Chapter Text
“What?”
Peter clenches his jaw. He’d been under the assumption that everyone in his life had forgotten him, and so he’d never really prepared to explain anything to them.
“It’s a long– uh, longer story,” Peter warns.
Tony shrugs. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says reassuringly.
Peter sighs. “I don’t really know where to start,” he admits. “It’s confusing, and– like, it involves parts of your life that you might remember differently since–”
“Kid,” Tony interrupts, “we’ll figure it out. Just start from where you think you need to start.”
“Okay… do you, uh– do you remember a guy named Mysterio?”
“That low-level Avenger-wanna-be?”
Peter nods, scrunching his face up when Tony says ‘low-level’. “Yeah, that’s… yeah.”
Tony nods as well, and then pauses. “Wait,” he says. “I thought you said Strange did this. Did Mysterio–?”
Peter makes a face. “No, he– ah, not exactly. I’m starting like, way, way back. He didn’t do, um– all this. But it started here.”
“Right. Sorry – no more interruptions,” Tony says apologetically. But then, “Only if they’re really, really, important. But no more, I promise… unless they’re important.”
Peter rolls his eyes, but he still catches the fond smile Tony throws at him when he thinks he’s not looking. Peter knows Rhodey used to call it his ‘dad smile’, way before even Morgan was born. He still struggles with the idea that Tony ever thought of him as his kid. He pushes the thought from his mind. He’ll never know for sure.
Peter talks, and Tony listens. Peter keeps talking, and Tony keeps listening. By the time the sun rises, Peter is nearly hoarse.
Tony hasn’t stopped looking at him with concern, or like he’s thinking Peter might break if he touched him. Although it’s overwhelming, Peter also has to admit the worry feels good. It’s been so long since someone cared about me, he thinks. He tries not to tear up at the feeling. He’s not sure he has any tears left.
At some point, around the whole ‘“then I met you again”’ explanation, Tony excuses himself to check his phone. Peter ignores the voice inside him that says Tony is bored, because only a moment later Tony returns to his seat, apologises, and asks him to keep going.
Peter shrugs. “That’s it, I guess. You know the rest.”
Tony looks at him for a moment, then drags a hand down his face. “Jesus, Pete. You really–”
There’s a hiss, a crackle, and a flash of orange light. The beginnings of a portal flicker into existence on the other side of the lab, and both Peter and Tony jump up from the couch. Peter looks at Tony, who is showing more relief than confusion. He goes back to watching the portal, spider-sense tingling the back of his neck.
The portal opens up, and Doctor Strange steps out, darting his eyes around. His hands are raised, and positioned to cast an attack. He tracks his eyes across the room, eventually landing on Peter and Tony. He narrows in on Peter, and starts to stalk towards him, hostility evident in his sharp facial features.
As he approaches, Doctor Strange twists his hands, forming the runes of a spell. He flicks his wrists, and thick, orange binding begins to sneak its way around Peter’s wrists and ankles, rendering him motionless. In his astonishment, he falls backwards, landing awkwardly on the hard floor.
As he watches Tony attempt to call out to Strange, waving his hands about like he’s crazy, Peter finally manages to realise that, of course, Doctor Strange doesn’t recognise him anymore. But then – if he’s here… someone called him. Tony called him.
“Tony, you–?” he starts to say, whilst trying to twist out of his bindings.
“Yeah, kid, I’m just– Strange, he’s not a threat – just gimme a sec,” Tony grunts, waving a mad hand in front of Doctor Strange’s eyes.
Peter tries to reason with him too. “Doctor Strange, sir, I promise– I’m just here to, um, visit? I’m not hurting Mr. Stark, I would never… uh–”
Doctor Strange, or what was Doctor Strange, seems to just– flicker out. Like it was a hologram, or a–
“–projection? Seriously?” Peter hears Tony shout disbelievingly. The binds on his hands are gone, seemingly the same way Strange disappeared. Red bands of raw skin are wrapped around his arms.
There’s another voice. Familiar.
“–a ‘code red’, and it’s just a kid? Don’t talk to me about being serious, Stark – you’re abusing the–”
“Abuse? You wanna talk about abuse? You ruined this kid’s life!” Tony yells back.
Uh-oh. Like, the very strongest, most visceral ‘uh-oh’ one can say or feel.
Peter hesitantly lifts his head, and sees, unfortunately, exactly what he predicted he’d see. Tony yells at the, presumably, real Doctor Strange. His face is coated in sweat, and he’s visibly distressed. Doctor Strange, for all his usual composure, doesn’t look much better. He’s frustrated, and his cape flicks with unnatural anger too.
“What are you talking about?” Strange hisses. “I don’t know who this kid is!”
Tony reels back, and Peter isn’t sure what option of ‘fight or flight’ he’s going to pick. He scrambles up, and rushes to the two.
“I’m Peter Parker, sir. I’m really sorry, I think– uh, I think this is my fault. I’m sorry.”
Doctor Strange raises an eyebrow, and turns towards Peter. “This is your doing? You called the emergency ‘code red’ threat on Stark’s phone?”
Peter falters. “Uh, no– no, that was, um– it was Mr. Stark, actually… but I can explain, I swear.”
Strange narrows his eyes. “Okay.”
Peter shifts on his feet. Tony, who seems to be slightly calmer at the prospect of Strange not wanting to murder either of them, gives Peter an encouraging nod.
“Okay. This might take– you don’t have, like– somewhere to be, right…?”
Strange sighs. “I did. But as annoyed as I am,” Strange looks at Tony as he says, “I trust Stark. Unfortunately, I think he did what he did for a reason. So, Parker, was it? Explain away.”
***************
“This isn’t a case of amnesia, Stark. I can’t just– bring back memories that don’t exist.”
Tony clenches his fists. “You don’t know that. You don’t know they don’t exist. If you– you did this, right? You put the memories in some magicky, timey-wimey place, right? So get them back.”
(Peter’s recollection left Strange very confused, and all-together rather frustrated with himself for forcing a memory-loss curse upon himself. Peter tried to reason with him, saying there was nothing he could’ve done, which only forced Tony to lightly reprimand Peter and remind him of his own worth. Peter feels he’s at a stalemate.)
“I… what you’re asking is impossible, Stark. I can’t do it.”
Tony laughs mirthlessly. “You can’t do it,” he repeats. “You can’t– you’re the goddamn, Sorcerer Supreme, and – You. Can’t. Do it.”
Peter says meekly, “It’s okay, Mr. Stark–”
“It’s not alright,” Tony says decisively. “I want– I need these memories back, Peter. I can’t live my life knowing it’s missing you.”
Peter’s mouth slams shut. Tony shoots him a look – pleading eyes, clenched jaw; please let me try. But if he tries, and it works… then he’s in danger, again. Tony had told him once, on a night long spent in the lab fixing suits and helmets, that there was a time where he wished he’d never told the world he was Iron Man. Because it put his loved ones in danger.
Peter understood then, he understood six months ago, and he sure as hell understands now.
He clears his throat, and both Strange and Tony look at him again. He turns to Doctor Strange. “Would you, um– sorry–” He looks at Tony and jerks his head towards the other side of the lab. “Can we talk? Privately?”
Tony looks slightly taken aback, but starts walking towards Peter anyway. He says to Strange, “I’ll be back. Figure this out. Check all your weird books if you have to.”
Having found refuge in one of the side rooms in the lab, Peter lets loose. His heart hammers as he blurts out, “I can’t let you do this.”
Tony’s composure falters. “What?”
Peter shakes his head. “You can’t do this, Mr. Stark. If you remember, then– you’re– you’ll be in danger.”
Tony squints at Peter, concern dripping from every word as he says, “Peter, what do you mean? Of course I’m doing this.”
“But you said– you said– ” Peter starts to panic. He didn’t think this through, he never should have shown up. Tony trusted him to be the hero, to be an Avenger, and he–
“Hey– hey! Peter. Kid, you need to breathe,” Tony coaches. “It’s been a long day, and you’re forgetting what’s necessary to live, but trust me, this one is a big one. Breathe, Pete.”
When did his heart get so heavy? It’s sinking down, down, down. Hitting the floor. Everything is too much. He looks at Tony’s face. Eyes big with worry. Tired eyes. Sad eyes.
Peter sucks in a shaky breath. The air whistles past the lump in his throat, a pain that stretches down to his chest. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.”
Tony fixes him a look. “Aren’t we past that?” he says. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s start with you telling me what I ‘said’, huh? You know I can’t be held liable for at least sixty percent of the things I say.”
Peter laughs, but it’s lifeless. “You won’t remember this.”
Tony shrugs and says, “Okay. You also know that I don’t remember what I was doing three days ago, right? It’s like a jungle up here.” He knocks on his temple with his knuckles.
“You said you wished – only sometimes – that you’d never told anyone you were Iron Man. That you wished you’d stuck with the whole bodyguard thing because it– well, that would have protected people.”
Tony stays silent. Peter examines his face. Thoughtful, and maybe a little frightened. You never should have brought this up, Peter.
Peter keeps going despite that. “I don’t– you heard what happened when they found out– the whole world turned against my family, my friends. Just for– for being near me.”
Tony’s gaze softens, and he says, “Frankly, Peter, I couldn’t give two shits about the world. You and I – and old Gandalf over there – are going to figure this out. Whatever happens afterwards, happens. And we’ll figure that out too.”
Peter’s eyes sting. “You’ll be in danger.”
“I’m Iron Man,” Tony says matter-of-factly. “I’m always in danger.”
The joke doesn’t land. A tear falls. “I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
Two hands fall upon Peter’s shoulders, and he looks at Tony, who smiles softly. “I’ve got Spider-Man to protect me. I think I’m gonna be alright.”
Peter opens his mouth to object, when a portal opens up next to them. Both Tony and Peter flinch, and peer through to see Strange looking at them expectantly.
“What?” Tony says. “You’re actually ruining quite a heartfelt moment here.”
Strange rolls his eyes. “I have a plan.”
Peter’s heart drops and leaps simultaneously. Tony looks at him, almost as if he can sense the panic returning. He pats Peter on the back, and walks through the portal. Peter follows hesitantly.
“I want to preface that the chances of this working are slim,” Doctor Strange announces. “It’s experimental. It’s dangerous.” He looks at Tony. “It might… hurt.”
Peter bites his lip, and rubs a knuckle on his nose anxiously.
“Just tell us the plan,” Tony says commandingly. Strange sighs, but he straightens his posture, and begins casting a rune that presents a vibrant three-dimensional projection of a brain.
“What is this, AP Bio–” Tony starts.
“You want the plan?” Strange interrupts harshly. “Then let me finish.”
The spell settles, and the room glows with unnatural orange light. Peter and Tony cast their eyes on the brain, and Strange approaches them both.
“First and foremost, I am a neurosurgeon. This–”
“Oh, is wizard just a pastime–”
“Stark.”
“Yep.”
Strange clears his throat. “This,” and he gestures to a small part of a side of the projected brain, “is the temporal lobe. It controls several functions of the body, but it’s primary function is to–”
“Control memory,” Peter finishes, staring at the glowing section of the brain. He darts his eyes to Strange, who has stopped speaking. His eyes seem to flick between him and Tony amusedly. Peter gulps. “Sorry, I– sorry. Continue.”
“The hippocampus,” says Strange, “stores most memories. The amygdala also plays a part in this. My plan is to cast a number of linear-reversal spells upon these portions of the temporal lobe, in order to perhaps restore the memories removed.”
Peter thinks for a moment, but Tony beats him by saying, “You want to cast a time spell on– on my brain?”
Strange pauses. “Not necessarily. The aim will be to reverse any residual sorcery on your brain, assuming my previous self cast the spell in this way. If all goes well, you will remember young Peter here, whilst retaining your memories of the past six months.”
If all goes well. The thought hits Peter like a train. He frantically shakes his head. “Nope, no– you’re not– that is unbelievably dangerous. There is no way I’m letting that happen.”
Tony blinks at him. “What else can we do?”
Peter throws his hands up and starts pacing. “Uh, you could do not this? This is– you’re talking about potentially losing memories. Memories of your kid. Just to gain some other lousy memories back–”
“So that’s the worst case scenario? Worst case is I forget maybe six months, a small chunk, of my kid’s life–”
Peter scowls. “How are you even remotely okay with–”
“–in exchange for remembering my other kid’s entire life.”
Peter snaps his mouth closed. Oh.
He wants to say something– anything to convince Tony not to do this. How can he explain that he’s not worth the risk? He’s good for nothing but some dodgy luck that gets everyone around him killed. He’s just–
Tony walks over to him. “I know the risk, Pete. I’m willing to do this.”
Doctor Strange clears his throat, and they both jerk their heads towards him. “I don’t want to ruin the mood here,” Strange says. “Technically the worst case scenario is that you forget everything. You resort back to your baser instincts as an infant. Or your brain deforms.”
Peter pales. He feels like he’s going to be sick. There’s a ringing in his ears and he can see Tony make some clever remark about how his brain is already deformed but he can’t really hear it and he doesn’t know what to do – I’m not worth all this.
“I’m going to need a large space. Potentially reinforced if things get, uh, messy,” says Strange.
Tony nods. “I got a place. The Compound’s got a lockdown mode in the training room.”
When Strange raises an eyebrow, Tony just says, “The green guy used to get a little excited from time to time.”
Strange summons a portal, revealing the Avengers Compound training room. Peter sees Tony look back at him, and he walks over to Peter. “I know you don’t like this, kid.”
Peter looks him in the eyes. Two souls, bared to each other. “I hate it.”
The corners of Tony’s mouth turn up. “C’mon. Let’s get this show on the road.”
**************
Strange sets up a primitive form of a rune circle in the training room. He mutters to himself as he flicks and waves his hands about. It would be slightly amusing to watch if Peter wasn’t aware of the reason behind it.
Tony also watches intently. They’re both stood stiff, as if moving a muscle might interrupt and ruin the spell. Maybe Tony’s thinking about what happened last time.
Peter can’t think about it.
Before long, Strange walks over to the two of them.
“I’m ready,” he states. He turns to Peter. “I’d suggest you leave the room, Parker. Get some rest. It might be a while.”
“Wait,” Peter says quickly, “I can’t stay here? Why can’t–”
“Peter,” Tony says calmingly. “Listen to the wizard.”
Strange nods. “As the sorcerer, I am protected from the effects of the spell. Anyone in the mere perimeter of the rune circle is at risk of being affected. This includes you.”
Peter shrinks into himself. “Okay. I’ll just–”
“You know the way around, Pete?” Tony asks.
Peter nods.
“See you on the other side, kid,” says Tony, loudly as if to reassure himself too.
Peter heads towards the door, automatically opening as he approaches. It shuts behind him with a gentle hiss. A moment later, there’s some whirring and the sound of pistons pushing and pulling, and Peter knows Tony’s activated the security lockdown.
He’s only seen it done once before, when training with Hulk got a little hairy. Back then, Peter had preferred to be on the outside. Now, he’s barely handling it.
He shakes his head. He could sit here for hours and conjure up different scenarios about what’s going on in that room, but it would only serve to make him more upset. He doesn’t think the wallowing would be particularly very helpful.
Looking around, he feels uneasy looking at the Compound. It’s the same, but different. Although every piece of furniture remains in the same spot, they lack the decorations of half-read books and mugs. It wasn’t very cosy to begin with, Peter admits, but there were generally tell-tale signs of life throughout its halls. It’s kind of… barren, now.
Still, the layout is the same, and Peter’s got nothing but time to kill, so he explores.
He hits the lounge first, attached to a fancy kitchen that was used mostly by the likes of Bruce and Sam, surprisingly. The couches aren’t skewed to face the TV like they normally were; instead they’re placed perfectly perpendicular. It’s unnatural, and Peter feels strange looking at them.
He thinks this must have been what it was like when May’s apartment got sold. All the walls and windows are the ones he used to draw on and stare out, and the place stands on the foundations it always has, and yet – it’s not the same. The life is gone. It’s empty, in all the ways that count.
The lounge is not the place to be, Peter decides. He tries the smaller training rooms.
There’s fond memories here too, and the organised layout of the shelves and weights is not as unusual to Peter’s eyes. He remembers sparring with Sam here, once. Sam had been glad to fight a bug superhero that couldn’t shrink. Peter didn’t get that until later that night, amongst Chinese takeout and boardgames, when Sam had explained his first interaction with Ant-Man.
Peter smiles wistfully at the room, and leaves. The realisation that these memories remain in no one else’s mind but his sinks pitifully in his stomach, but he chooses to ignore it. Remembering means that it happened, and he’s got to be grateful for that. He was shaped by this place, by these people. Forgetting the memories would be doing himself a disservice.
The last stop – and the one that Peter is avoiding – is the bedrooms. He goes anyway.
He expects the empty room. He expects the missing posters and knick-knacks that cluttered his shelves and desk. He expects it.
But it still hurts. It hurts terribly.
The final confirmation that he never wanted to see. His existence forgotten from the minds of everyone he loved.
The bedroom is empty, because Peter Parker isn’t real.
He stumbles in and sits on the bed. Hospital corners. White linen sheets. It’s so… clean.
The mattress is still the same. The pillows are still the same. He’d know he was lying in this room even if the carpet was stripped and the walls were a different colour.
He looks around the room, and can practically map out where every single object of his used to sit. His Rubik’s Cube (the five-by-five, because Tony insisted on ‘exercising his mind’) was always set in its stand on the left side of the desk. Above the desk was an Empire Strikes Back poster, an original from 1980 that Peter never wanted to know the cost of. His Iron-Spider charging-pod sat in the corner across from his bed.
If he pretends, it’s all still there. If he pretends, he’s at home. He wants to pretend.
He lies down, despite every better instinct telling him to stay awake, to be alert, to make sure everything is okay.
But he’s tired.
He’s so tired.
****************
“–God, I just– I can’t even imagine. He’ll never stop stressing me out. I feel like I’m doomed to get grey hairs early.”
Peter shifts in his sleep, and sniffles. “You’re already goin’ grey…” he mumbles into the pillow.
Tony sucks in a breath, and–
Holy shit.
That’s–
Is that–
Peter’s eyes shoot up, and he flies up from the bed. He hears an “easy, Pete.” coming from somewhere, but his heart is jack-hammering so loud he might have imagined it. His eyes lock onto Tony, and he stills, despite his racing pulse.
He blinks. Tony’s still there. He thinks he sees Doctor Strange leave the doorway. He blinks again, just to be sure. Tony’s there.
“You’re okay,” is all Peter can say.
Tony grins. “Yeah, bud,” he says softly, “I’m okay.”
Peter just about throws himself across the room, barrelling into Tony’s chest. Tony catches him with a gasped ‘oomph!’ and immediately wraps his arms around him.
Peter feels Tony bury his face into his hair, and a familiar sting pierces his eyes. He lets it happen.
“I’m okay, kiddo,” Tony repeats. “It worked.”
Peter burrows further into the embrace. He doesn’t want to look up. If he opens his eyes and it’s all a dream–
“Look at me, Pete.” – and Peter can’t deny himself any longer.
He looks, and Tony’s looking back, and it’s the same Tony as however-long-ago but it’s not because there’s recognition, and there’s warmth in his gaze and there’s the ‘dad smile’ and it’s really, finally him.
“You remember?” Peter croaks. “You–”
Tony nods, a little disbelievingly. “I remember, Peter. I remember you.”
Tears fall, heavy with pain and anguish. Tony wipes them away, because he is strong. He pulls Peter in for another hug, resting his chin upon Peter’s head.
“My kid,” he whispers mournfully to himself. “How could I forget my kid?”
Peter lets out a sob, and rasps out, “Tony…”
Tony doesn’t say anything to that, except Peter feels him hold on a little tighter. He notices small droplets falling on his head – Tony is crying, too.
The moment is overwhelming. It’s everything. Standing here, Peter wonders how he ever managed being alone. He hates being alone.
He’s not alone anymore.