduated already was startling.

Peter was holding onto the foot of the bed when the door to the room opened suddenly, causing him to turn and have to lean against it. Three figures appeared: Nick Fury, Agent Coulson, and Doctor Streiten. Peter swallowed thickly, feeling like he was in trouble as the three filed into the room and Director Fury approached him. Peter instinctively stepped back, the bed preventing him from going any further.

“What?” Peter whispered, “What’d I do?”

“Nothing,” Director Fury said, gesturing towards the bed, “Why don’t you have a seat?”

Peter moved around the foot of the bed and sat on the mattress carefully. His mind raced with thoughts of what this might be. He kind of hoped they’d be telling him he could contact his aunt or Mister Stark, but those hopes disappeared when Doctor Streiten approached, pulling one of the machines towards him. He started taking Peter’s blood pressure, wrapping the cuff around his upper arm and Peter looking at Fury questioningly.

Fury explained, “Coulson told us you had a panic attack. Just wanted to do a quick check-up.”

“It wasn’t…” Okay it was, but he didn’t want them poking him more, “It wasn’t a panic attack, I just, thought I remembered something.”

Peter looked at Doctor Streiten with a pleading expression but the doctor said nothing and Peter was starting to think this guy was here against his will also. Peter bit down on his lower lip and the cuff was removed, replaced with a small clip on his finger. Peter looked back up when Fury hummed, “Well, either way, we can’t have you falling out.”

“You know what would help me?” Peter questioned, “If you people would let me call my aunt…Or Mister Stark, or someone. To at least talk to them.”

That was only partly a lie. He didn’t want to just talk, he wanted to leave. He was almost positive if he could get in touch with someone, they would come for him. Sure, there would be a shock to their system, but he had to get out of there. The longer they thought he was dead, the worse it’d be. But then again, five years was pretty bad…He didn’t know how much worse it could get from there, but the up-in-the-air feeling still drove him mad.

Fury’s response was as blunt as expected.

“We’re not going to do that yet.”

It wasn’t like Coulson…How he tried to soften the blow a bit by saying ‘it isn’t time’. Fury was quick and to the point and when Peter looked at the agent who had yet to say anything, Coulson looked stoic because of course he would be in front of his boss. Peter swallowed thickly past the lump in his throat, tempted to scream, but knowing very well that wasn’t going to help his case at all. He was stuck…There was nowhere to go and he couldn’t do this anymore.

His eyes burned, and he felt impossibly immature. Gripping his hands into fists he croaked, “I should get to leave if I want to.”

“That isn’t how this works, and you know it isn’t,” Fury said.

Peter ground his teeth together, losing patience, “You’re not even close to being the good guys, are you? You’re just a bunch of selfish assholes who want to use me to get to Mister Stark. To control him and make him your little soldier. Well I’m done…I’m done being your ‘upper hand’.”

Fury let out a laugh, but it sounded bitter. The clip at the end of Peter’s finger was removed as Fury slowly began to stand and the doctor moved away to make room for the director to step forward. Peter was tempted to grab him. Get him to stay. Fury sauntered forward before he kneeled down in front of the bed and it was almost frustratingly patronizing. Like he was trying to talk to a toddler, but Peter could see in his one eye that it was filled to the brim with irritation and his tone did nothing to try and hide it.

“Like I told you, we are the good guys,” Fury’s tone was sharp and demanded attention. Peter’s eyes went wide, “You and Stark just think you can be done. But no…The two of you signed up for something much bigger when you put those suits on. When you claimed to be out there to protect people, to help society. You don’t just stop when you start, there’s a contract that goes along with that. I’m not blind to the fact that you are a fifteen-year-old child. And I have done everything in my power to keep you comfortable here. So my suggestion to you, is that you accept my hospitality and wait for your opportunity to call home.”

Peter felt his shoulders tremble as the man stood and patted his arm, a bit roughly. He turned without another word and exited the room, Phil following close behind him. There was this moment though. A moment where it was just him and the doctor and silence. The doctor had begun to pack his things, but Peter noticed the way he kept glancing at the door. He picked up his tray of tools, walking towards the door, but in a split second he was bending down close to Peter’s ear, whispering urgently.

“Everything will be alright. I’ll see you soon. Be ready.”

There was an underlying promise there, and Peter looked at him with shock as the man left his room as well.

…

Natasha Romanoff was a simple person.

She saw things in black and white. At least when she was learning to be who she was, back in that place, far away. All of those memories were pushed to the edge of her mind where she didn’t wish to go any longer, and didn’t have much of a reason to. Avengers missions weren’t in such a high demand anymore, not since The War those years ago. But then that had happened and she wasn’t so sure if she saw things in black and white anymore, but more of a grey color.

That was what she felt as she stared at the screen in front of her.

It had been sparked weeks ago, the witch hunt through SHIELD’s off-limits files. Then she had seen Peter Parker’s name and it had fallen down a rabbit hole from there. She hadn’t known the boy well, had only met him in Germany, but he had been brave, and he had been important to Tony. The vividness of that was startling, because few people could crawl their way into Iron Man’s heart. Which was probably what she found most interesting about the kid, not even his abilities.

But the boy had died. Had been murdered. And Tony had never been the same.

For a while others had assumed it was The War, but it became clear what the true root was not long afterward. Which led to the fascination, and then led to Nat’s rabbit hole. Now she was in this place of pure horror that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to continue going into because, she had seen and read about worse things…But it was still hard sometimes.

She heard the door to the room open behind her, and footsteps entered slowly.

“What’s up?” Steve’s voice questioned, “Thought we were getting lunch.”

Nat didn’t bother to turn around and instead pressed her finger to the computer screen. She asked, “See that?”

Steve got closer and grabbed the back of her chair, leaning forward over her shoulder. Nat turned her head just enough to see him squinting his eyes on the screen as he read aloud, “TAHITI Project…Looks encrypted…Wait are you breaking into government files – “

“Calm down, Boy Scout,” The woman sighed, and waved her hand, “I can’t get in. But I happen to know what the project is. It’s the program Fury used to bring Phil Coulson back from the dead.”

Recognition flashed across Steve’s face and he leaned forward, “Wait, this is how they did it? I thought…I just thought they had faked his death or something.”

“No,” Nat said, “Phil Coulson died. For a few days actually, but Nick Fury ordered the TAHITI Project to revive him. It’s an extremely under wraps procedure and apparently it has only been shown to work on humans…Well, Coulson, really. Fury was saving it in case a vital member of the Avengers was lost at some point, but he decided Coulson was the guy.”

Steve stood there, still a moment and Nat could see he was wrapping his head around the information. It wasn’t monumental, she could tell he was trying to make the connections and understand the concept of the dead coming back to life. It was bound to be a possibility eventually and Steve still struggled to work certain kinds of televisions. He asked, voice coming out slow, “So…Why is this important? I thought the issue at hand was the guy trying to steal the Mind Stone?”

“Well, it was until I found this,” Nat explained, “Steve…I saw Peter Parker’s name mixed up in these encryptions not long ago. And Tony’s name. Now this is making an appearance and I’m starting to think it’s not a coincidence.”

Steve looked horrified suddenly, “You think SHIELD would…”

Nat shrugged.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Chapter Text

Peter hadn’t really ‘been ready’ when he was supposed to be.

Honestly, he had been confused about the whole situation. Peter was the kind of person who needed someone to outright say to him, “Okay this is the plan, be awake all night and wait for me.” Not just the simple orders given to him by Doctor Streiten. It wasn’t that they were particularly vague, they most certainly were not. But to some degree they had felt that way to him. In the end, because of the confusion, Peter really only had himself to blame for the whole debacle that he had found himself in.

It started when the light to his room switched on and Peter sat up in the bed, eyes bleary and unfocused as Doctor Streiten rushed in. The man gave a quick glance outside into the hallway before sliding into the room and shutting the door tightly behind himself. He was still dressed in his white coat, and Peter would never have assumed it was the middle of the night by how he looked, ready for a whole day of work. It made Peter feel like he couldn’t be the only person in the facility, but if he wasn’t they were doing an extremely good job of keeping the others away from him.

Doctor Streiten was carrying a pair of shoes with him and he rushed towards Peter, face looking urgent. He pulled the blanket away from Peter and gestured for him to sit up fully and Peter clambered to do so, sliding to the edge of the bed. Doctor Streiten dropped the shoes onto the floor and Peter took it as a sign that he was supposed to put them on. He made quick work of the laces as the doctor finally spoke.

“I thought I said to be ready.”

“Sorry,” Peter said, voiced laced with sleep, “I thought…well, I dunno what I thought.”

The doctor only sighed and Peter was pulled to his feet immediately. A rush of panic filtered in as Peter was led towards the door, body still slightly stiff. He had a feeling…well, he kind of knew at this point they must have been making some kind of escape. And if that was true, Peter worried because he still wasn’t back to full health yet and his body struggled with moving too fast. If the need for running came about, Peter wasn’t positive he could do it and while he was still heavy with sleep, Streiten was having to help way too much for Peter to be expected to make this escape in a timely manner.

To his relief, as they went out into the hallway, they didn’t break into a sprint. It was more of a power walk, and Doctor Streiten ordered into his ear, “If anyone asks, you just got jittery and I’m taking you for a walk around the facility to help you sleep.”

Peter nodded mutely, and they moved. Peter recognized where they were in the building, having bed led around by the physical therapist. All of the walls, doors, and paintings were the same. Blinding white floors reflected from the florescent lighting and Peter blinked rapidly, trying to make himself wake up more and focus. He had a feeling Fury had been ordering them to give him something to sleep, because it was way too hard to wake up sometimes. Or maybe some kind of sedative for the anxiety. Something to make him more pliant.

They moved quickly, faster than Peter would have liked, but not too quickly that he couldn’t keep up. Eventually, after going through a glass door that Doctor Streiten had to slide a key card to get through, Peter didn’t recognize anything anymore. The walls went from white to an off-green color and they went on and on and on for what felt like ages to the teenager. His mind wandered. A part of him knew this was his escape, but another part was very frightened. It didn’t feel simple to hide from SHIELD, but if he could just get to his aunt…if he could get to Mister Stark. To some kind of help. Maybe they could protect him.

Would they even want to though? He was…he was messed up. He wasn’t right, Peter was supposed to be dead, and had been for five years, so he didn’t and couldn’t comprehend how they would ever be able to accept him once more. How they would have to go back to having a fifteen-year-old kid around again. Maybe they had moved on, had started better lives without him in it, and maybe they were fine now. Peter was going to open old wounds.

Even with all of these worries, he kept moving.

He knew one thing for certain: he could not stay with SHIELD.

Not when they had the plan to use him as leverage to make Mister Stark ‘work’ or whatever. It didn’t make much sense, though he guessed it wasn’t supposed to. They had probably withheld so much information from him, just because he was child and a technical prisoner that well…it wasn’t even funny. Maybe if they had just explained…and then no, Peter decided that thought could not be entertained. What Director Fury was doing, was wrong.

Doctor Streiten used his keycard to open one final door. While moving through the facility they had only passed a few custodians and that was about it. Once the final door opened though, they were outside, nighttime causing Peter’s eyes to have to adjust to darkness once more. They were in what appeared to be a parking lot, an empty one at that besides a few odd cars here and there. Peter supposed this wasn’t the main SHIELD facility because if it was, they’d probably have a lot more people there, even in the middle of the night.

They only walked a few more feet, light shining from the parking lot lights. Finally, they stopped and Doctor Streiten turned him around, holding him by his shoulders. Peter noticed for the first time that the man looked terribly worried. Stressed out. Peter felt guilt begin to nip at him in the pit of his stomach, but he said nothing and simply gnawed at his lower lip as the doctor looked at him very seriously, and began to speak slowly, like to someone very young.

“You have to go on your own from here,” Doctor Streiten said. He dug into his pocket, pulling out a small wad of cash and Peter began to shake his head as the money was forced into his hand, “Take this…Begin walking south on the highway. Stay close to the tree line and if any cars pass you, you get down. I can’t be sure which will be SHIELD and which will not, but the fewer people who see you, the better. There’s a town a few miles from here…Hopefully you can get off the road before the sun comes up.”

Peter’s throat felt dry as he pocketed the money into his sweat pants. It might have been summer, but the night had a slight chill to it. Bugs roared in the background and Peter croaked, “What about you? What will Fury do to you…?”

The doctor smiled, though it seemed sad, “Don’t worry for me. I knew the risks when I made this decision. You deserve to be home and your family deserves to know you are alive…It may have been my responsibility to return your life, but it is your responsibility to make sure you do not waste it.”

He paused, then finished softly, “Do not waste it, Peter.”

It wasn’t that Peter wanted to waste it. It was that leaving Doctor Streiten there, knowing there would be repercussions for Peter’s rescue upset him. His eyes clouded and Peter swallowed, over and over, unable to move. Not until the doctor gave him a light shove and Peter was finally able to force himself to begin to walk backward towards the highway, searching for something to say, something to make him understand how grateful he was for the help. But everything came up short and Peter settled simply.

“Thank you,” The teen whispered, voice thick with gratefulness.

Because he would get to go home.

He could find his aunt.

Peter could start trying to fix this mess that he had caused.

The man said nothing in response and finally, Peter turned around and began to walk. It wasn’t so difficult, putting one foot in front of the other as he crossed his arms over his chest and curled into himself a bit. He didn’t look back, for fear he would only feel more pain over leaving the kind doctor there. Even if that had been the doctor that had brought him back from the dead in a very unnatural procedure, Peter could see the true kindness in his eyes and it was apparent through his actions that he did not share the same goals as SHIELD.

Peter trudged along, feet feeling relatively heavy as he did so in the tall grass after entering the highway. He stayed close to the tree line, as he was told to do, and whenever cars would pass he would duck. Peter imagined all the ticks that were probably crawling around and hoped none of them decided he’d make a good snack. He might have dressed as a spider, but ticks were a definite no-no.

But it was a better thought than contemplating over seeing his aunt and friends and Mister Stark again. Everything he had learned was weighing down like a heavy dread. Peter was going back to something completely different. The problem was, he didn’t feel that way…To him, it only felt like a few days since fighting Toomes on the beach. But now he knew…He knew it wasn’t going to be the same. It wasn’t going to be the same ever. He could only hope that getting through this hard part would eventually pass. That he’d be free of this, of whatever it was, and he could become Peter again and become alive.

Five years.

He stumbled a bit in the grass, and imagined Mister Stark murdering someone. What an odd simultaneous pain. He didn’t want to think Mister Stark could ever kill someone. Anyone. Because he was a hero, and Toomes had been Liz’s dad. It felt very, very wrong. It made Peter’s hands shake. He wondered if Mister Stark would look at him and see a failure. See some idiot kid who had caused him pain needlessly. Peter shouldn’t have even been there that night, and he imagined his aunt finding out…Burying him, and it made him sick to his stomach.

Peter would tell her he was sorry.

Every day, every day and forever he would apologize to both of them.

And to Ned. Because Ned had to finish high school without him. Flash was probably a jerk every single day and even though Peter wasn’t much for standing up against his own bullies, he still wanted to have been there for Ned. Of course Ned had other friends…but they had always talked about finishing school together. Taking their senior trip together to Europe with the rest of their class. Peter hadn’t followed through with it. He had died sophomore year at homecoming.

His chest hurt, and Peter spent what felt like hours thinking of those bleak things. Those things that made him feel so weary, until he saw the lights in the distance. Peter’s muscles were tired, but they were becoming more pliable as he made his way towards what appeared to be a small town and he hoped this was the place Doctor Streiten had been talking about. No more cars passed him on his way, and Peter made a beeline for the 7-Eleven that was shining brighter than any of the other buildings.

It was right on the edge of the town, when Peter veered off the highway. His shoes were disgusting from walking in the grass the entire time, the ground having been slightly damp. He was sure he looked disheveled walking into the gas station. It was odd, but he felt slightly safer there, and his ‘great escape’ hadn’t been so great after all. The good doctor had basically just walked him out of there without any issue and Peter had made his midnight trek without being dragged back by SHIELD agents. He imagined though when they found out he was gone, it would turn into something much worse. That was what made him pick up a fudge sandwich and a soda, to eat his feelings away.

Peter and the man behind the counter were the only ones in the store. The man looked disinterested in Peter’s odd appearance, even the sneakers that were a little too big for his feet. The guy was balding, and what little hair he had was greasy and sticking to his head. He chewed loudly on something that Peter knew couldn’t be bubble gum as he dropped the objects on the counter to pay for them. The man stood from his seat where he was reading a magazine and began to scan both items.

“4.02,” The man said, and Peter read his nametag said ‘Heath’. Peter felt the name was fitting, as he started counting money from the cash the doctor had given him. It felt like a fever dream, being there and buying a fudge sandwich and a soda when he had just broken out of a SHIELD facility after being dead for five years. What the actual fuck was that?

“Um,” Peter cleared his throat as the man counted his change, “Could you – could you tell me where I am?”

‘Heath’ paused in his counting, looking at Peter with a raised eyebrow, “You’re in Purgabee, kid.”

Peter swallowed, “Oh…”

A beat.

“Where’s that?”

The guy laughed a little, like he didn’t believe Peter was actually confused. He handed the change over and Peter waited patiently as he man stared, maybe trying to read him. Peter shifted uncomfortably on his feet and Heath tilted his head before he finally relented, sounding confused as well this time, “It’s upstate.”

Peter felt his hands shaking, “How far are we from the city?”

“Over an hour drive,” He answered…there was another silent moment before he went on, “But I’m assuming you didn’t drive here…There’s a bus station about a mile up the road, if you take Hilton right down the street.”

Peter’s eyes lit up. Then this must have been the town the doctor was talking about when he had sent him away. Peter nodded his head, grinning a bit as if he had just figured out some kind of puzzle and he picked up his soda and fudge sandwich, nodding, “Thanks!”

He turned on his heels, rushing to the door and the cashier called, “Kid.”

Peter grabbed the handle and paused, looking back with a curious expression. Heath went on, “Be safe out there. I dunno what you’re trying to get away from, but they’ve got lots of places for kids who need somewhere to go.”

The man didn’t understand…Peter wasn’t a runaway, not really. He wasn’t an abused kid leaving home, he was trying to get home. Trying to escape SHIELD. But he sounded genuinely concerned and Peter smiled, nodding his head up and down in confirmation that he understood before leaving the 7-Eleven with a snack, thankfully, because his stomach let out an ear splitting growl as soon as he was in the parking lot. Peter began his walk again, opening the fudge sandwich and shoveling it down before following with the entire can of soda.

So much better than the stupid ‘hospital’ food.

The town itself, with such a funny name, was nice. Peter liked it a lot as he roamed through it, only a few cars passing him that he didn’t try to hide from. He didn’t see any reason why SHIELD would be moving through ‘Purgabee’ at this hour in the morning and he had kind of expected the bus station to be closed, but it must have been drawing into the early hours because when Peter arrived, after glancing in almost every window shop, there was an old woman working behind the counter who sold him the next Greyhound ticket to New York City.

When Peter sat on the uncomfortable plastic chairs of the waiting area, he forgot where he was. It felt a lot like being at home…Waiting to get on the train for school. Pieces of him flitted away like that. Was school even still there? It was a stupid question, but supposedly many other things had changed, why not that?

His eyes roamed the bus station, and Peter noticed a worn poster on the wall. It was a drawing, almost like a political cartoon, and Peter saw the face of some kind of purple giant, surrounded by cowering people on their knees, crying…

The cartoon’s caption at the bottom read in bold letters…

WE WERE COWARDS

…

The last time someone had been in the Sanctum when they weren’t supposed to be, they had fallen through the ceiling in the form of Bruce Banner.

But that night, in August, it was new. Strange had been woken by his cloak, and a part of him had thought it was Wong trying rouse him to the waking world. But when he sat up and saw the cloak there, and it gestured as urgently towards the door as an article of clothing could, Strange was out of bed in a moment, calling the cloak to wrap around his shoulders and he ran towards the door, out into the dimly lit hallway.

In retrospect, running into battle was rash and Stephen hadn’t been that way since his car accident. His personality had improved and while he still had his moments, like that moment, he regretted it later like when he had driven his car into a crumbling mess and his hands were destroyed. Of course without that little twist of fate, he wouldn’t be a master of the mystic arts. He would have never learned what he knew now. But it had taken so much just to get there.

But he also wouldn’t have been facing off against a guy possessed by Kaecilius whom he found trying to remove the Time Stone and necklace from the case in which Strange had enchanted to protect it. It was much like the necklace itself…A simple spell, but unbreakable. There were the stupid things that Strange kept finding himself involved in. Like hiding in Stark’s back seat for an hour waiting for him to get out of his therapy session. Or going to the Avenger’s Compound because the same guy in the Sanctum was trying to steal the Mind Stone.

Strange stood in the doorway, unnoticed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You know,” Strange broke the silence, “You are absolutely horrible at stealing stones.”

Kaecilius, wearing the face of Trenton McArthur as Strange recently found out was his name, whirled around with wild eyes. There was something there that Strange couldn’t quite decipher. A madness that maybe floating around and being tortured forever left behind. That had always been the plan, right? Eternal torment. And yet he had somehow found his way out. A sneer appeared over his mouth and there was no verbal response. He simply stepped back from the case holding the stone and threw out his hands, a wave slamming into Strange’s chest and sending him back sprawling against the floor.

Strange gasped, chest hollow and then filling with air once more as the cloak dragged him to his feet. Orange erupted from his finger tips and he swung it towards the man. A part of him wondered if Trenton McArthur was alive in there or if he was simply a corpse up and walking around. It made a difference, in that Strange didn’t want to harm the physical body if there was still a man in there and not just Kaecilius.

It was kind of to the point that Strange was underestimating this guy. He hadn’t been able to get his hands on a single stone, despite his attempts and truthfully, that was the way it was supposed to be after Thanos. When they had made the conscious decision not to destroy the stones, the result was splitting them up and protecting them at great cost. But the moment Strange’s attack was redirected towards himself and he was thrown over the balcony, he realized what a stupid and brief belief that had been.

Because once more, Kaecilius had managed to escape.

And Strange was getting much too old to fall from the second story.

…

Over the years, James Rhodes had been one of the only sources of wisdom that Tony had. Even when his father was alive, his knowledge only stretched so far as sciences, and rarely stemmed into comprehendible life lessons. Tony used to think it was just because Rhodey had been raised in a normal family that actually knew how to talk to one another, but he was starting to theorize it stemmed a bit deeper than that into something else. Maybe Rhodey was just good at being a friend and caring about Tony, despite all the times Tony had shown he was incompetent.

Especially in the last five years, when things had gone to shit.

Tony still remembered that night, telling Rhodey about Peter’s death. He remembered the horror at realizing the kid had only been fifteen, because even though it was clear Peter was young when they were in Germany, Rhodey had never actually been aware of how young. No one had…Pepper had only been told last minute. It was all to protect Peter. The less people that knew about him, even Rhodey, the better, and he didn’t need his best friend looking at him like he was a monster for recruiting a fifteen-year-old who had actually been fourteen at the time of Germany.

“He’s dead, Rhodey…I killed this kid.”

“You didn’t kill him – “

“You said it yourself, it was wrong to recruit a kid, and I did, and now he’s dead.”

Rhodey had really done his best to reason with him. To convince him it wasn’t his fault that Peter had snuck out in the onesie and tried to fight Toomes. But wasn’t it? Peter might have stood a better chance with Tony’s suit. He probably wouldn’t have even been there if it weren’t for Tony, actually, because it had been his plane and Peter had tried so hard to prove himself. Of course he would go out and try to save the day, to win Tony’s affections back, but shit, he had never even lost them. It was all to protect Peter. Everything, from the beginning, recruiting him and giving him the suit. He was just trying to save the kid from certain death.

The suit was a bubble. Something to control and keep safe, and then Tony had taken it away the moment Peter had needed it the most.

Yet Rhodey still could not see where the fault lied.

Tony shouldn’t have been surprised when Rhodey showed up with that concerned look on his face. He knew immediately Pepper had probably sent him, possibly with the message along the lines of ‘he’s closing off again…going through SHIELD files and staying up all night’. It wasn’t that he was angry or annoyed, he was more…not ready to talk about it. Because there had been the conversation with May, the letter, Tony had read it over and over again, the same paragraph in Peter’s messy handwriting. There were smudges where sentences had been erased and rewritten and Tony couldn’t remember the last time he had let himself cry.

“I’m worried about you…So is Pepper.”

They had sat in silence and that was the first thing Rhodey decided to use to break it. Slowly, Tony turned on his stool, holding the paper between his fingers like it was the most delicate thing in the world. The way he had held Peter’s cold, limp hand and felt his fingers, wishing they would grip back. Peter had, had a list of homework assignments scrawled on his palm because teenagers did that, they wrote notes on their hands and Peter was a fucking child.

Tony tilted his head, “Aren’t you always worried about me?”

“It seems to be a majority of the time,” Rhodey replied, “I’m getting better at prioritizing what to push you about, but Pepper is…Tony, she’s trying so hard and I know you are too, but you’ve got to do something about this.”

Tony ignored the comment and instead held up the paper for his friend to see, “May wanted to meet with me…Yesterday morning.”

Rhodey’s eyes widened slightly and his arms uncrossed. Rhodey knew, he knew how May had been after Peter had died. After the funeral, after and after, everything existed past that, like Peter had been the end of an era for him. But after all, Tony was a futurist and Peter had been the future. The future that Tony was working on building and creating and molding. Then it had burned down, and the future had gone with that boy.

Tony had searched long and hard for someone worthy enough and Peter had been it.

The kid had been it without even trying.

The concept was difficult because Tony had spent years trying to be it for his own father. His father who was his flesh and blood, and Peter was not his, but it felt like he had been. Peter hadn’t needed to be what Tony wanted him to be, even if the kid felt like he had something to prove he didn’t need to prove anything to Tony. He looked down at the letter and cleared his throat, “The kid wrote this…Said he wanted me to be proud of him…”

Rhodey didn’t get the chance to respond, because Tony was on his feet in a split second. He slammed the letter down onto his workbench, grabbing his coffee mug before throwing it at the wall. What was left of his drink was sent strewn across the floor and the glass shattered on impact. Rhodey didn’t flinch, just simply shut his eyes and lowered his head as Tony went for another object to throw. Then another and another and another because he was so fucking angry and wrenches and screw drivers and everything, it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

It was only when Tony approached the wall and slammed his fist into it so many times that his hand felt like it was going to give way that Rhodey shouted at him, “Tony, get a grip!”

“Why!?” Tony whirled, holding out his arms, “What am I supposed to get a grip on, Rhodes!? That this kid got himself slashed to death on my account!? Just to…make me proud!”

Rhodey breathed, stepping forward, “He was a kid, that’s all kids want to do – “

“Oh, I’m real damn proud,” Tony spat, “I’m real proud he went out and got stabbed nineteen times! I’m real proud he’s rotting underground while all of his little friends are in college having a ter-fucking-rific time when he should be there too! I’m proud he martyred himself to save some of my little trinkets!”

It was unloading. Maybe it had been five years, but it felt just as fresh as day one. Tony turned around grabbing the edge of his workbench before he leaned forward and took several calming breaths like he had forgotten how to bring air into his lungs. His fingernails dug in…he latched onto reality desperately. Time after time, time after time, and then time again Tony found himself in this whirlwind of anger that could not be extinguished no matter how much time passed.

“Five years, Rhodes,” Tony hissed, “He would have turned twenty a few days ago. Five years have passed, and he still wouldn’t even be old enough to legally buy a drink.”

Then, “But he was supposedly old enough to die that night.”

Tony could hear Rhodey’s footsteps slowly approaching him. A hand gripped his shoulder from behind and there was a response only Rhodey could muster, “He was brave, Tony. And I know…somewhere under your anger you’re very proud of him.”

He was…he was, he really was.

Tony didn’t get the chance to say anything when the door to the lab suddenly opened. He whirled around and Rhodey did the same, seeing both Natasha and Steve entering. Tony’s brows furrowed and he glance at the ceiling, “Friday, what the hell?”

“I’m sorry boss, Miss Romanoff overrode my security protocols.”

Tony looked appalled, “Witch. I’m tempted to burn you at the stake. You two really pick the most inopportune times to show your faces. Rhodey and I were trying to have a moment.”

Both entered the lab further, and Tony could tell already by the looks on their faces that something was very, very off. Like the heavy weight from Tony’s uncontrollable rage had settled into an unknown horror. Both Tony and Rhodey glanced at one another as Natasha remained silent, not returning with a quip of her own. She simply got close enough that Tony could see the worry lines in her forehead and Steve was wearing a similar expression on his face.

Tony went on…

“I’m sorry, why do I feel like I’m about to break three more mugs?”

Even if they didn’t entirely understand the reference, having missed the episode from moments before that still had Tony’s hands shaking, they didn’t hint that they were confused. Steve gestured to Tony’s stool and suggested, “Maybe you should sit.”

“Or we could just stand,” Rhodey said, “What’s up? Something else going on at the Compound?”

Steve sighed, “Other than Nat going through off-limits SHIELD files…”

She shot him a dark look, and Tony felt anxiety spike under his skin, the letter from Peter forgotten with the mourning and replaced by the worry from his own investigation. Tony got closer to her, closing the distance as he questioned a bit harsher than he had intended, “What’d you find?”

“Not necessarily what I found,” Nat said, “More so, it’s some dots that I think I may have connected, but you’re…”

She paused, then went on, “You’re not going to like it. So I agree with Steve, you should sit. Because if you’re already throwing mugs – “

“Romanoff,” Tony growled in warning.

“I’m just saying, if it’s true, it’s big,” Nat snapped, “And you aren’t exactly the most level-headed individual. But I didn’t think an e-mail or text would suffice. Trust me, if Steve had let me I would have kept my distance and just shot you a quick message, hoping no one was around to take the brunt of the blows that are sure to come.”

Tony could feel the color draining from his face as concern began to settle in. Why, why, why did they both look so panicked? Even Natasha, who was normally the most stone faced of all of them, had a spark behind her eyes that read: anger. Tony shifted on his feet, swallowing, confidence waning and maybe he should sit…But he didn’t. He simply insisted, “Tell me.”

“The file Peter’s name was in,” Steve started slowly, maybe trying to soften the news that was going to come, “There was…something else. Something that Nat doesn’t think is just a coincidence of the two of them being found so close together.”

His eyes found Nat and she said, “Project TAHITI…Have you heard of it?”

Tony, with a shake of his head, tightened his fists. He wasn’t sure he liked where this was going.

“It was a procedure, something completely controversial,” Nat explained, clearly choosing her words carefully, “Even the head doctor walked out after the first trial. It was set into place in the chance that an Avenger was lost. But…after Phil Coulson was murdered by Loki, Fury decided he was going to test it out…”

Rhodey held up a hand, “And what is it? What kind of procedure?”

Romanoff sucked in a deep breath…

“It’s a procedure to…bring the dead back to life.”

Tony felt his heart stop.

It was as if his ribcage had tightened and he was constrained to that moment, there in time, with those people. Steve was staring worriedly, Nat looked angry but clinical…Rhodey looked horrified and Tony…Tony didn’t know what he was feeling. It was like some kind of mutated sense of betrayal, but he wasn’t sure what for. It wasn’t that he had ever particularly trusted SHIELD to such a degree to feel hurt, but this…the thought of it even being tied up with Peter’s name…That made him almost weak at the knees and he decided he should have taken the direction to sit down.

Bring the dead back to life.

The dead.

Peter was dead.

Phil Coulson had been dead.

All of Tony’s assumptions that Phil had never died had suddenly turned to ash. It was replaced by a disgust. Disgust with SHIELD for doing such a thing and if Peter…No, no, no…

“You’re joking,” Rhodey said before Tony could find words, “They wouldn’t – no that’s just…”

“Wrong?” Steve provided, “Yeah…We thought so too.”

Tony stepped away and Rhodey held out a hand, grabbing his elbow as if he thought he was going to collapse. Tony had to hold onto the corner of the workstation bench to handle himself as he tried to calm his breathing. It felt like a panic attack was setting in, but he couldn’t let it. Not then and there in front of those people, not when this new information was trying to settle into his bones as being reality. It didn’t feel like it could be. Dead people didn’t come back…And why would SHIELD want to bring back a child from the dead in the first place?

Peter hadn’t been an Avenger.

He hadn’t…

But no.

No, he had been important in a different sort of way.

Tony yanked away from Rhodey’s hand so suddenly the man jumped. He was moving towards the door, running really and Rhodey called out in concern, “Where’re you going?”

They didn’t get a response. So, they followed.

…

Rhodey, for a few moments, really thought his friend had completely lost it.

Lost it more than usual.

He didn’t know exactly when to pinpoint his concern, or where things should stop. But once they arrived at a cemetery, a cemetery Rhodey knew all too well from a terribly rainy day five years ago, he felt like he knew what was about to happen. Why Tony had piled shovels into the back of his car, and Rhodey wasn’t sure why he hadn’t connected the dots sooner than in that moment, when Tony was walking blindly, dragging the shovels behind him. The sky had gone grey in the mid-afternoon, shrouding them in a darkness that held broken omens for them when they finally approached the perfectly decorated gravestone.

Peter Benjamin Parker

August 10^th, 2001 – September 23^rd, 2016

Suddenly Rhodey understood as the rain began to fall.

Steve assisted in the digging, while Rhodey stood towards the back with Natasha. There were only two shovels, and Rhodey kept glancing around anxiously, looking to make sure no one was watching them basically rob the grave of a fifteen-year-old. Maybe not robbing, but invading and it felt wrong. Rhodey knew no amount of reasoning was going to stop Tony in his state of pure mania. It was like something from a horror movie as time ticked on, and they were soaked through their clothes. It made it more difficult to dig, water rushing into the hole and dragging mud along with it. Steve and Tony didn’t stop, and Rhodey didn’t know how Tony’s exhausted body wasn’t on the verge of collapsing.

Rhodey realized Tony would never be the same. That night that Peter had died, it was as if Tony had lost a son. His own child and Rhodey imagined having to go through that all over again. What this could mean as Tony threw the shovel aside once they got deep enough and started digging with his bare hands. He thought of all the things that would happen from here. How Tony would survive the disappointment or the shock.

Because…Because…

The kid had been mourned. Had been cried over and buried and yet there they were, thinking there was the slimmest possibility of something unnatural occurring. There was no joy, how could they feel happy? It was horrifying. And if SHIELD had done something, and then hidden it, Tony wasn’t going to handle it well. Rhodey could already see the shit show it was going to bring.

Rhodey looked over at Nat, who met his gaze. Her hair was plastered to her forehead in the rain and he wanted to ask her if she thought things were going to be alright, because honestly, in that moment, he had no idea.

Then there was a hollow thump of Steve’s shovel hitting something.

Both Rhodey and Nat moved to the edge of the hole, keeping enough distance not to fall in due to the wet ground. Tony was on his hands and knees, pushing water and mud off of the lid of the casket that was now clear. Steve removed excess dirt as well, before climbing from the pit, as not to be standing on the lid when Tony decided to finally open it. Tony moved to the edge, hesitating just a moment and though Rhodey could not see his face he imagined it was pale.

There was no count down. No words. No nothing. Just everyone staring at a teenager’s casket, waiting.

Then, with several tries to break through, Tony lifted the lid and it creaked, revealing the inside.

Rain could have poured in reverse.

The sky could have opened to snow in the middle of August.

Because the casket was empty, and left behind was the silky blue inside, stained with mud and rain as the grave flooded.

Chapter Text

If it had been up to Tony, completely and truly…He would have killed Nick Fury without a second thought.

He considered some ways he would do it. Maybe he would put him through the same pain Peter had gone through, with nineteen stab wounds. Or maybe just grab him, fly him to the top of the tallest building in New York and just drop him. A lot of scenarios rushed through his mind, but nothing quite fit what Tony wanted and it didn’t make him feel the way he wanted to feel. It didn’t get rid of that insatiable rage he was feeling, welling deep inside. It had been thriving there, ever since he had been forced to dig up Peter’s grave and had seen it empty as the water flowed in.

Even if he couldn’t decide on the methods, he still considered it, standing at the edge of Pier 25 overlooking the water. People laughed behind him, parents with their children, and Tony supposed that might have been why Natasha had set up the meeting with Fury there. She had played mediator, contacting Fury and getting a location for a conversation. Out in the open, and Tony couldn’t really murder Fury in front of a bunch of families, especially since everyone knew his face. Still, he wore sunglasses and a hat in some attempt to stop people from approaching him and asking for pictures.

Birds made irritating sounds and Tony leaned forward, squeezing his temples. He had a hangover, from the night between digging up Peter’s grave and now. He had spent a lot of the time vomiting. The sunlight was burning his eyes and the air felt too humid from the rain the previous day. It was just an awful time, Tony supposed, and it wasn’t going to get any better anytime soon. Definitely not with what was happening and what was going to continue happening in the near future.

SHIELD had Peter.

Peter’s grave was empty.

And Tony was going to refrain from killing Fury.

“Long night?”

A familiar voice announced itself from behind him and the question almost made him spontaneously combust with rage. Tony whirled around, seeing Fury there in his usual get up even though it was August and humid as hell. Fury stepped forward easily, hands in his pockets, and he leaned against the railing nonchalantly, as if nothing in the world was wrong. As if Tony’s fingers weren’t itching to strangle him right then and there, in front of everyone. Tony didn’t know how he was stopping himself, but he focused on doing just that.

“Long night?” Tony bit out icily, “No shit Sherlock.”

Fury raised an eyebrow, and Tony ground out, “I should kill you.”

“That’s all you want to do right now,” Fury sounded like he agreed, “I know you, Stark. Better than you know. You want me dead, but the questions are eating you up. So go ahead.”

Tony’s fingers tightened into fists and his nails dug into his palms. His jaw hurt from grinding his teeth together and he hissed, “Why? Why him? Are you…an animal or something, using a fifteen-year-old for your experimental project – “

“After Coulson it was no longer experimental,” Fury cut in, “And you know very well we didn’t revive that boy as an experiment.”

It confirmed Tony’s original suspicions. He said, “Because I was his mentor.”

“Not just his mentor,” Fury leaned in close, speaking lowly, “It’s not even about what you were to him. It’s about what he was to you. Face it, Stark, you’re a collector. You snatch things up left and right, I mean your artwork collection is worth billions and you barely even look at the shit. Peter Parker was just another shiny trinket that you ended up getting attached to. Started viewing him as more than just an investment, but as something that needed to be taken care of. I think you enjoyed that feeling of being needed by someone. So, you dressed up as ‘Dad’ and filled the shoes – “

“Shut up,” Tony growled, “You don’t know the first thing about me. Peter wasn’t a ‘trinket’ he was a kid. A kid you wanted to use against me to make me what, fight for you again?”

To his surprise, Fury nodded, “That’s exactly it. You’re still capable of serving the human race, and the human race still needs you. Well, particularly, Stephen Strange needs you to help him protect the stones because he seems to be the only person invested in stopping a repeat of the Infinity War.”

“This has nothing to do with the Infinity War!” Tony shouted, not caring who looked at them when they passed by, “This has to do with you digging up a kid and bringing him back! How long did you even let him rest, huh? A week? A few hours?”

Fury said, “We knew the moment he died you would become more difficult to work with. His loss was going to destroy you. We exhumed his body three days after he was buried, but we only just started the procedure last month. He regained consciousness several days ago…Before that it was just about preserving the body in case of…future needs. And when we realized someone was after the stones again and you weren’t going to help defend the universe, we knew it was time to persuade you.”

Tony couldn’t help it. He reached out, and grabbed the front of Fury’s shirt. There was no satisfactory reaction, Fury’s face simply remained as stoic as ever. Tony began, speaking slowly, and he knew people were staring warily at the exchange, but he just didn’t give a shit anymore.

“Where is he? And I swear to God, if you lie, you’ll be eating from a tube for the next three months.”

“I’ve had worse men threaten me, Stark,” A part of Tony felt like that was a lie. No, Fury hadn’t seen the worst of Tony. The people who had were dead or close to it.

Tony seethed, “Tell me where he is. You’re going to give him back and you’re going to stay away from him.”

To his surprise, no quip was returned. There was just this silent stare and Tony felt his fingers beginning to loosen on Fury’s clothing, startled by a bit of confusion that began to race through his mind at the odd reaction. Eventually, Tony let him go completely, and he felt something like realization beginning to seep in, in some kind of awful way. A way that intimidated him, but he couldn’t let it show when the king of dickheads was right in front of him.

“No…No, Fury you didn’t – “

“We lost him,” Fury admitted, “Last night…Apparently you’re not the only person who let the kid crawl into your emotions. One of our doctors helped him get out of the facility. Said he gave the kid some cash and sent him on his way. We’ve got people out searching, but that’s partly why I even came here today. If anyone can find him, you can.”

Tony scoffed, “And why would I help you do that?”

“Because the boy is still fifteen, Stark,” Fury explained, “What happens if he runs into some old high school friend? Or tries to go looking for his aunt? He died. It’s not time for him to go back out into the real world. What he needs right now is protection.”

“Yeah protection from you,” Tony insisted.

Fury shook his head, “Protection from himself. From the world. People aren’t going to be happy if they hear some kid was brought back to life. They’ll go crazy, looking for whatever it was for their own loved ones. If you help us find the kid, we’ll work something out so that he can go home with you…But we’re going to have to put his aunt on hold for a little while until we can authorize her knowing.”

Tony argued, “Or I can just find him first and let May know whatever the hell I very well please.”

Fury stepped forward, and Tony refused to step back. His chin tilted up, looking down at Tony from the height difference. He crossed his arms over his chest, “Is that what you really want? A full out war with SHIELD when you have the option to cooperate and make this much easier for the kid? I might be one man, but I’ve got many more behind me. What will that do to Peter? His aunt? How’ll he readjust to the world while Iron Man drags him around on the run?”

Tony fell silent.

Shit.

It was like twisting his arm, and he could feel the rage bubbling like an animal trapped in a corner. On one hand, there was May…Letting her know, after she had suffered so long without Peter. And wanting to keep SHIELD as far away from them as possible. But then there was the stress of hiding from SHIELD, of endangering May, making them all targets. Tony sighed, looking out towards the water and he fought the urge to hurl Fury off the edge of the pier.

This was not how he imagined this meeting going.

“Do we have an agreement, Stark?”

It felt like acid leaving Tony’s mouth…

“I know where he would go.”

…

Peter hadn’t realized how much he missed home until he entered his apartment building and the familiar smell of old wood filled his nose and the ever-lingering odor of perfume hung in the air from the elderly women who would usually hang out on the first floor. It wasn’t that Peter expected everything to be different when he got back, but that was something he hadn’t expected to be the same and there was something infinitely comforting about walking into that.

He noticed that the paint on the first floor was different, but not on any of the other floors leading up to the seventh of the apartment building. Peter didn’t pass anyone on his way up, which on its own was a relief and a sort of disappointment. He was dying for a familiar face to calm the anxiety within him. He was about to have to look his aunt in the eyes, the aunt that thought he was dead for the past five years…It was horrifying and he was scared to death. But maybe it was for the best…Someone might would think they were seeing a ghost.

That was the last thing he needed…Was someone running away from him in terror.

His hands trembled so, so much, and he gripped the railing, taking each step as slowly as he possibly could. It felt like prying out organs and his body still ached slightly. He had been awake for some time now, having slept very little at the bus station in Purgabee and then even less on the bus ride to the city. He had missed lunch and dinner, and the sun had set over the city. Peter had spent most of the day milling around, avoiding the apartment, trying to figure out what he was going to do but eventually talking himself into returning home.

Returning to his aunt.

He felt like a coward for being afraid, like that poster at the bus station. His hunger had him feeling even worse. But he went up and up and up, finally arriving on the seventh floor, his mind wandering. New York still felt like home, it still felt the same. The unfamiliar faces he saw passing him on the street were just as unfamiliar as before. Graffiti hadn’t changed. But he knew time had passed, time he could not reach for no matter how hard he tried, and it intimidated him. But not nearly as much as approaching his apartment did.

Peter stood outside of the door for a long time. His heart continued to beat viciously against his ribs, a warning of fear. This was where he was now, what he was doing, and time appeared to move slowly for him like that, ticking on and on without much remorse. But he had let his aunt sit too long in that time and he raised his hand slowly, knocking on the door five whole times, very quickly, rapidly, like ripping a bandaid off.

A few moments passed, and Peter supposed she was probably in bed at this hour. Having to drag herself up. He shifted silently on his feet, swallowing, knowing she was going to be so afraid to see him. Terrified. He was a ghost, after all. Maybe not really, but it would feel like seeing one to her and suddenly he worried he should have gone about this in a different way. A more comfortable way…Like an e-mail? Would that even be okay?

His thoughts were cut off when the door swung open suddenly.

Peter expected to see a terrified face, to see his aunt, but instead he was greeted with something very different.

A small boy…Maybe about eight or nine staring up at him with tired eyes, as if he had just been yanked from his sleep.

Peter worried a moment he was at the wrong apartment. But upon a double check, he realized this was in fact his home. The two of them looked at one another a long, long moment and the little boy continued to hold the door wide open, gripping the doorknob. He blinked several times at Peter before he finally said, “Hi.”

A memory tilted in the back of his mind. Being small and moving into the very same apartment with his aunt and uncle after his parents had died. The nights had been spent with him wailing through the walls, wanting so desperately for his mother. But then Aunt May had become his mother in the following years and the apartment was an extension of that. There was no denial though, in the pit of Peter’s stomach that five years will change things…

Five years had changed this.

A woman rushed up behind the boy suddenly and she pulled him away from the door. She was wearing a nightgown and a robe and she too looked very tired, but her face was concerned as she pushed the boy back gently. She ordered something to the boy in Spanish and he rushed back to his room before she turned back around and said, “Sorry, sorry he loves answering the door.”

She paused, the worry melding into her face even more blatantly, “Can I help you, dear? Are you alright?”

Five years.

Five years.

It wasn’t wrong, in fact it was right. Clearly, his aunt had moved. There was no Ben there, and no Peter and maybe it had just hurt too much to stay. Peter couldn’t blame her, but the betrayal still filtered in anyway, despite himself, despite knowing it wasn’t her fault and that she probably just couldn’t bear to stay. After all, she wasn’t expecting Peter to return. It wasn’t like he had been missing, he had been dead.

Peter stepped away and managed to croak weakly, “No…No, I’m sorry…I thought this was someone else’s apartment.”

She tried to say something else, but Peter turned and ran away before she could because he felt hot panic pierce him and he suddenly couldn’t breathe as he ran down the stairs, each flight feeling like an eternity. Once in the lobby, he threw the front door open and stumbled down the front steps before ducking sideways into a nearby alleyway to get out of the street. There weren’t many people around at this time of night, but he didn’t want to risk anyone seeing the warm tears that had begun to pour down his face.

He stumbled over his own feet, tripping and falling onto the concrete just as a sob wracked his body and he felt the ground cut into his hands while he skidded to a stop, a puddle splashing up and dampening him. Biting his lip did little to help as he sat there on his hands and knees and tried to gather what was left of his dignity. A teenager crying in an alleyway, just because his aunt had moved was…It felt dumb. It felt so very dumb and he hated himself and he hated SHIELD for not leaving him dead.

Five years was a long time.

It was long enough for a newborn to start kindergarten. It was long enough for another Olympics to come about. And it was long enough for his aunt to find a new place to live. It just felt wrong, seeing the apartment he grew up in being inhabited by strangers. He felt angry, but he didn’t know at what or who. Maybe at Toomes for killing him. Maybe at himself for being stupid enough to get killed in the first place. Because if his aunt had moved, that meant all of this…It had really hurt her. Not that he didn’t expect it to, he knew his death would be devastating to her, but God…The apartment…

Peter pushed himself back against the brick wall, pulling his knees to his chest, not caring about how disgusting the alley probably was. His shoulders trembled as he bit back more cries, chewing on his lower lip to silence himself as tears slipped onto his cheeks and clung to his eyelashes.

Stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying.

You’re fine! It’s not a big deal! You just have to figure out where she is now.

But it felt like a big deal.

That had been their home, and now there were strangers in it.

Peter used his sleeve to swipe across his face, sniffling obnoxiously in his own ears. He breathed heavily through his mouth, trying to catch his breath and just when he thought he had his emotions back under control, he heard the sound of tires skidding to a stop at the mouth of the alley. Peter’s brows furrowed downward and he leaned forward a bit, peering towards where headlights were flowing in, shining against his face. He used the wall to prop himself up in his squatted position, still struggling to draw air into his clogged nose and face sticky with tear residue as he took in the sight before him.

A man walked around the car, into the light and his face was dark, Peter couldn’t see him but when he called out, he recognized the voice immediately.

“Peter.”

Phil Coulson.

Peter jumped to his feet in an instant, stumbling slightly and as he did so, Coulson started to sprint towards him. Peter grabbed onto the brick wall, starting to climb and as he did, Coulson came to a stop, pointing what looked like a gun at him. Peter felt panic sprout, because were they really going to shoot him? Had his escape from the facility resulted in a death sentence? Instead of a bullet being shot out though, two metal tips and a wire pierced the skin of his side where his shirt had risen a bit from climbing. Peter groaned as his body tensed and he fell from the wall, electricity flowing through his muscles.

He hit the ground and immediately convulsed as Coulson slowly approached. Peter, despite the tenseness in his muscles, grabbed at the metal and yanked the wire, ripping the grip from his skin. The flow of electricity stopped immediately and he pulled the stun gun from Coulson’s grasp throwing it across the concrete. Phil attempted to jump on him, but Peter kicked outward, making contact with the man’s chest and sending him sprawling onto the ground behind him.

He stumbled to his feet, starting to scale the wall once more just as more vehicles began to come to a stop in front of the alleyway. Peter scrambled onto the roof, the loose pebbles shifting below his feet as he started sprinting towards the other side, hopefully to make the jump to the neighboring building because he didn’t have any webshooters. He didn’t have shit and SHIELD had found him and in retrospect, maybe going to his aunt’s old apartment hadn’t been the best idea he had ever come up with.

His side burned from ripping the stun gun out of his skin and his mind was still slightly cloudy from the whole tasering process in the first place. What the actual fuck, Coulson?

Peter made the leap to the next building, hearing footsteps running below him as he was followed by the agents on the street. Mind racing thoughts kept slamming into him. What would they do if they caught him? Probably something much worse than just stunning him. They’d probably keep him sedated for the rest of his natural life, he wouldn’t put it past them. Air soared through Peter’s ears, waiting for his feet to make contact with the next rooftop, but it never came.

In fact, his entire body made contact with the rooftop.

Something like a cord wrapped tightly around his ankles and Peter was sent tumbling and rolling. He slid to a stop, groaning quietly as he laid on his side and tried to gather his bearings, but adrenaline continued to pump through his veins and he rolled over hurriedly and looked down. It was definitely some kind of bolas, and Peter quickly made work to remove the ropes from around him so he could start running again. He felt warm blood on his hands from trying to catch himself, or maybe it was from tripping in the alleyway earlier. He couldn’t be sure. But he was shaking so much it was difficult for him to even get his fingers to cooperate.

Then…The sound filtered through his ears.

Familiar.

It was like igniting a dream within himself. Something so distant but vivid. Peter’s head snapped up towards the source of the sound, and sure enough, it connected with the visual inside of Peter’s mind and his fingers stopped trying to remove the rope. His round eyes went wide with a sense of fear that he wasn’t sure how to place.

Iron Man.

Iron Man, touching down on the rooftop only a few feet away from him.

And Peter knew he shouldn’t have been scared. But the last time he had seen Iron Man, he had been taking Peter’s suit away from him. Now it was apparent, Iron Man had been the one to throw the ropes around Peter’s ankles and his mind raced, searching for an explanation as to why Mister Stark would be helping SHIELD.

Peter was wrong. He was an experiment…And maybe Mister Stark could see that.

Slow and intentional steps were taken towards him and Peter felt his chest spasm. Maybe he was crying again, but he wasn’t sure as he started clambering to undo the restraints. His hands wouldn’t work though, the wire was too tight and Peter looked back up again when the odd suit, the one he had seen from the television, didn’t open and let Mister Stark out. But instead it melted away as if it were liquid, retracting into the triangle on the man’s chest. Then it was just Mister Stark there, looking down at him, and Peter had never seen him appear that way.

The man’s eyes were wide. Almost bulging from his head and his mouth was open and Peter felt fear, so much of it as he heard agents shouting below them, maybe trying to find a way to the roof. Mister Stark wasn’t saying anything, and he had stopped approaching Peter. When he did take one more step forward though, Peter scooted back, and yeah…he was definitely on the verge of terrified tears because he didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want to be drugged anymore. He wanted to go home, he wanted things to be the way they were before.

Mister Stark must have noticed the way he was cowering from him because he paused.

“Mister Stark, please!” Peter shouted, breaking through his fear enough to find words, “Please, please don’t make me go back with them! I don’t…I’m sorry, I-I’m so sorry, please don’t make me.”

Maybe it wasn’t the most graceful opening. Something to say when seeing the man after five years of being dead. But it was all Peter could think of. Mister Stark was going to send him back…He was going to make him go away and the man had yet to say anything. He was just looking at Peter with that horror filled expression.

Peter pulled on the ropes around his ankles and the words erupted rapidly, “Please, please, please…I’m sorry! I know I should be dead, I’m sorry!”

That seemed to snap the man out of his stupor. He blinked several times at Peter and the boy flinched suddenly when Mister Stark took several purposeful strides towards him. He was down on his knees, still slightly above Peter in a matter of seconds and Peter cringed when his face was gripped tightly. He shut his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek to control his panic as Mister Stark ordered, “Look at me.”

Peter couldn’t. He couldn’t open his eyes. Mister Stark was going to send him back with SHIELD. He was going to be locked up forever –

“God dammit, look at me!”

His eyes snapped open. Mister Stark had never yelled at him like that before. It didn’t sound like anger, like after the ferry incident. It sounded like…terror. Like he was scared out of his mind. Peter’s wide eyes met Mister Stark’s and Peter tried his best to understand what Mister Stark was thinking as he continued to hold onto Peter’s face tightly, searching the boy’s eyes for something. Maybe proof…Like if he stared long enough he would be able to decipher if this was the real Peter. Maybe if he knew it was really him…Mister Stark wouldn’t let SHIELD take him again.

“It’s me,” Peter croaked weakly, “It’s me. It’s me, Mister Stark.”

It was like having to sooth a wild animal. Peter reached up, releasing the rope finally before he showed Mister Stark his hands, flexing his fingers, and went on, “Look I-I can move and I…I’m alive.”

So much was happening in the man’s expression. Like he was on the verge of snuffing Peter out like he was some sort of horrible nightmare and also stepping over into belief. The hand holding his face too tightly went a little lax and Peter blinked several times as Mister Stark’s hand dropped to his side. Peter whispered, “Do you believe me?”

Mister Stark didn’t deny it nor confirm it. But he didn’t look like he was about to explode anymore as he loomed over the teenager. Peter’s chest spasmed slightly and he looked back across the rooftop towards his aunt’s building. Or what used to be. He then found Mister Stark again, who was still staring like Peter was a ghost, and he supposed he was to the man. The voices grew louder suddenly though, and the door to the rooftop flew open, several men in suits filing out.

Peter’s heart dropped into his stomach and Mister Stark stiffened beside him. Peter kicked at the restraints, but they wouldn’t free him and so the kid did all he could think to do. He wrapped his arms tightly around Mister Stark’s chest, in an embrace and squeezed, beginning to say quietly enough that the agents pointing weapons at them couldn’t hear, “Don’t make me go with them. Please, I don’t – I know you might not think it’s me, but it’s really me.”

He turned his head, burying his face to hide from the flashlights now blinding him.

To his surprise, Mister Stark stiffly and maybe a bit hesitantly returned the embrace. It didn’t feel like affection. Not like Aunt May’s hugs. It didn’t feel like Peter, clinging to the only familiar face he could find. It enveloped and protected, an arm wrapping around his back and a hand pressing to the back of his head, burying in his hair firmly. It wasn’t a gentle hug by any means. It was something to hide…to hide Peter from SHIELD.

But it felt safe. It was the safest Peter had felt since waking in the hospital, even if he was held so tightly he could barely breathe. Only the smell of Mister Stark’s cologne and fresh rain.

“You’re not going with them. You’re coming with me.”

…

It was one thing to be told Peter was alive.

It was a whole other thing to see it himself.

At first…At first honestly, Tony had nearly lost his shit. Mostly because it felt like it had to be bullshit. It felt like it couldn’t even remotely be real. Looking at the kid, seeing his round eyes that had disappeared five years ago, having the kid cling to him because he was terrified Tony was going to hand him over to SHIELD…It brought him back to reality. Tony had scared himself, when he had grabbed Peter, because he honestly didn’t know…He had been outside of his body in that moment, and would he have hurt the kid? Would he have lost his fucking mind and lashed out because no, no, no in that moment it felt like someone had stolen Peter’s face.

The face that looked at Tony with wholehearted trust and in that moment…it had also held fear.

Fear of Tony.

So there on that rooftop, Tony held him as tightly as he possibly could. He thought maybe if he did, if he covered Peter enough, the SHIELD Agents wouldn’t even look at him. Of course, it had all been a part of the plan. An attempt to compromise and make this less of an episode than it was. But then Peter had started running and it hadn’t been Tony’s intention to wrap Peter’s ankles up, but he couldn’t risk the kid getting away. The city was too vast, and he didn’t know what kind of state the boy was in. But it appeared he was better off than Tony was in that moment…Thinking more clearly.

Things had moved relatively quickly from there.

The agents had eventually stopped shining their bright flashlights in their faces and Tony had pulled the kid to his feet, cutting the ropes from around his legs. Peter had been shaking, trying to stay as far away from Coulson and the other agents as possible. Tony couldn’t look at Peter’s face…It was hard, to even acknowledge that the kid was who was sticking so close to his side, practically attached at the hip the entire way back to the penthouse while Coulson was there, making the kid twitch anxiously.

Because for Peter…it had only been a few days.

But for Tony it was a lifetime.

In the car, Peter sat so close Tony could feel his warmth. Could feel him shivering, even though it wasn’t cold. Peter kept looking at his face, and Tony kept looking away, while Coulson watched the exchange from the row of seats in front of them and Tony still carried the urge to strangle every single SHIELD associate he came in contact with. But Coulson and Fury were at the top. Peter was searching for his eyes, to hold his gaze…And Tony…God he couldn’t.

Last time he had looked in Peter’s eyes…Really looked into them, Peter wasn’t there. He was bleeding to death, sand soaking up the gore of it.

Peter was alive. He was shivering. He was alive enough to be frightened of SHIELD and as angry as it made Tony that they had done this to the kid, it was like…It was something opening up and letting him know the kid was genuinely there.

Tony only found Peter when the boy grabbed the edge of Tony’s sleeve and tugged. Like something a small child would do to get an adult’s attention. Peter’s eyes were wide and aware, as he asked, “Where’re we going?”

The man’s throat felt dry.

“My place,” Tony answered. Peter casted a worried look towards Coulson who simply raised an eyebrow and Tony went on, “He won’t be staying long.”

Coulson rolled his eyes, “No need to lie to the boy, Stark.”

“It’s not a lie,” Tony seethed, “You won’t be staying.”

Coulson only hummed, and Peter’s hand didn’t release the end of Tony’s sleeve. Tony didn’t miss the way Peter stared at Coulson with fearful eyes. Tony couldn’t help it, he ended up asking ruefully, “Did they hurt you?”

Peter’s head whipped in his direction. Coulson sighed deeply, “He wasn’t mistreated – “

“Did I fucking ask you?” Tony felt Peter flinch, the hand released his sleeve, “I was asking him. Peter, did they?”

Peter’s mouth opened and closed several times and Tony went on, “Don’t lie.”

“No,” Peter’s tone was shaky, and Tony knew deep down it was him…It was him scaring Peter and the way he was now, the way he had been since Peter had died and since the war. This rash and angry person that was loud and not the least bit level headed. Peter went on, “They didn’t hurt me…they just…they wouldn’t let me leave.”

Tony didn’t get the chance to say anything in return. The car pulled to a stop outside the penthouse and everyone filed out, including Coulson, much to Tony’s dismay. Coulson slipped off his blazer and when he went to seemingly put it over Peter’s head, Tony held out a hand to stop him. Coulson explained sharply, “There’re security cameras in your building. We don’t need anymore catching Peter’s face tonight.”

He hesitated briefly before he relented and allowed the agent to put the coat over Peter’s head. Tony led the boy into the building. Luckily, the woman at the front desk was busy on her phone and barely paid them any attention as they loaded into the elevator.

Honestly, Tony had been expecting Fury to be there, but it didn’t stop the gnawing anger at finding him in his living room, standing at the window with his hands folded behind his back. Tony noticed how Peter paused at the edge of the room, not wanting to come in further, as Coulson approached his boss. Tony turned slightly, taking Peter by the elbow and tugging just enough to have him step forward. He was still shocked, when looking at Peter’s face, that it looked the exact same as it had the day he last saw him. Healthy…Full of life, eyes shining every emotion he was feeling. And right now the emotion was terror.

“Come on,” Tony ordered, “Sit.”

He was struggling to keep himself together as the boy took a seat on the couch, but Tony continued to stand, putting his body in front of Peter just enough to have him halfway hidden from Fury who turned to greet them. Fury’s attention immediately found Peter and he tsked, “Bold escape there, kid.”

Peter’s mouth opened, and Tony didn’t expect what came out, “Is Doctor Streiten okay?”

A beat of silence flitted and the longer it lasted, the paler Peter seemed to become. Fury and Coulson casted glances at each other and Fury replied, “Appropriate steps are being taken to handle him.”

Tony saw the guilt that showed itself, and Peter said, “Please…don’t be angry at him, he was just trying to help me.”

Peter then looked at Tony, “Mister Stark – Doctor Streiten was just trying to – he helped me get out, you can’t let them – “

“That’s something that will be covered later,” Fury interrupted.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Tony waved his hand angrily, “No, hell no. There won’t be a later, Fury. The kid is off the street, now you and your little gang of idiots can leave. There’s nothing else to talk about. Peter is here, no one knows he’s back.”

Fury crossed his arms over his chest, “You must think I’m an idiot. The minute we walk out of here, you’re going to pull back on everything we agreed on – “

He pointed at Peter and continued, “- and it’ll be the second he asks to call his aunt.”

“You think I’d risk that,” Tony laughed bitterly, “I agreed to our terms. You and SHIELD keep your distance and I keep the kid off the radar. Safe at the Compound until you people can clean up the mess you made. No one except need-to-knows will be aware.”

“W-What?” Peter’s voice croaked, but Tony couldn’t bring himself to look down at him.

“You’re forgetting something very vital,” Coulson added, “You’ll also assist Strange. You’ll go back to protecting the stones, like you should have been doing this entire time.”

Tony ground his teeth together. He was already having trouble wrapping his head around the thought of denying Peter the chance to call his aunt. Now he was going to have to step into old habits, on top of everything and actually do what SHIELD was asking. He considered maybe fighting, telling them to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. But another part knew it would make things so much harder on Peter…On the Avengers. On everyone involved. SHIELD was vast, they had eyes everywhere. What they were asking…keeping the kid hidden and helping Strange…it was easier than the alternative of fighting tooth and nail.

The man breathed, “Fine. What the fuck ever. Now leave.”

Tony paused though, before slowly approaching the pair of men. There was this beat of expectation and without warning, Tony slammed his fist into the side of Fury’s head. Unfortunately, the man was only briefly dazed, but didn’t fall to the floor. Peter though let out a loud shout behind him. Coulson moved to step between them but Tony didn’t continue his assault and Fury simply raised a hand to stop him, saying, “It’s fine, Coulson.”

“Mister Stark,” Peter gasped.

Fury stood up straight once more and Tony kept his eyes narrowed on him, as if in a dare. Fury hummed, “We’ll have eyes on you, Stark. Don’t go looking for a fight.”

And with that, both Fury and Coulson filed out of the penthouse and down the elevator. Tony was left staring out the window, unable to turn and face where Peter was still sitting on the couch. The results of his decision to be compliant began to set in and he knew the moment Peter opened his mouth…this was going to be hard and maybe…maybe he had been wrong. But it was the easiest way…For now.

“You’re not really gonna do that, right?” Peter questioned, “You’re gonna let me call Aunt May.”

Slowly, Tony turned to face the boy. The boy that was alive and shouldn’t have been. Tony felt like he should have been happier. And sure…there was something amazing about it…A feat of scientific genius. But five years…He knew the life Peter had waiting for him was going to be an extremely difficult one. If SHIELD ever did give them the green light to let Peter come out of hiding, there was telling May…There was school, there was everyone having aged five more years without him. The world had moved, and Peter had stayed.

“Mister Stark?” Peter tried again.

His fist hurt from hitting Fury. He wished he could know if Fury’s face hurt, because now he was there, dealing with this shit and it was Fury’s doing. He approached Peter, and Peter looked so young and afraid…Again, afraid of Tony. He kneeled down carefully in front of where he was sitting and they were eyelevel. Tony explained, “That’s going to have to wait.”

Peter looked…horrified.

“No, no, no,” Peter started to shake his head while Tony was nodding, trying to counteract it with a series of “Yeses.”

“Please, please,” Tony had never heard Peter’s voice sound so desperate, not even when he had taken the suit from him, “You have to let me – you have to let me call her. I need to see her.”

Tony swallowed, hands reaching out and gripping Peter’s upper arms as firmly as he could without hurting him. Maybe to ground Peter or maybe to ground himself, he wasn’t sure. His heart fell into the pit of his stomach and if he was feeling like this, he couldn’t imagine how Peter was feeling with the terrified expression on his face. Because now it wasn’t SHIELD holding him prisoner…It was Tony.

“Listen to me,” Tony started, “SHIELD is…They’re a bunch of assholes. But they’re powerful assholes. People who, if they really, really tried they would have the chance to take you away. The amount of suffering you would have to go through to hide from them would just add to the list of problems you already have in front of you. This is for the best…You’ll get to call May eventually, but not right now.”

Peter argued, “They won’t take me. Not with you helping me.”

Not with Tony helping him…It was that blind faith that had ended Peter’s life.

“Peter,” He stated, voice hard, “It’s just for the time being.”

He saw the way the kid’s eyes watered. The way he looked like he had been betrayed. Peter tugged at the hands on his arms, but Tony held firmly. Peter looked at a loss for words, but managed to find just enough to begin to pour out, almost nonsensically, “I can’t – I can’t do this to her, Mister Stark. She should know and I need her…I need her to see me, that I’m okay – that I didn’t leave her – “

Peter’s chest was heaving. Tony knew panic attacks. He had, had one when he had realized Peter wasn’t buried anymore and he still struggled to believe it was Peter’s flesh under his fingers. Tony shut his eyes though and simply shushed the boy because he didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know how to convince Peter this was the best option right now.

“I don’t understand,” Peter was trying to calm his breathing, “I don’t…I don’t know what to do.”

Tony opened his eyes. Peter had stopped tugging against his grip. Peter wasn’t a twenty-year-old…he was still as young as he ever was. Tony just said, “You’re going to go to sleep. And when you wake up we’re going to go to the Compound and we’ll wait this out. You’ll be safe there.”

“Mister Stark, please.”

It was clear this wasn’t what Peter had wanted. He had gone to his old apartment, after all. All the boy had wanted was his aunt and unfortunately, he was stuck with Tony for the time being. But Tony couldn’t think of what else to do. How else to handle this. Until something better could be unearthed, this was the option they had. The easier one. Tony was still struggling, struggling with the fact that Peter was even alive in front of him.

Peter was alive. And Tony needed to try everything in his power to keep it that way.

“It’s just a little while longer,” Even though they were Tony’s words, they felt like betrayal. A lie. He didn’t know how long it was going to be. He stared at Peter, just taking in the fact that he was blinking, he was breathing, and even though he was upset and on the verge of tears…He wasn’t fucking dead. He wasn’t with SHIELD.

Tony needed to keep it that way.

He reached up and placed a hand on the back of Peter’s neck. Tony squeezed as comfortingly as he could but he just…he didn’t know how to do this. He was afraid of breaking the boy under his hand. There were memories in the back of his mind, like they were yesterday, of picking him up off the sand and flying him to the nearest hospital, only to have the kid die on the surgical table while Tony watched. It felt like holding glass, porcelain, and Peter blinked rapidly.

Peter was there. Alive. Alive…his face was rushing with blood because of how upset he was. It was amazing, extraordinary but also so, so…backwards. There was something wrong underneath, and probably stemming from the fact that Tony knew there were an abundant amount of challenges from here.

Tony spoke, as gently as he could after years of turning to stone, “Everything’s going to be okay…I’ll make sure of it, just…let me handle it.”

Chapter Text

Peter looked out the window of the guest room and hesitated.

Really, really hesitated.

There was darkness still on the horizon…The night had not ended with the departure of Fury and Coulson. Even if Mister Stark had sent him to bed some few hours ago, with a fresh change of clothes, causing the teen to sport an old, faded AC/DC t-shirt and some sweat pants that were almost too big. Peter had lost weight, and muscle while being dead he guessed. Even with them preserving his body it must have been inevitable and the clothes swallowed him. The lemon detergent comforted him, but the distinct temptation to climb from the bedroom window to go find his aunt was still there.

Mister Stark wasn’t going to let him call her.

As soon as morning came, he was going to take him to the Compound to hide him.

And even though Mister Stark kept saying it wouldn’t be for long, that didn’t feel true. Because when he had looked in the man’s eyes he had seen uncertainty. Like when he had looked at Peter on the rooftop. After the shock and emptiness had worn off. Once he had released his hold on Peter’s face. Peter knew this wasn’t the same Mister Stark that had been around before his death. This Mister Stark was different…Not cool and collected with his snarky quips, but angry and mourning.

Peter’s fingers slowly reached out from where he was kneeling on the window seat and grabbed the lock, flicking it upward. They were large, French windows and Peter took a deep breath before he started to push them outward. However, the moment he felt the breeze from outside a voice startled him, causing him to flinch and pull away as if he had been burned.

“Peter,” Friday’s voice stated, “You’re not authorized to leave the penthouse.”

Peter felt something cold rush down his back, his face heating up. The door to his bedroom opened suddenly and Peter whirled around, and scrambled to sit on his bottom on the window seat, as if he thought it would look casual for him to be sitting at the edge of an open window. Tony appeared from the hallway, illuminated by the moonlight and the glow of the city. Everything looked blue and grey, his shoulders slouched slightly and his hair messy. However, he didn’t look like he had been asleep. More so as if he had been fighting it.

There was this moment where they just stared at one another. Mister Stark held the door knob, mouth set into a line and Peter shrunk a bit, gripping the edge of the window seat tightly under his fingers. Then there was movement as the man entered the room further, approaching where Peter was, and Peter cringed as Mister Stark reached over him silently, and grabbed the window, shutting it. The breeze effectively cut off, and Tony latched it. Peter didn’t look up at him, but instead kept his eyes on the door as Mister Stark sighed from overhead, gazing out the window.

Peter finally said, “I wasn’t leaving.”

“Hmmm,” Tony hummed, “Kind of humid out there to want to crack a window.”

He didn’t reply to that. Just shrunk even further into himself. It was all weird, everything, because things were different. Everything felt different. He had only been with Mister Stark a few hours now, but the man was just…walking on eggshells and it made Peter feel like he needed to do the same thing. Before everything had happened, Mister Stark had been relatively relaxed around him. But now…Now he wasn’t, and Peter tried not to be frustrated because he knew this had to be scary for the man. Peter was a dead man walking.

Mister Stark’s hand grabbed his shoulder and Peter got the hint to stand. He made his way to the bed and Mister Stark stayed where he was, just giving a slight push in the right direction. Slowly, he sank into the mattress, pulling the blanket over his lap and leaning against the headboard. Mister Stark continued to stare out the window, and Peter saw something gleaming behind his expression. Like he had something to say but couldn’t.

Peter instead said what he wanted to say, “I hope you know, this isn’t fair.”

The man’s head turned in his direction. He crossed his arms over his chest, “Not fair?”

“Yeah, not fair,” Peter replied, “You’re just…you’re letting SHIELD dictate whether or not my aunt gets to know I’m alive and that’s not…It’s not right. You would never do that, Mister Stark, you’d – you’d find a way and she is probably so hurt right now.”

Tony took a step forward, raising a hand, “I’m going to stop you there. I would never do that? No offense kid, but you’ve been putting me on a pretty high pedestal from day one. What I’m doing right now, is in your best interest. And yeah, I feel like shit not telling May about it I really do – “

“Then why won’t you let me?” Peter interrupted, “You don’t know how she’s feeling.”

“No, I think you don’t know,” Tony snapped…Peter jumped, and Tony went on, “You’ve been gone, kid. Gone. Toomes stabbed you nineteen times and left you for dead on a burning beach. That’s not your fault, I’m not blaming you for that, but…You didn’t see what it did to her. It made her life hell. And if we tell her, and SHIELD decides they’re going to take you away again, I’m just not willing to put that woman through that. If waiting a few weeks until SHIELD gives us the green light saves her an ounce of suffering, I’m going to do it.”

Peter stared, eyes going wide. So, nineteen. He had counted right, from the memory. Peter’s hand settled on his stomach, rising up to his chest. He had woken without scars, and he wondered if while they had him sedated, if his rapid healing had fixed all of that. Because if he was dead, he would have been buried with the gaping wounds still present. Peter looked at Mister Stark, biting the inside of his mouth.

“He really…he did that?”

Peter had known this whole time Toomes had murdered him that night. But there was something infinitely disturbing to hear it out of the mouth of someone he trusted. Someone like Mister Stark. The man approached him carefully, and Peter pressed down on his sternum. Tony sighed and sat on the edge of the mattress, and he ran a hand through his hair, continuously avoiding Peter’s eyes like he had been doing since his return.

When Tony’s head nodded up and down, Peter felt the guilt set in, “I’m…God I’m sorry…If I had just fought…Maybe if I hadn’t let myself fall asleep.”

There had been this moment he remembered. A moment where the pain had disappeared. He had gotten so sleepy, and quiet and the sky had looked inviting. Like it was going to swallow him whole into the darkness. The sand felt comfortable…Nothing was hurting anymore and sure he was a little cold, but other than that? Magnificent. Despite choking on his own blood, it didn’t feel like he was. He felt nothing.

Tony shook his head, vehemently, “No, no kid you couldn’t have…Look…”

He grabbed Peter’s wrist and pulled his hand from his chest. Mister Stark then used his thumb to press on the left side of Peter’s sternum. It didn’t hurt, but it was firm and for the first time Tony finally looked him in the eyes. He whispered, “That…that right there…after he stabbed you, there was no staying awake.”

The thumb lingered a few more moments. Peter imagined the wound that would have been there…He remembered seeing blood, but the amount had been disorienting. Peter croaked, “It didn’t hurt.”

It was partly a lie. Mostly because the look on Mister Stark’s face was awful. Like he was remembering everything Peter would never know. Because well…he had been dead or too close to it. Apparently, from what he understood from Mister Stark…He had made it to the hospital. But not much further after that.

Mister Stark’s face told Peter he knew he was lying. Peter chewed on his lower lip and tilted his head downward when the man ruffled Peter’s hair. Not really in a fond way, but more of in a ‘you’re trying to help me, but don’t’ way.

Then Mister Stark ordered simply, “You need to go to sleep. We’re leaving early.”

Despite the conversation from before…Peter still felt this was all very unfair. Mister Stark stood from the bed, and Peter watched him turn to leave. Before he moved away though, Peter’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. Mister Stark turned, brows furrowed, and Peter muttered, “Will you…will you just promise me that at first chance…I’ll get to call May?”

The man’s head nodded, “Yes, Peter. You’ll be the first.”

…

Tony checked on the kid three more times that night.

He didn’t sleep at all.

It wasn’t that he expected to. He knew the day would be long and drag through the night. He knew he’d be exhausted the next day when he’d have to bring the kid to the Compound and ultimately explain to the Avengers that still lived there why a kid was coming to live with them. Of course, Steve, Nat, and Rhodey were aware that Peter was alive…They had been there when the grave had been dug up. But up until that moment, they were unaware of the true extent of it. Except maybe Nat. She knew everything. She had been the one to find out about Peter in the first place.

Every time he went into the guest room after his and Peter’s conversation, the boy was curled up on his side, sleeping soundly. Almost as if nothing in the world was wrong, and looking at the kid, Tony sort of felt that way too for a minute or so. Despite it being summer, Peter had buried himself in blankets, mouth slightly open, snoring quietly. Tony missed being able to sleep like that, but he was also relieved the kid was faring well. Maybe being the one that had been dead for five years did have its perks, but very little.

He stood in the doorway, as if waiting for Peter to evaporate into thin air. Peter wouldn’t, he was solid and real, but Tony kept feeling like he was in some bizarre fever dream. He had never once crossed into the scientific possibility of bringing the dead back to life. That in itself was untouchable. Death was quite possibly the most permanent thing in the universe. Even after the Snap and returning the people they lost, he still believed that.

There was this kid though, a kid he had watched cease to exist. His chest was now rising and falling, not spasming for oxygen like it had been on that hospital table. Or gagging like when he had found him in the sand…

“Okay kid, okay, I got you – I got – keep your eyes open – “

“Kid! Stay awake – I’ve got you.”

But…Shit, he hadn’t seen how many wounds there were. Not until the doctors had started to cut the onesie off of him on the table. They just kept counting, kept finding more.

“Mister Stark, you need to step out.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Sir – “

“I’m not fucking leaving. Save him or I swear to God I’ll ruin this hospital and I’ll ruin you.”

Tony blinked, when Peter rolled over in his sleep. He didn’t wake up, just sprawled out like an actual spider, a mess of limbs. Tony turned slowly, shutting the door behind himself as he left the room. He hadn’t ruined the hospital of course or the doctor. It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t save the kid. His heart was just…it was ruined. There was no rescuing that. Not in that moment. Of course, now Tony knew Peter had been rescued in a different way, five years down the line. Things had shifted into something extremely difficult with that.

Tony spent the rest of the night wandering the penthouse and just occasionally checking on Peter. By the time the sun had come up he had already had four cups of coffee and was working on cup number five, sitting at the kitchen counter when Happy Hogan returned the text message he had sent in the middle of the night requesting a pick up to be brought to the Compound. There was only a simple response, telling Tony he was on his way, annoyance clear even through the typed words. Tony was not looking forward to what this would ensure for him.

Happy Hogan had, quite possibly, taken Peter’s death the third hardest of the adults in Peter’s life. Behind May and Tony. Despite finding the kid absolutely irritating in life, Happy had been the first person at the beach that night. He had been the first one to find Peter lying in the sand and had called Tony to get there as quickly as possible.

While Happy was one of Tony’s closest friends…they hadn’t talked much about it. Of course Tony hadn’t talked much about anything with anyone, particularly concerning Peter. But Tony knew Happy had his own demons on the topic, and Tony wasn’t particularly ready to open that can of worms with him. But it would come eventually, he knew. So when Happy arrived at about seven, walking in through the elevator with a slightly irritated expression, Tony braced for impact.

“You know how I feel about last-minute wake up calls,” Happy started right when he walked in, “I gotta have coffee and sit and contemplate life, I can’t just jump out of bed.”

Tony rolled his eyes, “You act like you’ve got anything better to do. I know for a fact Pepper is taking a personal day, so you get to babysit me.”

Happy sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, “Still, you know…I have a life. It might not seem like I do, but I promise. Why do you even need me to drive you, anyway? You just brought yourself to the Compound the other day when the break in happened. You could fly there and cut the time in half.”

Tony hesitated, holding his mug in his hand, focusing on how it burned his palm. He tilted his head slightly, unsure of how to find the words even though he had been sitting there most of the morning and contemplating how he was going to go about breaking this news to Happy. He hoped, as far as SHIELD went…Happy didn’t count as a civilian. Because the last thing they needed was them bursting through the doors after only one night because Tony had spilled the beans to someone who wasn’t authorized.

Tony considered Happy to be a non-civilian. He had gotten blown up trying to help catch the Mandarin, after all, all those years ago. Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed deeply, looking down and Happy seemed to notice the struggle there because his annoyance quickly turned into slight panic.

“Oh shit, what happened?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Tony looked up, “It’s not – okay well it is…”

“Should I call Pepper?”

“No,” Tony breathed, eyes widening a moment. Pepper definitely didn’t fall under authorized people. Definitely civilian. “No, no this doesn’t have to do with her. This is – “

Tony didn’t get to finish. There was a quiet, “Mister Stark” from the hallway and Tony’s mouth opened, pushing himself to his feet in an instant. Happy’s brows pulled downward in confusion and he turned sideways just in time to see Peter emerge from the hall. His hair was messy, eyes squinted against the light from sleep. Tony’s AC/DC shirt was wrinkled, and the kid looked much smaller.

Then…Silence.

Upon seeing one another, both Happy’s and Peter’s eyes widened. Happy’s more so like he was seeing a ghost, an earth-shattering revelation, but Peter’s more so looked like he had done something wrong. Maybe by entering the room or something when he wasn’t supposed to. Tony moved around the counter, because it was as if he could see Happy’s brain melting out of his ears. The man stepped backward while Tony stepped in front of Peter, holding out a hand.

“Okay, okay,” Tony tried but Happy was shaking his head back and forth.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?”

“Okay!” Tony said again, louder this time, and he glanced back at Peter who looked completely terrified. His shoulders were slouched, like he had curled into himself and Tony returned his attention to Happy who had moved away, as if he was going to get on the elevator and rush out of the apartment, but he didn’t press the button, he just turned towards the wall.

Happy was muttering, “Oh God, oh what the hell? I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

“Listen to me,” Tony insisted, “This is…this is the reason I needed you to come today and bring me to the Compound. We have a little…situation going on at the moment.”

“Little!?” Happy whirled around and Tony was disturbed to see the man’s face was red, not with rage, but with some kind of despair. Happy grabbed the side of his face and silence enveloped. He looked close to tears and Tony hadn’t seen him this way since the night panic was erupting on that beach and Peter was dying right in front of them. Happy didn’t cry. He was Happy Hogan, former boxer. Grumpy, yet somehow lovable Happy. But now he was shaking. Shaking and horrified.

Tony felt Peter grab the back of his shirt and the boy whispered, “Mister Stark – “

“Hush,” Tony ordered, “Just…hang on a second. I can only handle one person at a time.”

It was a shit show. He had expected the kid to sleep longer and to give Tony time to sit Happy down and have a conversation. But it was clear now that wasn’t going to happen. Happy was still staring and Tony wracked his brain for words, words, just find words and explain. Tony slowly lowered his hand and he tried once more, softly this time, “Hap…Something went on, you remember SHIELD?”

“Yeah, they snuck an agent in to be your assistant,” Happy breathed. He sounded lost. Like everything he understood in the world had suddenly exploded.

Tony nodded, “Well, looks like they interfered again.”

He stepped aside, letting Happy look once more at the teen. Peter was standing, still slightly curled in on himself, blinking wide-eyed at the men. Happy covered his face with his hands, and spoke quietly, “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. This isn’t real.”

“Okay, that’s a lot,” Tony commented, “This is all a lot, I know. Trust me, I had my out of body experience too. But I can assure you, it’s real. The kid is very alive because SHIELD decided to put him on ice for the past five years and recently chose to…bring him back.”

Happy uncovered his face, voice cracking with an emotion that was odd for him, “What, they just decided they were gonna Pet Sematary him!?”

“Well, if that’s what helps you make the connection, yes,” Tony replied. It got quiet again, and Tony could see the kid shivering, much like he had been doing in the car the night before. Happy stared. He stared for a long, long time, and Tony could see the kid was uncomfortable and just wanted to get away, but they had to give the guy a second to understand. To process. Because Happy had been there that night too…Maybe he hadn’t seen Peter die, but he had seen him on the beach, close enough to it to scar.

To Tony’s surprise, Peter was the first to break the quiet.

“H…Happy,” Peter stumbled over the name, “I’m really sorry.”

The man shook his head, “No – hell no, kid don’t you…don’t say sorry.”

Peter looked down at the floor. Tony ordered, “Kid, give us a minute.”

When he looked back up his eyes were wide. Like he wanted to stay. He looked between both Happy and Tony and Tony tried again, “Just, wait in the room, we’re going to leave in a bit. I need to talk to Happy though.”

After the second try, Peter finally turned and moved back down the hallway. When Tony heard the bedroom door shut he finally looked at Happy and he gestured for one of the stools, saying, “You wanna sit?”

“I’d rather stand after that, thank you,” Happy put a hand on the wall and another on his chest, “Tony…God…”

Tony nodded, “I know. I know, Hap. Trust me, this is not what I would have wanted it’s…I mean its been five years and don’t get me wrong, it’s amazing to see that kid breathing…And talking…but it’s going to be so screwed up, this entire process is going to be agony.”

“Why?” Happy questioned, sounding like he had been punched in the chest, “Why would they do that?”

“Because they want to dangle him over my head…use him as leverage,” Tony laughed bitterly, “They brought him back, right? So they see him as some kind of privilege to me, like parents threatening to take a cellphone away from a kid or something. They won’t even let me call the kid’s aunt because they’re worried the more people that will cause a stink about them interfering, the worse it’ll be for them.”

Happy asked, “Well did you kick their asses?”

“I would love to,” Tony responded, “Unfortunately, that’s not in the cards. They’ve got more leverage than me, and I figure the kid has been through a lot of shit recently, dragging him on the run from SHIELD would not do.”

The other man took a breath, “He still…he looks the exact same. Like that night.”

Tony swallowed past the lump in his throat. That would be all they thought of when they saw him now. He, Happy, and May were cursed with the image of a pale body. But Happy and Tony were cursed with seeing Peter aspirate on his own blood. Of him not being able to respond to them. Tony rubbed his hands together, and took the easy way out, “He’s still fifteen. Not to be morbid but…You don’t age when you’re dead.”

Happy said nothing in return.

It was apparent a morbid disclaimer didn’t make a statement any less morbid.

…

Peter couldn’t remember a car ride ever being so...Uncomfortable. Not even the car ride the night before with Mister Stark and Coulson could compare.

He knew part of it stemmed from the fact that he didn’t even want to go to the Compound in the first place. Peter would have much rathered found his aunt…wherever she was now, he supposed in a new apartment somewhere in the city and have just…never left her again. But that wasn’t what happened and when Happy had finally calmed down enough, they had left the penthouse and gotten into the Audi waiting downstairs.

No one spoke…and every time Peter tried to speak neither adult would say much in return. It was pins and needles with them, constantly, but a part of him felt guilty for being frustrated because it was clear they were still weirded out about the fact that he was even there with them. So, he stayed quiet for the abundant amount of time, like they did. He was bored out of his mind because he didn’t have a cellphone anymore…hadn’t had one since waking up. Besides if he did, who would he text? Ned? Ned was twenty now, in college probably, he couldn’t talk to Peter.

Peter was dead.

He picked silently at his fingernails, looking at his hands.

Peter though, finally looked up into the rearview mirror and said, “Happy?”

Happy’s eyes snapped towards the mirror and Peter breathed deeply before he asked, “You were there…weren’t you?”

It was the only explanation Peter could find as to why Happy was so tense. As to why he had to speak to Tony alone. He saw how the man gripped the steering wheel and Tony whispered, as if a warning, but no one was talking about it and Peter needed to talk about it, “Peter.”

Happy cleared his throat, “Yeah kid…I was there.”

“What happened?” Peter asked.

“Hey,” Tony tried again, louder this time, “No, okay, no we’re not talking about this.”

Peter shook his head, “I-I’m not talking about me getting butchered to death, exactly, I’m talking about – what happened? I mean, I got on the plane and then what? I know it crashed but why’d he keep going? Why’d he keep stabbing me, what’d I do to make him so angry at me – “

“He kept stabbing you because he was a homicidal asshole with no qualms about killing a fifteen-year-old kid,” Tony hissed, “And he’s gone now, so it doesn’t matter.”

Peter’s heart fluttered with anxiety. He shook his head back and forth, speaking softly, “Mister Stark…you shouldn’t have…you shouldn’t have done that.”

If looks could burn holes in people, Mister Stark’s did. Happy let out a breath from the front seat and he seemed like he was going to say something to try to diffuse what was in Tony, but the man was too quick in his response, “I shouldn’t have done that?”

Peter swallowed thickly.

Wrong thing to say.

“I can’t believe…” Tony trailed off, then returned, shifting sideways in his seat to face Peter. “No, you see, kid I should have done it sooner. I should have done it after he dropped you from the sky and almost got you drowned. After the ferry boat. Before that goddamn beach. Let me make something very clear…What Toomes did to you was inexcusable and I never want to hear you try to make it sound like he didn’t deserve what he got, because he did.”

Peter sat, his mouth open in shock. Happy was silent, and something told Peter he agreed with what Tony was saying. Peter started, voice cracking, “He was a person, Mister Stark.”

The man’s hands folded, impatience clear in his expression.

“He was an adult who murdered a child. That’s what he was. If I hear you try to defend him one more time, my head might explode off of my shoulders so please…stop.”

Peter’s shoulders slouched. He looked away before he mumbled, “Sorry.”

He understood why the asking questions thing was disturbing but…it was his death. He had questions about it. He wanted to understand, because it felt like everyone knew things he didn’t about himself. Peter couldn’t remember enough to connect the dots and make it better, so there was this suffering in a silent rain.

The rest of the ride of spent in that unholy silence until they finally pulled up to the Compound. Peter knew his no-good-very-bad-day wasn’t even close to ending, but he pushed the door open and was the first to climb out anyway. His eyes stared widely at the building, amazed by how giant it was in person. He had dreamed of one day visiting the Compound but he had never imagined the first time he would be there would be because Mister Stark was trying to hide him from the rest of the world until SHIELD decided to loosen their grip.

Peter had to contain his excitement, so he wouldn’t run up to the entrance. It felt wrong, being happy to be there when the air was so thick with an unknown feeling of despair. He hoped…he hoped the others would adjust to having him around again…That soon he’d get to call his aunt and she too would get used to him once more and things could be okay. He could laugh and feel happy and excited without worrying that someone was going to be hurt by it.

They ended up not going into the front doors, apparently because the residential area was further down, and Tony didn’t want to parade him past employees. Peter stuck close, as Happy followed behind. The moment they walked in, Peter was greeted with a high ceiling and endless walls. Everything was amazing, and he looked up at the roof and whispered, “Woah.”

He looked at Mister Stark who had paused in his steps to wait for Peter. Something…odd passed over the man’s eyes. Almost like he was recognizing Peter for the first time since seeing him again. Peter felt his inner fanboy bubbling up as he continued, “This is – It’s awesome.”

Tony and Happy glanced at each other. Tony simply held out a hand and said, “C’mon, we’ll go to your room.”

“My room?” Peter blinked, “I-I have a room?”

“Yeah,” Tony answered, “It was here before.”

That felt like a weight in him, sort of dragging down the amazement a bit. He walked forward and Mister Stark took him by the shoulder, leading him down the many hallways. Peter was tempted to stop and look at everything, but Mister Stark kept pulling him along. Peter had a feeling he was worried about other people seeing him right now, and maybe he wasn’t quite ready for that, so Peter did as he was told, and he followed.

It was the third room on the right, second floor, first hallway. Peter would have to remember that if he ever planned to leave the room, because everything was so big. Tony put a code into the door and opened it, switching on the light. Peter entered slowly, taking in the space in front of him with huge eyes, and he could practically feel them bulging out of his head.

There was a bed of course, but along with that was a computer set up with several monitors, a television, comic books, some of which Peter had yet to see and a vast amount of movies on the wall. There were even clothes hanging in the open closet and Peter entered the room further, jaw on the floor. He whirled around and looked at Tony and Happy. Mister Stark had his arms over his chest and he waved simply.

“If you don’t like it, we’ll change it. Hopefully SHIELD will cut the bullshit soon and we can get you to May – “

Peter shook his head, allowing himself to smile genuinely for the first time in what felt like ages.

“This is the coolest thing ever, Mister Stark.”

The man looked startled by the words. Happy did too and he even turned and took a step out. Peter’s brows furrowed, but Mister Stark stepped forward quickly and diverted his attention, “I’m glad, Peter. Listen, I hate to drop and run, but I need to go let the others know about our situation. I’ll still be in the building just…hang out here for a bit, okay?”

Peter felt his stomach drop. He was so tired of it being called a ‘situation’. Peter had been resurrected. It was messed up. But…God it felt like he was a problem. Something that was in the way and making Mister Stark’s life hard. Happy already had to step out because of it and the world was so heavy sometimes that Peter just couldn’t breathe. But instead of arguing, he nodded his head because it was easier that way, he supposed…It was easier to comply and make it simpler for Mister Stark.

Tony patted the side of his face, “Good, if you need me tell Friday and I’ll come. I promise.”

And with that, he turned, hesitating slightly in the doorway to look back at Peter. As if he thought he was going to disappear. Peter forced a small smile, even though he wanted to ask if Happy was okay and ask to not be left out of the loop. But like so many times before…he was. Mister Stark walked out and Peter slowly lowered himself to sit on the foot of the bed, folding his hands together and shutting his eyes.

…

Tony found Happy near the exit of the Compound.

He was walking out when Tony managed to catch up, grabbing the door and stopping the other man with a hand on his shoulder. He felt Happy stiffen slightly and he turned around to face Tony, and once more…Like back at the penthouse, he saw the devastation on his face. Tony frowned and questioned, “What’s up?”

“You know what’s up,” Happy breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “He’s been dead five years, Tony. And the minute we bring him in here, he’s just, he’s the same kid on the inside, and I feel fucking guilty because none of us are the same. We couldn’t wait for him.”

Tony frowned, “Well, time didn’t exactly stop for us the way it did for him, Hap. And if – if we can get some kind of smile out of him even if just from a ‘cool’ bedroom, we shouldn’t turn that into a negative thing.”

Happy let out a slow breath. He lowered his hand and tilted his head downward before muttering, “I’ve seen some weird shit, but this has to be at the top of the list.”

Tony remained silent. He too agreed, but it was just understood that no one knew how to deal with this. He hadn’t felt this lost since the whole Thanos thing. The entire war and trying to figure out how to undo the Snap. Tony stepped back a bit, sighing deeply and holding the door handle. Happy questioned, “You gonna tell the super-friends?”

“They kind of already know, but I’m going to go catch them up,” Tony replied, “You going back to the city?”

There was a nod from the other end. And with that, they went their separate ways. Mostly because Tony knew Happy handled things better on his own. Sometimes Tony thought that about himself, but then he would drink himself into a stupor and realize he probably needed a babysitter. Tony went searching, taking the stairs back up to the second floor towards the residential wing. He had a feeling they would all be waiting, knowing he was coming and he sort of took his time because explaining this again was going to be annoying but at least it wouldn’t be as shocking as it was with Happy.

He found Rhodey, Natasha, and Steve. Even if it wasn’t everyone, it was clear they had kept the group small with the three of them so they could gossip freely about Tony and his meeting with Fury. Tony knew Barnes was probably aware, always lurking in the shadows of the Compound. Tony often avoided him. After the war, he couldn’t very well exile him, considering he had helped, but he could stay far away. Wanda would get information on her own as well, and if Peter was going to be staying for a while it was inevitable the team would meet him at some point. But for now, keeping it among the people that had been at the grave was somewhat comforting. Then of course…there was Bruce. Probably somewhere in the Compound oblivious but happy with his projects.

The moment Tony walked into the room, Rhodey and Steve both stood, but Natasha stayed in her place. There was a moment, and Tony was expecting one of them to break in and just come out and ask. However, they didn’t, even though Tony could tell Rhodey was dying to. So he walked in, crossing his arms over his chest and setting his mouth into a thin line.

To his surprise, Natasha questioned, “So?”

“So what?” Tony asked.

“So did you kill Fury?” Natasha elaborated, “I tried very hard to pick a place that wouldn’t end in bloodshed.”

Tony looked over at the wall and hummed, “Well, I got one good hit in. But he’s still alive. Too many of his friends were surrounding my penthouse and they were threatening to take the kid from me, so I tried to be on my best behavior.”

“The kid,” Steve breathed quietly, “So he’s…?”

For someone who had only met a boy in a spider mask briefly in Germany, Steve’s face looked incredibly worried. Sympathetic. His empathy was uncanny, and Tony rolled his shoulders, trying to relax. The less emotion he put into this the better, even though talking about any of it made Tony’s throat want to close. Tony nodded, “He’s alive. I brought him to his room actually and told him to stay there for now.”

“What did they make you do?” Rhodey’s voice broke in and Tony looked at the ceiling. Even they had no faith that SHIELD would just hand Peter over willingly. They had gone through the trouble of reviving him, after all. He was more than just a toy to give away without strings attached. No IOU. The thought made Tony angry all over again, but he shoved it down.

“No civilians can know about him,” Tony said, “That’s a part of the deal, which is why he’s here with us and not with his aunt. Also, I have to help Strange figure out who is causing problems with the stones. Forced participation and all that. Looks like retirement will have to wait a little while long.”

Rhodey’s eyes went wide, “They aren’t letting you tell May?”

“Nope,” Tony shook his head, and gritted his teeth, “Peter is a present. You know, not a kid to SHIELD, just their leverage.”

Steve argued, “Then why are we letting them pull your strings? We fought SHIELD once when they were corrupted by Hydra years ago, we can do it again.”

“A full out war?” Nat raised an eyebrow, “With SHIELD? The people who have helped us get back on the good side of the government?”

Everyone glared at her and she held up her hands, “Look, I’m not defending them. It’s wrong, what they’re doing to Peter but…I’m saying it could be a lot worse. And fighting them over something that could just be temporary is…it’s suicide and I don’t know about you guys but I’m not ready for another Thaddeus Ross situation.”

Rhodey shut his eyes and opened them again to return his attention to Tony, “How long did they say they would keep this up before backing off?”

“No specific time-frame,” Tony answered, “I’m guessing once this stone thing is taken care of.”

Everyone sat in a sort of awe. As if the words were settling in. SHIELD had always been sort of a grey item, but now things were just insane. That grey had turned to full out darkness, because bringing a kid back to life, knowing the kind of setbacks he’d face and the pain and confusion it would cause for everyone involved…Well, that sounded more like a Hydra monstrosity than the people that were supposed to be on their side. Of course, controlling Tony was the goal, always had been, the government had been trying to do it for years.

Now they knew how to.

“So he’ll stay here, with us,” Steve said in finality, “And we’ll all keep him safe, until this can be figured out.”

Tony was…grateful to hear that enthusiasm. But that was just who Cap was. Very quick to protect one of their own. But Tony didn’t want Peter viewed as a soldier who had been hurt in battle, he was a kid who had been murdered. No matter how much valor had been in that boy’s heart, it didn’t change the fact that it had been outmatched and unfair and vile.

He just knew this kid needed to be kept alive and out of SHIELD’s hands. Not just for Peter’s sake, but for his own. And God…May…He wanted to badly to tell her, the guilt was almost smothering. But he also knew he couldn’t hurt her, not when they were still on uneven ground. Not when things were still so far away, even if Peter was right down the hallway in his room.

The mini-bar in the corner of the room was tempting, but he looked away. He couldn’t do that with the kid there and besides, he would need to contact Strange soon and check on everything. See how they could figure out how to catch this guy so SHIELD would get off of his back about being ‘useful’. He wouldn’t be that if his words were slurring and his eyes were crossing.

So instead, Tony flopped down on the couch, allowing Rhodey to pat him on the shoulder comfortingly while Steve gave him a sympathetic glance and Nat frowned to herself.

Chapter Text

Peter thought, maybe years down the line after times were back to normal and he was no longer suffering from this disorienting experience, he would think better about his ideas of ways to cope with his rebirth. That was what he was calling it now, a rebirth. Because he felt like a newborn, floundering inside of himself, not sure what to do and where to go. Not even wanting to leave his bedroom in the Compound because he was worried about being looked at the way Mister Stark and Happy kept looking at him…Like he was a ghost.

So, Peter spent the remainder of the day pacing around his room, not even leaving to find food. That was until he realized there was the computer, literally right there. Waiting for him to do the stupid thing he was currently doing.

It started with May. He couldn’t find anything recent and her social media accounts had been deleted sometime at the end of September and early October…Five years ago. So, around his death she had completely shut her online life down. Not that she had, had much of one anyway, but her entire presence was gone, and Peter was kind of frustrated by that because he couldn’t even check to see how she was. He was tempted to e-mail her…but a part of him wasn’t because chances were, SHIELD had already thought to keep an eye on all of her contact information. And the chances of her believing some random e-mail or text message claiming to be her dead nephew were slim to none. She’d have to see him…Really, really see him.

Then it was Ned. He was much easier to find. There were Instagram pictures of Ned, MJ, Betty, and Flash all in Europe together for their senior trip two years before. Then there were more recent photos of Ned and new faces that Peter didn’t recognize attending MIT. There was also a news article that had Ned Leeds’ name plastered all over it and Peter felt a heavy lump form in his throat upon seeing it and processing it.

Midtown Student Receives Full-Ride to MIT, Courtesy of Stark Industries

Peter’s heart almost burst. The happiness for Ned bubbled up entirely, and he smiled silently at the screen, seeing a picture attached to the article of Ned accepting the scholarship. Handed over specifically by Miss Potts herself. There was something surreal, seeing Ned in the picture. He would have been eighteen when it was taken…Three years after Peter had died. Getting to go to MIT was every person’s dream at their science school. Peter teetered between that happiness but also that sort of despair, because he thought…What if they had gotten to go together? Met the same friends? Done stupid things and failed tests, but somehow managed to scrape by?

Like every other kid.

It wasn’t necessarily that Peter was jealous, it was that he was frustrated with himself for being upset in the first place. He had made the choice that night to go after Toomes. His death was a result of that. Simple. But it was hard to wrap his head around it. It had been a split-second decision to run into battle. Not even that…It hadn’t been a thought at all, but a reflex.

Those thoughts were what led to the bad thing.

Peter googled the plane crash. Well, he wasn’t sure if it was a ‘bad thing’ but it felt like one. Not at first, when he first clicked on the New York Times article covering the incident. The words were fine…Just an overview of the whole situation. The plane had crashed, but not all of the details had emerged yet when the article was written. Which meant Spider-Man’s death hadn’t been announced at the time of its publishing. Peter wondered just a moment what made them decide to admit that the Spider-Man was in fact dead. Maybe people had started asking questions, but the news back at the SHIELD facility had mentioned Spider-Man’s death so it had to have come about at some point.

None of that got under his skin. Sure, it was bizarre to read about, but it was nothing he hadn’t heard before. It was only when he got down to the wreckage photos. Photos released by Tony’s private investigators who had gone in to cover the crash site. Photos that had to be released, he supposed, because the press had the right to know about a plane crash that maybe could have flattened some civilians if they had been around. That was when Peter felt his pulse spike, his throat going dry.

The photos were taken during the day, a stark contrast from Peter’s memories. It startled him, looking at the black charred ground and the mangled pieces of metal. Peter zoomed in on one particle picture of the engine, and his mind whirled with the memory of everything breaking apart. Sand in his mouth, in his eyes, in his hair. Not being able to hear anything past the ringing in the back of his skull. Peter didn’t think he had ever hit the ground that hard in his life.

Then…Hot burning, blood warm on his forehead and his nose.

Wings soaring towards him and God, Peter couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t…Well, he could…He had, had no idea what not breathing was until he was grabbed, held so tightly it felt like his flesh was crumbling under the grip. He came face to face with Toomes, inches from his eyes, exposed and Peter was suddenly bare under the gaze.

“You little bastard! You couldn’t just leave well enough alone, huh?”

So close, but all Peter could feel was the fire around him as he was restrained.

“You can’t – “

“I can’t what, kid? I can’t what!? This was my fucking livelihood, you little dipshit.”

“It – it was wrong.”

“So you wanna be the hero, kid? Because what I was doing was wrong?”

And there was this blade, glimmering, protruding from somewhere on Toomes’ wrist. Like out of nowhere. Out of a monster, and Peter didn’t get time to be scared. He didn’t know if he could have been. It just felt like a rush of breathlessness, and suddenly…Suddenly the blade was burrowing so deeply into his stomach, it felt like – it felt like it had gone through his entire being. Peter screamed, because it hurt – God it hurt – it hurt so much and he had lied to Mister Stark. He had lied.

“This is what happens when you try to be the hero, kid.”

It ripped out of him.

“All the heroes are dead.”

Again.

Again.

Again.

Peter didn’t think he had ever cried like that in his life. A silent cry, staring up at the sky. Mouth open and wailing, but with no sound escaping him because eventually he couldn’t even scream anymore. He couldn’t beg for it to stop anymore. He could only look up and feel. Feel each and every angry sheathing of the blade into his chest and abdomen. Peter’s fingers shook, covered in blood, shock setting in rather quickly, but when it did, the pain went away and he was so grateful. So, so grateful, even if some vague knowledge told him he was dying.

Peter stumbled out of the desk chair, falling onto the floor and choking. His fingers clawed at his throat, and he was coughing, unable to draw air into his lungs, no matter how desperately he tried to. It was like in the facility, when Coulson had grabbed him and when the world felt like it was ending in an instant of pure chaos. Peter grabbed onto the desk, pulling himself to his feet and he gasped for air over and over again before turning and stumbling towards the exit.

He needed air.

He needed air right now.

Peter used the wall to support himself, eyes pricking with tears as he turned what felt like several corners. Panic attacks were new to him…He had always been relatively good at keeping everything under control, even after Ben and the beginning of Spider-Man. They’d come occasionally, but didn’t they for everyone? But this one felt different. This one felt like the most genuine death he had ever experienced, even after being stabbed so many times.

It was on the third corner that he bumped into someone and they grabbed a hold of his wrists. Peter gulped in a deep breath, snapping his mouth shut and trembling as he looked up through blurred vision to see the concerned face of Colonel James Rhodes. Peter felt heat rising in his cheeks as he tugged on the hold and stumbled back out of the man’s grip, grabbing hold of the wall and turning around so the colonel couldn’t see his face.

“Peter?” Colonel Rhodes said, “Peter, are you alright?”

Peter almost shook his head, but instead grabbed his shirt over his sternum and looked down at the ground. He tried to force air into his lungs, before he finally managed to croak weakly, “I’m f-fine.”

As embarrassed as he was, a part of him was grateful for running into the man because it had forced him back into reality. Had pressured him into getting a grip from the brief mind shattering panic that had soared through him. Peter wondered if all things were like this, very quick and very over. Things felt over with for him…Nothing was particularly welcoming. Peter turned back around finally, when he felt Colonel Rhodes put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. This was not the sort of re-introduction he wanted. He had only met the man in Germany, behind the safety of a mask. But now he was fully exposed in all of his teary-eyed glory.

Teary-eyed with remnants of being stabbed behind them.

Peter blinked up at Rhodes, before he repeated, this time with more stability, “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” Rhodes questioned, “I can go get Tony – “

Peter shook his head, “No, I promise, I’m okay, I just…Got freaked out.”

The man tilted his head in a sort of downward way. Like how Uncle Ben used to do, in the most gentle motion. Rhodes had that same softness in his eyes that Uncle Ben had, had. A sort of expression Peter had seen very few times in his life, but it made it easier to trust. It made the unfamiliar, familiar and Peter felt he would blink and his dead uncle would have also been resurrected right there. Like Peter was. Maybe that wasn’t so crazy a thought, Peter didn’t feel bad about it, didn’t feel out of his mind. Weirder things were happening right now.

He had been dead. But now he was alive, in the Avengers’ Compound, speaking to Colonel James Rhodes after having a brief mental breakdown.

Peter folded his hands together tightly, and bit the inside of his cheek as the man said, “Something scared you? In the Compound?”

“No, not in the Compound,” Peter muttered, “I remembered something…and got…you know.”

Then the softness turned to understanding. Remembered something about dying. It was clear, in an undertone sort of way, how pink mixes with red and you know it’s there but not at the same time because it’s overshadowed. Peter’s memories felt overshadowed, and when they erupted they were such a startling color that he could not hold it within himself. It arrived in the shade red, covering his fingers and tasting like pennies in his mouth.

It was just a rough time. In the most unironic way possible.

The hand on his shoulder held tighter once more, “Peter…if you need to talk about it, there are a lot of people here willing to listen.”

That was startling. The Colonel Rhodes was offering to listen to him whine about his death. Peter felt a pit open in his stomach with shame. These were all warriors. They had supposedly fought in the biggest war the universe had ever seen in the expanse between his death and rebirth. And yet this guy was here offering to listen to him talk about one night on the beach when everything had gone to shit. Something that was not a war at all. Something he shouldn’t even be so freaked out about, because he was alive, right? So none of it mattered?

“I’m okay,” Peter insisted again, “Really, I’m good.”

So Peter packed that shame up in a nice little box, and he turned around, walking away from the soldier before he could say anything else to embarrass himself. Sometimes the difficult things were easier to run from. Fighting was hard for him, he had never been the most confrontational human being. It wasn’t that he felt like he needed to fight Colonel Rhodes, but he felt like opening up would be wrong. It was easier to keep it wrapped up inside. A bow on top. But not something to open, never to open, to let dwell instead within himself.

Peter barely got around the second corner when a shadow caught his eye. Someone watching them from the distance. Peter paused in his escape, blinking rapidly as he focused in on the figure and recognition sparked within his mind. A memory of the Germany airport, catching a fist.

“You have a metal arm!? That’s awesome, dude!”

Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. He disappeared almost as soon as he appeared, which was really for the best because Peter was ducking back into his bedroom in milliseconds, the escape fueled by panic forgotten after the brief conversation with Colonel Rhodes. Peter felt strangely invaded by the Compound, even if it had only been two people he had run into. Life was becoming clearer now. It wasn’t like the facility or running from SHIELD, things were real. He was really in a Compound with the Avengers and chances were the only place he was going to be alone was his room.

Peter hated that.

The only person in the world he wanted in that moment was his aunt. He wanted her to push his hair back, insist things were okay, but it was too dangerous to do anything, and Peter knew he should have felt safe in the Compound, but the residual emotions from seeing the wreckage clung to his insides. Coulson had told him Toomes was gone, but it didn’t feel real. He could still feel something burrowing in his stomach and Peter shut his bedroom door, leaning against it only a moment. There was exposure, and he longed to be somewhere he wasn’t.

Peter approached the bed, pulling up the skirt surrounding it before he slowly slid underneath on his back. He stared up at the springs, back pressed into the wooden floor below him. For weeks, after his mother and father had died and he had gone to live with his aunt and uncle, Peter had slept under his new bed. Under the dining room table. Under anything that felt even remotely safe. But under the bed had been his favorite, and there, under it, it looked just like the one from his childhood. Springs…Just springs…and he wondered if the underside of every bed was the same. If there was some other kid in the world seeing the same thing as him.

He sucked in a deep breath, shut his eyes, and pretended two of the strongest people in the world hadn’t just seen him on the verge of a breakdown.

…

“You know, I’m sort of offended.”

Strange’s voice bounded through the speaker of the video call, and Tony sighed, not looking away from his computer screen as it ran facial recognition throughout the city for Trenton McArthur’s mug. Unfortunately, this task was next on his list of worries granted to him by SHIELD and Tony was having a hard time keeping his shit together and not letting his head explode off of his shoulders. In Strange’s defense, he had no idea what was going on with…everything…But damnit, if he could just be a little less Stephen.

“Why’s that?” Tony asked, more of a mutter than anything with his chin resting on his hand as he watched the data run through security cameras.

“Well, you only just decided to help me. Even though I was thrown from a banister.”

“You know, Strange, I am so sorry I hurt your feelings,” Tony sat straighter, glaring at the screen that showed Strange’s face, “It was really at the top of my list to make sure you were well taken care of and happy today. I was feeling incredibly generous.”

“Something is going on. I know you didn’t just have a change of heart.”

Tony sighed, “You know me so well.”

“So? What stirred this pity?”

Tony wanted to say a dickhead wearing an eyepatch, but it just wasn’t something he was willing to talk about at the moment. Maybe not ever. Life was hard enough…He just wanted to find this guy and get it all taken care of. Inner struggles aside, Tony was itching for a drink and he didn’t think he should do that with the chance of the facial recognition working. Then he would have to leave the Compound buzzing and that was dangerous. He didn’t need to get himself killed right now when the kid was under his roof.

His roof…Was the Compound even his anymore?

Tony supposed if Peter was inside it, it was.

Finally, Tony answered the question after a long debate within himself, “This needs to be taken care of and out of the way and I figured it was the only way I was going to be able to stop people from breathing down my neck.”

Tony was fairly good at keeping the important bits out of his stories. The screen that was scanning the city stopped suddenly on a location, facial recognition having picked up a similar mug in the last twenty-four hours on security footage. Tony leaned in close as the image came into focus. The man had a backpack slung over his shoulder, opening the door to a motel room with a keycard. Tony brought up the name of the motel and sighed deeply, rubbing his face. A part of him had hoped he wouldn’t have to go out tonight specifically, maybe tomorrow, but there was always the chance of this guy getting up at the crack of dawn to keep moving.

“Got something,” Tony said to Strange, “Lucy’s Motel, about fifteen minutes away from where I am, upstate…Right outside of the city. Think you can get there in a timely manner?”

“On my way.”

Something he could respect about Strange was the fact that he didn’t try very hard to dig deep. He was relatively surface only, and Tony guessed that had to do with years of being a doctor. The only person he needed prying into him was Pepper, and he guessed the kid now because Peter had always asked really tough questions despite being awkward and stumbling over words like a small child. The call ended, and Tony pushed himself to his feet, sighing deeply as he turned to leave the room, fully intending to find something other than coffee to drink if he was about to have to make an arrest tonight.

As soon as he turned around though, Rhodey was there standing in the doorway.

Tony raised an eyebrow and asked, “Uh….why do you look like you’re about to lecture me?”

“You’re just going to dip on out of here?” Rhodey ignored the question, “Not tell the kid where you’re going?”

Tony shrugged and rolled his eyes, “I’ll be gone an hour, tops.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rhodey answered, “You know what I just saw? I saw that kid on the verge of a serious freak out. He was trying to leave, Tones. I dunno if he was really going to walk out but he was clearly in some sort of panic mode. You need to at least go tell him you’re leaving…In case he needs something.”

The other man leaned against the table behind him and Tony scratched the side of his face where he needed desperately to shave. He blinked and blinked and blinked, maybe hoping if he did enough, Rhodey would go away or disappear. Not that he really wanted that, but the thought of facing the kid that was now just as emotionally unstable as Tony was frightening. He wanted to protect the kid…He had a soft spot he couldn’t quite understand for him, but comforting through panic when he didn’t even know how to comfort himself half the time was horrifying in every possible aspect. Tony would only hurt him more…He’d only make it worse. This was an area for Sam Wilson, not Tony Stark.

But then the guilt entered. He saw Peter’s wide trusting eyes on him, having faith that’d he’d fix everything. However, intermingled in that were Peter’s blank pupils. Losing so much blood they lacked any sort of recognition. Tony holding him so tightly to his chest he hoped it would somehow stop the bleeding. Little did he know Peter’s heart was ruined from the inside, and no amount of squeezing would stop him from leaving.

Yet Peter still trusted him.

Tony cleared his throat and nodded mutely before heading to the door and making his way to the residential wing from the lab. If Strange teleported to the motel, Tony might would be the one not arriving in a timely manner. It didn’t matter though, it had looked like the guy had only just gotten to the motel. The chances of him packing up and running were slim to none. They had time, Tony kept telling himself, but he wished he would stop, because he had told himself that about Peter…That there was all the time in the world, until there hadn’t been.

When Tony got to Peter’s room, he found the door closed. He didn’t knock, which was probably a bad thing, but when he pushed the door open he found the room to be completely empty. Tony’s brows furrowed together, and he was about to walk out, and ask Friday where the kid had gone when he looked at the bed and sticking out from under the skirting was a sock covered foot.

Tony’s brows furrowed, and he approached slowly before kneeling down and grabbing the edge of the skirt and pulling it up. He was greeted by Peter’s brown irises, blinking back at him widely. His fingers were wrapped around each other, his mouth set in a grimace. Tony sighed, leaning forward a bit and God, he was getting old. He questioned the kid quietly, “Can I ask what you’re doing?”

“I’m…I was…” Peter started, his cheeks blooming with red. He was clearly embarrassed, and maybe even he didn’t know what he was doing under the bed. He started to gnaw on his lower lip, looking away and up at the springs under the bed, before he finished lamely, “Nothing…”

Tony let out a deep sigh…One that said he did not believe the boy. Slowly, with great carefulness as not to injure himself before having to fight someone, Tony laid on his back as well on the floor. He tucked the edge of the skirting up so he wouldn’t have to hold it to look at Peter. The kid looked over in surprise, shock clear on his face at having Tony Stark lie down on the floor beside him. He could see Peter was shaking, but from what, he didn’t know. It wasn’t cold by any means and he could only assume the kid was afraid of something.

“Rhodey told me something happened,” Tony started because the kid wasn’t saying anything, “You got freaked out huh?”

Peter shook his head, and Tony’s eyes narrowed a bit, disbelieving, before his voice came out with a hint of sarcasm, “So he lied? That’s a weird thing to lie about.”

“I was just…” Peter started but it seemed every coherent thought in the kid’s brain disappeared before leaving his mouth in the form of words. Peter wasn’t looking him in the eyes, he was staring at the floor right in front of Tony’s face. There was dust, but the boy looked unbothered, despite his eyes being bloodshot but Tony doubted it was allergies. More than likely it was residual fear induced tears. Peter swallowed, then tried again, “I remembered something. Something about dying.”

A part of Tony had known, but he didn’t know why. Maybe it was because that was what things revolved around now. Peter’s life, and death, and life again. It made Tony feel like he was sinking in a grief that was not his. It wasn’t the same as losing Peter, it was Peter’s pain. A empathetic connection he could not describe and Peter looked so confused and lost, like a child unable to comprehend why anyone would do such an awful thing to them.

Of course, Peter would be that way, he didn’t believe in killing.

Tony hadn’t either, at one time.

Shit happened though, the real world. People killed people. Every single day. And Tony didn’t want to sound like one of those angsty vigilantes he saw on television, but it was the truth. He had once found it all to be nauseating and animalistic, but then he had punched Toomes into oblivion, had seen the blood. Had liked it. Some would say it wouldn’t make him feel better afterward, but it had. Peter would be one of those people, like he had done in the car, telling him he shouldn’t have done what he did.

When Tony said nothing, Peter admitted weakly, “I googled pictures…of the wreckage.”

Tony’s jaw set, “Why would you do that?”

“I wanted to see,” Peter whispered, “I wanted to see why it hurt so much…But then it just stopped hurting, you know?”

Peter’s head turned again towards the springs, and he continued, “It stopped, and I was looking at the sky, Mister Stark. And you know how you never see stars in New York? Well, I saw them. It felt like…It felt like the softest place.”

It was such a child’s explanation. The softest place. But Tony knew that feeling. He had felt it when he had brought that missile into the wormhole over New York. When he wasn’t afraid anymore and his eyes had slipped shut and he knew it would be okay because he had stopped the attack, they were safe until they weren’t again. He didn’t know the softest place had a description until just then. Tony felt himself frowning…Peter should have never felt that feeling. He was too young to know what the acceptance of death felt like.

“You don’t need to be looking that stuff up,” Tony finally managed to speak, “Alright? Don’t do that. What happened, is done with. It’s over now, and you’re safe here, kid. Nothing bad is going to happen to you here. I told you, I was gonna take care of everything.”

When Peter’s eyes found his, he saw that same nauseating trust. Tony’s stomach dropped as the boy nodded easily in agreement, and he supposed the hero worship would never die. Tony nodded in agreement though, before he cleared his throat and continued, “I came in here to check on you…But to also let you know that I need to leave, to go help a friend out with something. I’ll be back in about an hour so don’t – “

“Help a friend with what?” Peter’s expression looked worried, head tilting, “Is this what Fury and Coulson were talking about? You helping that Strange-guy protect the uh, what were they? Stones?”

Tony paused briefly before he relented, back aching from lying on the floor so long now, “Yeah, the stones. Found the guy at a motel nearby. Strange and I are going to handle him.”

Peter rolled over suddenly, startling Tony slightly as the boy said, “I could…you know, I could come and help you guys.”

And that…that was not what Tony wanted to hear. He knew he shouldn’t have been frustrated or angry or whatever. But he was, as a matter of fact, because the kid…The kid had died. Had died doing the hero thing, and now here he was, offering to be brought along even though he had only just come back from the grave. Tony gave him an incredulous look mixed with slight irritation. He tried to remind himself that, to Peter at least, death hadn’t come. He had simply gone to sleep and woken up with these bizarre memories of a violent end. But to Tony and everyone else, Peter had been buried underground for five years and many tears had been shed in mourning.

It wasn’t fair to Peter, but Tony said it anyway.

“Are you out of your mind?”

Peter looked guilty at that, only flinching slightly at the sharpness in Tony’s tone. His brown eyes looked down almost immediately at his fingers where he was propped on his elbows now. Tony sat up slightly on one of his arms and he leaned forward just enough to get the kid’s attention, even if he wouldn’t meet his gaze again.

“Listen to me,” Tony insisted, “I’m not trying to be…a dickhead. But I need you to grasp this concept. We will not be doing any of that again. Not what happened with that asshole – “

Peter looked up, expression shocked, “What do you mean we won’t be doing that again? You mean Spider-Man?”

His voice had a childish whine to it, like when Tony had taken the suit away initially. Guilt nabbed at him, but Tony knew, Christ, he had to keep this kid alive. He had to keep him in one piece. Not doing so would result in…Tony didn’t know, but he wouldn’t survive The Death of Peter Parker 2.0. It wouldn’t happen. It would actually kill him and Tony reached out, grabbing the back of Peter’s neck and squeezing.

“Peter, Spider-Man got you killed, do you get that? Toomes might have been the one to do it, but Spider-Man…the entire existence of the persona, killed you.”

Peter didn’t look like he believed it at all. For a kid who clung to every word Tony said, it was frustrating when the words that mattered most were ignored. This mattered, and he just wanted Peter to understand that he hadn’t just taken a nap or been in a coma or something, he had been dead. Completely and utterly pale on that table in the morgue. Limp fingers that hadn’t gripped Tony’s in response.

Peter questioned, “You don’t mean forever, right?”

Tony wasn’t sure. Forever sounded better. It sounded so much better than the thought of Peter ever going out as Spider-Man again.

“I’m gonna need the suit back.”

“For how long?”

“Forever.”

Tony released the nape of his neck and didn’t answer the question, but instead rolled back over and started to stand. Peter scrambled, following out from under the bed, but before the boy even stood up, Tony held out a hand to stop him, saying, “I have to go meet Strange. We can…We can talk more when I get back.”

That felt like a lie. Even though he was the one saying it, it wasn’t true. Not really. If there was one thing completely reliable about himself, it was his avoidance.

But he turned around and left the room, like a coward, running away from a teenager, more willing to fight a wizard invading some man’s body than he was to talk to Peter.

…

Peter was wrong.

He was wrong for what he was doing, in every sort of way he could be, but it felt like the only way to go about the situation.

The thing was…Peter didn’t know why he was surprised when Mister Stark had hinted about him never being Spider-Man again. It should have been expected, at least for now, because coming back from the dead was hard, but being the person that had to live through it was probably even more difficult. Being Mister Stark or Aunt May had to have sucked and Peter felt guilty for being angry with Mister Stark and he felt guilty for what it led to.

First it led to Mister Stark’s computer. To finding where the facial recognition was still pulled up on the screen with the address to Lucy’s Motel. It only magnified with going through Mister Stark’s things, searching for a long lost suit that Peter wasn’t sure was even there, but where else could it have gone? Mister Stark had taken it that day after the ferry boat, but there was no guarantee it would be in the Compound. Mister Stark had homes everywhere. Big empty homes. And from the way he had been acting, the Compound was not one of his favorite places to be anymore.

That was until Peter sat down at the computer with the address to Lucy’s Motel, thankful Mister Stark hadn’t logged out.

It had led him to 17A.

Peter hadn’t known what it was, but the schematics had popped up when he typed ‘Spider-Man’ into the database. Peter had never particularly enjoyed computers, not as much as chemistry and physics. Computers had always been Ned’s thing, but he knew enough to navigate his way through while logged in as Mister Stark. He hoped the man didn’t have some kind of footprint system set into place, because if he did, Peter was going to be relatively screwed. However, the entire situation was probably going to end badly.

He just…He had to show Mister Stark he was still capable of being Spider-Man and this felt like the only way.

Maybe not the smartest way. The quickest way to get a kick in the rear, but maybe if he got to this guy he could somehow show Mister Stark that he wasn’t broken. He was still Spider-Man underneath his frightened face. Sure, the panic attack had almost resulted in something relatively bad, but he was here now. He was himself and he could do this. And there was 17A, 17A that held a Spider-Man suit.

Peter had pulled up the manual controls, giving the simple verbal order.

“Unlock 17A.”

He had worried there would be some kind of voice recognition in place, but there hadn’t been. The suit had come from the floor, but not as a suit…As something else, before it clung to him, to his clothing and flesh and began to envelope his body, much like Mister Stark’s suit had done to him. It was something completely different…Something that wasn’t his own suit, but he still looked like Spider-Man when he saw himself. The prints of the suit on the computer screen had a simple title above them.

THE IRON SPIDER

Peter smiled. Genuinely. He felt like Iron Man inside, and it had only been his dream forever and a day to be that.

It would probably alert Mister Stark to the suit’s removal, but Peter just needed enough time to get to the motel and figure out how he could help Mister Stark and Strange-guy. There was no Karen within the suit, much to his disappointment, but Peter figured maybe this hadn’t been the final product or Mister Stark hadn’t intended for Karen to be utilized yet. After all, Ned had been the one to unlock her capabilities. Peter settled on hitching a ride on the back of a dump truck westward, ignoring the fact that he was dead when he got back, no doubt.

But he had to prove to them…He had to prove he wasn’t some fragile little kid.

The dump truck smelled of manure and made Peter slightly nauseous, not understanding how the suit couldn’t filter the smell out. Even the new car scent didn’t overpower it, but Peter clung on, keeping the location pulled up on the small hologram protruding from his wrist. The motel seemed rather secluded on the edge of a town which Peter had never heard of before. There was a breeze, wanting to carry him away and his stomach rumbled, making him wish he had eaten something before leaving so quickly.

It had all been a rushed process, really.

Peter was angry, deep down, angry at Mister Stark, even if he knew he shouldn’t have been.

“Peter, Spider-Man got you killed, do you get that? Toomes might have been the one to do it, but Spider-Man…the entire existence of the persona, killed you.”

But that same persona had saved so many people. Which was why Spider-Man had to continue. Had to live. He couldn’t just die and leave people needing him, it wasn’t…it wasn’t right. Which was how Peter ended up jumping off a dump truck and running into the parking lot of Lucy’s Motel. Darkness had slipped above him, and Peter trotted, still not used to the feeling and movement that this suit provided. It was a bit more constricting in his joints, but it felt like it provided more armor. The nanobots themselves hummed, and Peter’s hearing could pick up on it from within the mask. He was sure Mister Stark probably didn’t hear such sounds, but the suit felt alive surrounding him. Like a cradle of life.

When Peter got to the motel, there was very little movement besides the woman inside the main office reading a vogue magazine. There was also an elderly man sitting outside smoking cigarettes, but Peter was more interested in Room 112. The number that had been on the facial recognition where the man was opening his room door.

Peter was confused not to see Mister Stark and his friend there when he approached the room, but he was even more surprised to find the door was slightly ajar. Peter tilted his head, the eyes of the mask squinting slightly as he crawled down from the roof, dropping in front of the door. The lights were on, and Peter peaked through the door slightly, moving into the room without much hesitancy upon seeing no one in there. Maybe Mister Stark and his friend had already come in…Maybe the guy was already arrested.

But that didn’t make sense considering what he found in the room.

Piles of paperwork on the bed, and everything appeared relatively put together. Nothing that signified a struggle. Peter leaned over the pages, slightly annoyed by how the mask wasn’t as clear on the inside as his other one. Charts and things were popping up in his vision and Peter kept having to think hard to make them move out of the way. The suit was intuitive, but it was annoying and Peter missed his old one a lot more. As cool as this one was…Maybe he would be able to get the other one back if Mister Stark ever forgave him for what he was doing.

Peter’s gloved finger brushed one of the pages.

Blueprints to the Compound.

What the fu –

Something pressed against his throat suddenly, and Peter stumbled when a hand wrapped around his shoulders. An unfamiliar voice hissed into his ear sharply, “Don’t move.”

“Ah, dude,” Peter grunted as the sharp object pressed harder into his jugular, “Not very super-villain of you to leave your door open like that. Gotta say…rookie mistake.”

Without hesitation, Peter threw one arm up against the stranger’s forearm, pushing the object from his throat, while he whirled around and slammed his hand into the guy’s ear. The stranger grunted in pain and stumbled, and Peter realized suddenly the sharp object in his hand didn’t look like a knife, but instead looked like a glowing light of sorts. Peter’s brows shot up under his mask when the guy threw out a hand, sending an odd assortment of sharp object towards him, seemingly forming out of thin air. Peter threw himself backward, falling onto the other side of the bed and thumping against the floor as everything slammed into the wall behind him, sending dust of sheetrock onto his head.

“Wow, okay, not the best way to get back in the groove,” Peter muttered, brushing the dust off his arm. He jumped upward into a kneeling position, using the bed as cover as he shot out his webbing, latching onto the evil-wizard’s wrist and yanking. The guy slammed down onto the bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress before he used his unrestrained hand to literally create a wave of the Force, hitting Peter and slamming him back.

His head snapped against the wall and he wondered, briefly in a mindlessness, if he was fighting Voldemort or Darth Vader. Because being both was totally OP.

Peter groaned, vision whirling, and he could see Voldemort/Darth Vader standing back up to his full height. Peter began to scramble, but before he could recover completely, he heard the familiar sound of a blaster charging and something slammed into the stranger’s back, sending him flying onto the bed again and then bouncing onto the floor. Peter blinked blearily towards the door where two figures had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. One was a man Peter didn’t recognize, but he was dressed vaguely similar to the evil-wizard and Peter supposed maybe he was one as well, and then there was Mister Stark…Dressed in his weird liquid Iron Man suit.

Peter couldn’t see his face, but he knew it was seething.

“Kid,” Tony started, and it sounded vaguely like when he had showed up at the ferry, with his simple ‘band practice, was it?’ enough to send complete horror up and down Peter’s spine. Then he continued, “Could have sworn I said no to the impromptu team up.”

The sarcasm felt like a mask of its own. Something to hide the trembling behind his tone. Life felt vaguely horrifying in that moment and Peter hated that he had thought this was good idea, but he was there anyway, and the bad guy jumped to his feet suddenly, whirling around and the sharp things appeared again. Peter flinched when they flew outward, most of them simply bouncing off of Mister Stark’s armor easily, but one dug into the Strange-guy’s side without mercy. The man grunted in pain, before orange sparks erupted from his fingers and he slung what looked like a rope outward. However, Darth Voldemort sent another one of his Force waves and threw both men out the door, Mister Stark bringing half of the doorframe down with his body.

Peter flew to his feet, rushing at Darth Voldemort, but when the man was nearly in his grasp, a hand flew around and practically smacked him out of the way. Peter knew it had to have been more than just a hand, but it felt like being back-handed into the old box television, sparks blinding him. Peter flailed, sitting up, only in time to watch the man vanish without warning.

He wasn’t sure if he felt guilty or stupid. Or dead.

…

Spider-Man was dead.

Tony didn’t know any other way to describe it. Spider-Man was dead. The last time he had seen the kid dressed up in a stupid suit, the boy had been bleeding out. Even though that onesie no longer existed after it was cut from his dying body, Tony didn’t care. He and Strange should not have entered that room to see Peter struggling with some kind of possessed person. He should have never seen Peter in the Iron Spider in the first place…Because Peter had died before it could be gifted to him.

And that…That in itself was enough to make him want to scream.

Honestly, he had wanted to drag Peter back to the Compound by his ear, and shout until his throat was raw, but Strange was bleeding from where that weird sharp thing had pierced his side, so that was assignment one. Assignment two was putting the papers that their baddie had left sitting out into the system and have Friday run scans and find anything that could have been useful to them.

Then there was assignment three. Get Peter out of the fucking suit.

To the kid’s credit, he had tried to slink off in the chaos of their return to the Compound. After Strange was handed off to Bruce for stitching, Tony had turned to Peter who was nearing the door of the med-wing. The boy was only stopped when Steve, Nat, and Rhodey appeared behind him.

The thing was, everyone knew. Even if Bruce hadn’t been told personally, it was clear one of the others had spilled the beans by the way he was constantly glancing at Peter’s masked face like an anomaly. The others still looked at Peter like that, despite their conversation earlier, besides Nat who never showed anything. Peter’s mask retracted when he saw them, and it folded back to reveal his wide eyes. Maybe he knew the scolding was coming and Tony gave one last look at Strange who had his eyes screwed shut while his side was repaired under Bruce’s careful hands, even if the doctor was distracted by the resurrected boy in the room.

Tony approached the boy slowly, briefly making eye contact with Steve, then Rhodey, but not Nat because her stare would be too intimidating, it might would stop him from saying what needed to be said. Peter didn’t turn to face him, until Tony was close enough to growl sharply, almost under his breath, “What were you thinking?”

Peter whirled around, shock evident. Shock and guilt and Tony just couldn’t understand what would make him do something like that. Something so uncalled for and stupid. Tony continued on without Peter’s answer, “I told you, blatantly, you weren’t coming and you what? Hack into my computer to get the suit?”

“I-I didn’t,” Peter stuttered, “No – you don’t understand, I didn’t hack your computer, I just…You were already logged in, you had the address pulled up and everything and I just wanted to help you.”

“No this wasn’t you wanting to help,” Tony pointed a warning index finger at him, “This was you wanting to prove something to me. And what is it? You wanna prove you can still dress up and go out and get yourself into situations you have no business being in?”

Peter ground his teeth, “It is my business.”

“No, it’s not!” Tony’s voice raised and Rhodey stepped forward slightly from behind Peter, but remained silent. Everyone was so silent, and he knew he looked like the bad guy, he was always the bad guy, but the kid had to understand. Tony needed him to understand. “This, tonight, had nothing to do with you, it barely had anything to do with me. You interfered, Strange and I were waiting for the right moment to go in, but you just waltzed right inside, and the guy got away and you put yourself in danger again for no fucking reason.”

Realization seemed to strike Peter across the face and he blinked several times. Maybe he hadn’t realized that Tony and Strange had been waiting. Maybe he hadn’t realized how angry Tony would actually be, because he was a goddamn child. Tony though, couldn’t stop his tirade and he growled, “Just like the plane, you shouldn’t have been there. But you don’t listen, do you? Even after you get stabbed nineteen times you still don’t listen to anyone.”

“Tones, stop it,” Rhodey ordered.

Rhodey was staring with a sad expression and Steve wasn’t even looking at them. Nat only glared and when Tony looked back at Bruce, Bruce looked down at Strange’s wound and Strange had a confused expression because yeah…he was completely out of the loop. Out of the loop on everything having to do with Peter and being alive. But then he saw Peter again, saw those trusting eyes that had once held death blinking up at him, alive and hurt and Tony had to stop himself from slamming his fist into the wall.

“Put that suit back where you got it,” Tony ordered, “And go to your room.”

Peter’s eyes were red, teary, as he croaked, “But Mister Stark, please…I was just…”

“No, do it now,” Tony said again, “Don’t fall asleep, we need to talk.”

Peter backed out slowly, looking betrayed as he glanced silently at the Avengers. Tony knew on any normal day he would be in awe at being in the same room as Captain America, but whatever. Tony had yelled and now things sucked. Peter then whirled and disappeared out into the hallway. Tony ran his fingers through his hair and sucked in a deep breath before shutting his eyes and trying to calm his racing and angry heart. He heard Nat hum, “Well…That was a mess.”

“You think?” Tony snapped, eyes opening before he turned and walked back over towards Strange.

“Tony,” Steve’s voice tried, “He’s just a kid. He needs time to adjust to this. He died being Spider-Man, that’s not something you can just take away from him in one night.”

Tony held up his index finger, “Listen, Boy Scout. If I wanted lectures on how to handle the kid I’d call my ex-fiancée. Everyone else, all of you, you’re invalid right now. Bruce – “

He looked over at the doctor, “ – I might would consider your opinion if you wouldn’t look at me like I just burned down a bunny-rabbit farm.”

“Tony, you did just sort of tear into a kid that was dead a few weeks ago,” Bruce argued.

Tony didn’t get to retort, though his retorts towards Bruce were usually mild as compared to what he’d say to Steve. Same went for Rhodey…Both Bruce and Rhodey knew him in odd ways, as compared to their other friends. They had seen darker pieces put back together and had seen the remnants of Peter’s death that Tony had tried hard to hide from everyone else. It was like walking on pins and needles, especially now with Peter in the Compound, but he had only been there about a day and everyone was getting into a tizzy. But Tony was interrupted when Strange’s voice cut in, “Wait, wait…That kid…that was the Spider-Man? The one that died five years ago?”

“Yeah, you think we found some other kid to dress up?” Rhodey’s voice called, uncharacteristically sarcastic, but Tony supposed he was probably just frustrated with Tony’s behavior and handling of Peter’s scolding.

Strange glared to the side, and began to sit up, returning his shirt over his head as he replied, “Well, I didn’t think you were taking applications for teenagers under five feet.”

“Not everyone can be over six feet tall,” Tony narrowed his eyes.

Strange only hummed in response. Leaning forward slightly on the examining table as Bruce moved away to remove his gloves. Nat asked, approaching the two of them, “You find anything on the guy who broke in?”

“Well, he had blueprints to the Compound,” Tony raised an eyebrow at her, “Which is not awesome. But he left all of his paper work behind when he ran off, so I’m hopeful we’ll find something useful inside. Hopefully that’ll leave him floundering long enough to buy us some time before he decides he’s going to make another attempt on a stone.”

Steve shrugged, “Doesn’t seem like much of a threat to me, if he hasn’t even been able to get a single stone.”

“Anyone looking to gather the stones is a threat, Rogers,” Strange pushed himself up to his feet and rolled his shoulders a little before continuing, “We can keep his face in the system and if he gets caught on any CCTV footage, we should be able to get his next location. That is if he continues to use Trenton McArthur’s face.”

Tony clapped his hands together, “Well, that’s enough excitement for me tonight. Strange, you’re welcome to grab a couch or something. If not, I’ll call you with anything that Friday turns up. Now if you’ll all excuse me…”

He walked through Nat and Steve, waving goodbye to the group just as Bruce approached, “…I’ve got a kid to go ground.”

…

Peter had kind of hoped to see the Winter Soldier on the way back to his room. If for nothing more than to ask for a way out before he was to receive yet another lecture from the person he saw as a hero.

There was something insanely painful about letting down someone you idolized for years and Peter was aware of that again now. Just as vividly as he had been aware of it the day of the ferry incident. It burned inside, deep in the pit of his stomach. It had been pride, that had made him find the Iron Spider suit in the first place, and it was pride making him so angry inside. But Peter did as he was told. He put the suit back where he had gotten it from and he showered, changing into something more comfortable before he sat down on the bed and waited to be yelled at.

Peter folded his hands in his lap, berating himself silently. It was stupid. He had been stupid.

It was too soon.

And yet every fiber of Peter’s being screamed to be let go. To go home to his aunt. To revert back to the way things were where he could patrol on his own and didn’t have adults telling him it was wrong, when what he was doing mattered. Now he was just the dead kid. The murdered kid. The incapable of anything kid. SHIELD’s pawn in controlling Mister Stark, and it was startling to realize that was the only reason he was alive. He was alive to be a bargaining chip, something in the back of Iron Man’s mind when he didn’t want to cooperate.

Peter was just an adult’s responsibility, not a person.

But when he put on the mask he was anyone. He made a difference to people in Queens, he really had at one point. People cared about him and he cared about them. Protecting them, even if it be from themselves. But Toomes had ruined that and Peter had too by sneaking out and getting into trouble. His fingers held tightly together, his knuckles turning white and when the door to his room opened, Peter felt a pit of dread open up in his stomach.

It was Mister Stark, but a bit to his relief, the man didn’t look as angry as he had earlier in the moment. His face looked calmer now, tamer and Peter stopped trembling as much as the door shut behind him and Mister Stark entered the room further. Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek and Mister Stark grabbed the desk chair and rolled it over to the foot of the bed so that he could sit in front of Peter. Their knees were almost touching and Peter felt boxed in, but he said nothing about it because he wanted to be stronger and less of a disappointment and –

“You wanna tell me what you were thinking?”

Mister Stark didn’t sound angry, but he sounded kind of like Uncle Ben after Peter and Ned had eaten the cake that Aunt May had made for a dinner party they were having the next day. Peter’s eyes hesitantly found Mister Stark’s darker ones and blinked. This was a chance of explaining himself, but Peter really didn’t have an explanation. It had been impulsive, and he hadn’t thought it through. He had just known Mister Stark was leaving and he had wanted to follow because he wanted to help.

But then he knew. He knew Mister Stark had been right earlier.

“I…” Peter whispered, “I wanted to show you…I could still do this.”

 Mister Stark nodded slowly, then he put a hand on the side of his face and sighed deeply, shutting his eyes and leaning forward before looking at Peter once more. Tony explained, “Peter, I don’t know how to explain this to you any simpler. You are here right now because SHIELD is letting you. You are here right now and not with your aunt, but one day you’ll get to go back to her and when that day comes, I don’t intend to hand Spider-Man over to that woman, I intend to hand Peter Parker over to her. Peter Parker who isn’t going to put on a suit and go get killed again so she can relive the past five agonizing years of her life.”

“Spider-Man is a part of Peter Parker though,” Peter argued, and Tony shook his head.

“You were Peter Parker way before you were Spider-Man,” Tony said, “You don’t need to do that kid, you don’t owe the city anything. But you do owe it to yourself and to your aunt to at least try and have a half-normal life with this second chance. Putting on that suit again is wasting it.”

Peter felt like he had been stuck with something sharp.

“Do not waste it, Peter.”

Doctor Streiten’s voice rang through his ears and Peter felt his shoulders go slack. He slouched forward, vision blurring with a burn that was all too familiar. Peter blinked it back, and Mister Stark looked slightly startled by the tears before reaching out. He pushed Peter’s hair off his forehead and though his hands were rough, and it wasn’t like Aunt May, it was still enough to make him feel less alone inside of himself. Peter sucked in a deep breath and shut his eyes, whispering, “I’m sorry – I’m not crying.”

“Kid,” Tony said, “Just cry.”

Peter had been dead. He had been dead.

Peter covered his face with his hands and Tony removed his palm from the boy’s forehead. He felt completely embarrassed, and he could tell Mister Stark was uncomfortable too with the show of emotions. The attempted denial was probably the worst part of it, but he didn’t want to cry in front of Mister Stark…the guy was a hero. A billionaire hero who didn’t have time for a whiny fifteen-year-old who was too busy self-wallowing to see the big picture. Sometimes Peter felt like himself and sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes he felt like he had woken in a whole new body with all new thoughts.

When Peter looked at him again, Mister Stark was blurry. A vague memory opened up in his mind…Very far away, Mister Stark’s face was blurred by tears, but something else as well and Peter blinked rapidly to try to push the memory away from where it voiced itself in his consciousness like it was really happening right there in that room.

“Okay kid, okay, I got you – I got – keep your eyes open – “

“Kid! Stay awake – I’ve got you.”

“I know it hurts…I know.”

“We’re leaving. We’re going to the hospital – Happy! Fucking hell…”

Peter could feel fingers holding too tightly, lifting him and the stars were gone in that moment because suddenly they were in the air and he was breathing them in. He was with them. Peter cringed back from his place on the edge of the bed, holding his ears and pressing his hands flat over them to block out the sound of wind whirling, but he wasn’t flying he was sitting in the Compound with Mister Stark. When Peter’s eyes did open again though, Peter saw Mister Stark standing from the desk chair and trying to pull his hands away from his ears.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tony ordered, “You’re here, Pete. You’re here.”

Peter croaked, “It was so loud when you picked me up…”

That caused the man to freeze, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. Tony finally did pry his hands away though and lowered them to Peter’s sides. Tony questioned, “What…?”

“When you,” Peter felt outside of himself, outside, and more and more and more, “You – didn’t you? You picked me up, and I saw your face, you were…”

Panicking.

Peter swallowed dryly and shook his head, “There was wind.”

His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and Peter tried to find the source of his death, but there was nothing there, there never was. His mind fluttered and he looked up at Mister Stark who had paled considerably. As if he too was suddenly reliving that night. Peter felt wrong, and he was silent. Tony was silent. There was nothing exchanged besides a quiet and less than welcoming thing inside of their grief.

Peter felt like an imaginary thing.

Chapter Text

It was on the sixth night, that Peter woke screaming

Tony was no stranger to nightmares. Nightmares were a part of the deal with PTSD. After New York. After The War. Tony had, had his fair share of them himself. And there had been nights that he would wake up flailing or screaming, swinging arms widely. It got to the point Pepper would sleep in a different room, just so Tony could make sure she didn’t catch one of his swings. It was bad, a pressure, deep in the mind that never let up and so Tony wasn’t surprised. In fact he had been expecting it.

“Boss,” Tony snorted awake, sitting up straight in bed blearily, his mind swimming. He pretended the back of his throat didn’t burn, pretended the reason the room swung wasn’t because of the fact that stress was bullshit and SHIELD was still breathing down his neck and…Christ… “Boss, Peter is in extreme distress. Appears to be a nightmare of sorts.”

Tony wasn’t thinking of anything in that particular moment, other than trying to put one foot in front of the other as he navigated the dark Compound that he hadn’t yet become unaccustomed to staying in again. He worried too much to leave Peter with just the Avengers babysitting, but clearly Tony wasn’t much better, having to put most of his weight on the wall as he turned each corner. It wasn’t long before he heard the shouting and he saw down the hallway that the light wasn’t on, but there was a figure standing in the doorway.

Natasha.

She actually appeared as if she had been sleeping. Maybe a part of Tony had theorized she never slept. When Tony approached, she looked at him with squinted eyes, studying him up and down before saying, “You’re drunk.”

“Fuck you,” Tony snapped, peering into the room and sure enough, the source of the shouts was apparent. It was Steve, kneeling with one knee on the mattress, trying to restrain Peter into it. Tony moved forward without much thought, Nat’s hand briefly touching his arm to steady his swaying. Tony crossed the floor and grabbed the man’s shoulder and tugged him back, insisting briefly, “I’ve got him, go away.”

“He’s – “

“I’ve got him.”

Steve hesitantly released Peter’s wrists, despite the fact it was obvious that Tony’s words were slurring together. The only light was coming in through the window from the moon in the sky and Steve stepped away, giving Tony room to sit on the edge of the mattress. Steve whispered, “Tony you smell like...”

“I’m pretty sure I said go away,” Tony huffed, taking Peter’s squirming arms. He then directed his voice towards the teen, shaking him slightly, “Wake up. Kid, wake up!”

With one sharp shake, Tony felt Peter’s body stiffen and the boy let out one long gasp for oxygen, like he had just been brought above the surface of water. His squirming stopped almost immediately and in the darkness, Tony could see two eyes snap open and look at him. Tony nodded his head, coaxing through the haze of his own mind, though not clouded with sleep like Peter’s…So, so different and Tony tried to make his words form correctly, “Alright. There you are.”

A silent sob wracked Peter’s entire frame. Maybe it was the alcohol, Tony didn’t know, but it felt a lot less scary to pull Peter up into a tight hold. Peter said nothing, simply shook heavily and trembled and Tony placed his chin on top of Peter’s mop of hair, closing his eyes to stop the world from spinning so much. Tony ordered, “Shhhh, let it wear off before you close your eyes again, kid. Just, wait a second.”

“W – We’re at the Compound?” Peter’s voice croaked.

Tony kept his eyes closed, “Yeah.”

“And Toomes isn’t…”

“He’s not coming here, trust me,” Tony murmured.

Peter said nothing else, just relaxed slightly. Tony held him like that, until Peter’s breathing evened out. Until Nat and Steve finally listened and carried their asses back to bed. Tony felt a feeling settle inside of him, and he found himself rocking back and forth, almost as if Peter was an infant. The feeling felt more like…it felt like an odd sense of pride. Which was awful, but honest, and everything was honest whenever Tony had, had that many drinks in one night. It just ate at him like that. Swallowed him.

Yeah, he was drunk. He was an alcoholic. But he could fucking hold the kid when he had a nightmare since he was without his aunt, and that was enough.

…

A week passed without Peter really realizing it.

Seven days felt more like two, and time ticked on quickly, which was nice since most days were spent being bored out of his mind so he wondered why it didn’t feel like school, being strapped down to a desk chair for hours on end. Most of Peter’s days were spent in his room, or wandering the Compound. Someone almost always came to find him, he guessed to make sure he was still in the building and hadn’t wandered his way out somehow. Not that Peter was going to run off, he didn’t want a repeat of what happened the other night.

When Peter woke on the seventh day, after the sixth night, he was vaguely aware of the shitty sleep he had, had. The dream was gone, having slipped out of his ears in the night, and he no longer remembered why he had woken so upset in the first place. But he vaguely remembered the embarrassing ordeal of Mister Stark coming in, of being held, but he had fallen back to sleep mercifully in the end. Nothing awful, he had just closed his eyes again and drifted off and when he had woken he was alone once more.

Peter did what he had become accustomed to. He got up, he brushed his teeth and got dressed. He went to the kitchen and got cereal, and didn’t see anyone. The Avengers all woke up at the crack of dawn, except for Wanda who would usually get up even later than he did. Then Peter would start his usual wanderings. He tried to keep himself entertained, without the help of the internet because it was just too tempting to look up the crash, to look up his aunt, to trigger a panic attack again and Peter wasn’t willing to embarrass himself in front of anyone.

Especially not after the nightmare the night before.

His back was hunched over the cereal bowl and he groaned at the thought, pinching his nose and shutting his eyes. If they needed more of an excuse to treat him like an infant, that was definitely it. He had been trying to rewrite something that couldn’t be twisted. The fact was, Mister Stark had watched him die and the guy was never going to look at him as capable ever again. His heroics were now demonized. Peter was wrong for going out that night, he was no hero, he was just a child who got himself murdered. It was frustrating, because he was still Peter. He was still Spider-Man, and God help him because he made one lousy mistake he was going to have to live with that until he was eighteen and could make his own decisions.

Even when he would get to go back to May, he knew the woman would never allow him back in the suit. Not after burying him.

Peter jumped suddenly, straightening a little when the door to the kitchen swung open. Peter blinked, wide eyed while he chewed the Frosted Flakes, taking in the sight of Bucky Barnes. This was odd, and off routine. He hadn’t quite pinned Mister Barnes’ day to day activities yet though. He wasn’t around as much as the other Avengers. He kind of milled around like a ghost, and Peter caught glances of him every now and then. Usually talking to Captain America or something. Peter watched as the man hesitated slightly at seeing Peter at the breakfast nook, but then continued on to the fridge.

There was just silence exchanged, but Peter was really tempted to talk. He had been wanting to talk for days now, because geeking out was hard to suppress, but he had been doing it since arriving. Mostly because people were still giving him the look of a dead kid. Mister Barnes hadn’t glanced at him like that though, had more so just given him a look that said ‘well, I would rather be alone, but here we are’ and there was something kind of refreshing about it. It wasn’t necessarily annoyance, more so distance, a natural kind with a person he didn’t know.

“H-Hi Mister Barnes,” Peter greeted, stammering over his words. He hadn’t spoken to the guy since Germany. But Peter was really desperate for the social interaction. Days of being on his own, of wandering the Compound and really only talking to Mister Stark on rare occasions was definitely taking a toll. He finally believed the fact that humans were naturally social creatures and isolation offered adverse effects.

Mister Barnes paused in his actions, looking up at Peter with a raised eyebrow as he poured his orange juice. Peter cleared his throat and continued, “Sorry just…I don’t think we’ve talked at all, but I’ve seen you around and everything, but you’re usually busy so I don’t wanna like, interrupt you. But I thought, well you’re here and I could probably talk to you…or introduce myself or something because last time we talked we were trying to fight each other – I’m really sorry about that by the way – and – “

“Kid,” Mister Barnes set down the carton of orange juice, “No offense, but you’re talking pretty fast. And a lot.”

Peter felt his face burn, “Right…yeah I’m sorry, Mister Barnes…”

He looked down at the table and he heard a quiet sigh escape the soldier. After a few passing moments, Mister Barnes said, “I didn’t mean that in a ‘shut up’ way. Just a ‘slow down’ way. And call me, Bucky.”

Peter looked back over at him, his face lighting up a bit and a semblance of relaxation in the conversation stirring back up. He nodded his head rapidly, “Yeah, dude okay of course uh…Mister Bucky.”

“Mister…” Mister Barnes let out a quiet laugh and he shook his head. Peter didn’t think he had ever seen the Winter Soldier smile before. He always had this look on his face, a look that said he was far away and distant and Peter knew things had been rough after Germany. After Siberia, the thing he knew very little about…He didn’t know why Mister Stark had hated the Winter Soldier so much in that moment, and why Mister Stark had gotten so hurt. But it felt odd, when speaking to Mister Barnes now.

Mister Barnes continued, “Never had a kid call me Mister Barnes before.”

Peter shrugged in response and said, “I’m Peter.”

The man nodded, “Yep, you’re kind of the talk of this place lately. Sure are making Stark shit bricks and when he does, Steve gets all whiny. Don’t worry though, I’ve known him long enough to learn how to ignore his ‘fix it’ personality.”

“Fix it personality?” Peter asked.

“Yeah,” Mister Barnes explained, “Steve likes everyone to be all sunshine and rainbows. Team bonding exercises are his favorite. Before Stark came back we were forced into one every Friday, so I’m kind of thankful Stark was here this week to throw him off.”

Peter grinned widely, shaking his head, “Why does that seem like a completely Captain America thing to do? Bet it’s like sitting through his PSAs…”

Mister Barnes’ eyebrow rose up, and Peter got the silent hint that he had no clue. Laughter escaped the boy and he turned in his chair, “No way, you’ve never seen them! Oh, they’re great, they used to show them to us at school all the time and – “

Peter was cut off when the door opened again, but this time it was Mister Stark who entered. Peter went to continue his sentence, unbothered by the man, but he felt something in the air of the room shift suddenly. Like a heavy weight filtered in, and both men paused to look at each other. It wasn’t that Peter didn’t know Siberia had been bad…he knew, but this was definitely something…something weird. Peter’s mind turned and he thought, well, if Mister Stark could be in a room with Captain America and the awkwardness not be physical, shouldn’t the same have been for Mister Barnes? But it wasn’t…It was…

“Kid,” Mister Stark said, “C’mere, let’s take a walk, you done with that cereal?”

Peter blinked, before he seemed to come back to his body and he glanced down at his breakfast, “Uh well…It’s kind of soggy now, so I guess so.”

Mister Stark gestured for him to get up, “Alright, c’mon.”

Tony held the door open slightly and Peter rose to his feet, looking over at Mister Barnes before waving, “I’ll show you later. Maybe I can find some on YouTube or something.”

Mister Barnes nodded, smiling a bit. Mister Stark put a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezed before guiding him from the kitchen and out into the wide hallway. Peter fell into stride next to him and a few moments ticked by in relative silence. Peter wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t know if Mister Stark was going to ask about the night before, or if he was going to ignore it completely and Peter didn’t want to talk about it much anyway. He wrung his hands together nervously and finally Mister Stark broke the silence by asking, “You befriending ex-assassins?”

“Well,” Peter started, sort of relieved it wasn’t about the nightmare, “Kinda, I guess. I think he thinks I talk too much.”

Mister Stark snorted, “Couldn’t imagine why.”

Another wave of quiet passed through and Peter couldn’t stand it anymore, “Uh…So…Where’re we walking to?”

“We’ll cover that later,” Mister Stark waved a hand dismissively before he threw Peter under the bus, quite literally, and Peter felt every single tire crush him as Mister Stark went on, “You sleep okay? After the little…”

His voice trailed off, his hand making an odd motion. Peter felt his throat clog and he almost choked. He didn’t particularly like how it was just thrown out there, especially for something that was so embarrassing. Peter felt his face burn and he shook his head, trying to get the words out but his face was flushing bright red and Mister Stark finally looked over at him. He made a sighing sound and insisted, “Kid, people get nightmares. Honestly, if you weren’t having nightmares after what you went through I’d probably think you were serial killer or something.”

Peter swallowed, “It wasn’t…”

“What, you wanna tell me it wasn’t a nightmare?” Tony stopped walking and Peter wondered when he would learn to stop trying to make excuses towards the man, because it only seemed to make him angry, “Seemed like a nightmare to me. Actually, I probably remember it better than you do, I was a little more aware.”

Peter didn’t mean to say it, it came out before he could really think, “Well, you were slurring a whole lot to be more aware.”

Mister Stark made a face and Peter felt instant regret seep into his bones. He hadn’t…why couldn’t he just think before opening his mouth? Sometimes he really just wanted to slap himself in the face and Tony looked like he wanted to do the same. The man’s tongue ran over his lower lip, arms crossing over his chest as he glanced out the window behind Peter. Peter started to shake his head, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know how you meant it,” Tony hummed, “Alcoholism isn’t really PG, and that’s the level you’re at, Rugrat. So, we’re not gonna have that conversation.”

Peter could tell the words were meant to bite, and they did. Because if he said something snappish to Mister Stark, Mister Stark would always, always have to have the last word. The one-up. Peter bit the inside of his cheek and Mister Stark grabbed his upper arm, pulling him along as they started to walk again. No one said anything else until they turned into a room Peter didn’t recognize. The door was large and glass and when they went inside it appeared to be a living room of sorts with a computer desk and some office supplies. Large windows looked over the grassy area outside and sitting on the couch was a woman Peter didn’t recognize.

She stood, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looked maybe a little younger than Mister Stark, probably mid-forties. She was dressed in a green dress and black heels and she smiled brightly at Peter as she stood from the couch upon their entrance. Tony let go of Peter’s arm and gestured to the woman, introducing, “Peter, this Ulma Henderson. She’s a SHIELD approved tutor.”

She moved forward, taking Peter’s hesitant hand in hers before shaking it. Peter blinked several times as his hand was released, and she greeted, “It’s so nice to meet you, Peter.”

Peter continued to blink, nodding his head and smiling but it was small and odd. He turned back to Mister Stark.

“Tutor?” Peter asked.

“Yep,” Mister Stark put his hands in his pockets, “You’ve been here a week. You’re going stir crazy, and we’re not sure how long you’re going to be staying here at the Compound until SHIELD decides to get off their asses, no offense – “ He nodded his head towards the woman – “So, I got SHIELD to approve a tutor for you. She’ll come on weekdays, four hours a day, and you might just learn something. Maybe starting with proper conversation etiquette and what not to bring up in broad daylight.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed, jaw dropping. Ulma Henderson cleared her throat awkwardly, clearly not knowing what the two of them were talking about, but she turned to Peter nonetheless and added, “Don’t worry, I’m not an actual SHIELD employee. I know that there’s a bit of stress relationship wise with the organization, so I want to reassure you, I’m just a private teacher.”

There were so many questions running through Peter’s head. He jumped suddenly when Mister Stark clapped his hands together, and said, “Okay…Henderson, he’s all yours.”

Tony turned and started to exit the room. Peter paused, held up his index fingers towards the woman, before rushing after the man and out into the hallway. Peter made sure to shut the door behind himself, getting out of view of the glass before he called after the man’s retreating back, “What the hell? You’re just going to throw me off to a babysitter four hours a day?”

Mister Stark stopped, turning around, “You got something better to do?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, “I-I could…I could be training, you know…To be Spider-Man again. You could actually be teaching me something.”

Tony blinked, “I thought we talked about this – “

“Come on,” Peter had to resist the urge to stomp his foot, “This place is full of Avengers. Avengers that know things and they could be teaching me something instead of some tutor who’s going to make me do book work.”

Mister Stark approached him, strides wide until he stopped dangerously close. Peter’s eyes were round, practically pleading and Tony sighed, “Listen…if you do this, if you listen to what that woman has to teach you, and you try to be a normal kid for five seconds, I will consider giving you access to the gym. That sound fair?”

Peter’s eyes lit up and he nodded his head vehemently. Tony turned and just as he started to walk away, Peter called again, “M-Mister Stark?”

His head turned just enough for Peter to see the side of his face, and Peter saw him fiddling with his cufflinks. Peter cleared his throat and questioned, “Has SHIELD…said anything? About me calling May?”

He watched the man swallow, his throat bobbing a moment before he faced Peter fully. Tony shook his head back and forth, “Not yet, kid.”

Peter felt a tightness grip his chest. His hands wrung together again, for what felt like the millionth time, “Will you ask them again for me?”

“I ask every day, I promise,” Mister Stark insisted, before he gestured to the door, “Go learn something.”

Peter watched Mister Stark retreat down the hallway, and he wasn’t sure if he felt more hopeful or less hopeful than before.

…

Tony was struggling with the whole thing before it even happened, but it was what had triggered the drinking episode the night before in the first place and there wasn’t really anywhere for him to point his finger except for at himself. He had agreed to the meeting despite knowing what it would do inside, but it was for the best. Maybe not for his sanity or his guilt complex, but he had made an agreement before everything had happened and he didn’t want to step back on it now.

But it was for May Parker, after all.

Leaving the Compound had been a bit anxiety inducing. Mostly because he had spent the past week there, making sure nothing happened with Peter. But he supposed eventually he would have to trust the others to keep Peter alive, and even if he hadn’t left for May, the time would come to start therapy again with Pepper and he imagined it would come with vengeance. He had been avoiding her calls and texts most of the week because Pepper would surely pry. She’d hear the distress in his tone, she would know something had gone wrong. So he only replied when he absolutely needed to, when he thought she was on the verge of never forgiving.

Tony had walked into that coffee shop not knowing what to expect from the aunt of the boy he had just left behind, alive, at the Compound. But to his relief, it seemed to be all business…Nothing like the emotional letter he had been given, the one he had tucked away safely. She had some papers out in front of her, and she smiled at him when he came in, but it was different than her smile from when they had met five years before. When she had excitedly invited him inside her apartment with the promise of date loaf.

It was all organized. The plan was still to open up the account and start The Peter Parker Memorial Fund. She had so many papers drawn up on how she wanted it to be presented, who she wanted involved, the names that would be read and Tony was struck with the sudden realization that the boy that this was in memory for was alive and well in his Compound. May’s hands were shaking, he wondered if they were like his, always shaking. Tony reached inside of his own mind, attempting to push the thoughts down, but he felt guilty. It wasn’t right or fair.

Peter was alive.

Tony had just held him the night before. Held him in a way that May should have.

It felt like he snapped back into his body. May had been talking for nearly ten minutes about her outlines and Tony could feel his guilt rising in his throat as she said, “…since Peter loved physics so much, I really want to include that somehow with the fund recipient requirements. But I don’t want to narrow the field so much, you know?”

“There’ll be enough in the fund in the next year to widen the prospects enough for maybe a few recipients,” Tony cleared his throat, almost flinching at the thought.

Would she still think Peter was dead in the next year?

Would Tony have to force the kid to wait that long, pent up in the Compound with only the Avengers and a SHIELD approved tutor to interact with?

At the end of the day, Peter was still fifteen years old. A kid, and he was…he wasn’t dead anymore. He was going to need more than just being homeschooled in the Compound, forced to wait for SHIELD’s green light to see his aunt again and somehow return to a semblance of normalcy. May had no idea, but Peter did. He was waiting, waiting and waiting to get to see the woman after so long, and it was clear that only after a week, Peter was struggling. Sitting around gave him too much time to dwell on his death, which was part of why Tony wanted to get the tutor in the first place.

May was smiling, while she talked about her plans and Tony guessed she was similar to Peter in that way. They coped better with business. Tony…Tony was the same.

Still…She was probably the strongest woman he had ever met. Her grief didn’t bog her down, it kept her going and pushing and Tony was sort of jealous she could keep going. She was so much stronger than he would ever be…It had been her nephew that had died on that beach and yet she had held it together better than Tony ever could.

So, Tony watched her. He watched her make notes, listened to her talk.

He pretended not to hate himself for what he was doing to her.

…

The school work wasn’t the most difficult in the world and if Peter was being honest, four hours of school as compared to eight hours was a lot better. Despite the fact that Peter would have preferred no book learning at all, it eliminated some of that lost feeling he had garnered over the past week. The feeling that came with walking around the big empty Compound. Since he wasn’t allowed to leave the residential wing for fear that unauthorized employees would see him, Peter’s time had been extending to a void.

The first two hours, Miss Henderson focused more on STEM subjects, but then the last two were literature and history and not that Peter had anything against those two subjects, but they were boring to him. He was relatively relieved when she finished up with the background lesson on the author Mary Shelley, but in a twist of fate, he was assigned to read the first two chapters of Frankenstein as homework.

The irony was actually startling.

Peter didn’t think she realized how deeply it bothered him. Maybe even though SHIELD had approved her and Tony as well, she wasn’t aware of the fact that Peter was actually Frankenstein. She had handed it over, and smiled, before shaking his hand and leaving. Peter held the book between his fingers, looking at the smooth cover. It didn’t look to be the monster, like in the movies, but it was a young weeping man and Peter felt something deeply within him stir with horror. He sat there, long after she was gone, contemplating if he was really going to be able to read this book or if he should just tell her next time she came that it made him feel disturbed.

She wouldn’t understand though…Maybe no one would, and then he realized he was being an idiot.

Peter stood and tucked the book close to his chest, exiting the makeshift ‘classroom’ before heading down the hallway and back towards his bedroom. He had been avoiding it since waking that morning, remnants of the nightmare still clinging to him like the sand on that beach. Sometimes he thought he could still feel the grittiness between his teeth and taste the iron in his mouth. And embarrassingly, Mister Stark had held him. Peter was thankful for the comfort, but he had spent so much time trying to pass himself off as mature, he felt as if he had taken twenty steps back by having to be comforted from a night terror.

Then he had pissed Mister Stark off. And then and then and then…Yeah.

Peter turned the corner into his bedroom, pouting slightly in his thoughts when he jumped at the sight of someone in his room. It was a woman, her back turned and her strawberry colored hair pulled back into a long ponytail. She seemed to be staring at his room, head tilted as if perplexed and Peter looked around to make sure nothing was off. He then cleared his throat, causing the woman to whirl around and face him, and sure enough her brows were pulled downward in confusion, but the moment she saw Peter’s face she let out a startled scream.

Oh shit…

Miss Potts.

Peter dropped his book in response to the scream and she covered her mouth with her hands, stumbling back a bit and nearly tripping in her stilettoes. Peter didn’t know whether to run or say something, but she shouted loudly, almost in a shrill bloody-voice, “Oh my God!”

It was very similar to Happy’s reaction, just without the colorful words. Peter heard footsteps running down the hallway and suddenly in the doorway was both Colonel Rhodes and Steve Rogers. Peter felt sandwiched between the adults, no longer having the option of running from the room with the men there, but also having Miss Potts further in the room and God, he wanted to leave. He didn’t want to be there at all, not in the slightest and his heart was thumping to the point that he could hear blood rushing in his ears.

Peter turned to the men who looked like they didn’t know what to say and Pepper was just staring with her hands over her mouth. Peter said quickly, “I-I-I’m sorry! I didn’t know she was in here, I didn’t – “

Colonel Rhodes cut him off, moving forward and grabbing him by the arm to pull him back. As he did so, Pepper pointed at Peter with a shaky finger, “What is this? Rhodey, what is this?”

Colonel Rhodes held up a hand, “Listen to me, Pepper, you need to take a deep breath – “

Suddenly, her eyes didn’t look shocked anymore. No, they looked angry. Offended. She gritted her teeth together, he shaky finger turning on Colonel Rhodes with a sternness that reminded Peter all too much of Aunt May. Cap had yet to say anything and when Peter looked back at him, he looked almost frightened of the woman. Colonel Rhodes sighed as if he knew the anger that was coming and she shouted, “Don’t tell me to take a deep breath! This…What I’m seeing is the face of a child that was brutally murdered, and it almost destroyed Tony, so I will be very distressed if I want to! What. Is. This?”

No one said anything…Peter didn’t think they could. No civilians were supposed to know about Peter, and Colonel Rhodes and Cap knew that. Peter wished for Natasha to be there…She would probably be level headed enough to handle this, because the men only seemed afraid and truth be told, Peter was too. Miss Potts looked ready to kill them.

“Someone say something,” She ordered, and her voice wavered just slightly as she crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin in a demanding manner, something that screamed CEO, “Say something right now. Tony didn’t…God, he didn’t do an experiment or something, he would never do that, would he? You’re not some kind of…robot…”

“No, no, no,” Peter felt the words tumble out without really thinking, “No, Mister Stark wouldn’t have…he wouldn’t have done that…or this…I-I’m me, I’m Peter. I just…SHIELD…”

Steve shook his head, “Peter.”

“No, SHIELD what?” Pepper pushed, stepping forward, “What about SHIELD?”

When Peter said nothing, just chewed on the inside of his cheek while under the gaze of Colonel Rhodes and Steve Rogers, Pepper’s eyes suddenly lit up with realization. She covered her mouth once more, before she shook her head back and forth and whispered, sounding truly and completely horrified, “SHIELD…they did this?”

Peter was glad she made the connection. He really was, because then maybe they wouldn’t get in trouble…they could always just say she had figured it out on her own. She ran her hands through her hair and looked around the room, going on, “I saw the door open and I just…Tony has had it locked for so long, I didn’t understand, and someone has been sleeping in the bed…Oh my God…Tony.”

She shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, “That’s what he has been up to. Why he’s been here of all places. Why didn’t he say something?”

“He can’t say anything,” Colonel Rhodes explained, “Kid can’t even tell his aunt. No civilians.”

Pepper’s jaw dropped, “Tony hasn’t told May?”

Peter looked down at the floor, eyes burning slightly with a newfound distress. Pepper looked so disturbed by this, and Peter was too, and it made him feel so much worse. Because it was wrong, it really was that he couldn’t call home and now he had an outside opinion to back that up. Pepper drew closer and took Peter’s chin in a gentle grip, turning his head so that he would look up at her. Peter swallowed thickly as she questioned, “They won’t let you call your aunt? They’re making you stay here?”

“Pepper…” Steve started but the look she casted him made him silent.

Peter blinked, then nodded mutely.

Pepper released his face, straightening her shoulders, returning to that same look of a CEO. Her eyes still held anger and she cleared her throat, stating in a low and threatening tone, “Well…I’ll just have to have a conversation with Tony about that.”

Peter eyes widened, and she squeezed through them and out the door. Peter followed, rushing behind the woman down the hallway as her heels clicked against the floor. Peter begged behind her back, “Miss Potts, please don’t be mad at Mister Stark, he didn’t want to not tell her, SHIELD told him they’d take me away if anyone found out!”

Both Colonel Rhodes and Steve were following. Miss Potts ignored his request and simply started walking down to the first floor, the residential lobby glowing in the sunlight through the giant glass doors. Happy was there, waiting and upon seeing the group rushing down the stairs after Pepper, his eyes widened. He started to approach when they got to the ground level, but as if the gods were intervening in the worst way possible, Mister Stark entered the lobby at that exact moment, having returned from wherever and Peter thought shit couldn’t get any worse.

Mister Stark paused at seeing all the people in the lobby and Peter rushed forward, feeling like he probably needed to step between the man and woman, but he ultimately didn’t, just got close enough to step in if he had to. Mister Stark stared at Miss Potts with wide eyes, pulling his sunglasses off his face and tucking them in his breast pocket.

Mister Stark breathed, “Well, this is something.”

“Something,” Miss Potts whispered, eyes glowing with rage, “You’re right, it is something. Perfect timing really. You know, it took me about two seconds to completely blow this secret you’ve been hiding for God knows how long. Funny how that works.”

Mister Stark’s jaw was set. Suddenly, he looked almost just as angry, “What’re you doing here?”

His eyes then found Peter’s and Peter felt his blood run cold when Tony snapped, “And you…do you know what could happen if SHIELD finds out she knows? Do you want them to take you?”

Peter shook his head mutely, eyes wide.

Mister Stark let out a low laugh and Miss Potts hissed as Tony ran a hand through his hair, bitterness all over his face as she spoke, “Don’t start blaming everyone else. I came here to look for you, to see if you were even actually here, because you’ve been avoiding this place for years now, but I’m not supposed to think it’s weird you’ve all of a sudden decided to come back? Peter’s room was open, and I went inside, and imagine my shock when that kid, the kid that you mourned over, felt an endless amount of guilt over, is alive…But not just that, I hear that the person who cares about him most doesn’t know.”

Tony looked at her suddenly, lids narrowing, focused, looking rather offended by the accusation in her tone as he stepped forward and breathed in a warning, “You’re really going to lecture me on that? On something that’s completely out of my control? You don’t get it! No one is even supposed to know and if SHIELD finds out about you, our asses could be in hot water! You want them to come in here and drag him off? Is that it? Well, let’s go ahead, cause they’ll end up killin’ me in the process after I off some of those assholes! Sounds like a great situation to me, yeah, lets just call up May Parker! Repercussions be damned!”

Pepper remained silent. Peter could see her hands shaking in fists at her sides and Peter swallowed thickly. Colonel Rhodes and Steve were tense and Peter just wanted someone to make them stop being angry at each other. Happy was beside the door, staring at the ground as if this wasn’t the first argument he had heard. Miss Potts said, “You’re lucky that boy’s eyes are on you.”

She then stepped around Mister Stark, marching towards the door before she threw it open. Happy followed behind, casting Peter a sympathetic glance that was odd for him. The moment they were gone, Peter watched Mister Stark begin to loosen his tie, his head shaking back and forth and face appearing as if he was fuming. Peter heard Colonel Rhodes whisper something to Cap about deleting security footage of Miss Potts being there. Just in case SHIELD logged in or something. He heard Cap’s feet retreat back up the stairs and Peter moved towards Mister Stark, who wasn’t looking at him, but his fists looked ready to hit a wall.

“Mister Stark…” Peter whispered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for her to…she was just in my room and I – “

Mister Stark looked at him, before interjecting, “It’s not your fault. You just…fuck if they come here…”

“They’re not going to come, Tones,” Colonel Rhodes said, “Look, Steve is going to delete security footage. SHIELD has no idea and even if they find out I’m sure we can talk them down.”

Tony pulled the tie off his neck completely and pointed a finger at Colonel Rhodes, “This is ridiculous, I hope you see that! I swear to God, if they show up at the front door it’s going to be…this is why SHIELD doesn’t have shit! They try to control their people and when they don’t listen they just off them or lock them up, and all the so called ‘heroes’ end up dead!”

Peter felt his back stiffen.

Something slammed into him, between his shoulder blades. Nothing true and tangible, but it felt like a blade going down deep into his skin and turning. Turning, and yanking and Peter felt as if one of his webshooters had snapped and he was falling onto a hard rooftop, the air burned out of his lungs while he lay struggling for his chest to expand and waiting for the spasms to stop. His diaphragm and everything, and Peter imagined his body betraying him and leaving him to turn blue on the floor. Because one second, he was looking at Mister Stark and the next he was not in his body, he was on a beach.

“This is what happens when you try to be the hero, kid.”

 Shredded.

“All the heroes are dead.”

The water in the distance glittered, but Peter was in the lobby and Mister Stark had moved forward, had grabbed his forearms and was holding too tightly and Peter tried to tell himself to pull away, but he was only trembling. Not crying…paralyzed to do even that as he stared at the man’s face. His brain tried catching up, and if felt like a week ago, looking up pictures of the wreckage and then falling form the desk chair. Hearing the sound of the wind as Mister Stark carried him to the hospital where he was going to die.

He was going to die.

“Hey,” Mister Stark’s voice had gone from pissed off to quiet so quickly Peter was surprised he didn’t have whiplash. Colonel Rhodes was moving, grabbing one of the chairs near the sitting area before pushing it towards them. Peter stared at him and Mister Stark ordered, “No, look at me. Look…Hey, see my shirt, what color is it?”

Peter looked at the shirt under Mister Stark’s suit jacket. It was a collared shirt, that was white with speckles of pale yellow. Peter blinked several times as his brain tried to connect to his mouth, and he wasn’t breathing as the chair finally hit the back of his knees and he sat down, Mister Stark not releasing his arms as he kneeled in front of him. Peter choked, almost started to cough as he looked at Colonel Rhodes again, and Mister Stark grabbed his face and forced him to look down at him.

“My shirt, kid, what color?”

“W…White,” It felt like the hardest thing he had ever said before in his life, and he nearly vomited, but he couldn’t do that, not in front of heroes, “White…an-nd yellow.”

Mister Stark nodded slowly, and Peter felt like he was plummeting, but plummeting into his own body, not out of it. Peter sucked in a deep breath, his chest finally opening back up, and Peter took in air greedily, like oxygen was something precious. Mister Stark placed a hand over his sternum, and soothed, “You’re okay, I’m kind of a ‘professional’ at this.”

Peter shook his head back and forth, croaking, “I dunno…what’s wrong with me.”

“It’s PTSD, Peter,” Colonel Rhodes said from behind Mister Stark and Peter looked at him with foggy eyes, “Happens to soldiers all the time.”

Mister Stark shook his head and began to shrug off his suit jacket. He snapped over his shoulder, sounding defensive and voice hard as he wrapped it around Peter’s shoulders, “Don’t call him a soldier, he’s a fucking kid.”

He pulled the coat tight and Peter felt a bit more comfortable. It reminded him of Aunt May or Uncle Ben wrapping him up like a burrito before bed when he was younger. They had promised as long as he was wrapped up nice and tight, he was safe and warm. Being a burrito had turned more into a game as the years went on, but now, wrapped so tight and Mister Stark continued to hold the edges of the coat, it had reverted to something former. Something helpless. Peter felt so small and he hated it.

Peter wondered how he’d ever read two chapters of Frankenstein tonight and he felt like Mister Stark was wondering how he’d ever get by without a drink.

Chapter Text

Peter hadn’t known there were repercussions to his panic attack in front of Tony Stark, but he soon found out what those repercussions were.

Well, he knew this wasn’t supposed to feel like a punishment and a part of Peter felt like it was Colonel Rhodes that had convinced Mister Stark that this was a good idea. But it still felt like he was in trouble for being mentally messed up and it gnawed at him, deep inside, like a bout of murderous intent. Peter hated feeling the way he did, but it stuck to him and he didn’t think escaping was much of an option. No amount of pleading worked when it came to Mister Stark’s decision making.

Which was how Peter ended up in a weird group session with Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson.

Sam Wilson was really the one leading the session. Apparently, he had a history of counseling veterans, and originally it was just supposed to be him and Peter talking. But then Captain freaking America got roped in somehow because the guy knew a thing or two about going to sleep and waking up years later with no recall of the time that had passed. In all honesty, Peter felt relatively guilty…because he was there, complaining about five years when Cap had missed an entire lifetime with the people he cared about.

But it still felt different.

It felt so different.

Peter sat slouched in the chair in front of the two men, his shoulders hunched forward and eyes staring at his folded fingers in his lap. There was something intimidating about all of this and if Mister Stark had told him ‘you have no choice but to go to therapy’ Peter might would have requested going to someone he didn’t know. But instead he was sitting in front of two of the earth’s mightiest heroes, expected to bare himself to all the trauma he had experienced.

“Peter?” Sam’s voice questioned, “Did you hear me?”

Peter had heard him, but when he finally looked up at the two men, he pretended not to have, and shook his head back and forth, feigning ignorance. It usually worked with Mister Stark. Made him less angry about stuff. If Peter didn’t know, it was a lighter sentencing. In his time at the Compound, he was starting to notice the changes in Mister Stark that his death had left behind. Mister Stark’s temper was much shorter. He was still the calm and witty charismatic man most of the time, but there were moments where one of the Avengers would do or say something and Mister Stark would just talk to them like they were idiots.

Sam cleared his throat, glancing at Steve once before returning his attention to Peter and repeating what Peter had already heard, “When you’re panicked…what do you usually feel? Is it the waking up, or the dying?”

This was finding a root. Peter could see Steve’s face, could see what was behind it, and it was pity with understanding. It didn’t anger Peter, if anything Steve Rogers was the only man alive who knew how he felt. Peter cleared his throat, tilted his head, and looked at the wall behind Sam’s head after averting his eyes from Cap. No this hadn’t been a good idea on Mister Stark’s part, because Peter didn’t want these people to see him in this light and yet he needed to say something or else…well, he didn’t know, but the whole PTSD thing had, had Mister Stark on edge.

“The dying,” Peter whispered, “Waking up was easy.”

He looked down at the floor, “But dying was…scary.”

“Of course,” Sam agreed, “It would have been scary for anyone. You died very violently, Peter and I think a step forward to coming to terms with this is dealing with that fact.”

Peter snorted, but not in a dismissive way, in more of ‘of course’ way. He breathed out, “I’ve come to terms with it. I died…And I came back. Isn’t that enough realizing? It feels like it should be, but it’s not just…it’s not like dying and being shocked back on a medical table, is it? It was five years.”

His mouth snapped shut, cutting off the rambling effectively. It didn’t make sense to himself. Dead. Alive. Dead. Alive. Dead. Alive? Did everything exist now as After Dead and Now Alive. It felt like some sort of fucked of children’s book, or maybe even the Frankenstein novel he had been forced to read for a while now, and he couldn’t even tell the tutor why he hated the book so much. Why it disturbed him that the monster was brought to life and then abandoned because he had been horrifying and that was how Peter felt every time Mister Stark wouldn’t look at him, or whenever Happy would stop by and barely say a word. It was like everyone was running away from him now, but the one person he knew that would never run from him wasn’t allowed to know.

Then Steve’s voice made him nearly jump out of his skin, “Is that what bothers you? The time that passed?”

Peter couldn’t make eye contact, because it was wrong to be upset. Five years, compared to decades, it was stupid, Peter felt stupid. He swallowed thickly and bit down on the inside of his mouth before he muttered, “It’s me coming back and everything being different.”

“I understand,” Cap’s voice was so gentle, and Peter finally stared at him, the boy’s eyes were sorry and full of pain and Peter shook his head back and forth.

“It was different for you,” Peter said, “You came back and there were cellphones. There was the internet, and everyone you knew was gone. The people I knew are still here, but they’re not the same. Mister Stark isn’t the same – h-he won’t look at me. He hates me – “

Sam held up a hand, “Okay, hey…Tony doesn’t hate you, Peter. He would never hate you.”

Peter ground his teeth, “He does hate me. He hates me for getting murdered. He won’t even let me entertain the thought of being Spider-Man because he thinks I’m going to get myself killed again. I screwed up that night, I was trying to do a good thing, the right thing, and I ended up dead.”

His voice cracked slightly, turning his attention to Cap, before continuing, “I just want him to look at me.”

Steve leaned forward, putting his forearms on his elbows. He cleared his throat, before he said, “I know it was different for me. But…not everyone was gone when I woke up. There was still someone…someone I had cared about so much, she was still alive. But sometimes she didn’t see me either. Didn’t recognize me. And I was like you, all I wanted was for her to see me and to see the way I was before, but she couldn’t. Sometimes…things change. Things can’t be undone, and you can’t take away what Tony saw that night…”

He paused, then finished, “But you shouldn’t stop being yourself just because things feel different.”

Peter felt something dark opening up within him. He felt so terribly small compared to the two of them, Cap in particular, because Cap had figured it out. Peter didn’t think he could ever feel free enough of this darkness to view it like that. He recalled the day he had been brought to the Compound. Smiling and liking his room, despite the circumstances. The pain that it had caused Happy when Peter had been excited and the same glint of agony behind Mister Stark’s expression. It felt increasingly difficult to differentiate between himself Before and After.

“They don’t just feel different,” Peter murmured, “They are different. I promise it’s not in my head.”

Steve nodded, “I know. And I know it feels like you’re trapped in there, with memories you can’t really talk about. Maybe memories people try to ignore and you feel like the only one remembering them. Trust me though, Peter, you aren’t alone and you don’t have to feel like you need to hide what you’re going through. You can talk about things from before five years ago and you can talk about that night on the beach.”

Before Peter could reply, Sam added, “I think it’s particularly important that you talk about the beach. If what you said is true, that the dying was the difficult part, then you need to work through that.”

The problem was, Peter didn’t want to talk about the beach. He didn’t even want to think about the beach because the beach had been where the blood was. Where the sand and metal had been, where Toomes had been…The man who had ended everything, and then there had been the wide open sky that had welcomed him with open arms, had deceived him into thinking he was fine when he was actually dying. It had lulled him into that false comfort. Peter had let go and even though Mister Stark had told him there was no staying awake after the particular stab wound to the heart, he couldn’t help but feel like he should have tried harder to keep his eyes open.

If he had just held on…maybe his healing would have had time to work.

There was no reassurance that, that was true, but Peter finally shook his head and said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Behind Sam’s eyes he was disappointed. Peter pretended not to see it, and instead pushed himself to his feet. Both men had that same expression, one that said ‘you’ll need to talk about it eventually’ but would he? Would Peter really had to reach inside of himself time after time and pull out those broken shards? They felt so invasive and Peter hadn’t really wanted the counseling session in the first place. He understood that Steve Rogers might be the only person on the planet who understood him, and that Sam Wilson was simply there to help, that Mister Stark clearly trusted him if he had called him, but Peter didn’t like to think about that place.

It lived simultaneously with the vision of Hell in his mind. And to go back there felt like a needless torture, one that came into his bones and his blood and Sam leaned forward slightly, setting aside the notebook he had been taking notes on. Peter only saw one word that read ‘avoidance’ and his stomach twisted painfully as Sam said, “Peter, we haven’t finished yet.”

“I don’t want to talk anymore,” Peter pleaded, he wasn’t angry, he just wanted them to listen.

Then Steve added, “Tony expects you to be in here another thirty minutes.”

Peter bit his teeth down, because Tony wasn’t his keeper. He backed towards the door, and whispered softly, “I’m not scared of him.”

Peter didn’t know if that was true or not. He wasn’t afraid Mister Stark would ever hurt him, but he was certainly scarier than he had been before everything. Angrier. The way he had yelled at Miss Potts had been startling, because he never imagined him getting angry at the most important person in his life like that, but she had been just as fierce in her frustrations. It was like he had been enveloped in an entirely different being with a short temper. Sometimes, Mister Stark disappeared, like he had on that rooftop, when his eyes had gone dark. When he had grabbed Peter, and Peter didn’t recognize him then.

He left the room, shutting the door behind him and there was something unsettling about walking out of there and knowing they were going to be talking about him once he was gone. The beeline for his room was somewhere diverted by his own inner workings. He just wanted to go lie down in bed and stare at the wall, because all of that was really, really exhausting and stupid. He felt like he had just walked out of the lions’ den and he knew they had just intended to help him. They were just doing their jobs, but Christ, Peter didn’t want to be there. Peter wanted to go home so badly some days it hurt him physically and he wished and wished for a distraction, but he couldn’t distract himself if he was being forced to actually deal with the trauma.

Maybe Mister Stark wanted better for him, but this didn’t feel better. It felt worse.

Peter wrung his hands together as he moved down the hallway. He stared hard at the floor, brows pulled downward, but he didn’t know what felt so hard to think about. Peter felt like an oddity. A relatively ungrateful one, and somedays he wondered if it would have been better for everyone if he had just stayed dead. Which he always revoked. One day he’d get to see Aunt May again and he wouldn’t feel like that, at least that was what he told himself.

Suddenly, the walk was interrupted when his shoulder slammed into someone. Peter looked up in surprise, nearly tumbling over as if he had hit a brick wall. The person he ran into grabbed his upper arm to stabilize him, and Peter blinked several times, beginning to apologize profusely, “I’m so sorry! I-I wasn’t – “

“It’s fine, kid.”

Peter blinked, seeing the Winter Soldier. Peter straightened up immediately, trying to seem taller than he really was, still the guy towered above him. As if it had never existed before, the deep disturbance from earlier melted away with a sense of wonderment once more, and Peter pretended not to know why he had been upset in the first place, or the fact that he had just gone through a therapy sessions with The Falcon and Captain America, having to actually talk about his feeling with the two of them…Which was oddly horrifying.

“Mister Barnes!” Peter exclaimed, “I…Hi!”

The man had a towel thrown over his shoulder and he looked confused by Peter’s sudden raise of tone. His eyebrow raised slightly, and he replied without the same enthusiasm, “Hi.”

Truthfully, Peter still felt starstruck by each of the Avengers, but Mister Barnes was an oddity. It felt as if he was the only one in the entire facility that didn’t look at him and see the dead kid. Peter was sure it had to do with the fact that Mister Barnes wasn’t close to Mister Stark. He probably hadn’t seen what everyone else had, probably hadn’t witnessed the change in character. But Mister Barnes looked him in the eyes, and didn’t avert them like everyone else. So Peter grinned, despite the pain from earlier still lingering deep inside and he didn’t feel afraid that someone would see him smile and think of times Before and become sad.

Mister Barnes started to step around him, giving a slight wave as if in a ‘goodbye’. Peter however, all but bounded after him, jogging to catch up in stride. Mister Barnes looked at him confused and Peter cleared his throat, saying, “So uh! Where’re you heading?”

“The…gym,” Mister Barnes replied slowly.

“Oh cool,” Peter nodded, “Could I come?”

Mister Stark hadn’t given him privileges, as he said he would, but Peter had been afraid to ask again. Also, there was this desperate need to interact with people outside of Mister Stark, Colonel Rhodes, or Steve Rogers which usually ended up being his babysitters. He had once thought Colonel Rhodes and Steve Rogers were the coolest people on the planet, until he realized they were kind of just like all other grown ups and weren’t really interested in doing anything other than talk about the state of the world.

Mister Stark deflected too much, so there was that.

The Winter Soldier hummed in response to his question, “Well kid, you’ve followed me halfway so I guess the answer is yes.”

“Awesome,” Peter smiled.

A moment of silence passed between them until Peter broke it, “So uh, I would show you the PSAs on YouTube, but Mister Stark won’t give me a phone and I dunno where mine is. I’m guessing it probably isn’t around anymore.”

“Don’t worry about it, I found them myself,” Mister Barnes answered as they approached the gym. It was a glass door that Mister Barnes had a type a code into and Peter felt a little frustrated that Mister Stark would have the gym of all places coded. Sure the lab he understood, there were weird tools and chemicals but the gym? What was Peter going to do, treadmill someone to death?

Peter followed Mister Barnes inside and questioned, “What’d you think?”

“I thought the anti-smoking ad was bullshit,” Mister Barnes answered, “Here’s something about Steve, guy could barely breathe before he got the serum. Asthma and all that. Still refused to listen to advice and sometimes I’d catch him trying to strangle himself on a cigarette.”

Peter’s eyes widened, “Captain America smoked!?”

“Not like a chimney, but he tried,” Mister Barnes shrugged, “Soldiers did it back then, and if there was one thing Steve wanted to be more than anything, it was a soldier.”

Mister Barnes moved towards one of the machines and Peter just stood there, as if his entire life had been a lie. Peter shook his head back and forth, “I’ll have to ask him about that in our next group-thing.”

Mister Barnes looked at him, pausing as he was about to grab the pullup bar, before he said in more of a comment than a question, “Group-thing.”

“Yeah,” Peter sat down slowly on one of the press benches, slouching forward a bit, “Mister Stark’s idea, cause y’know…Cap went to sleep for a long time too. Well…a lot longer than me.”

Silence passed over them. It felt a lot like a rain cloud suddenly and that relaxed feeling kind of dissipated with it. Peter blinked, sitting up straight once more when he noticed Mister Barnes hadn’t started working out like he expected, but he was just standing there. Peter swallowed thickly, worried he might have said something wrong, but when he backtracked he wasn’t sure where the wrong would have been. But then Peter’s mind connected some of the dots and he felt like an idiot again, but what was new?

“You…you went to sleep too right?” Peter questioned.

Mister Barnes finally looked away. He scratched the back of his neck as if it had been an awkward question, but Peter didn’t think it was awkward per se, just more…in depth. Mister Barnes explained, though it was slightly mumbled, “Not in the exact same way…I was asleep, but I was still moving around…Doing what Hydra wanted me to do. But the princess of Wakanda got rid of that part of me. Which made getting better a lot easier. I don’t think it’s the same with you.”

Peter let out a breath, “No…not the same.”

Then, “But holy shit, the princess of Wakanda…Where even is Wakanda? That’s where that Black Panther guy was from right? He was awesome, I remember him in Germany – well, I guess he wasn’t awesome for you, he almost clawed your face off.”

Mister Barnes snorted, a chuckle underneath. He opened his mouth as if to reply, but a voice came over the speaker, Friday’s voice. She said, “Peter, Boss is looking for you. He is currently in the residential wing.”

“Okay,” Peter replied, “Tell him I’ll be there in a minute or so.”

Friday responded without missing a beat, “He is insistent you come now.”

Peter let out a deep sigh, nodding his head before he stood. He shrugged towards Mister Barnes and as he grabbed the handle on the door, he paused to glance back at the man. He said, “Thanks for letting me, you know, trail you. Gets kinda boring talking to the same people all the time.”

Mister Barnes gave what Peter could consider a smile. It was small, but it was there and Peter left, heading towards the residential wing. He rushed a bit, just because Friday had said Mister Stark was insistent and he didn’t want to keep him waiting for longer than necessary. It took Peter a few minutes to locate the man, eventually finding him in his room. It was kind of a surprise to see him in there, leaning over some papers on his desk and Peter felt worried for a moment maybe he was going through his stuff, but then again, what stuff? Peter had no stuff besides the bullshit school work Henderson had given him.

Peter paused in the doorway, clearing his throat. Mister Stark turned around, seemingly fiddling with his cufflinks as Peter stepped in a bit further. Mister Stark greeted, “There you are. Friday said you were in the gym. Don’t remember giving you a code.”

“Didn’t have to, Mister Barnes let me in.”

Mister Stark paused, a look flashing across his face before it disappeared, “Ah…still making friends with the ex-assassins, I see.”

“Well, he’s kind of awesome,” Peter replied, “So uh…What’s up?”

The man took a moment to respond and Peter didn’t know why, but it filled him with a sense of deep anxiety. Anytime Mister Stark had to think for a while about his words, it was usually something not so great. Considering he was a conversationalist that thought on his toes, it was a bit out of character. It usually ended up carrying weight that made Peter’s shoulder curl inward, as if he needed to prepare for something bad. And sure enough, Mister Stark started with, “So, Wilson and Cap said you walked out of your meeting.”

“I…” Peter said, “Well, yeah kind of. But we did talk.”

Tony sighed, “It’s not just about talking.”

“Well, what’s it about then?” Peter asked, “I have a feeling you haven’t sat through many therapy sessions.”

Mister Stark looked sort of offended and Peter wanted to swallow the words back, but he didn’t, he couldn’t. Instead he just gulped thickly and looked down at the floor, while Mister Stark replied, calmer than Peter expected, “Actually, I have. A lot to be specific.”

Peter whispered, “So what, you wanted to see me to ask why I left therapy?”

“I know why you left therapy,” He hummed, “You’re a top-tier avoider, but then again, so am I so…no that’s not why I wanted to see you. I wanted to show you something…but it’s – well, the reason I wanted to show you was because it felt wrong not to. Because it sort of involves you as well, and I think you’ve had enough surprises to last you a lifetime.”

Peter didn’t respond verbally, but he could feel his shoulders go tight at the thought. Mister Stark simply held out a hand and gestured for him to come forward towards the desk and the papers that were scattered about on top. Peter took a hesitant step forward, tugging on the hem of his shirt as he did so and he wondered if he looked terrified on the outside, if he was going too slow…If he just looked like an idiot child, like the way he felt every night when he would turn out his lights and end up sleeping with the closet light on because the darkness reminded him of the beach.

Once he was in arms reach, Mister Stark took his upper arm and squeezed, pulling him towards the table. He gave Peter a look that he couldn’t decipher between a warning and a bit of comfort. But the hand felt like neither, it just felt firm. Grounding to the universe around him so that Peter wouldn’t have to eat the stars anymore.

Peter looked down on the papers, and at first they meant nothing. Until he saw the large label on top of one of the pages outlining some kind of ‘budget’…

The Peter Parker Memorial Fund

That caught his attention. Peter moved forward suddenly, leaning over the table as he stared wide eyed at the pages. He tried to decipher the writing behind his eyes and make sense of what he was seeing…Tried to get it to click. But if felt kind of like an out of body experience, however, he could see his aunt’s signature on many of the pages. When Peter looked away, he made eye contact with Mister Stark and he felt his eyes beginning to become misty and watery and he blinked rapidly, swallowing down past the lump in his throat.

God why…?

“I, I don’t understand,” Peter murmured.

“I just…I felt bad for not telling you,” Mister Stark said, “I thought SHIELD would get it together sooner than they have…Soon enough to put a stop to this before I let May take it too far, but they haven’t and I didn’t want you to see it online or on television or something and just…be hurt.”

Peter’s voice cracked, “She’s making this for me?”

“For you,” Mister Stark confirmed, “Well, in memory of you. A way of keeping you alive.”

Peter felt his chest rise and fall rapidly. Not in a panicked way, but in the threat of crying way. Like when he was small and got overwhelmed and couldn’t fight them back. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands as hard as he could though in an attempt to shove it all down and also hold himself to the planet. Maybe he was going to swallow the stars again, but vagueness overwhelmed, Peter wasn’t really himself anymore, but the stars were the same. Always. No matter how long passed, they always came back.

The air was thinner where he was.

“How long do I have to keep pretending?” Peter questioned, and he could tell Tony could barely hear him.

“I’m hoping…not much longer.”

Peter let out a laugh, but no humor was behind it. It was more like he had been punched between the shoulder blades.

“I miss her.”

And that was what ruined it. Just those words. His chest tightened, and he noticed the way Mister Stark stiffened at the display of emotions. So Peter tried to suck it back, and bit down hard on his lower lip, before casting his gaze to his shoes. He hated himself so much for crying, especially in front of Mister Stark, but to his surprise he felt the man place a hand on top of his head. It didn’t smooth his hair down like his aunt’s hand would do, but it simply stayed there, it existed and reminded him for the time being he wasn’t on his own.

“She misses you too,” The man said.

Peter wished so badly that he could hug Mister Stark. That he could hug anyone. But he didn’t. Instead he stood there, Mister Stark’s palm sat firmly on the top of his head, and allowed an ungrateful quietness to measure up. He did not know if he was happy or hurt Mister Stark had shown him that. Sure, the intentions had been good, but the results veered off into a river below, or rather an ocean.

…

Strange hadn’t planned a surprise visit to the Avengers’ Compound, but there he was.

Honestly, he hadn’t moved much since getting impaled and having their plan ruined by a resurrected teenager. But lucky for him there hadn’t been much movement on Kaecilius’ part either. Or maybe that wasn’t lucky, Stephen couldn’t really decide if it was a good or bad thing, but it seemed good underneath in the fine details. However, without movement, he hadn’t been able to track the guy’s next location and that in itself was worrisome.

As Stephen approached the glass door entrance to the Compound, he thought the purpose of this entire visit was rather fruitless. It was more of just a check-in to see if Tony had found anything on their friend, but also an odd curiosity had befallen him at the realization of what exactly Peter was. Strange had known Tony’s cooperation couldn’t have just come from the goodness of his heart, so when the entire situation with SHIELD had finally been revealed to him, that had made much more sense. Peter was a bargaining chip. Not just that though, a chip that had been brought back from the dead.

Strange couldn’t help himself, the doctor within him was intrigued.

He grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, just as a woman was exiting with a large stack of books in her arms. She seemed to startle at Strange’s sudden appearance, the glare on the door probably making her blind to his approach. She stepped back a bit, her surprise turning to a soft smile and she stepped aside, adjusting the books and papers in her arms.

“So sorry!” She laughed.

Strange shook his head and held the door open for her, “No, you’re fine go ahead.”

She quickly stepped around him, thanking him. The books must have been heavy as she struggled out the door and down the steps and Strange took refuge in the cool air. His eyes caught a stray paper on the floor in the lobby, and he approached, picking it up, seeing it might have been one of the papers the woman had been carrying, but she had disappeared down the steps and into the parking lot by the time Strange had processed Peter Parker’s name was scribbled on the top of it.

It clicked she must have been a teacher of some kind as he read the top of the page beside Peter’s name.

Chapter 1 & 2 Analysis: Frankenstein

The monster wakes up confused and I think it was wrong of Frankenstein to leave him. I mean he looked like a monster, but he was all alone. He was afraid and no one was there for him…

…He didn’t know what he was doing in the world…

Strange tilted his head slightly. Well, clearly the woman didn’t know what the boy had been through if she was assigning Frankenstein as reading material. He approached the sitting area, setting the paper down on the coffee table just as a voice announced itself obnoxiously from the balcony, “Ah, Strange! To what do I owe this awesome surprise.”

Both Stark and Peter were walking down the stairs slowly. Strange didn’t miss the way Peter lagged behind, and how his eyes almost looked red around the edges. A part of him wondered if the kid had earned another scolding or if he was just tired. Either way, his hands were in his pockets and he seemed to fold in on himself like a small child. Once they were on the ground level with Strange he approached the two of them and replied, “Well, a few reasons. Reason number was to update you on our guy. He has fallen off the face of the Earth.”

“Perfectly fine with me,” Stark hummed, “And your other reason?”

Strange didn’t exactly want to mention Peter’s curiousness in front of him, so he simply excused, “Boredom. The Sanctum is quiet, and Wong has taken an interest in The Bachelor, so I’m left flailing most days.”

He didn’t miss the way the boy’s mouth quirked upward a bit at the comment. As if it had managed to amuse him enough to pull him out of whatever had grabbed a hold of his expression and his body language. Stark grabbed his attention once more, opening his mouth as if he was about to say something, but his phone screamed to life in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing briefly at Strange and Peter before nodding his head in the opposite direction and muttered, “One sec.”

From the tone of his voice, he didn’t seem very excited to answer the phone, but he moved away from the two of them nonetheless. Strange looked at Peter once more, seeing how he didn’t raise his eyes from the floor to meet Strange’s. Maybe it was residual anxiety from the ruined mission, but it all seemed like water under the bridge now. Surely the kid had been through enough to know that what had happened was untouchable, couldn’t be changed, and so Strange ignored it completely because it felt easier and he didn’t know the child well enough to bring it up for discussion.

“So,” Doctor Strange started, “Frankenstein, hm?”

Peter’s head snapped up, eyes wide. Strange waved a hand simply, “Saw a woman with a bunch of books. There was a paper with your summary of the first few chapters. Doesn’t seem like the best book to assign you to read, but eh…some teachers are cruel.”

He gnawed on his lower lip before replying, “She doesn’t…know.”

“Seems to be a theme,” Strange commented.

Peter looked at him, brows furrowed. Strange knew a lot, he usually did, and he didn’t always need people to lay it out for him. That was what medical school had done to him in its fast-paced movement. The child swayed a bit, looking like he wanted to explain himself, as if he needed an excuse as to why everything was a secret, but Strange quickly diverted the attention, and waved a hand, “In any case, if she’s only teaching you literature, there’s far more to learn than that.”

Peter’s eyes lit up, as if he hadn’t just looked solemn before, and Strange was slightly startled at the sudden flip in personality as the boy straightened up, no longer folded in on himself but nearly bounding on the tips of his toes.

“Like magic?”

“I was thinking the medical sciences,” Strange chuckled, “Things that you could actually apply. I’m afraid Stark wouldn’t appreciate you having lessons in the mystic arts. He would probably have a coronary.”

His face scrunched in slight disgust, “I threw up last time we dissected a frog.”

Strange raised an eyebrow, “So, being a doctor was never in the cards I see.”

Peter only shook his head, looking amused and there was something nice in that, considering the last time he had seen the boy he had been near tears having Stark yell at him. The two of them looked over when they heard Stark’s shoes approaching. Strange tilted his head slightly, a bit curious as the other man held up his phone and announced, “Hate to run outta here as soon as you arrive, Strange, but my lady friend is requesting my audience.”

“But,” Peter’s voice startled Stephen slightly, mostly because of how lost it suddenly sounded, “You’ve been gone like, all day and stuff.”

There was something…sad in the way it was said. It sounded more like a child riddled with separation anxiety than a fifteen-year-old teenager. He saw it a lot with co-workers at the hospital who had children. When their spouses would bring the child for a quick visit because the interactions were so limited at home. How the children would often cry when their parent had to go back to saving lives. It had made him never want children, and now he thought it might have been for the better that Tony Stark had never been given the chance to procreate. He was struggling enough with the child in front of him.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” Stark’s face was stern, but Strange didn’t miss the guilt and maybe even confusion. It was funny, how Tony couldn’t see how much he was admired by the boy. How much Peter radiated that trust and Stephen had only just met him, but even he could see it. When he had heard stories about the boy who was murdered, the Spider-Man, the death that had ripped Iron Man apart from the inside out, it had been second hand, told by Natasha Romanoff one night after The War. After the Snap. After Strange had come back from the Soul World and they had started trying to put the world back in order. Strange had mentioned the drinking, and surprisingly, Nat had come to his defense, despite her other opinions swaying more in the direction that she had no remorse for judging Tony Stark.

She didn’t judge him for that it seemed.

But to look at the kid who had somehow wormed his way into what Strange had once viewed to be an arrogant-asshole, well…It was confusing to say the least.

Peter’s only response to that was a grimace, and Stark reached out, gripping his shoulder firmly. Strange watched the exchange unfold until Stark said, “Strange’ll keep you company. Try not to hang around ex-assassins too much, yeah?”

Ex-Assassins.

Huh.

He then released Peter’s shoulder, patting the side of the kid’s face before turning and leaving the building through the door Strange had only just walked in through. Peter’s eyes found Doctor Strange’s, and the sadness behind them drew pity out of him. Maybe this was how he had managed to worm his way into Stark’s life. By looking like a lost puppy.

Strange pointed towards the stairs, “C’mon…I think Doctor Banner has old medical case files. Maybe I can teach you something.”

Peter’s eyes didn’t look so pitiful then.

…

Tony was struggling with the whole parenting thing.

It wasn’t that he viewed himself as being a parent to Peter, but since there was no May and the kid was suffering…There was this need for guidance that Tony just felt completely unequipped to provide. Peter was like a glass house, every emotion was worn on his sleeve and Tony often ran from such things. He could look in the kid’s eyes and see every ounce of suffering and still do nothing about it. He couldn’t even get SHIELD to let him contact the one person that could. So, he continued walking on eggshells, anxious, and he avoided the kid sometimes because of it. But when he avoided Peter, he would find the kid talking to Bucky fucking Barnes of all people.

The kid really could rope anyone in it seemed.

The Avengers were invested, which led to calling Sam Wilson, and the eventual group therapy suggestion. Even if it was just Steve sitting in there, it made Tony feel better because Steve was probably the only person in the entire world who could remotely understand what it felt like to wake up and have the world around you change. And still the kid was resisting. Was walking out of sessions, and Tony couldn’t really even argue because he had done the same thing that day in couples’ therapy.

Tony didn’t know how to help a kid get his shit together when he didn’t even know how to get his own shit together.

Which was why when he walked into Pepper’s New York apartment, he wasn’t really feeling a deep conversation. The desire wasn’t there, then again, it never was, and he could only swallow thickly and prepare for the worst. Their last conversation hadn’t gone as well as he had wanted, but he didn’t know what he had wanted for that exactly because he wasn’t sure if he had planned on telling her at all. Well, he supposed he would have had to eventually…but still. Christ. It was a big mess.

She was already there, waiting in the living room. She was standing at the window her back turned to him, but before he had even taken two strides into the room, she was turning around. She was dressed in her lounge clothes, her hair pulled back, and Tony thought she always looked lovelier this way. But it was odd to say it now…They were always struggling so hard for each other, always chasing after one another, and Tony dreaded the day when chasing got too exhausting and she decided she was much better off without him. He feared this would be that day.

She did look very tired, behind her eyes. Tony knew it was his fault, not the job, but sometimes he pretended. He pretended they were normal. She was just a stressed CEO and he was the annoying house husband who was needy and begged for attention. But as she approached him slowly, and he saw no anger in her features like there had been before, he knew none of that was possible. They were far too old for all of this drama. They had really grown around each other, flowered into their own individuals. Tony was an entirely different person when he met her, and he was on his third stage of life now.

“You cancelled our session,” Pepper commented, “I suppose I know why now.”

She was so calm…It felt like an opening. Tony cleared his throat, walking around the couch that separated them before sticking his hands in his pockets, “Yeah, guess I didn’t do a very good job of keeping that one under wraps. Luckily, we haven’t heard anything from SHIELD so either they don’t know or they think I’m too stupid to care.”

Pepper breathed, shaking her head, “I can’t believe they did that to him.”

“They did it to Coulson,” Tony shrugged, “If you didn’t know that. I figured that out recently, looks like our guy wasn’t faking that day. He really died and they brought him back, just like Pete. But Peter was…five years and there’s May.”

She swallowed, and looked away, “I saw your plans for the memorial fund. She’s still going through with it?”

He nodded, “Yeah…I wanted to try to delay her, maybe until SHIELD gave us the green light, but the woman is on a mission. She wants to do this, and I don’t have the heart to say no, because I know she wouldn’t understand why I put a stop to it. But I feel like by letting this whole thing continue I’m hurting her more.”

“Then why can’t we tell her?” Pepper insisted, “I mean, I found out and nothing happened.”

Tony set his jaw. Not out of anger, but out of frustration, frustration towards SHIELD. He said softly, “They’re watching her, Pep. And I can’t risk them taking that kid from me.”

She was silent, a look of maybe sudden realization flashing over her face. Tony went on, stepping back and scoffing softly to himself as he ran a hand through his hair. It was the first real conversation they had, had in some time and it was like opening up a wound. She was one of the only people besides Rhodey that he felt comfortable enough to speak to and this void was gushing and he couldn’t stop it.

“You know,” His voice wavered as he looked out the window, “Before everything, I’d look at that kid and I’d see a future. Actually, when I first met him, you and I had just broken up and I thought…I’ll never be with anyone again, I’ll never have kids, but this kid…He’s different and almost…immediately I knew I was gonna give it all to him. Who else was I gonna leave it for, right? Peter was perfect, he was better than me in every single way, he had hope and vision.”

Tony laughed, but it wasn’t real, it sounded more like he had been punched in the gut, “You could just look in his eyes and see it. I had already done my research, I knew what happened to his uncle. He was flailing for someone…anyone to fill that role and I selfishly led him to believe it could be me, but a part of me wanted it to be me. Maybe Fury was right, I’m an arrogant collector, I see a shiny new trinket and I snatch it right up, because I thought that kid was gonna be the heir to everything I ever built. Everything my father built. I never fucking dreamed I’d outlast him.”

“Tony…” Pepper started, but trailed off, clearly unsure of what to say.

But he didn’t stop…This was unloading.

“But now I look at him and I see a kid in a morgue,” Tony felt his eyes burning and he couldn’t look at her, couldn’t let her see, “I see nineteen punctures in this tiny fucking body, Pep, he looked like a child…I mean, he was a child. He trusted me to take care of him and I didn’t, and I falsely and selfishly led him into that trust because I liked that someone needed me. You and I had broken up, Steve had chosen Barnes, but this kid needed me. And it was a good change, I will be the first to admit that asshole notion of mine, the kid looked at me with all that trust that should have been for his uncle or aunt, but I ate it up. I wanted him to need me. Because then I wouldn’t be left alone.”

She cupped his face gently, and Tony felt one of the tears escape. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried so truly, so openly. He looked down at her and she had this look on her face like everything he was saying made sense, and did it? Because it didn’t feel like it did…Not inside of himself.

“Listen to me,” She ordered, “You’ve got to stop being so scared to love that boy.”

“Pep – “

“No,” She cut in, “No…You blame it on being selfish and wanting someone to need you. You never look at the fact that what you felt was genuine. You loved him so much, that day May buried him, I could see it…I could see it. And now he’s back, but…”

She paused, then continued, “You’ve got to look at him. See the color in his cheeks, not…pale and cold, and when he reaches for you, you have to be there. You aren’t going to break him, Tony. You’re quite possibly the gentlest man I’ve ever met.”

“But his aunt – “

“Will be there when we can tell her,” Pepper provided, “But for now, he needs you.”

And God, Tony was so sorry. He was so sorry for screaming at her. For being so angry that she had been there. Because now he was grateful, more than anything, that she knew.

…

“Look! This guy in 2006 had half his skull removed!”

Peter held up one of the papers that Doctor Strange had pulled from old files within Doctor Banner’s office. Peter sat in the man’s desk chair, while Doctor Strange stood near the cabinets, a look of distress partly on his face. The entire experience had been rather odd for Peter, as Doctor Strange had told him that what they were doing was completely illegal, but since Peter was technically dead and Doctor Strange had an MD, it would be fine. Peter didn’t really believe that, but he was trusting the Wizard-Doctor-Guy to take the blame if need be.

Though, the answer as to where the distress was coming from came when Strange muttered, “Who keeps paper files anymore?”

“Doctor Banner is old school,” Peter hummed, looking back down at the paper. Decompressive craniectomy. Sounded insane, but awesome and it looked like the patient lived so that was nice. Peter probably wouldn’t feel the same excitement if the story ended a bit differently, but he had noticed while looking through these old cases that it was a lot like reading people’s stories. Like learning pieces about themselves. He didn’t know how much about biology he was learning, but he sure was acquiring a lot of medical terminology.

Peter looked back up from the page when Doctor Strange let out a huff of victory, “Ah, quadriplegic. Injury to several cervical vertebrae.”

“Quadriplegic?” Peter asked, as Doctor Strange glanced over and held up the file nodding in a silent response. Peter continued on, “What’s that mean?”

“Means all four limbs are paralyzed,” Doctor Strange stopped his digging, before moving towards the desk where Peter was sitting, carrying the file with him. Peter pushed the other folder away as Doctor Strange opened the one in his hands, looking through it briefly and shrugging, “In simplistic terms, it was the result of a broken neck. Patient seems to be living in the long-term wing of Metro-General. Most people with injuries that extensive need assisted care.”

Peter took the folder as it was handed over to him. He had never heard the word before, but he knew he had seen it. There had been a girl in his middle school who was ‘quadriplegic’ after a horse accident. She was always very optimistic about it, sometimes even made jokes, and Peter remembered not being sure if he should laugh or not. She always reassured him and his classmates that it was okay to laugh with her, and he felt like it hurt her feelings a bit when no one did. Eventually, she stopped coming school.

Peter’s eyes scanned over the case history. Damage near C4 and C5 level. The patient had apparently been brought in after a prison fight in 2016, and Doctor Banner signed off on his general checkup two years later. But Doctor Banner didn’t seem to be the primary care physician.

Then Peter got into the more personal information.

There was this moment, where he felt his mouth go dry. Where he stared at the information for maybe over a minute or longer, just reading it over and over again trying to get it to comprehend. Because at first he had almost skimmed over it, was quickly losing interest and wanted to go back to the guy who had, had half his skull removed. But that didn’t happen, and Peter tried to breathe deeply, but it suddenly felt like a rod had been shoved deeply into his chest…Or rather a blade, twisting around, yanking out, reentering.

It didn’t make sense.

Patient: Adrian Toomes || DOB: 12/4/1965 || Check-In Date: 9/24/2016

Suddenly, Peter was plummeting.

Peter’s eyes quickly rose back up to the case history. A prison fight…no…no that was a lie. They had covered it up. Mister Stark hadn’t killed Toomes, but he had maimed him. Had left him in the most defenseless state possible and suddenly Peter was blinking rapidly, trying to grasp at anything, trying to grasp at straws. Mister Stark hadn’t necessarily lied but…He hadn’t told the truth either, and had this been why? Because he had destroyed Toomes’ body and left him to rot inside his head, in a hospital for the rest of his life?

This was Iron Man’s form of justice.

“Peter…?” Doctor Strange’s voice filtered through, “Do you…know him?”

Peter looked up with wide eyes, and he could feel them blurring over. He croaked weakly…

“Can you take me to Metro?”

Chapter Text

Peter wasn’t supposed to have left the Compound, and it was clear to him Doctor Strange didn’t exactly want to bring him to Metro-General, but the moment Peter had threatened to dip out by himself, Strange must have weighed in that bringing Peter to the hospital himself was the better option in the situation. Peter had no doubt in his mind that if Doctor Strange had really wanted, he could have just tattled on him to the other Avengers and they would have found a way to stop him…but for some reason the wizard took some odd form of pity on him and did as he wished.

He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Maybe years from now, he’d think back as an adult and wish Doctor Strange had shown a little umph in his decision making process. That he would have said no to Peter’s childish pleas to be brought to the person who had ended his life in the first place. It was all kind of…weird, and like a death-wish, but this was Toomes. The Toomes that had stabbed him nineteen times and had left him for dead, and for what? For some things on Mister Stark’s plane and to only be beaten to a pulp afterward, bound to a hospital for the rest of his natural life until his body would eventually decide to give out.

Whether it be from complications or old age, there was no way to spin this to where it would be considered right. Peter couldn’t consider it right, in his subconscious when he thought and imagined Mister Stark continuously driving his fist into Toomes’ face over and over again until the life left him and he was suctioned to an eternity in a chair. Peter didn’t like the image. He didn’t like to think Mister Stark, his hero, was capable of such violence. The kind of violence Peter couldn’t even produce when he was face to face with the person who had killed his uncle, and yet…and yet Mister Stark had done it for him.

Peter wasn’t worth that bloodshed.

He just wasn’t.

It wasn’t self-deprecation either, it was…It was logic. It was compassion. Maybe Toomes did deserve it, but there was a difference between vengeance and justice and what Mister Stark had inflicted was not justice. It wasn’t fair, especially not to Liz…God it had to have destroyed her to know her father killed Spider-Man, was a villain, and then was forever damaged. Peter was tempted to find out where she was…if she was okay, but it felt wrong to reach out to the person who had suffered because of him.

The entire ride to the hospital was silent. Peter hadn’t left the Compound in so long, it felt odd. He wondered why Doctor Strange couldn’t just ‘magic’ them there, but he didn’t ask. He instead stuck to what his thoughts had him do – suffer in silence – and he just hoped Mister Stark wouldn’t begin to wonder where he was…Wouldn’t beat him back to the Compound. Of course, he had said he wouldn’t be back until the morning, but things happened sometimes and Mister Stark seemed to show up at very inopportune times.

The radio played quietly, and every once in a while Peter could feel Doctor Strange looking at him. It didn’t scream danger at all, but it screamed confusion and maybe even frustration. So Peter kept his eyes on his hands in his lap, he tried not to look, he tried to be anywhere but there. But unfortunately it couldn’t work that way, it never did, Peter was always where he shouldn’t be. He knew this about himself, most people who weren’t himself knew it. It was an existence piled one on top of the other.

“So,” Doctor Strange interrupted his thoughts, “You going to tell me who this guy is or am I going to have to Google it after we get to the hospital?”

Peter tilted his head slightly to the side, but still didn’t look, “He’s…he’s someone that I know.”

“Well I got that part, I was looking for more specifics.”

Peter hoped for an escape. It did not come. They were nearing the hospital. He wished they could have stayed in the quiet the entire ride, as it was almost done now, but he guessed he’d have to tell him eventually. Peter lifted his head finally and whispered, “Mister Stark hurt him.”

That was when Doctor Strange looked surprise and Peter went on, “He hurt him because of me.”

“Because of…” His voice trailed off, and the confusion on his face melted into realization. His eyes went wide, as they stopped at a red-light, and Strange questioned, “Wait did…No, no…”

Peter swallowed thickly as Doctor Strange took the information in and he looked frustrated with Peter all of a sudden, making the boy’s heart rattle in his chest with anxiety. The world shifted below him with expectation, he felt himself open up and like he was plummeting all over again, like when he had seen Adrian Toomes’ name in that folder. Doctor Strange questioned, “Did this guy kill you?”

And Peter could no longer look at him. He turned his head towards the window, peering out at the street where people were walking by like nothing in the world was wrong. A large hand reached over and grabbed his face, pulling and forcing him to look at Doctor Strange, but just as soon as his face had been grabbed it was released. Peter was still cringing though at the contact, shrinking back, and Doctor Strange ordered, “Answer me.”

“He did,” Peter confirmed and Strange threw a hand up, before running it through his hair as if he was distressed, “B-But – “

A finger waved at him, “No ‘buts’. Shit I…you know what Stark it gonna do when he finds out I took you from the Compound to see the guy who murdered you?”

Someone honked behind them as the light turned green and Strange pressed the gas. Peter shook his head, “We won’t tell him…please Doctor Strange, I gotta see this guy, I’ve gotta – “

“Why?” Strange interrupted, “Why would you want to see him?”

Peter sucked in a deep breath and shouted, “Because I just need to! You don’t understand, no one understands! Cap pretends to, but he crashed himself into an ocean, he didn’t get stabbed to death! No one gets it, and I’m not even sure why but I need to see him, and talk to him! Not to mention, Mister Stark took it upon himself to freaking…permanently ruin this guy!”

Strange looked perplexed, “What, so you’re angry that Stark reacted the way he did? Can you honestly blame him?”

“It’s not…” Peter ground his teeth together and shook his head, “It wasn’t his murder. I wanted justice, not revenge.”

There was a pause, before the man responded, a bit calmer this time, “It might not have been his murder, kid, but he was here to clean up the pieces. As messy as he handled it, it could have been worse and I don’t think you should be pointing fingers.”

Peter fell back against the seat and threw out his hands, “So what? You’re just gonna bring me back to the Compound now?”

Silence befell the car like a curse. It wasn’t a comforting quiet and he almost preferred Doctor Strange scolding him as compared to this. Eventually though, there was the shake of his head and then an explanation, “I’ll…I’ll bring you to Metro, kid. Even though I think this is an awful idea I…I think you should see. You should see Stark more than likely had a reason to do what he did. If I had to bet money, I’d bet once a child-killing-asshole, always a child-killing-asshole.”

Peter said nothing in return, and the last five minutes of the car ride was left that way. When they finally did park at the hospital, Strange stole someone’s parking spot, someone named Nicodemus West. Peter didn’t miss the way Doctor Strange’s mouth curved upward as they got out, but he said nothing about it, and simply tried to ignore the way his stomach was doing somersaults. Truthfully, he had hoped the walk up to the long-term wing would take longer, but it really didn’t take much time at all, not once they had found a woman named Doctor Palmer.

She hadn’t necessarily looked excited to see Doctor Strange. In fact she had frowned deeply when they approached, as she was leaning over one of the front desks over a nurse’s shoulder to see an ipad in the woman’s hand. She was explaining something, until Doctor Strange put a hand on the table and cleared his throat loudly, grabbing her attention.

At first, she just stared, eyes wide before they moved to Peter who shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Her brows pulled downward and she told the nurse, “I’ll be right back, Sarah.”

She hurried around the table, grabbing Doctor Strange by the arm and pulling him aside. Peter rushed after them as they turned around an empty corner into a corridor that seemed long and only a few nurses milled around outside one of the rooms. Peter heard the woman hiss quietly, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Well, nice to see you too,” Doctor Strange replied.

She stepped away from him as if she had been burned, frowning. She kept glancing at Peter, clearly confused as to what his presence was doing there. He crossed his arms over his chest a bit self-consciously and she seemed to think better of her words before she questioned again, “What are you doing here?”

“Okay, okay,” Strange held up a hand, “I need to ask a favor. There’s a patient in your long-term wing. His name is Adrian Toomes. We need to see him.”

Her brows furrowed, “And why, might I ask?”

Doctor Strange had an odd smile form on his lips, “He’s an old friend. Go find his room number, we don’t have all day, we’re on a tight schedule.”

Peter expected her to slap Strange in response to his curtness, but it was clear she was accustomed to it, because all he received was a dark glare in return. She whirled around, and Peter looked at Doctor Strange incredulously. He simply shrugged and explained, “We go very far back. She has skin, tough as nails. She also knows I wouldn’t come without good reason…I do hope this is good reason.”

The boy only swallowed and it wasn’t long before Doctor Palmer was returning and gesturing for them to follow. Peter felt the anxiety growing as they moved down the hallway and Peter trailed behind the two adults who walked in stride next to one another. She handed the ipad over to Doctor Strange and explained, “Some old friend you have. Came in from the prison nearly five years ago…Heard it was a big fight and he got hurt his first night there. You’ll never guess what he was arrested for.”

“Trying to rob Tony Stark,” Doctor Strange provided and Peter felt his face burning.

“Not just that,” Doctor Palmer let out a breathless laugh, “Guy supposedly killed Spider-Man…You know that vigilante from Queens? Apparently, Tony Stark was pissed…I’ve heard rumors that Stark either did this himself or paid someone to have it done. Either way, the guy is broken. Still needs breathing assistance.”

Peter looked down at the tiles on the floor and he felt Doctor Strange glance back at him. Eyes and more eyes and everything was coming down, but then they were stopping in front of a door with the numbers 225 on the front. There was this moment where Doctor Palmer looked at him expectantly, but Doctor Strange waved her off, saying, “Give us a second.”

She looked…almost distrusting. But she stepped aside nonetheless and Doctor Strange moved to loom over Peter. Not necessarily in an intimidating way, but more of an attention demanding way. Peter looked up at him, blinking rapidly before he glanced at the closed door. Doctor Strange said, “Listen…if you want me to go in with you – “

“I can go myself,” Peter insisted, “I…I need to see him alone.”

Doctor Strange sighed, shaking his head, “Stark is going to kill me…”

Peter said nothing in response to that. Because he didn’t know anymore…he didn’t know what the man was capable of. Strange then tilted his head slightly towards the lights and he ordered, “If you need me, shout.”

There was this feeling of idiocy. What was going to happen? Peter’s appearance was going to miraculously heal Toomes and the guy was going to stab him again? Though he knew that was an impossibility, his heart still leapt in his throat at the mere thought of it. He never wanted to see him again, but he had to. He had to face him…had to see what damage had been caused because of him. Because he had let himself get killed and to see Liz’s father, to think of the pain all of this had to have caused her…Christ…

Peter entered the room, Doctor Strange allowing him to go in alone. The door was heavy, or maybe it was just Peter’s anxiety making it seem much weightier than it was. It creaked slightly, and the room was dim, the lights turned off and the sun covered by the threat of rainfall. The afternoon was also rolling in on them, and Peter chewed his lower lip, noticing how raw it was. His mind raced, he tried to connect dots. He tried to make things better inside, but it felt so awful going in there, especially shutting the door behind himself.

Peter walked through the small corridor where there was a closet and a bathroom until it opened up into the main room. There was a bed, a television that was playing some black and white show, and a whiteboard with the nurse’s name on it. But what caught Peter’s attention was the figure in front of the open window. A breeze filtered in, the storm brewing, and it smelled of rain almost. The figure had its back turned, sitting upright in what reminded Peter of the electric wheelchair he used to see the woman on the first floor of their apartment in. Though she had, had ALS, but Peter knew what this was…He knew this wasn’t some disease, this was because of him. A result of his death…Peter had caused this.

The figure must have heard his footsteps, and Peter froze as the chair slowly began to turn around to face him, making a low humming sound as it did so. There was this: Peter had expected to be petrified at the sight of the face of this man. He had fully expected to feel his blood run cold, but…but it didn’t happen like that. Sometimes it never seemed to happen like that. Not in the way Peter ever expects.

This was Toomes.

This was Toomes looking at him, taking him in, a tube in his throat, his body reclined slightly in the chair and a curled up hand holding onto the lever that made the chair move. But if Peter wasn’t freaking out, he had at least expected Toomes to. Because Peter was meant to be dead and yet there he was in the hospital room right in front of him. However, that didn’t happen the way Peter expected it to either, and the chair rolled forward slowly and carefully, around the bed and away from the window until it was directly under the television. Peter’s stomach churned and he stepped back a bit.

There was thunder rolling in the distance.

The sun was almost gone.

Finally, a raspy voice spoke, overpowering the laugh track on the television.

“I guess I should be surprised…But Stark always gets what he wants, right?”

This was much scarier. Maybe a part of Peter had hoped that Toomes would be horrified when he saw him. Had hoped Toomes would hate himself, or would be scared, or something. But no…no he seemed kind of exhausted, but also vaguely amused by the entire thing. When he shouldn’t have been…not when the blood had barely dried from that night. Peter still felt it, he still felt the blade driving into him and yet here was the man who had done it, and he didn’t seem sorry…he didn’t seem concerned about a ghost from his past being in his hospital room. He seemed to accept it as truth without fear.

Peter said nothing, simply stood, mouth slightly open and shoulders stiff as Toomes continued hoarsely, “What? Cat got ya tongue? Guess I’m not as pretty as I used to be…huh? You got Stark to thank for that…he really don’t like people breakin’ his stuff.”

A pause, then he continued, “So…what he do? Build you? Buy you? Dig you up and make himself a new little assistant?”

Then…

“Or…I’m just dreamin’.”

Peter licked his lips, they were so dry, he could barely breathe and he approached Toomes slowly…carefully. He raised his hand, heart pounding and blood rushing through his ears. Toomes was staring, staring like he didn’t think he was real, and just to prove it, Peter pressed the edge of his fingers to the man’s cheek. Almost as if he was afraid to touch him, but he wanted to prove he was physically there. Toomes’ eyes widened at the gentle gesture and Peter lowered his hand, stepping back before he whispered, “I’m real.”

Peter paused.

“You killed me.”

Toomes let out a bitter laugh, startling Peter slightly. He stepped away once more, wanting that distance back. Toomes groaned, as if the laugh had hurt him somehow, “There’re worse things than death…count yourself fucking lucky, kid. You know what my daughter had to go through because of you? Because of Stark?”

Peter ground his teeth together at the mention of Liz, guilt blooming deep in his stomach. God, he never wanted Liz to be hurt. Not in a million years. She was so nice, so kind to him, and he had just left her at the dance…He had gotten her father taken away and Peter felt tears prick his eyes, blurring over viciously as he replied, trying not to sound weak, “My aunt suffered too.”

Peter heard the rain beginning to fall. The room was nearly dark now, and the thunder had gotten closer. The water was slamming into the open window, dampening the floor in front of it. It pattered fiercely and it felt like Hell was breaking loose.

“Yeah, and whose fault was that?” Toomes growled, “Cause it sure as hell wasn’t mine. You got in the way…Got in the way of me trying to make a living for my family. And you paid the price for it. So did your aunt – and you know what? She was probably better off without a kid like you!”

Peter flinched slightly. The shout wasn’t necessarily loud, but it sounded rough past the tube in the man’s neck. Peter felt angry, but he also felt something rising in him…Something like an odd form of panic. Toomes’ eyes…his eyes, they were the same eyes, the last thing he had seen before the stars had opened up and Peter felt close to screaming, but he didn’t. He instead tried to keep everything inside of himself.

“You hear me?” Toomes growled, and Peter couldn’t look at his eyes anymore, “You hear me!? You cried, you cried and begged, and you were weak. Every time I stabbed you, you just cried harder and you know what? It was pathetic. You were pathetic. Everyone was better off without a weak ‘Spider-Man’ running around and pretending to be a hero, and you know why?”

Peter shook his head, his throat clogging up.

“Cause all the heroes are dead. They end up dead, kid. Look at you now, can’t even look me in the eyes like a fucking man. No…no you’re a child, pretending to be one of the big guys. Well I’ve got news for you, one of your idols put me here. How much of a hero is he?”

“Stop!” Peter ordered sharply, “Stop it!”

Toomes snarled, “He was an animal. Just kept going, wasn’t even a human being. My daughter comes to visit me, and she cries and you know what? That’s you. That’s you and your self-righteous friend.”

The thunder clapped, and Peter felt a foreign pain hurl into him. But he wasn’t going to cry…not in front of Toomes, not in front of anyone, not again, because it was true, it had been pathetic. It had been stupid. He had fallen apart, and for what? Because he had been murdered and Peter hated himself. He hated himself so much, and he felt like he was drowning underneath it all…Like he was under that building once more. So when he rushed to the window, and he climbed out into the rain, he ignored the way the water pelted his face, the way his hands could barely stick to the side of the building, how he didn’t have a mask.

He just had to go.

…

Tony was woken from one of the best sleeps of his life by a phone call.

It was the perfect concoction for rest, really. The rain hitting the window of Pepper’s apartment …the woman sleeping beside him. It had been so long since they shared a bed, and it was warm, but of course nothing this good could ever stay and Tony sat up in bed with a thick snort into the waking world, scrambling for the phone to answer it before the ringing could wake Pepper up beside him. He pressed it to his ear, speaking groggily, voice angry.

“What?”

What he did not expect to hear was Strange’s voice on the other end, but it only annoyed him more when he said, “Stark.”

“Strange,” Tony hissed, “I swear to God…I swear to God next time I see you I’m going to punch you in the face, you know that? Do you have any idea how good I was sleeping? How many people I would step on for that kind of sleep – “

“Stark listen to me,” Strange interrupted, “It’s the boy.”

Tony’s eyes snapped open, his back going rigid. He glanced at Pepper’s sleeping form and he breathed, “What? What happened?”

There was a pause from the other end and Tony tried not to explode as he growled, “What happened, Strange, answer me.”

“He…well…we have a bit of an issue…You see the boy conned me into taking him to Metro-General this afternoon and…There was an incident, and he crawled from a window and now I cannot find him. I’m sure he’s fine, but I know his existence is meant to be under wraps so I didn’t think it was a good thing for him to be wandering around the city.”

There was this moment where…If Pepper hadn’t been sleeping beside him, Tony might would have broken something. That same short temper erupted inside of him though, the one that came with Peter’s death, with The War, with the grueling pressures that life had provided him with. Tony gripped the comforter, shut his eyes and swallowed down air as if it was the only thing keeping him from the sweet embrace of death. God…his patience was at the end. Tony was ending here…falling apart.

He threw the blanket back, and stood from the bed, growling, “You brought him to the hospital…the hospital where the guy who fucking murdered him was, Strange I should put you in a wheelchair – “

“Don’t be vile. I’m not the one who kept it a secret from him.”

Once Tony was out of the bedroom and had shut the door behind himself, he raised his voice just slightly, knowing he could still potentially wake the woman if he was too loud, as loud as he had wanted to be, “I kept it a secret because he didn’t need to know! There was absolutely no reason to tell that kid that Toomes was alive and – fuck you. You know what, just fuck you, Strange. Imma find that kid, and you can go screw yourself.”

“Very mature.”

“Hey, next time stay away from the kid,” Tony growled, “I’m the babysitter, you’re – irresponsible. Go the hell away.”

Tony then hung up, and within moments his suit was enveloping him from the bright light on his chest, the nanobots taking hold. Tony pushed the balcony door open and closed it behind himself silently apologizing to Pepper before he took off into the sky. Within the HUB, it took Tony’s eyes a moment to adjust to the lights before he said, “Friday.”

“Yes boss?”

“Got any CCTV footage of Pete’s face anywhere?”

Rain pelted around him as he shot through the air and a few moments passed before Friday replied, “Looks like someone with his features was seen on CCTV scaling the Manhattan Broadway Hotel.”

Awesome. If it was that easy to find Peter, Tony could only hope it wasn’t that easy for everyone else. Especially SHIELD, because if they found out about this little slip up, along with the one involving Pepper…they’d be screwed. Most definitely and completely screwed and Tony wasn’t prepared to deal with that mess. A part of himself felt completely pissed off at the kid, but another part just felt tired and…bad. He didn’t know how to deal with this…he didn’t know how to help a kid that had died and come back and it all felt very, very hard. Harder than anything Tony had ever done.

Maybe even harder than The War.

He hadn’t had so much to lose then, even if the world had.

Ultimately, he found the kid. Within twenty minutes, he was landing on the rooftop, the phone call with Strange melting away with the rain, the anger almost completely forgotten, but here was Peter. Peter curled up under a ledge, holding his knees to his chest and his hair plastered to his forehead, completely soaked to the bone. He looked up at Tony hesitantly, and a moment of calm ticked by. Tony actually almost said something but without warning, Peter shot up from where he was crouching, and nearly took off into a sprint across the rooftop. Tony felt surprise punch him in the face, and he lunged forward, grabbing Peter by his arm, yanking him back.

Thank God for the suit, because without it, Tony wasn’t sure he’d be able to fight the flailing teenager with super-strength. Peter struggled against him for a good few moments, grunting and fighting like an animal caught in a trap. Tony said, trying to grab onto his arms that swung back as if to hit the suit, “Hey! Hey, stop it, you’re going to hurt yourself, kid, stop!”

When Peter refused, Tony, as gently as he could, took Peter’s feet out from underneath him. The two of them hit the rooftop and Tony pressed Peter’s back to the chest of the suit, effectively pinning the kid’s arms over his chest. Peter let out pitiful sounds, and Tony knew he was crying, not speaking coherently, just letting out small voices of protest at being restrained. Eventually though, the fighting stopped, and Tony rocked slightly, as Peter gasped and breathed heavily from the brief brawl.

“Okay…okay,” The helmet of the suit retracted, and Tony leaned forward, putting the side of his face on Peter’s damp head, “Okay…I gotcha.”

He held tightly, and Peter’s chest began to shudder and finally he spoke something understandable, “You…you hurt him.”

And Tony…he wasn’t angry. But he wasn’t going to sugarcoat it either. Peter had seen it. He had seen what he had done and there was no use in hiding it anymore. He almost buried his face in the kid’s hair, as if to hide shame, but he wasn’t shameful…At least he didn’t think he was. Tony nodded, “I did.”

“It’s my fault.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is,” Peter hiccupped, and his head leaned forward, as if curling into himself and Tony pulled him back upright so his back pressed against his chest once more in case the kid tried to wrench from his hold and make a run for it again. Tony gave him a slight shake, gripping the kid’s arms from behind.

“It’s not,” Tony hissed, “I made that decision. I made the decision to go to the prison and do that. Kid I…I couldn’t let him just keep going after that. I couldn’t – you are…”

He paused, then, “You are very important to me. And he took that.”

Tony was trying to simplify it into terms that the kid would understand. Maybe even in a way that he himself would understand. Peter let out a quiet sob, and said, “But Liz…and her mom…”

“They want for nothing,” Tony leaned down close to Peter’s ear and whispered, “You hear me? They are fine, and they’re taken care of. They have everything they could possibly want. And they have each other, that’s enough. That’s enough.”

He brushed a kiss over the back of the kid’s hair. Trying to make him understand, he had to understand…this decision was not his fault. It was Tony’s, it was his anger, it was his to bear and he didn’t want Peter anywhere near it. Peter’s chest spasmed again, and Tony couldn’t help but think of that night that Peter was struggling to breathe on the beach, so Tony released one of the kid’s arms, placing a palm over his sternum and he ordered, “Breathe.”

Just…prove it to me. Prove to me you’re okay…you can breathe.

Peter sucked in a deep breath. And Tony didn’t hear the sound of blood clogging his lungs.

It was clear.

“It shouldn’t have been that way,” Peter murmured.

Maybe not…but you’re so much better…

…

By the time Tony got the kid back to the Compound it was nearing midnight.

The rain hadn’t let up, and Peter was soaked to the bone the moment they walked into the dark residential wing. Tony decided if he wanted people to watch the kid he was going to have to ask specifically, because everyone assumed Peter was with someone else and they all sucked at their jobs. But by the time they got to Peter’s room, the kid was shaking like a leaf from being in his clothes for so long and he seemed relieved to get to shower.

Tony sat in the kid’s desk chair, waiting with his hands folded in his lap until the kid emerged from the steam filled bathroom, dressed in his pajamas. His eyes were still swollen and puffy from crying earlier and he looked about ready to pass out, but Tony hadn’t felt right just leaving him there. Not after everything that happened. Peter only swayed on his feet slightly, and he stood there a few moments before he finally said anything.

“You don’t gotta stay.”

“Hush kid…”

“I mean it,” Peter insisted, wringing his hands together, “I – I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Tony said nothing, just stared and Peter got the hint before crossing the room and climbing under the blankets of his bed. Tony simply leaned back in the desk chair, folding his hands over his abdomen and he let the sound of the rain start to lull him, the dark room shining slightly from the security lights outside. However, just when Tony assumed the kid had flitted off into some dream land, he heard the boy whisper, “Mister Stark?”

His head shot up from where he had leaned it behind the chair. Peter’s head was nearly swallowed by the pillow, and he was looking at Tony with wide brown eyes. As if that trust had returned, as if he hadn’t just seen the man Tony had nearly beaten to death. Tony replied, “Yeah?”

“Was I…” The kid seemed hesitant, and Tony was about to try and push whatever it was out of him, but then Peter gave it up, “Was I pathetic?”

Tony’s brows only furrowed…

“When I died, was I pathetic? Did I cry?”

Tony sniffed, sitting up straight in the chair. He felt a bit of upset blooming like a wide-red rose in his stomach. He tried not to sound angry as he questioned, “Why would you ask that? Did Toomes tell you that?”

Peter looked away.

“Kid.”

His eyes found him once more, and Tony held that gaze, tried to convince it through the silent stare that what he was about to say was the truth. He pushed the words out, wishing he wasn’t saying them to a fifteen-year-old, but unfortunately this was their existence…their reality.

“You were fucking brave. Braver than he will ever be.”

Chapter Text

Tony stood outside room 225 in Metro-General Hospital, hands buried deep in his pockets and his head set low, eyes closed, and contemplating.

The night had gone on with little to no events. Peter had squirmed for hours in his sleep, but Tony had decided somewhere around four in the morning the boy was alright enough to leave alone. He had approached where Peter’s sleeping face was lax, where he looked younger and younger by the ticking moments. He had pulled the blankets up higher, over the kid’s shoulders just to make sure he was warm, to make sure he felt safe, because if a nightmare plagued him while Tony was gone…well, he wouldn’t deal with that guilt very well.

Then he had ended up there, in the hospital, driven by an anger that wasn’t necessarily coherent.

Tony hadn’t seen Adrian Toomes since that night in the prison. He hadn’t come looking for him. Tony sent money to Toomes’ wife and child and he turned his back, hoped for the best, and sometimes he checked on the two of them, only because he knew how much the girl had meant to Peter. That it had mattered. And maybe a small part of Tony felt guilty for taking that girl’s father from her, because it really hadn’t been her fault. How was someone meant to cope with the fact their father was a criminal and permanently injured?

Well, Tony had done this. He had to own it.

His eyes glanced briefly up and down the hallway, and when Tony had come to the conclusion it was empty due to the early hour, he grabbed the doorknob and pushed it open, entering without much hesitation. The deep breathing, having his eyes closed, it was all in preparation and Tony wasn’t exactly sure what he planned on doing, he just knew it was nothing good. He was stupid for coming. He was stupid for being crazy, and angry, and just getting over what the kid said about being pathetic. Because it was Peter, he was just…the kid took so many things to heart. And the opinions of a child killer shouldn’t have mattered.

But they did.

The room was silent, and Tony half-expected to see Toomes asleep in the bed. Because it was nearing six in the morning, after all, and the sun hadn’t yet risen. But to his surprise, and maybe even disappointment, Toomes was there, sitting in his chair with the tube in his throat, staring at the television with almost a blank expression. Tony could still hear a bit of rain outside and he wondered, was this what Peter had seen? Some ominous old man sitting in a chair, looking frail and yet behind his eyes was this evil…maybe Tony was dreaming it up. Maybe because he had scooped Peter into his arms that night, it had stuck with him inside his bones.

Tony was broken, but at least he wasn’t this asshole.

There was this moment, where Toomes looked over at him upon his slow and domineering entrance. Tony still had his hands in his pockets, shoulders set back and his chin up as if he was about to clear out an office full of people. But instead he was there to rip into a man that was defenseless and he had been that night in the prison cell when Tony had gone in, had paid off the guard. Had done all those things…

Blood was running through his fingers, Toomes was gagging on it, gagging in the same way Peter had as Tony held the man’s neck even tighter under his grip. When he had slammed him into the concrete floor, over and over again until it was just too much, until he was almost positive Toomes was dead. Clearly he hadn’t been though…

“I’m going to fucking kill you! You get that!? I’m going to kill you!”

He had wanted that to be the last thing Toomes ever heard. But it hadn’t worked out that way and Toomes was there in the room, his machine making sounds, and he looked back at Tony. Eyes were alert, they should not have been, they should have been dead. Last time Tony had seen them, they had been rolling into the back of the man’s head. Beating someone within an inch of their life was an odd sensation, it was like it had reawakened the feeling of his bones cracking under Toomes’ face.

Existent. Existent. Existent.

“Two visits in one night…What’d I do to deserve this?”

Tony ground his teeth together, tilting his head and squinting his eyes as he strolled forward towards the man. He saw something flicker, like the remnants of that memory and good…good he wanted Toomes to remember that night. He wanted him to feel it. Toomes swallowed and it seemed thick, but the tube made it hard to tell. Tony removed one of his hands from his pocket before he reached up to the monitor of the respirator and ran his fingers over the buttons, but not pressing any.

“Well…I can name a few things…” Tony hummed, voice devoid of much emotion. Bordering on sadistic as his finger lulled over one button in particular and he continued, “Nice place they’ve got you in…quaint…”

Toomes growled, “What do you want? Listen…I didn’t make that kid come here…I was mindin’ my own business – “

“Did you call him pathetic?” Tony interrupted bluntly.

There was a startled silence, hovering and Toomes stared at him. Tony raised an eyebrow, removing his hand from the buttons on the monitor as he leaned forward to get eye level with Toomes, waiting on the response that needed to come before Tony completely lost his shit. Toomes’ startled expression turned into a glower. Tony went on in a whisper, “C’mon…tell me.”

“Fuck you, Stark.”

Tony laughed. Honestly, he did. It was quiet, and more like a chuckle, and darkness started to climb up the walls in their small hospital room. Slowly, Tony reached out a hand and grabbed onto the tube in the man’s throat. He didn’t pull, but just touching it made Toomes’ eyes go wide with horror. He croaked, “I’ll scream.”

“They won’t come,” Tony replied, “Tell me, right now. Did you call him pathetic?”

Tony had never hated anyone more in his life. He wasn’t even sure if the urge to kill Bucky Barnes that day in Siberia could compare. This was like a fire blooming and reigniting now that he was seeing Toomes’ face all over again. And thinking of what he could have said to a traumatized kid who had been through enough…fuck…

Finally, Toomes answered, less confidently this time, “Yes. I did.”

He imagined yanking the tube out right then. He imagined Toomes suffocating. But he didn’t. Because he also recalled Peter on the rooftop, blaming himself, crying because the guilt had gotten so deep inside of him. Tony would never understand how the kid could feel bad about Toomes getting what he deserved, but it had happened anyway, and he knew ripping out the tube would just result in more of that guilt.

“Well…that ‘pathetic’ kid just saved your life,” Tony swallowed, and he so wished to end it. To end the nightmares, to end the villain from a story that should have drifted off long ago, but it never would. Because Tony would always remember the night Toomes had taken something from him. Something from May. Something from the entire world that Peter was going to change had he been given the chance to grow up.

And Tony finished, “If I were you, I would hope he stays the nice kid he is today…because all he would need to do is ask and I would end you in a heartbeat.”

He turned, going towards the exit, wondering what he had planned to do. The truth? He had planned to kill Toomes, or at least attempt it one more time. He wanted to watch him die, he wanted to witness that death…but there was Peter. There was the way it would make the kid feel and Tony wasn’t prepared to deal with the hurt it would cause. Peter had been through enough…he was struggling enough everyday. Before Tony could disappear though, Toomes called…

“How’d you do it? That boy was dead…had to have been…”

Tony paused, but didn’t look back and he could hear Toomes breathing heavily behind his back, “If I didn’t know better…I’d think you were the devil…”

He peered over his shoulder and answered numbly.

“Then you must not know better.”

…

Peter dreamed of May.

She had her fingers in his hair, and she was telling him everything would be okay, even though it didn’t feel that way. She had kissed his forehead, even though he had lied about being Spider-Man. Of course, he had never gotten to tell her such a thing. Not in the real world. But dreams were where things could be okay and sometimes Peter wished he could sleep forever. If he could just do that, nothing else could hurt. He’d exist where he wanted to be. Sometimes even the nightmares that plagued him were more welcoming than the real world where he seemed to be chased by demons or in a sick twist, go look for them himself.

After all, it was Peter’s fault he had gone to that hospital.

When he woke up, eyes fluttering to see the ceiling, he could feel the remnants of the dream. Feel the way his chest lit up at the thought of his aunt, but the realization that she wasn’t there struck him hard.

He was quite alone.

His heart soured at that, and Peter carefully pushed himself into a sitting position. Everything was quiet, everything still and the window was fogged from the humidity of the rain the night before. That seemed so long ago now, it felt like forever when he had seen Toomes’ face. But it stepped close in the vision of memory. It stepped so close Peter could hardly handle it. He wished he didn’t have to feel the way he did sometimes. He wished he wasn’t at the Compound, and he wished for Aunt May…Over and over again he wished for her.

Peter convinced himself to get out of bed and brush his teeth. It seemed like the correct thing to do, as he pushed his desk chair back into place from where Mister Stark had been sitting in it before Peter had fallen to sleep. The morning rituals were simple enough, they provided the stability he longed for, but it was right after he had finished brushing his teeth that Colonel Rhodes had entered his room, eyes wide and looking almost disturbed. Peter didn’t know if it was because of the stress of the past few weeks or what, but he immediately stiffened in the doorway of the adjoining bathroom, back going rigid.

There was this expectation for awful news, and while the news wasn’t awful, it wasn’t great either.

“Peter, SHIELD is here.”

It might have been the second scariest moment of his life, next to being murdered and that was saying something. Initial thought: He had snuck out the day before. Had run from the hospital. Also there was the fact that Pepper Potts knew he was alive and so they weren’t exactly following the rules that had been set into place for them by SHIELD. Peter swallowed and grabbed the doorframe, almost backing up into the bathroom. Colonel Rhodes must have noticed his panic, because he shook his head and approached slowly, holding out a calming hand…

“No, no, hey,” Colonel Rhodes assured, “Calm down. Tony is talking to them…It’s Coulson and one of SHIELD’s doctors. Fury sent them over for a check-up…You know, because coming back to life can have affects physically and…It’s alright, Peter.”

Peter took a few moments staring at the man. He tried to decipher if this was a lie or not. If he could see the urge to run under his brown eyes. But Colonel Rhodes didn’t seem like the kind of person that would lie. He had never given Peter a reason not to trust him and slowly the boy pried his fingers from the doorframe, sucking in a deep breath and nodding his head up and down. If Mister Stark was already speaking to them, and Colonel Rhodes had been sent to fetch him, then it must not have been dangerous. He trusted Mister Stark’s judgement on that.

Carefully, he approached the man and Colonel Rhodes put a hand on his shoulder, leading him out of the room before Peter had the chance to get out of his pajamas.

A part of Peter hoped to see Doctor Streiten when they exited the residential wing and headed towards where he knew Mister Stark and Doctor Banner had their labs. But when they entered the large room that Peter hadn’t ever seen before in his life, he didn’t even get the chance to nerd out or be excited, because the doctor that was standing there definitely wasn’t Doctor Streiten; and Phil Coulson and Mister Stark appeared to be glaring darkly at one another, not easing Peter’s worry in the slightest as he chewed his lower lip and Colonel Rhodes continued to ease him forward towards the group. The room felt tense, like the air was thick and Peter swallowed.

He wanted to go back to bed.

Peter noticed how red Mister Stark’s face was, as if he was holding in words…choice words, and when he saw Peter enter he immediately held out a hand towards him, beaconing him forward towards himself. Colonel Rhodes released him and Mister Stark replaced the hand on his shoulder and squeezed tightly, tilting his head downward to Peter’s eye level, effectively blocking Peter off from the new doctor, a woman in a blazer and her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, and Phil Coulson as well. Mister Stark whispered, “What’s up, you sleep okay?”

“Yeah – I,” Peter was kind of startled by the off subject greeting and tried to crane his neck to look at the other adults, but Mister Stark still wasn’t allowing it, “What…what’s going on? I mean, I know what’s going on, Colonel Rhodes told me, but…why?”

Mister Stark shook his head, “Apparently this was a part of the deal, but I wasn’t told about it. They just want to check you out, do some blood work, make sure you’re still doing okay. Some ‘test subjects’ haven’t always had the best recovery and they failed to mention that little detail to me so – “

“It isn’t a big deal,” Phil Coulson’s voice announced calmly over Mister Stark’s shoulder, “Really, he’s making it seem much bigger than it is.”

Mister Stark huffed, eyes narrowing before he turned, and Peter could only imagine the glare that was digging into Coulson, but Coulson didn’t flinch. However, the doctor looked uncomfortable and Colonel Rhodes just shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, ordering, “Just let her look at the kid, then they can go and you can maybe calm down. Have you been up all night?”

Mister Stark didn’t answer, but from the bags under his eyes, Peter thought that might be a possibility. Peter was pushed gently towards a stool and Mister Stark told him to sit in a soft, barely heard voice. The doctor stepped forward hesitantly, smiling down at Peter, but sobering immediately when Mister Stark’s gaze met hers. Peter didn’t miss the way her hands shook as she took his blood and moved about rituals that already seemed set in motion before he had arrived. It was true, that she only had a few things to check. His finger was pricked on a small device, his blood pressure was taken, and she listened to his heart beat in the stethoscope.

It felt weird having the other adults there. Mostly because whenever Peter saw doctors in the past he was usually left in the room by himself or his aunt would be there. It felt almost invasive even if Peter knew this wasn’t the same kind of doctor he would usually be brought to see. This was a SHIELD doctor that he didn’t even know the name of and Peter kept having to fight the urge to ask about Doctor Streiten but he knew the answer he would get in response probably wouldn’t be one he would want to hear or it would be a lie.

After she took his blood pressure though and looked at the small device in her hand, she tilted her head and questioned, “Are you nervous, honey?”

Of course, he was nervous. This was SHIELD. She had just pricked his finger and Mister Stark was watching like a hawk or a mother bear about to rip into everyone. Something was wrong, and if Mister Stark hadn’t slept, he was probably on edge already. So Peter just shrugged his shoulders. He seemed to be nervous always now. He didn’t mind as much anymore. The way his pulse fluttered and everything felt very close and far away at the same time. Like it was loud, but he could not touch.

When she nodded her head understanding his silent shrug, she took the cuff off and turned away. Peter felt Mister Stark’s hand on the back of his neck, squeezing tightly, meant to be comfort, but it only made Peter feel like the man was going to kill everyone in the room, spare Colonel Rhodes.

Sometimes he wished he could find a way to ease Mister Stark’s worry. But he wasn’t sure how. Not really. Peter was often his worry. And Peter couldn’t very well get rid of himself, he couldn’t just disappear into nothing. He didn’t wish to, but sometimes he felt like everyone would have been better off if he hadn’t come back. Peter looked up at him, eyes wide, taking in his exhausted expression. Mister Stark looked down at him, really looked at him and it had been like the night before when he had actually met his gaze and something warm stirred. Peter felt like the hatred no longer lived there, Mister Stark could look at him now and not see a dead kid. But it still felt like the man was never going to release this smothering.

As quickly as it had begun, it ended with the woman leaving, but unfortunately Phil Coulson stayed. It wasn’t that Peter had anything against him in particular, he was the only other person that had gone through Project TAHITI, but there was still a bit of an unsettling feeling about him. Just because he was SHIELD. Just because he was the one that had been there when Peter had woken up. The hand on his neck pulled away, as the doctor nodded her head anxiously and grabbed her things. Colonel Rhodes gave a concerned glance towards Mister Stark before leading the woman from the room, and ultimately the Compound if Peter had to guess.

“So,” Mister Stark started when they were alone with Coulson, “Just us now. To what do I owe this surprise doctor’s visit, hm? I have a feeling Fury wasn’t worried about the kid’s health.”

Peter felt like he shouldn’t have been there. He shouldn’t have been listening in…he should have gone with Colonel Rhodes. But Mister Stark didn’t seem very concerned with hiding this from him and Peter didn’t know if it made him feel more adult or not. Phil Coulson smiled a bit, with sarcasm in his mouth as he replied, “Well, Director Fury sometimes worries…Especially when he realized the boy was out in the rain last night.”

Dead silence befell them and Peter felt his stomach plummet. He swallowed, before pushing himself to his feet and almost trying to stand in front of Mister Stark as if to offer protection, “Agent Coulson…That was my fault, not Mister Stark’s he – “

“Kid.” Mister Stark snapped.

Peter’s mouth shut instantly as his elbow was grabbed and he was tugged back. It was a simple gesture, but he understood it. Shut up. Be quiet. We are here on the edge. But surely…surely if Coulson was there to take him away he would have brought more than just himself and a doctor that was already gone. He wouldn’t have felt the need to lie in front of her and Colonel Rhodes. Tony seemed to see that as well too, because he snorted, “Worries…yeah he worries his little secret is gonna get out, not whether or not the kid is okay.”

“Believe it or not, he was concerned for the boy’s safety,” Coulson tilted his head, “You let him out of your sight and he went to the hospital to see the man who killed him five years ago…Doesn’t seem like the best thing for Peter’s psyche.”

Tony held up a finger immediately, “Okay, one: Don’t act like you know what’s best for the kid. You spent a few days with him while you and your little group were keeping him captive. And two: I didn’t let him do anything. Shit happens, but I don’t need you or Fury pretending you could handle this any better.”

“Mister Stark,” Peter tried, but he was ignored.

“If you were here instead of sleeping with your ex-fiancée maybe it wouldn’t have happened the way it did, hm?” Agent Coulson questioned.

Okay gross. But, Peter didn’t get the chance to cringe before Mister Stark was attempting to make a stride forward. Peter reached out immediately though and grabbed the man by his arm and wrist, pulling him back with his superior strength. Mister Stark bit the words out fiercely, but didn’t struggle very hard against Peter’s grip, maybe the initial anger melting away as he ordered harshly, “Get out, Coulson. Maybe on another day your sarcasm would be amusing, but unfortunately you’ve caught be running on zero sleep with a whole day and night ahead of me so I’m going to need you to back off.”

Coulson stood still a moment, face unreadable in the dimness of the moment. Peter felt like he was the only one who was terrified, chewing on his bottom lip with anxiety while his mentor and Agent Coulson stared at each other. When no one moved to leave, Peter tugged on Mister Stark’s arm and said, “Can we go?”

He didn’t know for whose sake he was asking. Maybe just his own. Mister Stark’s anger no longer knew bounds. Peter had once viewed him as a level headed individual, but death and war changed people. Sam and Steve had made that clear to him. It was his turn to be of some kind of help. Mister Stark was quite possibly just as broken as he was. The world was hard, Peter wasn’t the only person suffering through its bitter grip. And so he held on, held on while Mister Stark was tense under his hand and eventually, the man relaxed. He looked at Peter, looked at him like he understood this ruse that wasn’t really a ruse. It was a hopefulness that begged desperately for an escape.

Mister Stark gave up easier than Peter had expected. He turned around and Peter slowly released his arm, only hesitating when Tony glanced back at Coulson one last time. Peter stepped aside to allow Mister Stark to go in front of him, but instead of following him directly out, Peter looked at Coulson with almost a pleading expression and asked, “Agent Coulson?”

The man raised his eyebrow in a questioning manner and Peter continued…

“When…Have you guys decided when I can call my aunt?”

That sarcasm melted away. The façade that the man seemed to wear when Tony Stark and all of his glory was around, and Phil Coulson looked honest again, he looked sorry, like he had back at SHIELD’s facility when Peter had been so terrified. It was as if this pity came from the depths of everyone. Especially Doctor Streiten. Even the people who had harmed him the most had pitied him, all except Toomes. There was something refreshing in that abuse, and Peter decided he must really be sick if he thought that villainy was refreshing.

And Phil’s reply was what Peter expected but had hoped not to hear…

“Director Fury is still working on that.”

Peter hid the pain behind a nod of his head as he turned to where Mister Stark was standing in the doorway waiting for him. He hid it all the way to the hallway, where they walked with each other in stride and Mister Stark’s hands were set at his sides. Hands that were shaking and Peter wondered where he had gone, if he had not slept…Peter knew, he could see it in his eyes, and worry and concern brought him to where he might have gone. Peter teetered between asking and avoiding, neither felt particularly easy. Peter was more concerned with the way his heart was breaking below his chest, because maybe…Maybe he had been terrified when Colonel Rhodes had told him about SHIELD being there, but maybe there had also been a part of him that had sort of hoped this was his chance to go home.

Peter tilted further, until a hand on his arm stopped him.

He turned slightly to face the man beside him, and he realized they had walked a while without saying anything to each other. Mister Stark didn’t look mad anymore, and Peter didn’t know where he had missed the transition. Mister Stark apologized, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Peter whispered, brows furrowing.

“I didn’t know they were coming,” Mister Stark provided simply, “I also didn’t know Coulson was gonna…well, anyway I may have overreacted, Coulson has always been a sarcastic dick, usually it doesn’t piss me off as much. I’m tired…you’re tired…I’m just sorry.”

He wasn’t sorry about May, or maybe he thought it went without saying. Peter just swallowed past the lump in his throat, shifting slightly on his feet as he replied, “It’s okay. Kinda nice to know they still exist. That I’m not being locked up for nothing…The radio silence was making me think they forgot and while that might be nice…it would have been unsettling.”

That was when it decided to come…

“I’m going to get you home…to your aunt. Don’t worry about that.”

Peter tried not to let himself feel bitter. And truthfully, he wasn’t bitter at Mister Stark, not like he had been in the beginning. He was bitter with everyone…everything, the entire world, and maybe he didn’t have a right to be, but then again maybe he did. He never knew anymore what behavior was allowed. The night before on the rooftop probably would have been unacceptable before his death and resurrection, but it was the new normal. This. Him and Mister Stark, and Mister Stark being this person in his life that he counted on, so he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that this was something outside of Mister Stark’s control.

“When?” Peter spoke, his voice cracking, sounding lost, “When?”

Mister Stark looked surprise by the question, “When I can convince them.”

Peter laughed, breathless, like he had been punched in the stomach, “Why can’t I…Why can’t I just see her? Please…clearly they aren’t watching us constantly, I mean they knew about last night, but he didn’t say anything about Miss Potts.”

“Because I’m not risking that.”

“Risking what? Them taking me away?” Peter croaked, “They’ve already taken me away from May, what does it matter, at least I’d get to see her – “

Mister Stark stepped forward, “Do you want to go with them? To go back to that facility?”

Peter blinked, several moments passing…He swallowed thickly, “Of course not. But I don’t want to be locked up here anymore. Mister Stark…I saw the city last night…When I climbed outta the window, I saw Queens out in the distance and I thought…if I could just get there, if I could find where she is now…But I didn’t know where to go a-and – I don’t know what to do now.”

In his defense, Mister Stark looked lost. He didn’t look angry, like he had for a moment, but instead it was replaced by a far off stare. Peter couldn’t decide where they were. He had been without anyone for so long, Mister Stark had once just been a mentor, but now so much had changed and he didn’t know how he felt about it. About this new parental figure that he had clung to, desperate for someone to help him. He was so tired of feeling gone.

 “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

It was simple. It was something Peter had heard many times from his aunt concerning things like staying out too late, or not answering phone calls. About sneaking out, about the ferry. Not wanting to be overbearing, but doing it anyway with that same nagging feeling of ‘safe’ because Aunt May had lost Uncle Ben, Mister Stark had lost many more. Peter was a dead kid. Had been. They had buried him. And Peter wondered what that had been like, what he had looked like, he knew the sky so well in those last moments.

But he had realized some time ago no one else had been looking at the sky.

Peter was still spitting out the stars he had swallowed, “Please…please…”

Where did you go last night?

Why did you hurt Toomes so badly?

I don’t want to be protected anymore…the threat is gone, I want Aunt May.

His eyes were burning, and finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, Mister Stark relented, “…there’s a gala tonight…Pepper and I are going to help May unveil The Peter Parker Memorial Fund…If I can guarantee it’s safe, I will tell her tonight when I can get her alone. And then I’ll bring her back here, but kid…if SHIELD…”

He trailed off, shutting his eyes, “I’m not ready for another war, but that’s what could happen if we aren’t careful.”

Peter’s eyes went wide…

“You’ll tell her?”

Tony nodded stiffly.

Peter felt that childish glee rise up, ignite his chest, and he flung forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Tony’s chest before squeezing, being sure not to hold too tight. He minded his strength and held on, smiling until it hurt his face, but he couldn’t help it. It felt so happy…so much better. The joy was bright, like a light inside of himself and he could have screamed, but he didn’t. All the world was soaring, and Peter felt like something had been taken off of his chest…This was all he had wanted from the beginning. He had wanted Mister Stark to take the chance…Peter would fight if he had to, if he had his aunt he could take on the entire world.

Plus, with Iron Man…he couldn’t lose.

…

Tony knew it had been stupid. A stupid idea for a stupid man, but his life was that now. Making stupid mistakes because this kid…this kid was from the former stupid mistakes and he just kept trying to fix it with more and more and more. Tony wondered how people lived through eighteen years of trying to keep a child alive. Of trying not to damage them beyond repair, because sometimes he felt that…he felt like he was about to ruin Peter any second and the thing he had agreed to…

Which was how hours after leaving the Compound, after leaving Peter for the second time, after attempting not to strangle Phil Coulson for surprising him with the doctor lady in the Compound…Tony still felt irrevocably anxious. How was he going to tell this woman? How was he going to break it to her, the night she was supposed to unveil a program to help underprivileged kids get into college with the name of her ‘dead’ nephew on the front?

How was he going to look her in the eyes and tell her he had been lying?

“It’s going to be bad…Isn’t it?” Pepper whispered.

Tony didn’t turn around from where he was tying his tie in front of the full body mirror. He didn’t even make the attempt. He instead kept his focus on what he was doing and swallowed down the bile that threatened to escape. The gala…the kid…May. Pepper’s presence was meant to comfort, but he felt so heavy. He wished he had stayed. He wished he had stayed with the kid, at the Compound, just to sit with him. To enjoy the final moments of peace before all hell broke loose. It was bound to happen, he guessed. It was on the horizon. It was bordering into them, digging in nails.

He didn’t want them to take Peter…but he didn’t want the kid to suffer anymore.

It had come, when looking at Toomes. When seeing him. When imagining Peter in the casket and he thought…God May was still living that existence that Tony had been in. And Tony had spent so much time feeling sorry for himself, feeling sorry that he was having to deal with everything, things May would probably be happy to go through because it would mean her nephew was back with her. Things would be okay for them, they had the potential to be, even if Peter was five years behind. There was the hope of a future again…And Tony tried to stop his hands from shaking because he shouldn’t have felt so miserable.

Tony replied, “It’s going to be something, I’ll tell you that.”

Her shoes clicked as she approached behind him. Finally he looked at her, in her long navy dress, all the way to the floor and her hair was pinned back perfectly. She looked perfect, always did, but particularly now and Tony felt his chest flutter, but it was overpowered by his fear. It had been a long time since they had dressed up together, maybe, ironically, since the funeral so long ago…the world worked in fucked up ways.

“Are you going to go through with it?”

Tony answered, “I can’t keep hurting that kid.”

Pepper grimaced, noticing how his hands were trembling too much to tie his tie. So instead she stepped forward and took it from his hands, beginning to work on it as she explained, “Trust me, I am all for letting May know about this. I mean I was the one who was upset she didn’t know but…is SHIELD really that much of a threat? I mean I can’t imagine Coulson just going in and grabbing Peter.”

“It’s not Coulson, it’s Fury, and Fury can be a real dick when he wants. Like taking things that aren’t his…he’s good at that, it’s what the government does. So…yeah, they’re a threat. But I’m still unsure of how much of it is a serious thing and how much is just them being nervous about what they did getting out.”

Pepper finished off the tie and Tony muttered, “Still, they don’t know about you. Maybe we can do the same thing with May.”

It felt too much like a fucked up child custody battle that Tony just was not ready for. Like he was going in without a lawyer and alcoholism written on his chest. Pepper placed a hand over his sternum, grimacing softly as she tilted her head to the side, and up and Tony wanted to ask what she was thinking about, what she was feeling, if she thought it was a good idea, because sometimes he just couldn’t get a read on her and her eyes and the way she stared so intently. Life had been rough on the both of them. It didn’t seem to be letting up, but Tony felt like this was the closest they had been in years…since breaking off the engagement, since Tony had stopped trying to hide behind her and started trying to deal with his inner demons that were rising up in a revolution to escape.

Really, he could only suppress them for so.

Tony was so scared. But he couldn’t say it out loud…it wouldn’t move past his lips, past the pain in the back of his skull, past all the bad things he had ever done and he did not want to go to a gala in honor of a child that he knew was alive and everyone believed to be dead. A child he was hiding in the Compound. A child he loved so much it physically hurt him because why did the things he loved have to be hurt? Shot down? Why couldn’t he tell them before it happened?

“Will you help me?” He asked Pepper, voice catching.

Pepper smiled softly.

“Always.”

Chapter Text

It had been an accident really. Just stumbling around on the internet, news articles, random things while trying to catch up with what was going on in the world. Also simultaneously procrastinating on the paper that Henderson had assigned him on Frankenstein. He had only been skimming the book, uncomfortable with it and the concepts it brought about. So he did what any teenager would do with something that gave them an existential crisis: he avoided it.

Pretended it wasn’t there.

But in that, came the accident, came seeing the article posted by MIT announcing the fact that one of their very own students would be accepting prize money for creating a new computer virus protection program and was quickly becoming one of the most promising computer programmers in the world at only twenty years old and Peter’s heart soared when he saw the name splashed across the screen.

Ned Leeds.

Peter shouldn’t have felt the pain behind that. The fact that Peter wouldn’t be there to watch Ned accept the award. The fact that Ned would be accepting said award in the Upper East Side of New York City, the entire ceremony paid for by the company purchasing Ned’s software. And Peter wished to be there so badly that it made him feel like he was about to start crying right there at his desk. Sure…he was sitting there, waiting for his aunt, waiting for whatever gala Mister Stark had gone to, to be over and he could only imagine what was about to go down when the information was passed on, but this…this was important too. Peter loved Ned, Ned was his best friend. Being there…Being there was what he was meant to be doing and yet he couldn’t because he was dead.

He had enough time to get there…but if he left…God, he was already walking on thin ice with Phil Coulson showing up, with the fact that they were already breaking one of the biggest rules set in place for them. But Peter swallowed it down…he fought with his insides. Tried to make himself choose the better decision, but it was hard. He wanted to be there. He wanted to get to see it. And he certainly didn’t want to be writing that essay.

Not about Frankenstein. He was enough of one already.  

But this inner struggle, Peter lost. He always lost, which was how he ended up in stupid situations in the first place. It led to him slipping on his sneakers, hesitating at his bedroom door, before he promised himself he could be back before Mister Stark and possibly his aunt if he was able to tell her about everything that happened. That still made Peter’s stomach churn with an odd amount of anxiety, but he fought it down, replaced it with bravery and stupidity and rushed from his room down the hallway, before slowing his strides into more inconspicuous movements, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweat pants.

He had half expected Friday to say something to him the closer he got to the lobby. Had thought ‘her’ voice would come over the loud speaker and announce her knowledge of his intent. It wasn’t running away, and it wasn’t like going to see Toomes. It was different, this was Ned and Ned was about to receive one of the biggest awards of his life. Peter needed to be there for that…he just had to…just to watch and his heart kept clenching, kept pounding, kept threatening to explode from his sternum.

Large steps, towards the door, and right when he grabbed the handle, the glass leading out into the night, a voice announced from behind him on the other side of the lobby…

“Going somewhere?”

Peter whirled, mouth going dry almost instantly with a sudden sense of panic. Not Friday, definitely not Friday, but instead, standing near the first floor entrance to the sitting area, leaning against the doorframe…Was Natasha Romanoff.

The Black Widow.

Peter had only ever seen her in her uniform, but tonight she was dressed more comfortably in what appeared to be jeans and just a t-shirt. She smirked at him, knowingly, and Peter thought – no one can lie to Black Widow – but…like an idiot, he tried anyway. He tried despite her eyes sparking with a knowledge that made his stomach churn and his mind race. Because this was stupid…He was trying to leave, and not just on any other night, but on a night right after getting in trouble with SHIELD and having Mister Stark out there telling his aunt the truth about his existence. But it had to be done…he had try…he needed…He needed to. He needed to be there.

As stupid and childish as it sounded, goddamn it…Peter was fifteen.

“Ah, nowhere!” Peter’s voice cracked, revealing the lie before it could even surface, “Just getting some fresh air.”

He forced a smile, but it was crooked. Peter didn’t know how he thought it was a good idea to say anything but the truth in front of an actual spy who had probably picked apart far better liars, but for some reason it was a natural reaction. She tilted her head, putting her hands on her hips as she hummed softly, “Fresh air…awful skittish to just want to step outside for a bit.”

Peter swallowed, “I’m always skittish.”

“I don’t doubt it, but I have a feeling this isn’t the usual,” She smirked, but it was kind, “What’s up? You know, after the whole incident last night, we had to listen to Tony tear us all a new one for not watching you. We’re taking turns.”

Of course. Of course, it’d be her turn when he’d try to make his escape.

 It wasn’t really an escape, he didn’t think he was a prisoner. He wouldn’t be even more when Aunt May knew soon…Or maybe not if SHIELD did take him away. But this was his chance to see Ned. To see him get this award that he had only dreamed of receiving and he just wanted to…to watch, just for a minute. His heart pounded and he wished he could make her understand, but he wasn’t sure if he could. So instead he just bit his bottom lip and looked at the floor, causing her to let out a sort of sigh that he couldn’t place.

“What’s going on, huh? I know I’m scary, but I’m a lot more stable than that guy that has been babysitting you for a while now.”

Her shoes approached him hollowly, Peter felt hyperaware of this somehow. She was fairly close to him when she tilted her head into his line of sight so that he was forced to look her in the eyes. Peter blinked several times, before letting out a slow, deep breath and slumping his shoulders slightly in defeat before muttering, “My friend is accepting an award tonight…in the city.”

“And what does that have to do with you?”

Peter gritted his teeth, “He’s my best friend.”

Her eyebrow raised, as if that meant nothing to her, so he ran a hand through his curly hair, he wanted a haircut, it was too long, it was getting in his eyes. Peter swallowed before he laughed sort of bitterly, and tilted his head sideways, “Look…he doesn’t know I’m alive…he might not ever get to know if SHIELD keeps being, y’know, assholes – “ Christ, he sounded like Tony – “but I want to see him do this. I want to see him get this award. We’ve been talking about MIT, about making something of ourselves since we were old enough to know the world is a lot bigger than Queens. I should be there…even if he doesn’t know. Because I know.”

Natasha didn’t say anything for a long time. It felt like trying to convince Doctor Strange to bring him to Metro, trying to make sense of something that just never would. Especially not to someone on the outside, and Peter didn’t know Natasha well enough to make her understand through the sincerity behind his eyes. But he tried. He did his damn best…round and pleading…Begging to be helped or allowed to leave. Honestly, her loyalty laid with Tony though, and he was fully expecting her to threaten him and send him back upstairs, but she just shook her head, her mouth turning upward and he wondered how he could ever think Black freaking Widow would take the side of Iron Man when she clearly had her own side.

“Well…you said he’s accepting an award in the city, right? That probably means you need something to wear other than sweat pants and a t-shirt.”

Peter felt his face light up.

No. Way.

…

The gala was swarming.

A part of Tony felt bitter by that. Mostly because he knew those people weren’t actually there in support of some random kid murdered in Queens, but because the name Tony Stark was printed on the front of every invitation for the gala. He knew he shouldn’t have been though…donations were donations, no matter the intention behind them. Getting in good with the Starks was something people had been trying to do for decades. Favors, questions, wanting and begging, it was just a part of the game. Tony grew up surrounded by that sort of desperate money…old money that might be dwindling, new money that didn’t know how to act. It was fucking sad sometimes.

But he dealt with it.

It was soothed by the fact that Peter was alive back at the Compound…that technically speaking these people weren’t being disrespectful to a dead kid because Peter wasn’t dead. He was quite alive, but then again, May didn’t know that, and so a part of Tony wanted people to be genuine for her. However, he wasn’t…no, he hadn’t been in the time Peter had been with him and he wondered how he was going to muster the courage to tell the woman that her nephew was breathing, alive, coherent inside the Compound.

It made his stomach twist in his gut.

It was wretched and frightening. He was guilt ridden and his skin felt so very thin as he stepped out of the Audi. His hand immediately went to his coat and he buttoned it, Pepper hooking her arm to his and squeezing as if to comfort as people in front of them flashed cameras. It felt more like a media circus, than an actual gala to get donations for the fund. Tony was regretting it, regretting all of it, and May didn’t want Peter’s name to fade into another dead kid, he got that…but Peter was alive…And sometimes that shocked Tony in a way nothing else ever had, not even the Snap, not even The War.

They climbed the stairs, and Tony didn’t smile, despite the photographers asking him to. Tony Stark rarely made appearances anymore. Not at things like this. It was an oddity, he was an oddity, the war hero who was never the same. The billionaire with no one, but he was there with his ex-fiancée which would shock the public plenty enough. Pepper smiled though, softly, in a way only she could…a way that made him stop worrying briefly, until they entered the event hall, and saw May there, greeting people in her long red dress.

She looked lovely, but tired.

Pepper all but had to drag him towards her, and when she saw them approaching, she smiled. Tony wondered how she could manage it. Peter was still dead in her world. He hadn’t been able to smile the entire time that kid had been gone…and now even with him back and the guilt eating him alive, it was difficult for him to manage. He felt smothered, anxious, like he was dying but how odd, he was not. But he was scared of one of the greatest people in the world. One of the kindest. She didn’t have to forgive him for what happened…She didn’t have to and yet she had.

Peter was pale in the casket, his hands folded over his abdomen, wearing a suit May had picked and Tony had offered to pay for everything but May hadn’t allowed it. But she had been kind enough to let him and Pepper come to the funeral. Nice enough to let Tony say goodbye and maybe it was because she knew if she didn’t, Tony would implode in on himself. He was already doing that. His head hurt constantly from the drinking the past few days had fueled. Pepper was holding a lot of his weight. He smelled like scotch.

The boy didn’t look like himself, not really. He even looked different from the morgue. But he had been dead a few days then…he wasn’t purple and bruised or bloody, he was clean. They had cut his hair and styled it perfectly, his messy curls tamed and maybe that was why he didn’t seem like Peter. It was too immaculate. Peter was often a mess, waking up late, Tony kept tabs. He worried about him, even after he was angry and took the suit away.

Everyone faded, even Peter’s little friend…Ned was his name, Tony had finally learned it. He had known it all along, but a small part of him didn’t want to admit that. To admit he had taken such an interest in the boy’s everyday life. Wondering why he would quit marching band. Robotics Club. A part of him wanted to shake the kid, tell him he had to enjoy these things, he wasn’t going to get them back again, not ever.

But it was too late now.

Tony was known for being too late.

Then it was just the three of them, in the graveyard. Pepper had kissed his cheek and walked away, looking back almost anxiously, as if May was going to strangle him, and Tony would have let her if she had tried. But then there was silence…just the two of them as the grave workers lingered in the background, waiting to do their job, but Peter’s casket was still open under the tent. They could still see him…lying there, so still and unmoving. May’s teeth were grinding, he could see by how her jaw moved and her eyes were rimmed with red, but she wasn’t crying, not like she had done during the service.

She hated him.

He knew she did.

Slowly, May looked over at him…and though there was anger behind her eyes, she simply let out a deep breath and gestured to the casket where the body was…

“You can say goodbye.”

It wasn’t condescending, it was genuine. Tony didn’t want to, he didn’t even want to get close, the last time he had touched Peter, Peter was dead in the morgue and he had held his hand. Just so he wouldn’t be alone…But despite not wanting to, he moved robotically, the grass crunching below his black shoes and he found himself standing over the boy. He looked more like himself when Tony was close, staring at him, and he just seemed to be asleep. Tony leaned down, and whispered…he whispered so softly he could barely hear it himself…

“You’re a good kid, Underoos. You were already so much better.”

He stood back up to full height, looking down at him. There was a lot more he needed to say…There had been a lot he had said when he had watched the life leave the kid’s eyes. When the nurse had yanked him forward towards the table, Peter’s body was giving out, he was going to die.

“Mister Stark, he isn’t going to…I am so sorry. You need to…you need to say goodbye.”

Peter’s skin had still been warm when Tony had pressed his forehead to Peter’s, the boy’s body damp with sweat, not like there in the graveyard where he was all cleaned up. He had stood there, forehead to Peter’s as Peter drew in his last breath, as the kid died on that table, the nurses and doctors stepping away, covered in Peter’s blood and Tony was too, and he was so sorry. God, he was sorry.

He had whispered, “I’m right here. I’m right here. If you let go…I’m here, kid. I’m so sorry…I’m right here with you…You’re not alone, you’re not going alone.”

Maybe he thought if he just kept that contact, kept his forehead on Peter’s until the kid had passed, it would somehow make it better. That Peter would know he hadn’t died alone. In the end, the doctor had tugged him away, they had wheeled Peter to get cleaned up and brought to the morgue, and Tony had stood there in the surgical room…shell-shocked.

Tony startled back into reality when May hugged Pepper around the neck before pulling away and hugging Tony as well, and how could she do that? How could she even touch him? It felt so messed up, like a mistake, and he was about to blow her out of the water, reawaken all of that pain with just a few words like “your nephew is alive”. And how was he going to do that? He didn’t know…he didn’t understand, and there were people everywhere. He hated this, he hated himself…he wanted to be anywhere but there…

“Thank you so much for helping this happen.”

That thanks would only last so long…

…

Natasha tied his tie for him.

Despite him having watched those YouTube videos with Aunt May for homecoming, he couldn’t remember how to do it, but Natasha did. Apparently she had tied many before in her lifetime. The suit itself didn’t fit exactly right, she had to collect random clothing articles throughout the Compound to put it together, and still, the sleeves were too long, but Peter probably hadn’t worn a perfectly tailored suit since he was buried in one…So, it didn’t really matter. The suit he had worn to the dance had been Uncle Ben’s, after all and this wasn’t something he had to look perfect for…just presentable enough to blend in.

It was probably one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for him and it felt a lot like having a fairy godmother getting him ready for a ball. But when he told her that, she said she wouldn’t be the fairy god mother of the story, she’d be Lucifer the cat which was even funnier to him. Peter supposed he hadn’t realized Natasha had a personality, mostly because when he had met her before Germany, she had been relatively quiet and Mister Stark had warned him not to talk to her too much or she would see right through him. If he had to guess, she had anyway, even with him not talking too terribly much…At least he thought he hadn’t.

Natasha then proceeded to put him in a pair of Mister Stark’s very expensive shoes, that were too big, and stuck him in a taxi. Peter panicked a moment, as he had thought she was coming with him, but she told him she was not pulling a ‘Doctor Strange’ and if Peter got caught, it was on him. Which he agreed to, he understood, Mister Stark was a force to be reckoned with, but Peter didn’t intend to be gone very long.

So he took off in his pumpkin, the taxi driver much too exited to be picking up someone from the Avenger’s Compound and to be getting such a large pay for the drive. It had really made the guy’s entire life, and Peter could relate. The night Mister Stark and Happy had brought him to the Compound, he had really wanted to nerd out, but he hadn’t been able to. So having the opportunity to do it with the taxi driver was enough for his little heart to be content.

“Dude, how do you know the Avengers?”

“I’m uh…an intern?”

“Holy shit…can you hook me up?”

“Sorry, not that good of an intern.”

Most of the drive was the taxi driver, named Hector, rambling about how many fingers he would remove if it meant he got to hang out with the Avengers. Which, Peter didn’t understand why his fingers had to be removed, but eh…whatever. It was one of the only interactions Peter had, had outside of the Compound in some time, besides the little field trip to the hospital, so he didn’t mind that the guy was weird. But by the time they had traveled into the city and arrived at the ceremony, Peter was sort of relieved he would get a moment of peace.

People were already going into the building with the giant glass windows and it was weird to think elsewhere in the city was a gala in honor of him…of his dead self, anyway. Peter frowned slightly at the thought and tilted his head before he pushed the door open and stepped out. Before he closed it though, he turned and questioned the taxi driver, “Hey uh, you think you can wait out here? It might be a while, but I promise I can pay you…”

Well, I can pay you with the money Natasha gave me…and it’s probably Mister Stark’s money but oh well.

The guy grinned back at him, “Fuck yeah!”

Peter jumped slightly at the shout, but smiled before shutting the door and heading towards the building. He twiddled with his suit jacket a bit as he climbed the stairs, chewing nervously on his lower lip as he did so. Apparently, it wasn’t an event you had to pay to get into, which surprised him because of how prestigious MIT was. Peter thought they would have done everything in their power to get a penny from each person. When Peter entered the lobby, there were men in suits and women in long dresses, all standing around chatting. Many of them looked like they would be around Ned’s age, and the age Peter was supposed to be, but unfortunately it just didn’t work that way and Peter pretended he didn’t feel the least bit of jealousy.

Everyone was filing into the main hall, sitting in the red fabric chairs, that folded outward like a movie theatre. They were all taking their seats, but Peter clung to the wall in the back, still able to see the stage, but he didn’t want to get too close. Not that he thought Ned would see him, but because he was too afraid to see Ned up close…Too afraid of how much it was going to hurt, and the realization that pain was on the horizon came too late, and Peter knew he needed to be there…He needed to see his best friend get the award because this was the night they had talked about for so long and Peter just wasn’t willing to not be there for it…

He needed to be there.

There was a hum over the crowd, quietly, and music played in the background. Peter wasn’t sure how long he stood there, wearing Mister Stark’s shoes, swallowed by the suit jacket, sort of wishing the anxiety wasn’t gripping him so terribly tight. A part of him wished Natasha had stopped him from going, because the moment the lights went down…the moment everyone was sitting and Peter was still clinging to the wall behind him…he wished to be anywhere other than there.

Suck it up…this is for Ned. You have to see.

You have to clap for him.

A man came out on stage, balding, but smiling so bright it was almost blinding even though Peter was so far back, drowning in the perfume of the woman in front of him. Peter’s fingernails dug into the wallpaper, and the man came over the microphone, beginning to speak in earnest. Speaking about why they were there, who they were there to support, God, Ned Leeds…Ned Leeds had done this, this was all for Ned. And Peter’s stomach twisted, it hurt and his chest opened up like a bird.

He was so happy.

But so sad.

Peter’s hands shook, he didn’t know what the man was saying anymore. It drowned. It drowned out as he held up a plaque. Peter couldn’t read it from so far away, but he knew it was probably something great. It was everything Ned deserved, and Peter’s hearing only returned in the roar of applause…when the bald man was finishing his sentence…

“…a huge congratulations to MIT’s very own, Ned Leeds. We are so very honored to have you as one of our students and to help shape your future in the computer sciences!”

And then Peter saw him.

Suddenly, he did not regret having left the Compound. He didn’t regret having gotten Natasha to help him run off, and the floor opened up. It was simultaneous pain and pride as Ned walked out onto that stage in a suit of his own, hair slicked back in a way Peter had never seen before, and fuck it was his best friend. The guy that had stood by him through all of Flash’s bullying. The guy that had kept his secret, had tried to help him that homecoming night. The guy that had gone to his uncle’s funeral and had squeezed his shoulder as the casket was lowered into the ground that was soon to eat him too.

The guy in the chair.

Peter clapped so hard his hands burned.

Tears pooled in his eyes, from the back of the auditorium, and he inhaled shakily, and he was glad everyone was turned towards Ned, he was glad that despite clapping so loud, he blended in. He was glad they couldn’t see his chest quaking as he watched Ned take that plaque and stand on that stage, grinning like an idiot, and Peter’s lower lip quivered, but then he smiled and the tears slipped through. His cheeks were stained bright, and his face flushed with the emotion of it.

Peter was crying.

But he was glad he had come.

It was silent, but they were clapping. It was silent, despite Ned giving his speech and Peter could hear nothing but roaring in his ears, his tiny and soft sobs from exile. It was okay, he was okay, he had come to terms with the fact that he was dead, but he was so very glad Ned wasn’t. He was so very glad Ned was happy, and was being recognized for his brilliance. He was so, so glad. But he felt like throwing up, at the same time. He missed Ned so much it felt like someone was twisting a blade in his stomach. He missed the entire speech. He missed how Ned’s voice sounded different now…older and more sophisticated.

Peter considered going to find Ned backstage.

He didn’t.

A hole in Ned’s life had healed. Peter’s death had hurt him, Peter didn’t doubt that. The two had been joined at the hip since elementary. But Peter…Peter revealing himself would only hurt Ned. It wasn’t like May…Ned didn’t have to know. Ned was twenty-years-old. He had all new friends. A new life…he was happy, and Peter returning would only ruin it. So the moment Ned walked off the stage and the temptation to go find him faded away…Peter walked out of the auditorium and back to the taxi driver waiting outside.

Peter was glad he had come, and he was glad he had left.

“Expected you to be in there longer,” Hector said.

Peter hummed…

“Me too. But I saw a good thing, I think I can go forward from here.”

The taxi driver looked confused, but didn’t question it further. They simply pulled away from the curb and Peter put his head against the glass window, halfway enjoying the way the car hummed within his skull as he replayed Ned smiling and accepting his award over and over again in his head. Moon, stars, all of it, it felt like it was raining down on top of Peter’s head. And Peter was a comet, whirling around the world, never to stop, always to just fly by. Peter wasn’t allowed to touch, but he wasn’t sure if it hurt so bad anymore…It certainly felt painful, but the agony turned dull. Peter felt full and wounded at the same time, and it was sort of nice. When things were too good, it felt like exploding, when they were too bad it was imploding.

But Peter was somewhere tucked in the corner.

He rode silently, and Hector whistled until they eventually re-arrived at the Compound. Peter paid the man, and tipped him extra because Peter felt bad that he wouldn’t let Hector come inside the Compound, despite the guy practically begging and offering to hide in a suitcase or something. Peter had laughed though, genuinely, despite feeling so tired from the emotional turmoil seeing Ned had caused. There were stars in the sky, Peter wasn’t throwing them up as he walked up the steps towards the entrance, smiling softly to himself as he imagined what Ned would be doing in the next ten years. Probably getting rich, living on a beach, happy. Making computer virus protection forever and ever.

Everything they ever dreamed.

No one greeted him, and it was clear Mister Stark had yet to return from the gala. But before Peter went inside, movement from the second floor caught his eye, inside the giant glass window. Peter tilted his head sideways, peering up into the darkness as it wasn’t movement from within the residential wing of the Compound, nor the labs. Peter poked out his lower lip, not in a pout, but in thought as he slowly pushed the door to the lobby open and made not-very-purposeful steps towards the second floor, more out of curiosity than anything. Peter wondered when being nosey would get him in trouble, but he had only been in that wing a few times…It was usually locked up, as Peter had been told that it wasn’t an area to hang around and that he was to stay in the residential wing anyway because everyone in the Compound was boring.

Everyone besides Natasha and Bucky, obviously.

The halls were dark, and Peter had expected to at least see a custodian or something, dim floor lights leading the way down the corridor and the glass window to his left helping as well with the security lights from outside. Peter turned two corners, before he emerged in front of the double doors that were typically sealed shut, but when he found them, they were slid open, welcoming into a large room on the other side.

It was interesting, tile floor and sleek walls. The room itself had a slight orange hue with the dim ‘nightlights’ hugging the corners. Peter entered slowly, and just as he crossed the threshold, he immediately felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up at the sight before him, standing on the other side of the room in front of a safe, seemingly trying to open it. Peter saw the back of a head, curly hair, and slender shoulders. It felt familiar, but his danger was spiking, senses digging its claws in and Peter swallowed thickly.

Peter felt surprise surge through him when the person whirled around suddenly, knowing he had made an entrance. His blood stopped pumping for a second, confusion slapping him hard.

“Miss Henderson?”

The name came out, but Peter wasn’t sure if he had said it or not. The face of his tutor, standing there, seemingly trying to open some kind of vault in the room. Her head tilted, and her eyes narrowed. Peter felt his senses continue to bombard him – danger, danger, danger – as he stared into her face. She looked like Miss Henderson…but she had never triggered his senses before and Peter suddenly felt very nauseous at the thought of what she was doing. Peter’s eyes scanned the room quickly, looking around, trying to find something to help him figure out the answer to that question, because he hadn’t even known what was behind these doors –

How would Miss Henderson know…?

Realization crept in like a blade.

The motel. The blue prints of the Compound. Them going after a guy that supposedly had the face of someone named Trenton McArthur…but who’s to say he couldn’t find a new face?

“Oh shit…” Peter breathed, “You’re – oh God, Doctor Strange is gonna be pissed.”

Right under our noses.

“You made me read freaking Frankenstein, dude.”

Peter didn’t get a verbal response. Only a dark glare and a hand shooting outward towards him and Peter ducked.

Chapter Text

Peter was out of practice.

A part of him pretended to blame it on the fact that Mister Stark hadn’t allowed him to work in the entire time that he had been trapped inside the Compound. Maybe five years of being dead and only getting to dress as Spider-Man once since waking up had set him back quite a bit, and Peter’s muscles weren’t as strong as they used to be, he wasn’t as flexible, not to mention he didn’t even have his webshooters on him so he was relying completely on his abilities that he already had, flipping about…dodging the blows that Miss Henderson…or well…the guy Strange had been after was throwing at him.

Losing muscle mass from being dead apparently effected how well he could fight against some evil wizard. And Peter wished Doctor Strange was there, because it wasn’t a fair fight to go up against someone who could shoot what was practically glass shards at his face that formed from thin air and cut into the wall behind him. Guy…lady, Peter wasn’t sure anymore. He supposed Miss Henderson was possessed by the person inside of her and he wondered how long the evil wizard had been in there, because he didn’t like the idea of the guy assigning him a book just to fuck with him.

He had a feeling that wasn’t the case. Peter was the least of his worries, what he was after in that vault was something Peter didn’t understand, hadn’t asked many questions about, and when he did Mister Stark tried hard to avoid the answers, because…The War and all that, the stuff Peter had missed during his ‘nap’. A five year nap. Like waking up after school at seven in the afternoon and being disoriented for a good hour or so until one’s mind realized no…they hadn’t slept through the night, it was only dinner time.

Peter lunged forward, bringing himself to his feet after being knocked down yet again. Nearly ten minutes had passed in their tango. Peter was winded…Tired already, his stamina sucked now too, he had noticed. The adrenaline was doing its best, but he hadn’t been doing anything besides wander around a Compound for weeks. He wished now he had tried harder to convince Mister Stark to let him into the gym, or followed Mister Barnes more often. He wondered how long it would be until someone heard the commotion, or if they even would, being so far from the residential wing. Maybe a custodian or something would be lurking by? Someone to call for help?

Once he was in reach during his charge towards the woman, a hand shot out and grabbed him around his throat. Peter choked loudly, eyes going wide as his fingers immediately went to hers to try to pry her off while he was lifted up off the ground. The lights were flickering, her eyes were shimmering gold, and Peter’s own eyes widened to the sizes of saucers as he gagged past the hand, “Holy shit.”

He was slammed into the floor, air leaving his lungs as the hand continued to press down on his throat. He flailed madly, managing to land a heavy punch across her face and she fell to the side, giving Peter the chance to roll over and gasp in oxygen, scurrying away to put some kind of distance between the two. Okay…fire alarm on the wall, pull it, then what? Would the Avengers even know what was going on? Miss Henderson/the evil wizard recovered from the blow to her face, and she stumbled to her feet, glaring darkly at Peter on the floor. He stood, turning to run towards the fire alarm, however he heard the familiar sound, almost like crystal glasses clinking together and Peter turns just in time to have one of the crystal shards skim his cheek.

Peter fell back into the wall, groaning as blood pooled from his face and he felt a stinging sensation directly under his right eye and on the tip of his ear from where that was skimmed as well. He fell further just in time for several more to slap into the wall behind him. He clambered up though, and grabbed the alarm, before yanking it downward and immediately sending the room into a red hue, lights flashing and a loud alarm blaring throughout the Compound.

Peter couldn’t help it, when he saw the evil wizard startle, Miss Henderson’s eyes casting to the ceiling in surprise, Peter let a shit-eating grin cross his lips, feeling the blood from his cheek slide down in a crazed appearance as he called over the alarms, “What!? No fire alarms in Oz!?”

Her head whipped towards him, and Peter regretted the teasing immediately when a whip of sorts appeared in her hand. It sparkled, and shot out towards him, wrapping around his ankle and yanking him forward. Peter slid across the floor, trying to grab onto anything he could, but unfortunately there was nothing in reach and suddenly he was lying on the floor underneath the woman, her body much heavier than he expected. The alarm was blaring, and she grinned wickedly at him, putting Peter’s shit-eating smile to shame.

Peter tried once more to land a punch but both wrists where pinned behind his head and suddenly he was aware of her crazy strength. Was that magic? Or did Peter just suck? She leaned down close and spat in his face, causing Peter to flinch in disgust before groaning at the thought of some kind of disease getting into the cut on his face, but he supposed that wasn’t what he should have been worried about as she growled, but her voice was not her own…it was that of a man, nothing like the Miss Henderson that had spoken to him softly about literature and arithmetic. 

“I’ve heard their thoughts,” Came the voice, reminding Peter of a snake, “The dead boy…resurrected. Pulled from the grave almost three days later. There’s something holy in it, don’t you think?”

Peter swallowed and struggled a moment more before he replied sharply, “Oh yeah, we’re about to have a really awesome ‘come to Jesus meeting’.”

The hand returned to his throat and squeezed, and Peter made a pitiful sound, like a bird squawking. His fingers clawed upward fruitlessly, useless against the hands and he wanted to vomit, but he could not past the tightness, and he was so sick of being strangled, what was up with this guy? He could at least be a bit more…merciful in his methods, her methods, God Peter was still so confused and that was not what he needed to be considering while he had a hand choking the life out of him.

“I hope you believe in an afterlife.”

Peter could say nothing in return, and his mind started to fog over, making it difficult to even think of a witty response. If he was about to be strangled, he wanted it to be better than being stabbed by Toomes. He didn’t want to die afraid again, he wanted it to be…he wanted to be brave, but the only way he knew how to do that was to make a joke, and he couldn’t even do that with the hand on his throat. His vision started to darken at the edges, head lulling back and his eyes rolling.

Until the sounds of the sirens were overtaken by that of a gunshot.

The evil wizard person jumped off of him, rolling away as if to dodge the assault and Peter was left inhaling deeply once more, so much like earlier, except now it felt like his lungs were exploding. Right…keep distance from this dude, he strangles people. The Strangler. Spongebob…Ha. No. Peter hated himself for that, what the fuck?

He spat, drool sliding down his shirt as he snapped his head in the direction of the door. Relief flooded him when he saw several figures there…

The Avengers.

The source of the gunshot was Natasha, the gun in her hands smoking slightly from being fired.

Peter rubbed the back of his hand over the side of his mouth and looked at the evil wizard, who was taking in the new enemies with narrowed eyes and a tightened jaw. Peter could have laughed, if he could breathe, but he managed to croak out, though he didn’t know if the hoarseness could be heard over the alarm…

“So, about that meeting…”

The only response Peter received was a glare, and immediately, the red lights weren’t the only things creating the hue in the room. The evil wizard held out their arms, a flash filling the space past the blinking lights and Peter felt heat rise, as if an explosion had erupted. He felt himself fly backward, slamming into the wall and then into the floor, groaning as the other Avengers did the same, the room blooming into fire in small patches and smoke. Peter looked up, and the figure looked like the Devil, standing in the midst of its destruction, everything seemingly charred by whatever force they had created.

Confidence. Fucking dangerous.

…

Tony stood silently against the wall.

The golden trim brought the room into a sort of dream state. Tony had only had two glasses of champagne, but he was tempted for more. The idea flitted away though, every time he reminded himself what that night was about. What he had to do…And he kept watching May…watching Pepper…just waiting for the right moment when he could get her alone because he didn’t know what her reaction to the news was going to be and telling her in front of hundreds of guests was not what Tony needed. Despite the fact most of these people had no idea who Peter was…it was clear that May was happy that they were offering the support needed for the fund. Glad that it would continue to move forward. And Tony was so sorry he was going to uproot her life when it appeared she had finally gotten used to the way things were.

He had sent Pepper away. Despite her promising to be with him through the ordeal, he wanted to tell May alone. So Pepper mingled in his place, as he tried to calm his racing heart, waiting for his chance. It was almost as if he was waiting to jump someone, and maybe that was what this was…after all, he was going to bombard her with a secret that was going to change her entire perspective. A secret he had been hiding in his Compound for weeks, a secret that had begged to call her and Tony hadn’t allowed it because it had taken him too long to suck it up and brave the storm SHIELD had threatened them with. But they were there now, in that room, waiting to share something extremely life altering.

Tony was scared.

It got worse, when he noticed May had excused herself from the conversation she had been taking part in for the past twenty or so minutes and started to head towards the side exit that led into the outlying hallway. He could only guess it was for the purpose of the restrooms, but he felt…that would be the only time he could find her alone. When she would step out, and Tony moved forward, only hesitating slightly when he did so, casting a glance towards Pepper who nodded her head as if she understood.

This was it.

As much as he dreaded it, this was it.

Cowardice stung like a blade. Like Thanos stabbing him. He ignored it though, and went on, pushing the side door open into the corridor, as he expected. The long hall wasn’t decorated like the rest of the building, and the lights felt too bright, the golden hue gone. He could hear May’s heels clicking and Tony turned towards the opposite way, seeing her back as she headed towards the restrooms further down. Tony swallowed thickly, opening his mouth, but he couldn’t find words immediately. He stepped forward a few times, choking, stuttering, but then it finally produced through his throat.

“May.”

It echoed through the empty space and she paused, whirling around. When she saw him, she smiled, and it was odd, it didn’t feel right. She was supposed to hate him, and she was going to again when he finally confessed everything to her, and he didn’t want to. God…he didn’t want to tell her. A selfish part of him was finally comfortable…Had gotten used to the kid being around, and dealing with the stuff that came along with that, and sure he wanted him to have his aunt back, but the other pieces of him knew this was just something else they’d have to recover from. Something else that a violent death had shredded and she would never trust him again.

He approached slowly, trying not to be afraid. Tony had done much worse things, but May was smiling. Nothing inside of him thought this was good, but it had to be done, and he breathed out slowly, stopping a few feet from her, his shoulders slouching without his knowledge. May seemed to notice, her happiness faltering as she moved forward as well, and Tony almost stepped back out of reflex. She blinked several times before she asked quietly, “Hey…what’s wrong?”

Tony didn’t know how to say it. How did one tell someone their loved one who had been dead for five years was now alive and had been that way for weeks? How did Tony admit he had been omitting the truth? Leaving it out, as she poured over her work, over and over, and wanted so badly to make Peter’s memory live forever when the kid was breathing, thinking, moving, having a life holed up inside for his own protection? Tony felt like someone had opened his sternum, it hurt worse than waking in Afghanistan, it hurt worse than Yinsen’s blood covering the suit and well…well…

He didn’t know how to do it.

When a few more beats of silence ticked by, May questioned, “Are you alright? Do you need me to get Pepper? I know this is all a lot…it’s a lot for me too, but it’s a great turn out and – “

“It’s not that,” Tony interrupted, and his voice sounded bleak in his ears. He wished he had told her sooner, had, had his revelation before then, with Peter in his arms on a rooftop, where he needed an adult that was not Tony…not the guy who could only tell him he wasn’t alone in his last moments. Who had held May, but she had wanted him gone, and sometimes he wondered if he had done the wrong thing by staying and gripping her so tightly, when she had clearly wanted Tony to stay away from them and –

“Get away from us! Get away from him! Leave us alone!”

His heart fumbled at the memory, eyes burning and he looked down at the floor, breathing slowly through his mouth as he considered the worst things he had ever done in his life, and letting Peter die had to be at the top of the list. If devils were real, he would have sold his soul to spare that boy. If he could have somehow kept Peter alive, just long enough…God, but five years, and he loved Peter. He loved him. He would never be able to say it out loud, despite the fact that he should…because Peter needed to know, and once he told May, she was never going to let him near Peter again. He’d never get to look at his face, at his curiosity, at the way he longed to learn and reached for things like Tony had once done when he was young.

Tony could never have children, he had missed the chance, but sometimes it felt like Peter was a part of him, but Tony had, had no work in his existence. Everyone else had molded Peter into such an intelligent and wonderful kid, and Tony had hidden him from one of the people that had a hand in that. He ground his teeth together, and he felt May grab his arm as she whispered softly, “Then what is it?”

He flinched away, pulling from her hold. Say it. Just say it. Tell her. She had to know, he had promised Peter. There in that corridor, their breathing was loud, or it was to Tony, and he thought maybe he was hyperventilating. It felt hard to draw air into his lungs all of a sudden, like he had never learned or there was something sharp between his ribs. Life felt never ending. Tony was going to live forever while everyone he loved disappeared. But he had to tell her, even if he risked one of those loved-things dissipating because Peter was so loved. Maybe Tony just couldn’t love him enough, he was broken.

“I haven’t been honest with you.”

May’s hand lowered, face faltering. She didn’t look angry, more confused, “About what?”

Tony’s eyes blurred, but he wasn’t crying…it was just his eyes…it was just…he couldn’t stop them as he gripped his fists so tightly, he felt his nails dig in. This was delicate, but Tony wasn’t. He was curt. He didn’t know how to soften this. When he took too long to answer, May’s voice repeated, this time trembling with an underlying anxiety, “About what, Tony?”

He breathed.

Breathe, Stark, breathe.

The ground opened up. Tony hadn’t seen the stars, despite Peter having mentioned them. He was looking at Peter’s body, bloody, his eyes were half-lidded, there was still life there, while they were on the beach. He was still breathing, choking on his blood, bubbling from his chest where air escaped. Sucking chest wounds. Tony knew what those were, and he had tried to cover them with his hands, but they were hard from the suit, and Peter let out strangled cries, that weren’t really cries…he sounded like a wounded dog. Whining and whimpering. He smelled so strongly of blood, and Tony was angry at the world, angry at Happy, angry at himself for not being there sooner.

“Okay kid, okay, I got you – I got – keep your eyes open – “

“Kid! Stay awake – I’ve got you.”

And Tony had reached up, had grabbed Peter tightly by his face, too roughly, Tony was hurting him…He knew he had been, but he didn’t know what else to do, to get the unfocused eyes to look at him. Peter wasn’t inside, he was too busy fighting to breathe and Tony felt so angry. So scared. So alone as he got inches from Peter’s face and ordered, his voice cracking slightly and Tony pretended he hadn’t had tears in his eyes.

“You look at me. You don’t have permission to fall asleep.”

Peter’s only response had been a guttural groan and Tony’s body wouldn’t stop shaking as he started lifting Peter from the sand…

“I know it hurts…I know.”

“We’re leaving. We’re going to the hospital – Happy! Fucking hell…”

He wasn’t listening. No one was…they were utterly alone there. Happy was panicking, and so Tony took off. He flew away, wishing he were braver. Wishing he didn’t know deep down in his gut Peter was going to die.

He was going to die.

And he had…

“Peter’s alive.”

When someone lies and lies and lies, the truth is hard, and Tony felt heavy when it left his mouth, like cotton. He didn’t miss the way May’s skin paled, the way she stepped away from him as if she had been struck. Her mouth parted, to say something, but nothing left her lips as a choked off word escaped her, and it faded away, and no one was saying anything. Tony felt the quiet creep in like a monster. Like when Peter was so silent. When he was just choking on his own blood.

May stood like that a few more moments, completely silent. It was as if he could see the words calculating in her brain, and her first response wasn’t much of a surprise, as she let out a startled breath, laughter, but small and quiet and she shook her head just a moment before she croaked, voice sounding raw, “What?”

“Peter is alive,” Tony’s voice was…blunt. He needed her to understand, he needed her to see the honesty. She was breathing, chest rising and falling but then she was shaking her head again and he knew she was having trouble processing it. Anyone would. Anyone would struggle to string even a coherent sentence together and so, Tony went on, “Have you ever heard of SHIELD?”

May said nothing, but he knew in her eyes she had not.

“They’re…a government branch. They handle a lot of the weird shit…enhanced humans fall under that list. And myself…They…they knew he was important to me, and they brought him back to hold over my head. To be a bargaining chip, so I’d keep defending the planet. They have the medical technology available…and they just…brought him back.”

He let those words sink in. Let her ponder on them with great difficulty as her eyes fluttered to the floor and then back up at him. Her face was so pale, she looked ready to pass out. He didn’t miss how her hands were shaking and finally…finally words came…

“How long?”

It wasn’t the question he expected first. Maybe a ‘how?’ but he supposed when one’s nephew was Spider-Man, it wasn’t too difficult to believe that a government branch existed with the capabilities of bringing the dead back to life. Not when just a few years ago people all over the earth had turned to ash and then were brought back before her very eyes. Something glimmered under her irises, and he didn’t recognize it until he answered.

“A few weeks.”

And then he recognized the glimmer as betrayal.

Then. Then was the dreaded question…

“How long…have you known?”

She waited, there were tears now, welling and falling and it was profuse. Tony could hardly stand to look at her, but he kept himself steady, he had to be, he couldn’t break down when he was the one at fault. He had to take some kind of responsibility for his actions. For hiding Peter and letting SHIELD control all of this bullshit. Everything was pissing him off, but not May and he was so, so sorry for what he had done. So when he answered, he tried to keep his voice from wavering…because she deserved to get to be angry at him. He had done something wrong. They had all wronged her so violently.

Finally, he answered, “Right after it happened.”

The slap had come as a sting. It was sharp, and his head whipped to the side when he was struck and it only burned a second, nothing compared to the pain he knew he had inflicted on this woman. He stared at the wall, waiting for the pain to subside, and when he finally looked back down at her, into her eyes that were round and pained, she whispered, “How dare you?”

“May – “ He tried.

“You’ve known,” May whispered, voice slowly rising into something shrill and completely panicked, “You’ve known all of this time…the entire time I’ve been talking about this gala, and the fund, and everything and yet you let me just…you let me just go on believing he was gone!”

She hit his chest. Just a few times, before he grabbed her wrists and pushed the hands away. Holding on though, and squeezing, trying to make her understand through his eyes that he didn’t want it to be that way, but he cannot explain with her screaming nonsense but he let her because he deserved to get hurt too, the way he had hurt her. She deserved to have her moment, not to be shut up, and shoved aside. Because she loved Peter. Loved him, presently, he was alive and she didn’t know and Tony couldn’t help the guilt. He was sorry.

And he whispered that, despite her screaming, “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry!” She shouted, the first coherent thing through her string of curses, “Don’t you – you knew and you didn’t…He’s my child, Tony! I deserved – oh my God, I can’t believe they just…no, no, no…”

She doubled over, and Tony held a lot of her weight. The devastation wracked the walls. It was like being in the morgue all over again. He held her, despite her gasping for air, murmuring how much she hated him, and Tony didn’t blame her for hating him…He had been wrong. It was probably the same anger Tony had held towards Fury for hiding Peter. For bringing him back. For putting the kid through that. Tony just held her, before he finally murmured, “I’m going to bring you to him, May. He has…he has been asking about you, every day.”

It took her a second to get her breathing under control, but when she did, she stood up and pushed Tony away, glowering through her red and puffy eyes. Her mascara had run a bit, and she snarled, “You’re damn right…you’re damn right you’re going to bring me to him and you’re going to stay away – “

The door down the hall flew open and Tony whirled, fully expecting to shout at a guest to get the hell out, but it was Pepper who appeared at the end of the hall. She paused, looking at them and there was a look of panic on her face as she approached, heels clicking as she practically ran towards them. Tony shook his head and started, “Pepper, this isn’t a good time – “

“Tony,” She sounded out of breath, holding up her phone in her hand, “Rhodey…he just called me…he said…he said that some guy Stephen was after is in the Compound and Peter was fighting him and – “

She didn’t get to finish. Tony didn’t hesitate, moving around her. He looked back, ordering sharply towards the woman, and gesturing to May, “Stay with her.”

Neither said anything, but May tried to rush after him, only for Pepper to grab her by her arm and stop her. Tony shoved past the double doors, pressing his cellphone to his ear and he listened to it ring once before a voice answered on the other end and Tony snapped coldly…

“Strange…seems you’ve brought a plague unto my house. Get to the Compound.”

…

Peter supposed when he had seen the Avengers arrive he thought, the fight would be over. But the evil wizard clearly had different plans for them.

Well, he excused it. Blamed it on the fact that not all of the Avengers were there. It was Colonel Rhodes, Natasha, Mister Barnes, and Cap. Peter had forgotten he was basically the only one put on house arrest and others could come and go as they pleased, accounting for those who were missing and Doctor Banner…who probably wasn’t about to turn into a raging Hulk monster and was elsewhere inside the Compound. Peter had thought, until he saw him edging in the doorway after being thrown for the fifth time.

The problem with this guy was that they couldn’t get close enough to land their hits. The sprinklers had started going off to take care of the fire, but Peter felt like he was drowning, hair sticking to his forehead as he slid across the floor, watching Mister Barnes get thrown into Cap’s body sending them both into the ground, and Colonel Rhodes’ and Natasha’s bullets were deflected with ease. Peter wiped blood from his face once more, or it could have been water, but it felt too warm for that. He started running, before he was suddenly grabbed by the invisible hold once more, this time flung back into Natasha’s body, much like Mister Barnes had been.

Both of them hit the ground and they groaned, the water going up Peter’s nose where it had started to puddle. He rolled onto his back and Natasha grabbed his arm, scolding, “Think before you act, kid.”

“I am thinking,” Peter growled, as he was yanked to his feet in the chaos, “Thinking more than you guys with your little bullets.”

Natasha’s gun had slid away from her though, too close to the evil wizard. There was no getting it now, so she simply reached into her belt, pulling out yet another one. Peter rolled his eyes. Maybe it wasn’t the time to be disrespectful to Black freaking Widow, but he was getting annoyed with the fact they couldn’t even land a punch, even after Cap threw his shield. Peter heard grunting in the background and he asked, “What’re we going to do?”

She loaded the gun and moved away, “Think. Tony always talks about how smart you are, use it.”

Peter scoffed. Easy for her to say. His brain was still swirling from being strangled twice during their fight. The alarm was too loud, the flashing lights were too bright, his senses were going crazy, and he was struggling to focus on things right in front of him. Peter stared, watching as Cap’s shield was deflected once more, and Barnes tried to rush the evil wizard. The gunshots were nearly unbearable, everyone was moving, Peter wanted to ask Colonel Rhodes to just throw a grenade or something and end it, but he couldn’t and Bruce Banner didn’t know how to help. It was just…it was a lot. A lot, and he didn’t have his webshooters.

He felt terribly left behind because of that, he wasn’t moving as quickly as he should have been. Peter’s eyes scanned the room, looking for something, anything that could be used in their defense, but he couldn’t just…he wished he could focus. Pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, he groaned, turning back towards the fight.

Just when Mister Barnes was back up and running again, Peter slipped off his shoe, chunking it at the side of the evil wizard’s head. In retrospect, it was funny, but right then it was not, when the man swatted Mister Barnes aside, but flinched when the shoe actually made contact with his temple, slipping through his barrier. Obviously he hadn’t felt that was a threat, but it was the first hit they had made on him and it was annoying that it hadn’t been a bullet, all of them just bouncing off the energy-like-field he had created.

Miss Henderson’s head whipped in Peter’s direction, and Peter didn’t get the chance to be disgusted by the water on his sock before some kind of invisible force was yanking him forward, like the magical whip had done around his ankle earlier. Peter was grabbed by the front of his shirt with the wizard’s free hand, his other hand raised in a blocking stance against the other Avenger’s. Peter’s mind whirled, and he felt nauseous standing there, struggling in the grip on his clothes, bringing his arm down repeatedly over the wrist holding him in an attempt to force a release.

The golden eyes were burning again.

The woman with a voice that was not her own said simply, “So foolish.”

Peter was shoved down, face first into the building water and he inhaled just enough to turn his head and spit it back up. He rolled himself over, kicking outward madly, before he was sliding over the floor, and water was freezing his bones, splashing around them while the sprinklers continued to rain. He heard Cap yell something to him, something about getting away and out of his reach, but the evil wizard simply stared at him, and Peter’s head yanked over in the direction, just a few feet away where Natasha’s gun had gone after being thrown a few moments before.

He dove for it, grabbing the handle before rolling onto his back and pointing it at the wizard. Peter’s hands shook, he wasn’t sure he had ever even held a gun, let alone shot someone with one. And what if Miss Henderson was still alive in there? He didn’t want to kill her. He didn’t want her to die. Peter was tired of people having to die because of him and it wasn’t her fault she had been possessed. The hesitancy in his hands punished him though, when the evil wizard suddenly whirled forward, practically flew, and Peter wasn’t sure if their feet had moved at all when the gun was pulled from his hands without him being touched, immediately appearing in the hand of the wizard, in their bubble of an energy shield and Peter wanted to break it. Wanted the Avengers to come in, while he was stuck, missing a shoe, and having a gun pointed at him just a few feet away. Enough distance to feel as if he could maybe move at the last second, but not enough to feel confident.

Peter’s mouth opened, he wondered if he was about to say his last words…like he had done five years ago. He wondered if this time it would be different without the stabbing, but with a bullet instead. However, it didn’t come…because there was the sound of something crashing and Peter’s head whipped towards the door, half expecting to see that Bruce Banner had turned into the Hulk, but that wasn’t what he was greeted with.

Instead…there stood Doctor Strange, hands clenched at his sides and glowing.

And Iron Man.

Peter smiled, grinning widely and he practically soared to his feet, the distraction giving him the chance to do so. He let out a loud whooping sound, cackling as he stumbled slightly, taking in the sight of them. Right…Right…maybe this wasn’t the whole gang, but they definitely outnumbered the evil wizard now…Surely Strange could break the barricade that Peter was trapped behind, if Peter’s shoe had done it then –

Peter didn’t get to finish the thought.

The gun in the evil wizard’s hand fired.

He didn’t even hear it. A sharp pain ripped through him, and Peter’s head snapped backward from the force of a bullet against a skull.

Peter hit the ground with a hollow thud.

Chapter Text

May had always admired Pepper Potts for what seemed to be pure strength.

Honestly, May had doubts. In herself and in others…In Tony Stark, everyone that had surrounded Peter, and she had always questioned their motives. But May found she had never questioned Pepper Potts. Had never once been angry with the woman, even when she had wanted so desperately to strangle Tony. To make him understand how deeply she had been hurt, even when it wasn’t Tony’s fault Peter had died. She blamed him for not telling her…for helping Peter keep it a secret, not for his death. But she wasn’t sure if Tony could differentiate and Pepper had been so kind to her in those coming days. Had worked as Tony’s mediator when May couldn’t stand to look at him. Pepper had sat with May, had brought her coffee and tea and had been there when May had picked the casket, the one with the blue silk inside.

May had picked it because Peter’s crib had been silky blue around the edges. She remembered going with Mary to buy it. Then Ben and Richard had fought about how to put it together and May wondered when everyone in her life had suddenly disappeared. First Mary and Richard. Then Ben…then Peter, but now Peter was supposedly alive, and it was hard for May to wrap her mind around that when she had spent five years getting it into her heart that Peter was never ever coming back.

The car ride to the Compound was silent. May had let Pepper drive, because she was too…too whatever to get behind the wheel of a car. She would end up killing them both, and that would not do. So she sat, hands held in fists and she had so many questions. Pepper didn’t offer words and May knew she was going to have to be the one to break the quiet that had taken hold of them. May couldn’t think of anything worse than the quiet. Of those weeks following Peter’s death, when the apartment had echoed with the lack of his laughter, or him tapping his pencil while working on homework at his desk or the dinner table. Of him begging night after night for take out and May was trying to cook at home more, she wanted to do that for him, but the kid was addicted to fast food and she could only oblige.

May licked her lips, turning slightly, just enough to whisper, “Did you know?”

And Pepper didn’t look at her, just kept her eyes on the vast expanse of open road as they had left the city towards upstate. It wasn’t long before she replied though, she wasn’t like Tony when speaking to May, Pepper was more open, wasn’t trying to soften the blow in the wrong ways. She knew what she was doing, and she answered simply, “Yes.”

May didn’t feel betrayed anymore, her heart had burst when Tony had told her. She simply felt warm tears well in her eyes and they kissed her cheeks and she croaked, “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“May…” Pepper breathed, finally glancing from the road, “Listen…There were a lot of factors in play, and trust me…I wanted to tell you…Tony did too, God, he wanted to tell you so badly it was eating him alive. But SHIELD…they didn’t want any civilians knowing Peter had been brought back. I mean…it was an act that shouldn’t have been carried out, if people knew the government had the capabilities of reviving the dead then…”

She trailed off and May sat slightly stunned as she finished, “Reviving Peter was…huge, but it also shouldn’t have happened. I mean that in the most loving way possible, trust me that boy, he is amazing. He opened parts of Tony that I didn’t even know existed. But he died. And now he is fifteen in a world where five years have passed and maybe that doesn’t seem like much, but to a fifteen-year-old, it’s a lot. That’s a whole life transition. Peter was trying to adjust, and risking SHIELD taking Peter away would have just set him back so, so far.”

May felt her stomach drop as she looked at the floorboard. She imagined how her hand had struck Tony across the cheek. How Tony had just allowed it to happen, as if he deserved it and at the time, May thought he had. But now…now she was stumbling over the conviction she had passed along. Her chest expanded, then shrank and she leaned forward, covering her face with her hands as she sucked in a deep breath and tried to calm the threatening tears, even though her face was already stained.

“I didn’t ask,” Was all she could muster.

“No one is blaming you for being angry,” Pepper assured, “But I wanted you to know why.”

And May…with every piece of her that was twisted up and had been turned into an entirely different person through grief and trying to cope, understood. She understood and she knew why, and it didn’t get rid of the anger completely, but she felt a little less like Tony had done something cruel. He hadn’t done it intentionally, it was all…well, there were always forces against the Parkers…Maybe the Starks were the same way. Tony had lost his parents, after all, had fought in The War, had never gotten to spend his life with the woman he loved.

He had lost Peter too.

…

Here is what happened.

Tony had become familiar with the feeling of driving his fist into a face, five-years-ago and he wouldn’t forget how it felt to snap Toomes’ neck. He wouldn’t forget how Toomes had stopped screaming then. How it had become eerily silent. Tony would not forget that. It happened like that, in that cell, that small space that had suddenly smelled of blood. Tony had removed the mask because he had wanted to look closer at everything, at the man who had murdered Peter Parker. Tony had imagined doing the same thing to Nick Fury when he found out he had been hiding Peter, had brought him back, had just set the kid up for more and more suffering.

Here is what happened.

When Peter died on the beach five-years-ago, Tony had held him like a man holding his dying son. He remembered watching this one war movie, where the father held his child after battle, and the son had died, the son had cried when he was dying. Peter hadn’t really been coherent enough to cry and Tony had put his forehead to Peter’s and he had felt the tickle of Peter’s agonizing breaths come to a halt and he had run his fingers through the boy’s matted hair and had told him things were alright, and they were not. Tony had hated himself, and the week after he had almost put one of his own blasters through his chest in a drunken rage. Rhodey had pried it from his fingers, had begged him to get help. Tony never talked about that night again, it died with Peter in the grave the next day when Tony had touched his dead hand and told him he was better. Tony was not better.

Here is what happened.

One week after Peter died, Tony took a bunch of pain medication and then threw it up because he was a coward and he was drunk again, not in his right mind. One night he had screamed, and broken everything in the penthouse, basically. Friday had called both Rhodey and Pepper. Both came. Rhodey had knocked him unconscious. Pepper had tried to have him admitted somewhere and Tony had managed to get out of it. They wouldn’t leave him alone in the following months, there was always someone in his penthouse. Tony hated them for it, he wanted to cry but he wouldn’t do it in front of them. He went to Peter’s grave every day for weeks, and one day the grass was too long. He had punched the maintenance guy in the face for not doing a good enough job. Tony was sued…he thought the settlement was close to 100k but he couldn’t remember.

Here is what happened.

Thanos came and killed half the universe and that had sucked, but honestly, it wasn’t the worst thing Tony had experienced. There was some sick part of him, when that blade had dug through his abdomen on Titan, that had relished in the fact that maybe he would be punished for letting Peter feel that pain nineteen times over. Tony bled on that ship for several days, the Danvers woman had saved him. Funny stuff, he hadn’t seen her since the war. He didn’t know where she was. She was the strongest out of all of them, no shame in it. She had told Tony he was the king in the game of chess, keeping him alive was important. Peter was supposed to be a knight, but he was not there, was he? He just continued to sit six feet under and the truth was, Tony was glad the kid didn’t have to see the world go to shit.

Here is what happened.

After Peter came back, Tony spent nights wandering the Compound, checking on Peter, praying to whatever was out there that he wouldn’t have a nightmare. Wanting so badly to just…make it all go away, and he wanted Peter to be happy. He wanted Peter to not suffer. He wanted to tell May Parker. Tony didn’t like who he was for this kid, he had been different before Peter’s death. Sometimes when he was pissed off, he saw the look that flashed in Peter’s eyes. The one that didn’t understand why Tony’s temper was so short now. But he couldn’t explain it, he couldn’t make Peter see what had happened to all of them in five years. How they were different beings in the same skin, and Tony cried a lot now. He cried more than he ever had in his life and he wondered if Howard would think he was an imbecile, because he sure felt like one.

Here is what happened.

When Peter’s head snapped back, a bullet firing from a gun, and his body crumbled over in a heap, Tony’s initial instinct was blind rage. Both he and Strange had moved at the same time towards the guy, the guy inside of Peter’s teacher, the one he could not remember the fucking name of, did it matter? Faceless, like the threat from space had been for so long, and Tony’s mouth opened, he thought maybe he had screamed and water splashed and then he blacked out. He knew he was moving, he had felt hits on his body, Strange was throwing his own punches, life was bullshit. Peter was dead again, he guessed, wasn’t that their life now? Mourning Peter Parker, it was second nature, even when the kid was right there. Tony was going to die too, this time, he decided. He hoped this guy would be the last person he drove a fist through, and he did, a blade protruding from his suit, one that could not be ripped off…Like with Thanos. Tony learned from mistakes, concerning suits, but with Peter, he had learned nothing. And Tony, somewhere in the battle, had stabbed Henderson through the chest, and he wondered if she had a family, if she was alive in there. Problematically, he didn’t care. Tony was not a hero anymore. He didn’t want to be. Peter was dead.

Here is what happened.

Tony murdered her, and Strange apparently needed to get rid of the other wizard’s soul or some shit and that started happening. Magic. Tony hated magic, he hated anything that he couldn’t understand, his hands were bloody as he stumbled away. Everyone was pissed he had stabbed her, but whatever, he didn’t care. He turned, tripped, the sprinklers were still going off, Peter was still lying on the ground and Tony needed to…He needed to get to him. So he fell, he fell, and he screamed up towards the ceiling.

“Friday, the fucking sprinklers!”

Because it made sense to be pissed off about that.

The suit melted from his body, the nanobots leaving him open and defenseless, Henderson was dead, and Tony loomed over Peter, grabbed him by the shoulders, he was wearing a suit. A suit…like the day he had been buried and Tony’s chest constricted as he took in Peter’s pale face. Blood pooled into the water, Peter’s hair was matted with the stuff and clotted. The kid’s mouth was parted slightly, eyes wide and staring up at the ceiling, empty.

Here is what happened.

Peter blinked.

Tony was vaguely aware of the fact that Bruce had slid to a stop on Peter’s left. Was looking over him, but Tony wanted everyone to get away, because maybe he had just…he had just imagined it, it couldn’t be real, Tony had just seen him get shot in the head, the way it had snapped back, the way Peter had fallen so hollowly onto the floor, and it wasn’t real. Peter couldn’t be blinking, and bleeding from his hairline and the side of his head and Tony choked, reaching out and grabbing Peter’s jacket before he shook him…harshly, roughly, harder than he had ever handled the boy before, ever.

Peter blinked again.

“Peter!?” Tony shouted, shaking him and shaking and shaking and his hands hurt, but Peter just continued to blink as if in a daze, mouth parted, looking at the ceiling like it was perplexing. Bruce shoved at Tony’s shoulders, shoved hard, Tony felt warmth on his face, he felt like he was drowning. Life was really hard, Peter was…Peter was so important.

Bruce’s voice cracked slightly from how loudly he had to shout to get Tony to stop shaking the boy, “Tony! Stop it, okay, stop! He’s stunned, he’s just stunned!”

“He’s…” Tony’s voice broke off – dead – as a sob threatened, but he held back the emotions, looking at Bruce who didn’t look like they were kneeling over a fifteen-year-old that was dead. So Peter wasn’t dead…he was blinking, his head was bleeding, but it wasn’t open to the ruby brains on the inside and the porcelain skull Tony imagined lay beneath.

Bruce was breathing heavily, “It grazed him, he’s stunned.”

Tony remembered once, being a kid. He had been on a playground, and a kid had accidentally hit him with a rock he was shooting with a slingshot. It had cut Tony’s forehead open, and he had stared at the clouds, had seen nothing, had felt nothing…It was kind of just empty, and the way Peter was just blinking, the way he was so still, like he was fucking dead…it made sense. Tony reached out, hands slipping below Peter’s head into his hair as he started pulling the kid upward, but he was practically dead weight. Bruce moved forward to assist as Tony tried to prop Peter against his shoulder, and he breathed out, grabbing Peter’s face in his hand as he whispered, “Okay…okay, kid. You’re okay.”

He didn’t know how he was able to speak. Tony felt like he was about to die as he glanced at Strange who was doing something to Henderson’s body. He didn’t pay any mind, and not to the people around him. He just held Peter so tightly it almost hurt, and he tried to look at the wound on the side of Peter’s head, but Bruce wouldn’t let him really get his fingers close, something about infection…something, doctor bullshit, and Bruce’s voice finally filtered through, “We need to move him to the med-bay. I need to clean it…make sure it didn’t do any interior damage. It may just be superficial, but I want to make sure – “

“Yeah, okay,” Tony interrupted, but he couldn’t lift Peter, not on his own. Peter looked not inside of his head. He looked outside of the world, as if drugged into oblivion and a part of Tony wished to be that way. Bruce was saying something, Tony couldn’t hear, the alarms had stopped blaring, the water was still covering the floor, Strange was still being a wizard, and Peter was still alive.

But then another body was there, larger than himself and Bruce, and they were kneeling down, trying to pry Peter from Tony’s arms. It took him a moment to process it was Barnes, wanting to lift Peter, and Tony cringed back instinctively, hand covering the side of Peter’s face that was bloody from the crimson dripping down his hairline. Barnes noticed the action, and looked at Tony, and maybe his eyes held understanding, but sometimes Tony liked to pretend Barnes felt nothing. It made it easier to view him as a not-person when he had put his hand around Maria’s throat all of those years before. Sure…sure it hadn’t really been Barnes in there. He had been forced into it, Tony tried to have that be a learned thought, but it was difficult. Barnes was a difficult thing, almost like Peter was.

“We’ve gotta move him,” Barnes whispered, and Tony didn’t know how a voice that soft could come from a former-assassin, “Banner needs to look at him.”

Tony could feel his eyes practically bulging from his head, he was on overload. His senses were out of control, emotions bordering on panicked. He loved this kid. He loved him so much, and the thought of passing him into the arms of the person that had taken people Tony loved – and yes, despite Howard’s cruelty, his coldness, Tony had loved him and hated him in the same scream – Tony couldn’t…he couldn’t, but then he was. He was handing Peter over with great care, as if he was an infant, supporting with a hand on the back of the kid’s head as he rested it on Barnes’ shoulder and Barnes stood to his feet.

Peter was limp, but his eyes were still open. He was still breathing and blinking and as long as he did that, Tony could hold it together. Even though he looked so similar to that night on the beach when he was looking up at the sky, the stars as Peter had said, and had been in the softest place. Tony hoped he wasn’t there now, he didn’t want Peter to be tempted to return. He was selfish. Peter had to stay. He had to stay with them. With him and with May, and everyone who loved him. Tony was not willing to give him up again, it was a negative as he followed both Barnes and Banner down the hall, everyone else left to clean up their mess.

To clean up yet another mauling that Tony had carried out.

He didn’t feel bad. That was the most startling part. Henderson had been innocent, and Tony didn’t feel bad. He couldn’t tell Peter. He would never tell Peter, and if someone else did, he didn’t know what he would say. But he would almost rather that. Almost rather it not be Tony who told him because Tony was a coward and he didn’t know if he could handle the kid trying to defend someone else that had tried to kill him or had succeeded. When Peter had cried over Toomes’ damaged body, Tony had been fueled with rage, and it was only because Peter’s mercy knew no bounds.

The kid loved an odd amount.

Tony knew the kid cared for him too, despite Tony being so terribly flawed. Despite him ignoring his messages for fear of damaging a kid the way Howard had damaged him. For taking the suit, for screaming, for shutting him up like an adult unwilling to listen – this is where you zip it! The adult is talking! – an adult like Howard.

Barnes laid Peter down on an examining table in the med-bay and Banner took no time to wait before rolling Peter onto his side, having the wound on his head face towards the ceiling. Tony kept a distance as Barnes stepped away, silent, completely silent. Banner slipped on some white gloves, grabbing several instruments, but Tony’s mind couldn’t catch up to see that it was a bottle of saline solution and several gauze. Banner looked up at him and nodded his head towards Peter, ordering, “Talk to him, yeah? Might startle him when I start rinsing it.”

Tony knew it was to see the damage, but fuck, Tony was so tired of this kid being put through life or death situations. Just a graze…just a graze, but Peter looked out of it and Tony stepped forward, in Peter’s line of sight as Banner stood behind him. He didn’t know what to say. How did one talk to Peter Parker? A lot of the time Tony found himself choosing words carefully, choosing words to soften blows, to pacify and sooth wounds he had inflicted himself with his own tongue. Tony reached out carefully as Banner did as well, and Tony pressed his hand to Peter’s jaw, squeezing. The moment Bruce pressed the gauze to Peter’s wound, the boy seemed to startle back to life like a deer, eyes going wide and his body jerked.

“Shhh, hey, hey,” Tony tried, grabbing Peter’s shoulder with his hand, keeping his head still for Bruce with the other. Peter’s eyes blinked, looking around like a wild animal, his chest rising and falling at a rapid rate. Peter wasn’t looking at him though and Tony leaned forward, getting so close that the kid had no choice but to look at him directly in the eyes. Peter made a sound of discomfort at not being able to move his head and Tony nearly pressed his forehead to Peter’s, but that was too much like the last time Peter had been laying on a table…And he knew the memory would send him into a fit of panic.

“Look at me,” Tony ordered, “You know me, then you know you’re safe.”

Peter’s eyes finally met his, and the boy looked like he was trying to formulate words. His gaze flickered to Barnes who was a few feet behind Tony and then back into Tony’s face. There was a heartbeat of calm, until Bruce used the saline to flush the wound suddenly and Peter’s eyes shut and his body jerked once again, this time letting out a low groan.

The kid croaked softly, voice cracking, “Hol…holy shit. Stop.”

“Gotta clean the wound, Pete,” Banner commented, not taking his focus off his handiwork, “Wanna make sure it’s just superficial.”

“Doesn’t feel superficial,” Peter mumbled, eyes rolling, not in an annoyed way, but in a way that said he was trying very hard to get his vision to focus on the world in front of him. It was difficult, Tony could see, Peter’s eyes were red, and it reminded Tony too much of lying on the couch while Obadiah plucked the reactor from his chest all those years ago. Peter continued softly, “Feels like someone just drove a pitch fork through my skull.”

Tony couldn’t help it. He let out a breathless laugh. Maybe from the thought of that’s basically what happened, kid. Maybe relief, maybe just sheer joy at hearing Peter’s sarcasm because at that moment it was the best thing he had ever heard…probably better than hearing a newborn cry for the first time.

He stared at Peter, like that, for a moment. His mouth wanted to form the words. Wanted to say something more than just ‘you’re important to me’, like he had on the rooftop. Because that didn’t get the point across. His eyes burned, and he saw the way Peter’s brows furrowed at that, and Tony knew it must have been obvious the emotion was spilling over. Tony looked away, mouth pulling down into a frown so deeply, and he pressed his fingers to his lids, as he sighed deeply, mind racing with the thought of what he was doing, the fact he couldn’t just say it to the kid, just so he’d know, Peter kept almost fucking dying –

“Mister Stark…don’t cry.”

Peter sounded impossibly young, his hand reaching out from where he was still lying on his side, wincing only slightly as Bruce worked on his head. A hand gripped the front of his soaked shirt, Peter’s hand was shaking. Tony didn’t look at him, just stared at the wall as Peter continued softly, “I’m fine. I-I…it didn’t even hurt. Like, it was so quick, it didn’t hurt me. You don’t gotta…I’m sorry.”

Tony finally yanked his head in the kid’s direction, eyes wide and mouth opening in surprise. Peter was always so quick to dismiss his own suffering for Tony’s wellbeing and he just didn’t understand it. The words bubbled up, right on the edge, in his shock, caked in it. It was odd that the moment he was least aware in his disorientation was also the moment he was finally able to utter the words to the kid.

“You’re…God…don’t you get it? I care about you, I fucking…I love you, kid.”

It felt like the hardest thing he had ever uttered. He didn’t like to say that, people he loved tended to have bad things happen to them. Rhodey, falling from the sky. Pepper, finally having no choice but to leave him. His parents, murdered. Peter had died anyway the first time though, inconsistency reared its head. Peter made a face though, not really of surprise, but of ease, as if he had just realized something…as if Tony’s words were ringing into every action that had ever occurred between the two.

“I know, sir.”

And Christ, as long as he knew. Peter just had to know.

Peter took a breath, his eyes averting, “I just feel really small sometimes.”

Insignificance was a disease. It had infected Tony a lot of his life, even when being Iron Man, maybe being tied to Howard made him feel 'less than' for a large portion of his life. He smiled crookedly, or maybe it was a grimace. Before he could respond verbally though, Peter continued, “I thought…well, I had thought you hated me, because you wouldn’t look at me. But you’re looking at me now…and I know you’re being honest. And it’s okay, what happened, cause I know you were with me…and you wanted to protect me. I’m glad when I died, it was with someone who loved me.”

He paused.

“Isn’t that just what people want?”

Tony had never felt much like a father. He felt the need to protect Peter, felt an unimaginable fondness for him. Had seen a future inside of him, someone to pass everything onto. An expectation he had never told May or Peter about because it was still in the workings. Peter was wrong though.

“Kid,” Tony whispered, “Sometimes we wanna live with the people who love us.”

You are too young to not want to die alone.

Peter’s eyes were searching Tony’s. Like he was looking for something. But he said nothing in response. Tony was vaguely aware of the sound of the door to the med-bay sliding open and he had just assumed it was someone from the team entering. However, the assumption wrong, because Tony heard it…the sound of a familiar voice speaking quietly from the door, as if breathless, unable to breathe past something like shock –

“Peter?”

Tony turned around quickly, and standing in the doorway were two women. Pepper, and in front of her was May Parker. There was this heartbeat, complete silence. Nothing, emptiness, May breathing heavily, her face red and her eyes watery and Tony moved out of the way to let Peter see. Tony’s mind blanked for a moment, shutting down, because he just needed…he needed to let her have him. This was her boy, after all. Tony heard Peter’s breath hitch, and when he looked down at him, Bruce moved back because Peter was shoving himself onto his elbows. Bucky stood in the corner of the room, watching the exchange with an unreadable gaze and it was as if the entire room had been dunked underwater.

A beat.

Then May was rushing forward.

Tony have expected to be struck again, but instead she was leaning over the examination table, wrapping her arms tightly around Peter. Peter didn’t sit up all the way, in fact he fell onto his back on the table and wrapped his arms tightly around her neck from where he was lying. Tony shut his eyes when Peter let out a sob. He sounded like a small child and when he opened his eyes again, Peter was staring at the ceiling, tears slipping out of his eyes, where a bit of May’s hair touched his cheek. She was practically lying on top of him, like when she had cried over his body and Tony felt happy, but he felt nauseous at the memory as Pepper moved beside him and grabbed his hand. Tony stepped away to give the two of them space.

When May finally did pull away, Tony saw the sob wrack her body and Peter’s cheeks were pink with tears. She cupped his face, as if she couldn’t believe he was there, and it was so much gentler than when Tony had grabbed it forcefully on the top of that roof. They were silent, completely silent, besides their breathing and Peter was the first to speak, his voice coming out small, “Hi.”

May laughed, weakly, “Hi, baby.”

She pressed her lips to his forehead. Tony expected her to ask about his head, to ask about why he was lying there, but she didn’t. It was as if the shock of seeing him alive…it was a lot for the both of them and Peter was gripping the sleeve of her dress tightly, her makeup ran down her cheeks. Maybe May didn’t understand this, didn’t understand any of it, but it was clear this was one of the happiest moments of her life. That she wasn’t worried one bit about the five year skip, because they would figure it out. Peter said, “I missed you.”

“I can promise, I missed you so much more,” She replied, resting her cheek to his forehead. Her eyes found Tony’s from where her head was turned in his and Pepper’s direction. Tony expected her to order them to get away. To tell Tony to never go near Peter again, and honestly, at that point Tony would have accepted it. Would have just…gone with it because it was all he could do. Peter didn’t belong to him, even if it felt like it sometimes. She ran her fingers over the uninjured side of Peter’s head, and what she said made Tony’s chest constrict in shock.

“I’m sorry.”

Tony must have looked completely taken aback, because she went on, “Pepper told me. She told me about what they made you do.”

Tony had thought relief would flood him then. It didn’t really…it was more of an accepting feeling. Because Tony didn’t think he deserved the apology, especially since he was still so unsure of how SHIELD was going to react about this…but he still nodded, eyes burning again with tears. There was something in May saying that…it just gutted him. He had spent years punishing himself, and yet there…right then, it didn’t feel so bleak. It felt lighter in a way he could not describe and the darkness opened up into an odd acceptance. And just when Tony thought he was done reeling, she finished.

“Thank you for protecting him.”

Her head turned, and Tony heard Peter whisper to the woman, “I dreamed about you.”

A choked off sob.

“I dreamed about you too, every single night.”

…

Henderson’s body was removed. Taken away, the mess was cleaned up and Tony just awaited the arrival of the SHIELD agents that would surely stir up trouble about the fact that May Parker was now aware of the revival of Peter Parker. Tony couldn’t even find the time to be afraid, everything seemed so small now, while Peter slept in his bed. His head was cleaned, wound covered. And after some childish begging on the kid’s part, Bruce hadn’t shaved the patch where the wound was, with the promise that Peter’s healing would take care of the wound and that further care past cleaning it wasn’t needed.

A long time passed with just him and May sitting in a silent space…He didn’t know what he was going to say to her, about any of it. Apparently Pepper had explained SHIELD…all of that, and they would come soon, she knew that too. Tony felt a little helpless, but only a little bit. Sometimes things were just hard. Life was difficult. But they pushed through each and every moment, and she didn’t seem to hate him anymore. She was staring at her hands in her lap, legs crossed and Tony wasn’t expecting the question when it came.

“Does he remember?”

For some reason, Tony knew what she meant. He swallowed, and answered, “Some of it. Not a whole lot. He talks about the stars…I think that’s what he remembers most, is just…looking up.”

She sighed, “It might be selfish of me, but I’m glad.”

May looked over at him, and Tony met her eyes, finally able to now, with Peter sleeping in front of them. She looked stricken, but it faded, replaced by a sort of acceptance, “I’ve spent five years wanting to be dead. I don’t know what to feel now. I just want to…I dunno, shake him…make sure he’s real and I know he is it’s just…”

There was a break in the back of her tone, “…I feel like a new mother all over again. Like the day he came to live with Ben and me. When I knew next to nothing about looking after a whole other human being. I suppose it’ll come back naturally…like it had come in the first place.”

Parenting had partly come naturally to Tony. The protective instinct anyway. Not so much the emotional aspects. But May was wholly Peter’s mother in every sense of the word. Her chest was rising and falling, Tony could tell she wanted so badly to just touch Peter in case he would disappear. Tony replied, after a short time debating on what to say, “You know him better than anyone. It’ll come back to you, for sure.”

She smiled, it was small, hesitant, as she tilted her head slightly, “Tony…I want you to know…And I only say it because I know if I don’t you’ll continue thinking it and I don’t want that. I can’t have that, not when you’ve done so much to protect him and try to keep him out of these people’s hands. I blamed you…I blamed you, back at the gala, and I am so sorry…I didn’t know…And I don’t hate you.”

Which was good. Sometimes Tony still hated himself. He supposed he would forever, but it was easier now…with them. With Peter, and all the people he loved, and now Peter knew at least. Tony whispered, more to himself than to May, “I need him.”

“He needs you too,” May said, “I only just realized it.”

Tony didn’t know why it was so hard to admit something like that. Maybe because Howard had instilled that needing someone was a weakness one could not afford to have. Even if Howard had quite obviously needed Maria just to keep himself fed and alive. Guy would have starved in his lab if it weren’t for her. Just as Tony needed Pepper, and Rhodey in those five years. May pulled him from his thoughts when she questioned, “When are they coming? The people from SHIELD?”

“I expect anytime…” Tony hummed, “They like surprises.”

Speaking of surprises, Tony’s attention was averted when someone appeared in the doorway. Stephen Strange, surprisingly not wearing his usual attire and appearing more casual than Tony was used to seeing. Tony glanced at May and she gave him a reassuring nod before he stood and followed Stephen’s silent command to talk and walk with him. He was sort of annoyed. He had thought the wizard had left with the removal of Henderson’s body, something he did not want to think about in that moment when he was more concerned with Peter and SHIELD and May.

Out in the hallway, Stephen spoke, “Kaecilius’ soul is contained…of course I don’t particularly agree with your methods, I don’t blame you for them. Actually made my job easier, but the woman had a family. You’ll need to answer to that. Maybe not legally, but empathetically.”

“I’ll handle it,” Tony decided he was not a hero. An innocent woman was dead because of his impulse. Because he had watched Peter’s body crumble to the floor in a heap. In a mess of limbs, of blood, of water…And it had turned everything into a different point of view. His hands had done it, and so he would handle it…He’d cover the funeral expenses. Find a way to give them closer. Whatever had to be done, to protect Peter from the repercussions, the backlash. The risk of being something to Tony Stark, of being tied to this…Especially when Peter was supposed to be dead.

The two approached the balcony overlooking the lobby when Strange turned to look at him. His face looked grim, but he looked away. Didn’t say much more before uttering, “I must apologize that they used the boy against you for the sake of my own duties. And…for bringing him to Metro-General.”

Tony rolled his eyes, “Old news.”

A comfortable silence passed by, Tony felt like for the first time in a while things were okay. Peter was sleeping, May knew, and there was still SHIELD, but what were they going to do now? The damage was done, May knew now, a civilian, there was only moving forward from here. With the threat gone, what else was there to blackmail Tony for? There wasn’t much of a point anymore, and when Strange shook his hand, Tony felt like something had passed. Like a dark cloud in his life as he watched Strange make his exit…finally…finally the problem was solved.

Only in favor of a new one.

Tony stood there at the balcony for a good ten minutes before new movement came into the lobby from below. A familiar trench coat, a man with an eyepatch, and he gazed up at Tony with an unreadable expression on his face…Hands set firmly on his hips. Tony felt a slight anger at the nonchalance of the gesture, and it was just like Fury…Just like the day he showed up at the donut shop, making Tony’s life more of a shitshow than it already was.

“Hm,” Fury hummed, “Takes me back. Looking up and seeing your dumb face. All we’re missing is the giant donut.”

Of course they would be on the same wavelength.

Tony’s eyes narrowed. Things couldn’t be forgiven so easily, never. He turned, walking down the stairs as he approached the lobby below. He questioned, trying to sound calm when in fact his emotions were going catalyst, “Where’s the crew? Or your lapdog?”

“The crew is where I want them,” Fury shrugged, “And Coulson is taking care of business elsewhere. Believe it or not, you’re still not the center of my universe. Not even Parker is. I’m here alone, as a friend.”

Tony scoffed, “Oh yeah, we’re really friendly. After you brought that kid back and tried to hide him and then forced me to keep everything a secret from his aunt.”

“Which you failed at,” The other man said, “Not surprising. It was miserable to monitor, trust me. We had people tailing May Parker, knew the moment you told her at the gala. You’ll be glad to know I gave the order not to intervene. Otherwise the possessed tutor would have been the least of your worries…the tutor you murdered.”

Tony grit his teeth, “She shot Peter in the fucking head.”

“Parker is alive, isn’t he? And she’s not,” Fury replied, moving towards some of the chairs in the sitting area, before he plopped down. It gave the impression of nonchalance, a nonchalance that almost lowered Tony’s guard. Key word almost. He kept the nanobots ready, on the mark, in case Fury made any move.

“But she signed a contract when we approved her,” Fury looked out the window.

The other glared at him, “Wow, I can tell you’re really beat up about it.”

“Not as much as you’ll be when you have to pay for the funeral. That’s punishment enough for you, I think.”

He gripped his hands into fists, “So is there a point to this? Obviously, you’re not here to confiscate the kid…or else you would’ve brought your little friends. So, what is it?”

Fury let out a deep sigh, meeting Tony’s gaze and resting his chin on his hand. There was a slight smirk on his lips and Tony hated him so much, hated the amusement, because Tony had just almost watched Peter die for a second time. How would that be funny? How would any of it be funny?

“Now why would I do that, Stark?” Fury questioned, “You did what needed to be done. You stopped the threat to the stones. Good job, I’m proud of you. The kid is yours, but there are ground rules. Adjusting him to the new life he has, of course, is a priority. I’m not cruel, we do worry about his stability. We can get him a new birth certificate and information, have him enrolled in a school in New York. Of course, he can’t go back to Midtown High…It’ll need to be somewhere we can guarantee he won’t be recognized. If an old friend from high school recognizes him on the street, it’ll pose more issues but…there are things we can work around. New York is a big place. Lots of people. And no one is looking for a fifteen-year-old Peter Benjamin Parker.”

Tony stood, looking shocked with his mouth opened slightly like a fish out of water.

“What?” Tony hissed, “The fuck? You put us through all of this and you’re just like…oh yeah it’s cool now?”

A sigh, then, “I’m not just saying it’s ‘cool’ now, I’m saying that this transition is going to be difficult. I brought this boy back to motivate you, Stark, but that’s not the only reason. I know how you feel about that kid up there, and despite what you believe, what I told you after Ultron still stands. I’m a guy who cares about you – “

“You’ve got a weird way of showing it,” Tony felt his face burn, “You’re trying to justify yourself? If that were true, you wouldn’t have kept Peter’s corpse on ice for five years before you finally decided to revive him.”

Fury responded, “I’m a complex guy. I don’t expect you to understand everything I do.”

Tony could have strangled him. He really could have. It made no sense, and Tony wasn’t even close to forgiving him…but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved that Fury had given a seal of approval. Mostly because it made things much easier…made giving Peter back his life easier. Five years…well, it wasn’t as long as Steve had been on ice, so there was still time for Peter to catch up. He could still fit in with other kids. He could make new friends.

He swallowed, before he spoke quietly, “I have my own set of rules. You keep your distance, alright? No trailing him, he’s a kid, and he deserves to have a semi-normal life after what you dickheads did to him. Understand? You get the certificate, the information, then you screw off. He’s under the protection of the Avengers, from this point on, we don’t need SHIELD interfering.”

“So we’re not allowed to follow him because he won’t feel normal, but the Avengers can?”

God, his teeth were going to break, “We won’t be following him. If something happens, we will handle it. Ourselves. Peter isn’t a playing card in your game anymore. He isn’t a weapon, or a bribe, he is a fifteen-year-old boy.”

Fury stood slowly from the chair, and Tony stiffened, readying for a fight. Ready to tear Fury to shreds. If he could make himself do it against the tutor, he could do it to Fury in a heartbeat. No second thoughts…he could handle it. His back stiffened, and he narrowed his eyes daringly. However, Fury simply reached out his hand to shake.

And as much as Tony hated viewing Peter as something to shake over…

He took the hand.

Chapter Text

Life doesn’t just go back to normal after you die and come back to life.

Peter supposed he had thought it would. He didn’t know what he expected exactly, but the long drawn out process was not it. When May had come into the room, when he had seen her for the first time in what felt like forever, his immediate thought was ‘everything will be okay now’ because Aunt May knew. Things were okay, well until Peter found out Miss Henderson had been murdered in the process of everything and well…that was a whole different qualm on its own. Because then there was Nick Fury and his rules. A simple set, but a set nonetheless that made Peter feel less than normal when he had to put in time and effort already to readjust to life outside of the Compound.

Nick Fury’s Rules for Reintegrating Into Society:

• If someone recognizes you, you tell Tony Stark and he will contact SHIELD. If he doesn’t, he’s screwed.
• You can’t draw attention to yourself. No joining school clubs immediately, just blend in.
• SHIELD picks the school, and you get over it.
• Go to school and go home, at least for a few months.

Peter didn’t like number three. He supposed he knew deep down he couldn’t go back to Midtown. Many of his teachers still worked there and SHIELD ended up picking a private school that they could easily monitor. Supposedly some of the people working in the school would be associates of SHIELD and that unnerved him greatly, but at least he got to be around kids his age and he was talking to people outside of his usual circle. He had to wear a tie, and a blazer, and an actual uniform…And Mister Stark was paying tuition because SHIELD threw him into a fucking expensive school and didn’t want to pay for it and of course Aunt May couldn’t afford that.

As if Peter needed anymore convincing…SHIELD was a bunch of assholes.

Then Peter had forgotten their apartment wasn’t their apartment anymore, and so when he moved into his aunt’s new place, he didn’t have a room. It was a one bedroom apartment…after all, Aunt May had thought it was just going to be her for the rest of her life. It was a six month lease, so they were going to have to make due with the couch until that finished up and they could start hunting for another two bedroom. Which was hard in New York to find…it was going to be a struggle, but Aunt May was pretty good at that kind of thing, and the couch wasn’t so bad. It just made it difficult, when the nightmares came, there was no door to shut, no way to stop her from worrying when he woke up crying and he was embarrassed. So embarrassed. But he was grateful she was there, she’d always sit with him until he fell asleep again.

Mister Stark came over often, and Peter knew a lot of the reason he did was because he was worried about the SHIELD agents watching them. Keeping tabs. Being free of the Compound didn’t mean they were free of them and Peter didn’t know if they ever would be. If they were crawling around Trinity, then there was no telling where they were half the time and Mister Stark clearly didn’t trust them. Miss Potts was with him more now…and Peter liked that because when Miss Potts was around, Mister Stark seemed happier, things with them seemed better. It didn’t seem like eggshells anymore.

Life didn’t feel like eggshells anymore.

Peter actually had things to occupy himself with. School and meeting other kids, though a lot of the other people at Trinity didn’t quite understand where he had come from and he had to keep a lot of that stuff under wraps. He didn’t have a fancy last name like a lot of them…couldn’t tell them much. But he had a cellphone, and he had made a few friends, at least. People to sit with at lunch, but a part of him thought they maybe just saw him as some kind of odd person, which he was. He didn’t think he could really delve into the friendships until he was free of SHIELD which sometimes it felt like that would never happen.

It was going to though.

Tony assured him over and over again and he believed him. All in all, SHIELD hadn’t interfered much, no one had really said anything about the fact that Peter Parker should be dead and he guessed that could be credited with the fact that the kids at his school had been ten-years-old when he had died and the teachers barely gave him a second glance. Peter Parker’s death wasn’t publicized like Spider-Man’s…he was just another dead boy in a city full of them. Full of crime. Full of a lot of things.

Peter had been waiting weeks for the green light from SHIELD to go ahead with The Important Day. The Important Day was well…as the name suggested, very important. Time seemed to inch on, the entire school following up until that Saturday morning when he flew out of bed and was met with dark pancakes that Aunt May was still struggling to perfect. Peter ate them anyway at the table, he’d never complain about them again even if the Compound had perfect pancakes. Even if he kind of missed the ones that Mister Barnes knew how to make and Peter had snatched a few from his plate when he wasn’t looking…

His hands shook with anticipation though because he knew what was going to happen. Of course, Mister Stark had taken care of all the details, but The Important Day was more like a burden at first than a gift. A part of him had wished the plans had never come about, but he knew deep down…this was just the way it was. For now at least, and he swallowed, thickly, the pancakes, and tried not to choke, chugging down some milk to help, and he jumped when Aunt May’s hand landed on his shoulder…

“Peter,” She tsked, “You’re gonna choke, slow down.”

Peter took in a deep breath of air, “Sorry just…they’re great.”

She grimaced slightly, sitting down in the chair beside him with a knowing look on her face. She looked tired…He knew she had been working extra shifts because May didn’t like taking the money from Mister Stark to pay his tuition and now they were having to save up for a new apartment. Peter had wanted to look for a part time job, but SHIELD didn’t like the idea and truthfully Aunt May hadn’t either. There were a lot of things he had missed in five years…History class was kind of giving him a hard time. It was shocking what he had missed during The War.

“Don’t try to tell me you’re scarfing down my pancakes because they’re ‘good’,” May shook her head, “It’s a big day…It’s okay to be nervous.”

He knew that. He knew it was okay, but he didn’t want to be nervous, his stomach was doing flips over and over again and Peter set down his fork, eyes flitting around the dining room with great precision as to avoid looking in the woman’s eyes. He didn’t like to deceive himself. The Important Day…no, no, he had made this decision to do this and he shouldn’t have been afraid, but he was. So, so desperately.

Peter swallowed, “I’m just – is this the right decision?”

There were so many bad ones that had been made, as of late. Henderson, focusing on that, the guilt, his nightmares…Having snuck out of the Compound so many times. Peter didn’t know if he was capable of good decisions anymore. It felt like he wasn’t. Not so much…not ever, and his heart was palpitating painfully inside of his ribs, breaking through, threatening his life. He could not breathe, but he sucked it in, waiting for her to reply and when she did, her voice was so soft it almost soothed all the worry away, key word almost.

“I trust your instincts.”

She shouldn’t…but it made him feel better, nonetheless.

Peter jumped when there was a knock from the door that echoed through the tiny apartment. A part of him, the part where the nightmares would sometimes surface panicked, his pulse spiked at the thought of agents coming in and dragging him away despite the fact he had been home several weeks. Despite the fact he had a new birth certificate now, he was ‘born’ in 2006 instead of 2001. Despite the new school. Despite everything they had done, he still felt like SHIELD, Fury, and Coulson were going to come back for him and he wanted to vomit up the pancakes he had shoved down in a few seconds flat, but he did not as May squeezed his shoulder and answered the door.

SHIELD didn’t burst in. It was only Tony Stark.

Peter’s ears were ringing with the residual panic, watching May and Tony’s mouths move as they spoke to one another. He couldn’t help how his hands shook, how he felt sick, how the world felt like it was plummeting down into a black hole and life was really hard, even if he was so much happier than he had been in a long time. He still caught himself being afraid. He caught himself wanting to run away and never stop, not until he collapsed onto the ground in a heap of tears and terror, frightened outside of his skin.

But then Tony was talking to him.

“You ready, kid?”

Peter did not see blood on Tony’s hands, from where he had stabbed Miss Henderson to ‘avenge’ him. Or the bruises from punching Toomes repeatedly and paralyzing him. Peter did not see evil in Mister Stark’s eyes, but he saw remnants of anger, even if it wasn’t real. This man had murdered for him, and was he supposed to be grateful? He didn’t think he was, but he loved him. Saw him as a part of their little…messed up family. And he was safe, he kept Peter safe. So Peter nodded his head, because The Important Day had rules. Mister Stark had to be there.

It was either Mister Stark or Director Fury and Mister Stark had put a stop to that immediately.

Peter stood from the chair, and kissed May on the cheek as he exited the apartment, Mister Stark clapping a hand on his shoulder while they made their way down the hallway that didn’t smell like home. The home where a little boy and his mother were living now. A little boy that would see the marks on the wall from where Peter had grown taller since going to live there after his parents had died. The carves in the floor where he and Ned had tried to pull the floorboards up to make a special hiding place for their snacks. It was funny, and empty, and Peter missed it, relishing in the hand on his shoulder that was familiar, like home.

Happy was waiting in the car out front, and here was the thing about Happy now: He was oddly kinder. Gentler. And Peter couldn’t tell if he liked it or not. Because it made him feel different, than he was before. It made him feel like something was wrong, but he knew Happy couldn’t help it, Happy had watched him bleed out on a beach. So Peter didn’t get angry or annoyed, he let him treat him differently. Life had to be different. It was always going to be different.

Also, there was a lot of quiet.

No one really said anything, but it was also because it was The Important Day.

Mister Stark must have noticed his hands trembling, because a hand wrapped around his wrist, and squeezed tightly. Comfortingly. Peter swallowed thickly, smiling, crooked towards the man as he said, “Nervous.”

“That’s fine,” Mister Stark said, “Honestly, I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

Tick, tick, tick, tick…

Happy’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror, “You’re gonna do great, kid.”

I know, I know, I’m just so scared. I’m so scared.

“I’m – “ Peter paused, biting the bottom of his lip, “I’m…it just feels like SHIELD is going to show up and jump me or something.”

Mister Stark leaned forward and whispered, voice reminding him of Aunt May in its softness, “Hey, hey, hey…Listen to me…SHIELD isn’t going to do anything to you, okay? They’re going to back off. Keep their distance. You’re safe. Always.”

But not always, Mister Stark. One day I’ll be Spider-Man again.

But…baby steps.

He swallowed, and replied, “I know.”

Sometimes he didn’t, but he guessed it was okay to be that way. They pulled up to the curb of the coffee shop. The tiny one, he forgot the name of it, when he looked back at the world behind him, it had closed six years after The Important Day. But then in that moment, it was a focal point of fear and anxiety, but also immense joy. He and Mister Stark climbed out, and Happy turned around, nodding his head, “You’re gonna be fine.”

Peter could only say ‘I know’ so many times, so he smiled. Very small, but it was a smile and it felt genuine.

The inside smelled nice, but Peter didn’t like coffee, never had. Mister Stark ordered something black and Peter got a hot chocolate before they took their seats in the corner, away from studying students and hipsters alike. There were only two or three people in there anyway, so it was fine…it was the perfect place to be, which was probably why it had been suggested as the rendezvous spot. Peter’s hands shook as he brought the drink to his mouth, ignoring the scalding of the liquid on his tongue, because it was a good distraction, however painful.

Peter reminded himself there was no blood on Mister Stark’s hands.

He blinked at the man, taking in his face, in how tired he looked, tired like May. Peter knew it was his fault. Things were getting better, but for that to happen, people had to work hard to get to that point. They were all doing so much for him, including The Important Day. Peter tilted his head, finally opening his mouth and asking, “How…how are you?”

Mister Stark seemed startled by the question.

“How am I?”

“Mhm,” Peter whispered, “You just look tired.”

A slight hum was his response, and then, “Well kid, I am tired.”

Peter grimaced, and he felt guilt, even though he knew Mister Stark wouldn’t want him to. The man set his coffee aside, let out a breath, that wasn’t annoyed but Peter wasn’t positive what it was exactly. It was kind of…knowing? And so Peter just sat very still, like a frightened animal, taking a few more gulps of the sickly sweet liquid. Finally, Mister Stark said, “Which isn’t your fault, so don’t think about it…I work hard, kid. I’ve been tired since I was old enough to build a circuit board.”

That was kind of sad. But Peter forced a fake laugh because Mister Stark was trying to be funny. Mister Stark reached up, squeezing the back of Peter’s neck tightly under his hand. His hands weren’t bloody. Peter, they aren’t bloody.

But he couldn’t help but ask…

“The funeral…” Peter’s voice cracked, “Was her family…were they there?”

Mister Stark paused, pondering on that. Peter half expected him to say ‘you shouldn’t think about all that’ but Mister Stark must have realized that wouldn’t help with any of his fear or guilt, so he nodded in confirmation and he breathed, “Yeah, they were there. They were sad, but…you know, I hurt someone they loved. And I have to deal with that, but it’s not yours. It’s not yours to hurt over so don’t…okay, Pete, just don’t.”

The hand gave one last squeeze before releasing. Peter murmured, “I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me ever again.”

He had hoped Mister Stark would say ‘it won’t happen again’ but he didn’t. Because Mister Stark would probably do it over and over again and so Peter just looked away and finished, “But I understand…I understand.”

The man said, “You’re good, a really good kid. So you shouldn’t have to deal with that conviction.”

Of course.

There was the sound of the bell above the door dinging as someone entered the coffee shop. Peter’s head snapped up, eyes wide and Mister Stark’s head whipped in the direction of the door as well. Sometimes, there are these moments in life where a dreaded thing suddenly becomes the best thing in the entire universe, the skies snap into a whirlpool. Humans become entities without flesh and Peter was in that…Was in this state of existing when you don’t feel like you’re bound by that because you’re simply floating away, having an out of body experience and he was. Falling, falling, falling.

Because standing in the doorway…was Ned Leeds.

Peter knew enough had been explained to him. Enough to know why he had been brought to that coffee shop in the first place and Peter felt his eyes burning with unshed tears, setting the cup down on the table beside Mister Stark’s coffee. His heart hammered, he felt heavy, but light all at the same time as he pushed himself to his feet, glancing at Mister Stark as if looking for the okay and Mister Stark only nodded.

When he looked at Ned again, the other boy…no, Ned was twenty-years-old now…he too had tears, but they were covering his cheeks and Ned had never been very good at not wearing his heart on his sleeve. Peter might have been the same way, even if he hid it behind words, but Ned had never done that. He had always pushed the words out of himself, had always said how he felt, and Peter was the type that could be sobbing but saying it was okay. They were different like that, same enough to be best friends, but different enough to understand.

And usually Peter would have cried, but said it was okay.

This time he didn’t.

He rushed forward, and as soon as Ned had stepped into the door of the coffee shop, he wrapped his arms tightly around Ned’s shoulders, hugging him as tightly as he could without hurting him. The unshed tears slipped from his eyes, even more profusely when Ned hugged him back. Peter shut his eyes when he saw his reflection in the glass door, bloodshot and wide and face becoming stained. He wasn’t ashamed, but he could not hold it in and he wondered what Mister Stark had said on the phone…but he didn’t ask. He couldn’t breathe, and Ned was gripping the back of his shirt fiercely.

Suddenly, the awards ceremony slipped away, that distance he had longed to close, because this was his best friend. Since they were children…so small, and now Ned was five years older than him and it was weird. It was so odd, Peter was still a child, Ned was technically an adult. Life had gone on, but Ned still hugged him like he had never left.

“Holy shit,” Ned breathed, his voice wavering, “Holy shit…holy shit, Mister Stark wasn’t lying, you’re alive. You’re really – oh my God, you were dead dude, but you came back…that’s seriously…God, this is the most amazing thing – “

Peter laughed breathlessly. It felt like the night Ned had found out he was Spider-Man.

His voice broke…it shattered, but Peter managed to speak the words into existence.

“Of course I came back…Couldn’t leave my Guy in the Chair without his best friend.”

Life was not simplistic, certainly not Peter’s. He had not wished to die, but he had not wished to be revived either. It had just happened. It had happened like all the other things. The Spider, the bite, the suit, everything…But Peter…for the first time, he felt so, so grateful to be there in that moment. He didn’t feel like a boy that was out of time. Out of place. A boy that shouldn’t have been there. Ned’s embrace held him to that.

“I love you, man,” Ned said, “I wish…I mean, I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Peter sounded like he was younger when he answered, “You don’t gotta say goodbye. I’m right here. I’m alive. It’s…it’s a good thing, right?”

Ned laughed…

“It’s a great thing.”

...

END.