Work Text:
"I lied to your aunt."
That was what finally brought him to a halt. After the shuddering, terrifying awakening, with Mr. Stark nowhere to be found. After the wizard saying something odd about time and calmly bullying the rest of them into locating a ship. Flying toward home, not knowing what they'd find, hardly speaking, feeling suspended in amber light.
After Iron Man met them before they'd even hit orbit, clanking out of the airlock, looking around, grabbing his shoulder once, moving to the dashboard and interfacing with it.
"Avengers, this is Iron Man confirming intergalactic guests and wayward heroes."
A crackle, a voice: "Confirmed, sending landing coordinates." A rustling and another voice: "Quill, you asshole, where have you been?"
The Guardians clustering around the radio, and Iron Man leaving them to it, nodding to Dr. Strange, and pulling Peter to the rear of the ship. There's a low sound on the edge of his enhanced hearing, and Peter wonders if Mr. Stark is talking to his suit.
"Okay," he finally says through the suit's speakers. "Preliminary scan says scrapes, bruises, and dehydration." The heavy gauntlets rubbing his upper arms roughly. "You're okay."
Peter just nods, still numb.
Then maybe he loses some time, because they're landing and being hustled out into an Avengers facility. Mr. Stark tells him how to retract parts of his suit while keeping his mask on so he can get checked out by an actual doctor who addresses him as Spider-Man.
Someone leads him into a pale blue room with a bed and a bathroom. There's a Gatorade on the bedside table and he drinks it in one go. Then there's a knock and a voice, and Iron Man is in the room. "Sit before you fall down," and Peter sits on the bed.
"I lied to your aunt."
"What?"
"She's okay, she's fine, I mean, she's worried, but fine, but before I call and let her know you're here, I needed to tell you." He pauses, but Peter just stares at him. Lied about what? "I told her that you were with adults who would watch out for you. I told her you were okay."
Oh. That.
Suddenly he can't stand looking at the impassive face of the armor, and he stands up in a burst of panic, blurting, "Are you here? It's okay if you're not, but I'm not talking to a subroutine or something, awesome as your AIs are--"
But the armor is already retracting, and Tony Stark is alive and reaching out and he's holding on and nothing is taking him away this time and part of his brain thinks about sealing the mask on the spidersuit so he won't get snot all over, but the reality of cloth on his face where he's buried it in Mr. Stark's shoulder is impossible to give up. "Hey, hey," Mr. Stark says gently.
"I think I died," Peter mumbles miserably without letting go. "It was horrible."
"I know, kid, I was there." There's something awkward and hitching in his voice, and Peter pulls back a little. Mr. Stark is a mess. He looks like he hasn't slept in a week, and he jerks one hand up to rub his eyes, but they're still red and damp. "Sorry about the armor thing, I didn't want you to see..."
Peter shakes his head and actually feels himself smile a little, even though he's also still crying. He just lets himself lean forward again, feeling strong arms around him, one hand tentative but soothing on his back. "Real," he finally manages to say. "I'm really here."
Mr. Stark's hands clench for a moment. "Yeah, you're here. You're okay. Listen, a lot of people went through... that... but not everyone remembers much. Some remember more. As much as we could use an appointment with a galactic empire with a specialty in planet-wide therapy, for now I can put you in touch with some other Avengers who also... are back now."
Peter giggles, and he sounds delirious, even in his own ears. "Then I'm still an Avenger?"
"You took stupid risks and fought for the galaxy when you didn't have to. That's basically the definition." Peter feels himself sway a little. "Jesus, lie down, kid. How long have you been awake?"
"Dunno." He sits on the bed when pushed, then slumps over, closing his eyes. Orange-pain-death- His eyes snap open, heart pounding. Still in this peaceful, bland, hotel-like room. No time has actually passed, because Mr. Stark is still standing nearby, looking down at him.
"Yeah, okay. FRIDAY, give us some music or something." Something peaceful and orchestral fills the silence, and Mr. Stark drags an armchair over next to the bed and sits down. Peter feels himself flush at the idea that he needs a babysitter, but he's also so grateful that he's not going to be left alone. "Peter. Sleep. It's... it's not okay, but you're safe."
"Okay." He lies down on one side, one hand near the edge of the bed, and tries closing his eyes again. He feels a hand in his and takes a deep breath, utterly wrung out. "Thanks," he whispers without opening his eyes.
----
When Peter wakes up, he's alone, and he has no idea what time it is, or what day. The dim lights brighten as he sits up, and a feminine voice speaks: "You have one message, Spider-Man."
Then Mr. Stark's voice: "Borrowed your fancy duds for a diagnostic, take a shower and get something to eat. Ask FRIDAY if you need anything."
Sure enough, the comforting weight of the new spidersuit is missing, and he's only wearing the remains of his old costume, much the worse for wear. He strips out of it for a quick, hot shower, and feels a bit more awake afterward. Wrapped in a fluffy, oversized towel, he notices a microwave and finds more Gatorade and some microwavable burritos in a small fridge. Three bottles and one and a half large burritos down and he's feeling more grounded.
He eyes the dusty, sweaty rags that were once clothing and decides to try his luck with the AI. "Um, Friday?"
"Hi! What can I do for you?"
"Uh, okay, well. Do you know if there are any spare pants around here that I could maybe borrow?"
"Have you looked in the dresser?"
He actually hasn't. The closet and drawers have always been empty at the few hotels he's stayed in, after all, and this room feels like a hotel. He opens a drawer, and finds underwear and socks. The next one holds t-shirts, the next, jeans and slacks. Not an insane number of clothes, but what looks like a full wardrobe. He looks around again at the anonymous space. "Friday, is this someone's room?"
"What do you mean? This is your room."
He pulls out a pair of jeans - his size. He opens the closet, and there's some athletic-looking clothing and a jacket, and... on the floor of the closet is his backpack. His backpack, the one he'd left under the bridge before... before everything. He pulls it out. It's still got his homework in it, but everything smells of car exhaust and the river.
He remembers being on the rising spaceship, thinking, I guess it doesn't matter that I didn't finish the history report. But this, in this hands, means that history class is a real thing. Part of his real life. He wonders whether people were in class when it happened. His school probably still exists, but the idea of caring about his history grade seems faint and far-off. Actually, everything seems faint and far-off, and the lady AI is saying something and he's sitting on the floor and he's not sure when that happened.
"Hey, hey! Goddamnit." He comes back to himself in a rush to find Mr. Stark crouched next to him, shaking one shoulder.
Peter blinks rapidly and manages to say, "Yeah, yes, what?"
Mr. Stark falls back to sit on the floor and blows out a long breath. "Stop scaring years off my life, kid. Seriously."
"I'm okay. I just..." he flings the backpack back into the closet.
"Yup, you are definitely going to therapy."
Peter rolls his eyes, but it feels like an old habit that doesn't fit. "What is all this, anyway?" he asks, gesturing toward the clothing.
"It's yours. FRIDAY, didn't you tell him?"
"Sure did, boss."
"See?" He stands and moves away, continuing, "So get dressed and then come down to the lab. This section is locked down right now; you don't have to put a bag over your head or anything." And then he's out the door.
---
When Peter reaches the lab (FRIDAY was better than GPS), Mr. Stark is using one of his holographic interfaces to control what looks like a microcircuitry laser, and Peter's sure he'd be able to understand it if the whole rig would keep still for half a second.
"Okay, good timing, c'mere, c'mere." When Peter jogs over, he's promptly spun around and something heavy is pressed against his back. Then the new spidersuit is forming around him again and Peter lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Mr. Stark prods him into position and scans him from every angle, then instructs him to jump a few times and climb onto the ceiling. While he's up there, Mr. Stark says, in an overly casual voice, "Is this okay? Keeping this suit, I mean. I can make you something new, maybe a different color, no problem."
"No! I mean, I really like this suit, you don't have to..."
"Seriously, no problem if you want something different." He glances up at Peter briefly. "Just think about it."
And now there's no use pretending he doesn't understand. Peter swallows. "I will. But, I mean, this suit didn't just bring me there. It brought me home." Of course, now Peter's thinking about home and asks, "Does Aunt May know I'm here?"
"Not yet."
Peter sighs and Mr Stark glances up. "I should call her, right? Of course, I know I should," Peter says. "But, jeez, what do I say? Sorry I skipped school to go to outer space? Oh, just so you know, I was dead for a while, so I might be a little screwed up now!" He's pacing on the ceiling now, back and forth. "I promised not to lie to her anymore, but what if she freaks out, and..."
He looks down, and Mr. Stark is just focused on the holographic readouts monitoring his suit, and he's suddenly angry. "You told her I was okay. Why did you tell her anything?" Peter blurts out. "If so many people died, why lie about it? Why say anything at all?"
"You think I need a reputation for endangering minors, on top of everything else?" His voice is dismissive and casual, but he still isn't looking at Peter.
"It didn't happen because I was out there. So that's bullshit." The curse makes the older man look up.
"Maybe I needed it to be true," he snaps. Mr. Stark takes a breath and mutters, "I, selfishly, needed you to be okay." He goes back to the interface.
Peter feels awkward in the silence. Mr. Stark looks a little better than he had earlier, but not that much. Peter finally flips lightly to the floor and retracts his mask. "I'm glad it didn't turn out to be a lie," he offers softly. "I... I'll be okay. I know I've been freaking out. Sorry about-"
But Mr. Stark suddenly turns on him in fury. "Don't you fucking apologize to me. Not ever. You have every right to as many freak-outs as you..." He starts speaking low and fast, his eyes fixed on Peter's. "Listen up. This is one of those 'do as I say, not as I do' moments. Take it from someone who makes shitty decisions about their health. You deserve as much time and help as you can stand, but you're not going to get that, because I know as soon as someone else needs help, you're going back out there. So here's what's going to happen. You have a room here, as long as you want it, whenever you want it. You will get hand-to-hand training. You will run drills with other Avengers. You will tell me the moment anything so much as hiccups in your suit interface. You will swear to call for backup when you need it. You will accept whatever therapy seems best to you, including whatever weird Kumbaya-thing Falcon recommends. And if you agree to all that, I will let you out of this highly secure facility to return to school and stopping convenience store robberies and whatever the fuck else teenagers do with their time."
Peter blinks twice, then unexpectedly feels himself start to smile. "Mr. Stark, did you just threaten to ground me at Avengers headquarters? Because, I mean, I don't think you have the authority to do that."
"Just keep pushing, kid, and you'll find out."
Peter laughs a little and raises his hands in surrender. "Yeah, okay, okay. I can agree to all that. And I think...I think I'm going to need to talk to someone about... everything. But right now I should call Aunt May."
"Here." Mr. Stark tosses him a smartphone. "It's got a few more options than you'll find in the mass market."
"Thanks." The phone opens to his fingerprint, even through the suit. "I'll just..." he gestures toward the door.
"Go on, get. Let me know when you need a ride; I think Strange already made himself scarce or he could lend you a portal."
"Okay. Seriously, though, thanks for... Thanks for being here, and, and looking out for me."
"Shit, kid. I don't want to know the trouble you'd get in otherwise." But Mr. Stark's voice is a little rough with some barely hidden emotion, so Peter just ducks out the door so he can pretend he didn't notice.
In the hallway, Peter leans against the wall and takes a few long breaths, then flexes his fingers, focusing on the way the spidersuit shifts against his skin and reminds him that he's safe. Then he makes a call.
"Aunt May, it's me. Yeah, sorry, I've been through some stuff, I know you worried. But... yes, they're taking care of me. I'll be home soon. I'll be okay."