Chapter Text
The containment chamber looked ridiculous.
At least, that's what Clint had called it when they'd first moved Peter into it.
Now nobody was laughing.
The reinforced glass enclosure had originally been designed for enhanced threats. Things capable of tearing through concrete walls or throwing cars across city blocks. The sort of place nobody ever expected Peter Parker to end up.
Yet there he was.
Asleep on the narrow cot inside.
Tony hadn't taken his eyes off him for nearly an hour.
The kid looked rough.
Dark circles sat beneath his eyes. His lower lip was split from the fight earlier. Faint tear stains still lingered on his face despite Bruce's best efforts to clean him up.
And somehow this version was easier to look at than the one Tony couldn't get out of his head.
The black eyes.
The black veins.
The tears.
God.
Tony rubbed a hand over his face.
"Bruce."
The scientist glanced up from his tablet.
"Hm?"
Tony's voice sounded exhausted even to himself.
"Anything?"
Bruce sighed.
"I don't know, Tony."
Not the answer anyone wanted.
"I've compared blood samples three times. His vitals are stable. His brain activity is elevated but nothing I've never seen before."
Bruce gestured toward the screen.
"It's not an infection."
Tony's jaw tightened.
"Then what the hell is it?"
The irritation slipped into his voice before he could stop it.
Nobody called him out for it.
Because everyone was frustrated.
Everyone was scared.
"Tony."
Natasha's voice cut through the room.
Still rough from earlier.
The bruises around her throat were beginning to darken.
Tony immediately looked away.
Another reminder.
Another thing Peter was going to blame himself for.
Bruce set the tablet down.
"I don't know, Tones."
The room fell quiet.
Nobody liked hearing Bruce admit defeat.
Especially not when Peter was involved.
Clint eventually dropped into the chair beside Tony.
The movement drew several annoyed looks from the others.
Mostly because Clint looked far too relaxed for the situation.
"We all know how much you adore the kid."
Tony immediately glared at him.
"Don't."
"Hell, half of us thought he was your secret love child."
"Clint."
"I'm just saying."
"Keep talking and you'll be the one in the containment cell."
Clint wisely shut up.
For approximately three seconds.
Steve sighed and took the chair instead.
"I'll do the talking."
"Good."
Steve folded his arms.
"We all know you think of Peter as your son."
"No, I don't."
A pause.
Tony looked toward the glass chamber.
"Well."
Another pause.
"Maybe."
That earned a few small smiles.
Even Natasha looked amused.
Steve nodded.
"Right."
Tony hated when Steve did that.
The whole calm understanding thing.
It was annoying.
"You've been sitting here for hours."
"So?"
"So," Steve continued patiently, "do you think Peter would appreciate seeing you like this when he wakes up?"
Tony looked down at himself.
Wrinkled shirt.
Coffee stains.
Untouched food.
Probably looked like he'd aged ten years.
"I've looked worse."
"You've definitely looked worse."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
Steve's expression softened.
"But that's not the point."
Tony leaned back in his chair.
The exhaustion he'd been avoiding finally caught up with him.
"It just sucks."
Nobody interrupted.
Because they all knew what he meant.
"The last conversation we had ended with him thinking I was calling him a burden."
The words hung heavily in the air.
Tony stared through the glass.
"He was upset."
"Tony—"
"I know what I meant."
His voice cracked slightly.
"I know I didn't mean it like that."
The image flashed through his mind again.
Peter standing from the table.
Looking down.
Sorry for being a burden.
Tony swallowed hard.
"And now he's stuck in there because I couldn't even get through one conversation without screwing it up."
The room remained silent.
Nobody had a magical response.
Because there wasn't one.
Eventually Natasha spoke.
"Peter knows you care about him."
Tony huffed.
"Could've fooled me."
"It couldn't."
Everyone turned toward her.
Natasha shrugged.
"The kid follows you around like a duckling."
A snort escaped Clint.
Tony pointed at him.
"Don't."
"I'm not saying anything."
"You were about to."
"I absolutely was."
For the first time all night, the corner of Tony's mouth twitched upward.
The moment didn't last.
A faint sound came from inside the containment chamber.
Everyone froze.
Something shifted.
Tony's head snapped toward the glass.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then—
"M'r... S-Stark..."
The voice was barely audible.
Slurred.
Weak.
Tony was on his feet before anyone else could react.
Peter had pushed himself upright.
His movements looked sluggish.
Disoriented.
The kid blinked against the bright lights.
"Pete."
Relief flooded Tony's chest so quickly it hurt.
Peter's eyes found him.
Normal.
Brown.
Human.
For a brief moment, everything seemed okay.
Then Peter looked around.
His expression immediately changed.
Confusion.
Fear.
Panic.
"Mr. Stark?"
His voice cracked.
"Why am I in here?"
Tony exchanged a glance with Bruce.
Nobody had prepared for this conversation.
"Pete—"
"What's wrong with me?"
Peter was already standing.
His breathing quickened.
"Why am I in a containment cell?"
His gaze landed on Natasha.
The bruises.
The dark marks around her throat.
Peter went pale.
"Oh God."
His voice broke.
"Nat."
The room's temperature seemed to drop.
"Nat, what happened to your neck?"
Nobody answered quickly enough.
Peter's eyes widened.
"No."
The realization hit.
"No, no, no—"
"Pete, calm down."
Tony stepped closer to the glass.
"It's okay."
"It's not okay!"
The panic was spiraling now.
Peter stumbled backward.
His hands shook.
"What did I do?"
"You weren't yourself."
"What does that even mean?"
The tears returned.
"I don't remember anything."
Then everything stopped.
Peter froze.
Completely.
The change happened instantly.
Like someone had flipped a switch.
Tony felt his stomach drop.
Black veins spread beneath Peter's skin.
Crawling across his neck.
His jaw.
His face.
The familiar brown eyes disappeared.
Replaced by endless black.
Several Avengers instinctively tensed.
Peter's head slowly tilted.
The panic vanished.
A smile spread across his face.
Wrong.
Too wide.
Too knowing.
The thing wearing Peter laughed.
The sound made Tony's skin crawl.
"Open the door."
Nobody moved.
The smile widened.
"Open."
"No."
Steve answered immediately.
The creature's eyes shifted toward him.
For several seconds, it simply stared.
Then it laughed again.
A low.
Unsettling sound.
"Then watch."
Before anyone could react—
Peter slammed his forehead into the reinforced glass.
The impact echoed through the room.
Tony froze.
"What the—"
Another hit.
Harder.
Blood appeared immediately.
"Peter!"
Another.
The entire chamber shook.
"Stop!"
Clint was already on his feet.
Bucky moved toward the controls.
Peter smashed his head against the glass again.
And again.
And again.
Each impact left more blood behind.
The thing inside him never stopped smiling.
Tony felt tears burning behind his eyes.
"Peter, stop!"
The words came out desperate.
The creature ignored him.
Another sickening crack echoed through the room.
Natasha swore.
Bruce looked horrified.
Steve was already moving.
"We have to get in there."
"It's bait," Natasha warned.
"I know."
Another impact.
More blood.
More laughing.
Tony couldn't watch anymore.
"Open it."
"Tony—"
"Open the damn door."
The containment chamber unlocked.
The moment the containment door opened, Peter attacked.
Or rather, the thing controlling Peter did.
The creature moved with terrifying efficiency, using Peter's strength without any of his restraint. Steve was the first to go down, thrown across the room hard enough to dent the reinforced wall. Sam wasn't there to help this time. Natasha barely managed to avoid a strike that shattered a medical workstation behind her.
"Peter!" Tony shouted.
The thing wearing Peter's face laughed.
A cold sound.
Wrong.
"H-He can't hear you."
Bucky charged.
The symbiote caught his metal arm and slammed him into the floor.
The entire room shook.
"Shut up," Clint snapped.
The creature tilted its head.
Almost curious.
"He's gone."
A smile spread across Peter's face.
"He's not coming back."
"Shut. Up." Natasha's voice came out sharp as a blade.
The symbiote only laughed harder.
It seemed to enjoy their reactions.
Every word was designed to hurt.
Every sentence chosen with purpose.
"You should have seen him."
Tony froze.
The black eyes shifted toward him.
"Begging."
The room went silent.
"Shut up," Steve growled.
The symbiote smiled.
"He cried."
Another attack came before anyone could respond.
The fight dragged on.
Not because the Avengers weren't skilled.
Because none of them wanted to hurt Peter.
Every punch was pulled.
Every attack held back.
Meanwhile the symbiote showed no such hesitation.
Minutes later, the room looked like a war zone.
Broken equipment littered the floor.
Glass covered every available surface.
Steve sat against a wall trying to catch his breath.
Natasha struggled to stand.
Bucky was barely keeping himself upright.
Even Tony's armor showed damage.
The symbiote stood in the center of it all.
Untouched.
Victorious.
Its gaze swept over the room.
Then it laughed.
"What would the kid think?"
The question echoed through the ruined chamber.
"What would little Peter Parker think if he saw all of you like this?"
Nobody answered.
The creature took another step forward.
"Half-dead."
Its smile widened.
"Because of him."
Something changed.
Tiny.
Almost impossible to notice.
A tremor.
A hesitation.
The black eyes flickered.
The smile faltered.
Tony saw it immediately.
"Pete."
The creature's head jerked.
"No."
A different voice.
Peter's voice.
Weak.
Broken.
But there.
The room froze.
"Pete?" Bucky whispered.
The kid staggered.
One hand flew to his head.
The black veins pulsed violently beneath his skin.
"No."
The word came out strained.
Peter's breathing became ragged.
His gaze moved across the room.
Toward Natasha.
Toward Steve.
Toward Clint.
Toward Tony.
Seeing the damage.
Seeing the injuries.
Seeing what had happened.
Horror flooded his expression.
"I'm sorry."
The apology came out as a whisper.
The symbiote immediately fought back.
Peter doubled over.
A scream tore from his throat.
"Peter!" Tony started forward.
"Don't!"
The shout echoed through the room.
Everyone stopped.
Peter looked terrified.
Not of them.
Of himself.
His hands shook violently.
Tears streamed down his face.
"I'm sorry," he repeated.
The black veins continued crawling across his skin.
The creature was trying to take control again.
Everyone could see it.
Peter could too.
Which was why he made a decision.
One that terrified Tony the moment he saw it.
Peter stumbled backward toward the containment chamber.
"No," Tony said immediately.
"Pete, don't."
Peter's eyes found his.
For a brief second, Tony saw the same kid from Queens.
Scared.
Exhausted.
Trying so hard to be brave.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark."
Peter grabbed the gun that was sprawled on the floor near his feet.
Tony was already moving.
He pointed the gun towards himself, before locking eyes with Tony one last time.
Then he pulled the trigger.
His body went limp, his head hitting the cold concrete.
"Peter!"
Tony's voice cracked as it echoed through the ruined containment room.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Natasha's hand flew to her mouth.
Steve looked frozen.
Clint stared in disbelief.
Even Bucky seemed rooted to the spot.
Peter collapsed to the floor.
The fight left him all at once.
Whatever strength had been keeping him upright disappeared as his body curled inward. A broken sound escaped him—something between a cry and a scream.
It didn't sound human.
It sounded painful.
Tony never wanted to hear it again.
Peter's hands clawed weakly at the floor beneath him as another scream tore from his throat. His entire body shook uncontrollably.
"Kid—"
Tony was already moving.
Peter couldn't seem to hear him.
The black veins pulsed beneath his skin one final time.
Then suddenly—
Something moved.
A dark substance emerged from the tips of Peter's fingers.
Not blood.
Not skin.
Something else.
Something alive.
The creature seemed almost frantic now, stretching outward as though searching for an escape route.
Bruce reacted instantly.
"Seal it!"
FRIDAY didn't hesitate.
Containment protocols activated throughout the chamber.
Metal barriers slammed shut.
Energy fields crackled to life.
The black mass lunged toward the nearest opening—
And hit reinforced containment instead.
The creature shrieked.
An awful sound that sent chills through everyone in the room.
Then it was trapped.
Finally.
Gone.
The silence that followed felt deafening.
Tony barely spared the creature a glance.
His attention remained fixed on Peter.
The kid looked exhausted.
Completely exhausted.
His eyes fluttered weakly.
Breathing uneven.
Trying so hard to stay conscious.
"Peter."
This time Tony's voice came out much softer.
The teenager's gaze shifted toward him.
Barely.
"Mr..."
The rest of the sentence never came.
Tony felt something inside him crack.
Without another thought, he dropped to his knees and carefully lifted Peter into his arms.
The kid felt far too light.
Far too fragile.
Not like the Spider-Man who threw cars and caught falling buildings.
Just Peter.
Just a sixteen-year-old kid.
"Stay with me."
Tony stood immediately.
"Stay with me, kid."
Peter's head rested weakly against his shoulder.
His eyes kept drifting shut.
"No."
Tony adjusted his grip.
"Hey. Look at me."
Peter tried.
God, he tried.
The effort alone looked exhausting.
"Please."
The word slipped out before Tony could stop it.
"Please stay with me."
Tears blurred his vision.
He didn't bother wiping them away.
"FRIDAY."
His voice shook.
"Get Helen here. Right now."
"Helen Cho has already been notified."
The reply came immediately.
"Medical staff are standing by."
Tony was already moving.
The others followed close behind as he rushed through the compound.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody knew what to say.
Every second felt too long.
Every breath Peter took felt too shallow.
By the time they reached the medical wing, Helen was already waiting.
The medical team moved quickly.
Efficiently.
Professionally.
Tony hated every second of it.
Because eventually they had to take Peter from him.
"Tony."
Helen's voice remained calm.
"We need room to work."
Tony didn't move.
"Tony."
A hand settled on his shoulder.
Steve.
Reluctantly, Tony let go.
The moment Peter left his arms, the fear somehow became worse.
Helen immediately guided the teenager deeper into the medical wing while nurses and equipment surrounded him.
The doors began sliding shut.
Tony took an involuntary step forward.
"Save him."
Helen met his gaze.
Then nodded once.
The doors closed.
And suddenly Tony was standing outside.
Waiting.
Again.
With nothing to do except hope.
.
.
The first thing Peter noticed was the beeping.
Soft.
Steady.
Rhythmic.
The second thing he noticed was the pain.
Not sharp.
Not unbearable.
Just enough to remind him he was still alive.
His eyes opened slowly.
White ceiling.
Medical wing.
The compound.
For one blissful second, he simply stared upward.
Then he remembered.
The memories didn't return gradually.
They hit all at once.
Natasha struggling to breathe.
Sam crashing into the wall.
Bucky flying through the bedroom door.
The black eyes staring back at him in the reflection of the containment chamber.
Tony.
The gun.
The tears.
The fear.
Peter jerked upright so quickly that several monitors immediately began protesting.
"No."
His breathing quickened.
"No, no, no..."
The room blurred around him.
He remembered everything.
Not pieces.
Not fragments.
Everything.
Every second he'd spent trapped inside his own head.
Watching.
Unable to stop it.
A broken sound escaped his throat.
His hands immediately flew to his face.
"Oh God."
Natasha.
The bruises.
The way she'd looked when he wrapped his hand around her throat.
The memory alone made him feel sick.
Peter doubled over.
His stomach twisted violently.
The room suddenly felt too small.
Too warm.
Too loud.
The door opened.
Peter barely noticed.
He was too busy trying not to throw up.
"Pete."
The voice froze him instantly.
Tony.
Peter couldn't look at him.
Couldn't.
Because every time he closed his eyes he saw Tony standing on the opposite side of the room while that thing wore his face.
"Hey."
Tony's voice remained calm.
Careful.
The way people approached injured animals.
Peter hated it.
"Kid."
"I'm sorry."
The words came out immediately.
Before Tony could say anything.
Before he could stop himself.
"I'm sorry."
Tony sighed.
"Pete—"
"I didn't mean to."
Peter's voice cracked.
"I swear I didn't mean to."
The tears came before he could stop them.
"I couldn't stop it."
His hands trembled.
"It was like I was there but I wasn't and I knew what was happening and I couldn't—"
"Peter."
"I hurt everyone."
The sentence broke apart halfway through.
Peter stared down at the blanket.
Unable to look anywhere else.
"I hurt Nat."
The guilt hit harder when he said it out loud.
"I hurt Sam."
Another memory.
Another punch.
Another horrible reminder.
"I hurt Bucky."
His voice dropped even lower.
"And I pointed a gun at you."
The room fell silent.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut.
Because that one hurt the most.
The image refused to leave him.
Tony standing there.
Trusting him.
Even then.
Trusting him.
And Peter had still—
A hand settled carefully on his shoulder.
Peter froze.
Slowly, he looked up.
Tony had moved closer.
Not away.
Closer.
"Look at me."
Peter couldn't.
Tony waited.
Patient.
Eventually, Peter managed it.
The exhaustion on Tony's face was impossible to miss.
The dark circles.
The wrinkled shirt.
The fact that he looked like he hadn't slept in days.
"None of that was your fault."
Peter laughed.
A miserable sound.
"Mr. Stark—"
"It wasn't."
The certainty in Tony's voice left no room for argument.
Peter looked away.
Because if he met Tony's eyes for too long, he might actually believe him.
And right now believing him felt harder than blaming himself.
"You should be mad."
Tony stared.
"What?"
Peter swallowed.
"I almost killed you."
The words sounded ridiculous spoken aloud.
Yet they were true.
Peter remembered every second.
Tony's expression softened.
"Kid."
A pause.
Then—
"The first thing you did after waking up was blame yourself."
Peter didn't answer.
Because that was also true.
Tony leaned back in his chair.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke.
Then Tony sighed.
"About dinner."
Peter immediately groaned.
"Mr. Stark—"
"No."
Tony pointed at him.
"I'm talking first."
The response was so familiar that Peter almost smiled.
Almost.
Tony rubbed a hand across his face.
"I handled that badly."
Peter blinked.
"What?"
"I handled it badly."
The words sounded uncomfortable coming from him.
Which probably meant they were sincere.
"I wasn't trying to call you a burden."
"I know."
"No."
Tony shook his head.
"I don't think you do."
Peter fell quiet.
Tony looked down at his hands.
For a moment, he suddenly seemed much older.
"When I couldn't find you..."
His voice dropped.
Something vulnerable slipped through.
Something Peter rarely got to see.
"I was scared."
Peter froze.
Tony laughed once.
A tired laugh.
"Like, genuinely scared."
The admission seemed to cost him something.
"You disappear into an unknown facility. Nobody can contact you. Nobody can track you."
He shook his head.
"I wasn't angry."
Peter stared.
Tony met his eyes.
"I was terrified."
The room went quiet.
Because somehow that hurt more.
Peter's chest tightened.
"Oh."
Tony nodded.
"Yeah."
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Peter looked down.
"I'm sorry."
Tony immediately rolled his eyes.
"Stop apologizing for everything."
A tiny smile appeared.
The first genuine smile either of them had managed all day.
It didn't last long.
But it was enough.
Enough for Peter to realize something important.
Tony wasn't angry.
The team wasn't angry.
Nobody hated him.
And for the first time since waking up, the weight on his chest felt just a little lighter.
The quiet between him and Tony didn't last long.
The medical wing door slid open, revealing the rest of the team.
Peter immediately sat up straighter.
Steve looked mostly healed. Natasha's bruises had faded considerably. Clint looked perfectly fine, unfortunately.
Then there was Sam.
One arm sat securely in a cast.
Peter's stomach immediately dropped.
"Oh."
Sam followed his gaze.
"What?"
Peter pointed weakly.
"The cast."
Sam looked down at it before letting out a small hum.
"Ah, this?"
Peter visibly deflated.
"Sam, I'm really sorry—"
"You're right, kid."
Peter blinked.
"What?"
Sam grinned.
"You really weren't holding back in the airport."
For a second, the room was silent.
Then Bucky laughed.
Natasha followed.
Clint nearly doubled over.
Even Steve looked like he was fighting a smile.
Peter just stared at them.
"Guys."
That only made them laugh harder.
"The fact that you're making jokes right now is honestly offensive."
"You're one to talk," Sam shot back.
The laughter eventually died down, but Peter's smile didn't.
Not completely.
His gaze drifted back to Sam's arm.
Then to Natasha.
Then to everyone else.
The guilt crept back in.
"I still remember it."
The room quieted.
Peter looked down at his blanket.
"I remember hurting you guys."
Nobody spoke for a moment.
Then Natasha stepped forward and flicked him on the forehead.
"Ow."
"That was for choking me."
Peter looked horrified.
Natasha immediately ruffled his hair.
"And that was because you're okay."
Bucky crossed his arms.
"You still owe me a door."
"You got thrown through it."
"Exactly."
"How does that make it my fault?"
"It was your room."
Peter groaned.
Clint laughed.
Steve shook his head.
And just like that, the room felt normal again.
Tony watched from his chair as Peter rolled his eyes at their arguing.
As Sam complained about his cast.
As Bucky demanded compensation for emotional damages.
As Natasha threatened all three of them.
Peter was smiling.
A real smile.
Not forced.
Not guilty.
Just Peter.
Safe.
Home.
And surrounded by family.
For the first time in days, that felt like enough.