Chapter Text
Their eyes meet over the coffee and hot chocolate passed around. Conversation swells and ebbs between the adults gathered there, but Harley and Peter are not a part of it. They are after all, from a different generation. Peter gets up, uncomfortable around people he never knew well. Tony might have been his mentor, but he has scarcely any contact with the Avengers, or any of the other SHIELD agents here. And he can't bother Pepper while she's comforting Morgan. They have better, bigger things to do.
He wipes his hands on his pants and leaves the room, taking his hot chocolate with him.
"Hey," Harley says, catching up to him outside.
"H-Hey," Peter replies. What do you say to someone you barely know? What do you do after you come home to find the world has tried to move on without you? Five years, people have been gone for five years. People have grown for five years but he's still the same.
"Peter Parker, right?" Harley asks, as if he doesn't know. Peter knows for a fact that Harley does, Pepper mentioned another kid in passing, someone who Tony was fond of as well, who helped to put a few pieces of Tony back together after the ... the thing. Peter had been the one to call him and ask him to come for the funeral.
"You're Harley," Peter says.
"Harley Keener," the other boy says. He offers Peter a tentative fist. Peter bumps it weakly.
"Mr. Stark is really gone," Peter says, staring down at the swirl of milk in his drink. The white contrasts the dark brown of the chocolate in a pretty way.
"Yeah." Harley fiddles with his own cup, leaning against the door to look out at the woods.
He doesn't offer any platitudes, no 'he's in a better place', and 'he's always in our hearts', or 'he would have wanted us to move on'. Harley just lets out a breath of what feels like resignation.
"You know, I have four potato canons, but only three people to use them," Harley says instead. The offhanded remark startles a laugh out of Peter.
"I added some pressurized carbon dioxide and used silicone for a better seal but I need someone to help me graph the aperture for maximum potato-fitability so that the canon can fire three spuds at a time," Harley continues "Since Morgan's too small to know what a fraction is..." he trails off.
Peter looks up from his drink.
It still aches, his chest. It feels like there's a weight on him. All the words he never got to say, all the things he wanted to do, never knowing if he had been good enough for Tony. It hurts fiercely. But somehow, it's a little easier to breathe when Harley's standing beside him.
"I think I can help you with that," Peter says, offering Harley a shaky smile.
May Parker does not want to let Peter out of her sight for longer than necessary. Even persuading her to let him go back to school is a chore. Teachers, educators, governments struggle to coordinate the return of so many people. For children and teens who disappeared and now reappeared, how do they make up their school work? Do they stick to their old syllabi? Are they eligible for college now that they're technically 18? Someone who's ID says they're 21 might not actually be 21 because they spent 5 years gone. Do permanent staff get their jobs back? If they don't, do they get a severance package? Do doctors have to retake their medical exam? Do the apartments rented out to new people have to be returned? Do the economies that flagged due to the lack of workers and spending power suddenly regain their stability? What about the people who perished in cars or planes crashed when drivers disappeared? Are airlines liable? How does insurance work now? Are the returned still eligible for the premiums they paid? There are a million questions and problems popping up everywhere.
Peter can't do much except focus on the one in front of him: going back to school.
Midtown now has an accelerated program. There's a class called 'Civic Classes' that details the happenings over the past 5 years. It contains the bare basics of what the newly returned students need to get into college. Apparently, in the years that Peter has gone, Science has marched on. There are bigger phones, better watches, glow in the dark cats, and a blackhole picture. There are new discoveries, new technology. Some even are Stark Tech.
The only upside to this sudden return is that most of the accelerated classes no longer give long assignments or projects, focusing instead on cramming students full of knowledge so that they too can move on with their lives instead of watching those they once called peers get ahead in the race.
Peter tests out of the hard sciences like Chemistry, Biology, AP Mathematics, and Physics, but has to continue in History, Geology, Spanish, and English for at least another six months before he can take his A-levels and make an attempt at university. He'll have to scrounge up enough for tuition but there are always loans, right? All that matters is that the world is finally moving on. Or trying to, at least.
It makes Peter feel uneasy in a restless, unsure kind of way. It feels like he's waiting for something, but he doesn't know what.
Ned had gone to MIT and was the one who created the new phone tracking apps that helped people stay in contact. He had also created several grief and relief apps for people who needed to mourn or needed help of any sort. MJ had gone to Columbia and was in the middle of getting her double degree. Word had it she tutored kids in her free time to make up for the teachers who disappeared. Cindy Moon, attempting the bar next year, gave a lot of legal advice to people pro bono. Betty Brant, getting her special ed diploma in September. Even Flash Thompson had moved on, joining a community college just to stay close to his grieving mother. He was one of the teens who started the movement to coordinate clean up in the city and take care of the community gardens that had become neglected when their owners disappeared. The people he knew the most are gone, not gone-gone, but still just ... gone.
Peter's accelerated classes are filled with classmates that he doesn't quite know, familiar enough for a quick hi-bye in the hallway, but not familiar enough for chatting to unless it's during Therapy.
Peter dreads school now. He only pushes past it because he can't get to university otherwise. He's faced with dozens of students who feel exactly the same way.
Only texting Harley seems to ease his mood.
PeterP: So, how were the calulations?
Hkeener: The graph worked. 98 out of 100 potatoes can fit in the cannister and spud speeds have hit maximum velocity. Morgan has pretty good aim. You should come see.
The thing about the family is that Peter has never really gotten to know Pepper Potts. Not as well as he would have liked. It feels strange to visit the house of someone not quite close yet not a stranger. Pepper tells him to come over as often as he likes, but it feels like he's intruding on her grief. That maybe, she resents him for coming back, but not Tony.
HKeener: You're overthinking bud. Just come over on the weekend. Pep needs to go to Malibu for REASONS and she's leaving the Morgster with me for an afternoon. It'll be fun.
PeterP: I'll have to ask May.
PeterP: She said no.
Hkeener: wtfbbq u din even ask.
PeterP: maybe so.
HKeener: That meme is five years old
PeterP: ... maybe so.
Hkeener: D:<
Peter laughs. It dies away quickly in his throat. He's only a year older than Peter but the other boy's in uni, tutoring children, running some of SI's operations, tinkering in SI's labs and helping to raise Morgan. Peter's still stuck in highschool.
"Aunt May!" he hollers out the door of his room. He waits until he hears a 'Yes honey?' before continuing.
"Mrs Potts needs a babysitter this weekend and Harley invited me to help."
May appears in the doorway, dishrag still in her hands. She smiles, happy that Peter seems to be holding strong.
"Sure of course, just text me when you leave, halfway there, and then when you get to the house," May says. Despite her smile, there are worry lines. Peter always has to remind her that Tony gave his life and Steve put back all the stones, but it seems she's still skittish about Peter's disappearance. Still, she's trying to be reasonable about it as the world tries to regain its footing.
Peter shakes his head as if that can get the thoughts out. There's no time to dwell. When half the world disappeared, so did the crime, for a certain amount of time. But then when half the world came back, the crime also came back. Queens is teeming with life again, and Peter will be damned before he lets anything hurt it again. Including its own citizens.
Queens needs Spiderman. Peter is Spiderman. Ergo Queens needs Peter and Peter can't just sit around feeling sorry for himself.
Peter opens his closet and stares at the suits in it.
All the previous outfits he received from Tony are still there. May couldn't bear to throw them away. They hang between his formal shirts and his slacks like some beacon. Peter reaches out and runs his hand down the fabric.
His chest hurts again.
Karen, the suit, the watch, the phone, everything. Imprints of Tony left behind.
Peter takes a deep breath and pulls on the mask.
"Hello Peter," Karen greets him.
"How are you doing?" Peter asks.
There's a silence before Karen replies.
"I miss him, Peter." She sounds lost, unsure.
"I do too," Peter says. He sits on the bed, just staring at the suits for another moment.
"Can AIs experience grief?" Karen asks. Her voice is uncharacteristically subdued, small.
"I think you are, right now." Peter reaches out and selects one of the older suits. Not the Iron Spider. He can't, not right now.
"When does this protocol terminate?" Karen asks.
All the Google searches in the world cannot answer that question.
"I don't know, Karen," Peter says honestly. He presses the emblem on the suit and feels it conform to his body. "All I know is there's no one else left to take care of New York, so we gotta do it."
It seems to cheer her up a little. Tony's gone but Queens is still around. Mr Delmar is still making sandwiches. The old crotchety lady across the street still always needs help getting her groceries up the stairs. Muggings need to be stopped. Robbers need to be apprehended.
"You and me, Karen. Just us now," Peter repeats, more for his own benefit than hers.
"Of course, Peter. Just us now."