Archive of Our Own

Peter Parker was many things- an outstanding student, top of his class in every subject. He was a dotting nephew to his aunt, who he loved like his own mother. He was a caring and understanding friend, even if he held very few people in his inner circle. Above all, he was something even more than himself.

He was a Hero.

Peter was a myriad of good and compassionate personality traits wrapped up in a nice and proper young boy. His record was so squeaky clean that even Captain America looked like a monster in comparison. He prided himself on his morality, and although some may say his ideals were a little too black and white for the real world, well- Peter would beg to differ. There wasn’t anything wrong with striving for the absolute best, there was always a way to minimize casualties, even on the opposite side of the battlefeild.

The best fights left the smallest impacts.

It was the perfect balance of outstanding qualities and achievements combined with just enough harmless character flaws that made him who he was. The flaws, as much as he tried to eradicate them, stuck like super glue, burned harshly against his skin as he scrubbed himself raw to rid himself of them.

As much as he tried, he wasn’t perfect, but he was good, and that was enough.

When he was Spider-Man, the people didn’t see flaws, behind the mask, he was barely even human. He was the people’s hero, someone who looked out for the little guy. The feeling he got from a successful patrol filled him with so much good, no drug could ever compare to it.

It’s all he ever wanted, so desperate for the world to see how good he really was, how much he could achieve in their honor.

The incident with the Vulture taught him it was important to do good for the right reasons. As much as he yearned for praise, he recognized that doing what was right only to be rewarded for it didn’t make him a hero. Peter constantly did good for others without any sort of recognition. Hell- that was the whole point of the secret identity, when he was Peter, he was just a regular person. Still, it was nice to be seen sometimes, especially by those he looked up to.

It took months of settling down after the final battle for him to receive any sort of call for his alter ego. It was good, in a way, he needed the time to mourn, to heal. He was lucky he missed the last five years, especially since May, Ned and MJ wouldn’t have been around. He doesn’t know how he would have survived without them, completely alone.

Still, he can’t help but feel every bit of what he lost, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could feel himself break apart at the seams, atoms tearing into two as his body disappeared into Titan’s orange sky, belonging to no one, not even himself.

If he stayed still long enough, he could still feel Tony Stark's arms wrapped around him, clutching onto his body like a safety blanket, desperately trying to hold him together. Whether it be for Mr. Stark’s comfort or for his, Peter didn’t know.

All he did know is if Peter had to die on an alien planet, he was glad it was with him, holding him in his arms until the very end.

It took almost three months for Peter to acknowledge that Mr Stark was gone. After the funeral, he refused to even think about it. He threw himself into rebuilding his life, learning about how the world had changed in his absence and how there were just some people who had moved on so expertly he would never see them again. He found out pretty quickly that Liz had survived the snap, and was now engaged and living across the country.

People do extreme things in order to heal.

When he received the call, he immediately assumed there was some mission he was needed for. He was dreading that call, both desperate to prove that he was ready and afraid of what it would mean that they were so in need of people that they would call upon Mr. Stark’s 16 year old project. Peter almost couldn’t hide his relief at finding out he was just required at the newly built compound for a bit of a debriefing.

Honestly? He was ashamed to say he almost declined the invitation. Being there, seeing it- it would make it all too real. Because Mr Stark wouldn’t be there, and it hurt. It hurt so much that he felt like he would fall over, dry heaving into the earth below him.

But he was better than that, he needed to be better. For Mr Stark, for the world that was left behind, for everyone else they lost along the way.

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Peter felt unbearably small where he sat, more so than he usually did. He could hear the distant murmuring of the people scattered around the building, casually milling about, doing their jobs. He was one of the first to arrive, and tried to distract himself with his phone, unable to focus enough on any of the pre-installed games. It was a bit of a nightmare, honestly, he just wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.

Suddenly, the doors opened, a group of people walking in, their serious stance contradicted their informal civilian attire. Peter had to force himself to stay in his seat, fighting the urge to stand like he did when the principal walked into class, a sign of respect, of authority. Even if everyone pretended he was their equal, he knew he was nothing more than a kid.

He recognized most of them, even if just barely- Bucky and the Falcon were first, making their way across the table from him, barely acknowledging his existence. Banner, still half of the Hulk, at least smiled at him briefly, before taking a seat. The rest, he didn’t recognize- or at the very least, he couldn’t match their faces to their better known superpowered alter egos. He almost wished one of the Guardians were here, but they had returned home with Thor, they weren’t needed on Earth.

The last person to join the group was Nick Fury, which made him shrink into his seat ever so slightly. Peter had only briefly seen him at the funeral, but it wasn't like they had time to sit and chat. Peter was a little busy trying to keep it together, glued to May’s side.

“Glad to see everyone could join us,” Fury glanced at him briefly, before continuing on with his speech. “There aren’t many of us left, so we need all the help we can get.”

Peter hung on to every word he said, desperately trying to convey complete attentiveness. Still- he made no comment, asked no questions, just simply listened. It was obvious that there was no mission for him here- anything important would be delegated to one of the older, more experienced Avengers. It made him feel a certain way, but he quickly buried those feelings down. Now was not the time to be selfish. The little guy still needed him.

“Mr. Parker, as of now, all we need from you is for you to maintain your current patrols. The city needs normalcy, and from what I see, you’ve become a bit of a popular fixture in New York.”

Peter felt his lips tug upwards ever so slightly, before falling back into as serious of a look he could possess. He had no idea if it was working, but he was trying to seem as in control as possible. He nodded, hoping that was enough, and Fury moved on.

The whole thing lasted about an hour, and Peter had never been so glad for something to be over, leaving before anyone could force him to stay and chat.

Exiting the room, Peter turned into the first elevator he could find, pressing the button that led him into the front lobby. He began to descend, but before he could reach his intended destination, the elevator opened up once again.

Pepper Potts looked so much more composed than someone who had been recently widowed. Her white dress suit was crisply ironed out- not one hair out of place. If he looked hard enough, Peter could see the slight hint of bags beneath her eyes, but it was so expertly covered with makeup that to someone who wasn’t superhuman, it would have been impossible to notice.

“Peter!” She exclaimed, brightening exponentially, “I’m so glad I caught you before you left.” Her smile was so genuine, Peter couldn’t help but match it.

“Hi Mrs. Stark, it’s- so nice to see you again.” The words rushed out before he could stop himself, and he meant it. He had really missed her.

“You always loved the formalities, please- call me Pepper, I think we’re there now.” Peter winced slightly, wondering if he was only being given permission because the name “Stark” was too painful for her to hear. Any other time, he would have ignored the request, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that to her.

“Pepper- how have you been?”

“Ok, all things considered,” as the elevator doors opened, she pulled him away from the open lobby and into a corner, sitting him down on one of the many couches. “It was nice to have time away from it all, after everything- time to process.”

“I’m so sorry, for your loss- I mean” Peter stuttered out, because he should have said it earlier, hadn’t even said it once before now. Pepper’s hold on her bag tightened, but her smile didn’t waiver.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, nothing at all,” Her eyes moved away from him, looking up to the ceiling briefly, a far away look in her eyes. “But thank you.”

Peter stayed silent, because she so obviously had more to say, and he didn’t want his mindless rambling to ruin the moment. So he waited, patiently, looking up to where her gaze fell, the new compound covered in Stark tech, a myriad of creations that in some way, immortalized Tony Stark forever in their walls. It was incredibly fitting, for the man’s legacy to live on here forever.

After another moment of silence, Pepper continued.

“All of this, he did it for you.” Peter could swear he felt his heart stop, and without giving him a chance to compose himself, Pepper opened up her purse and pulled out a framed picture. Handing it to him, Peter felt his breath catch in his throat as he was assaulted with the memory of it.

No one at his school had believed in his internship, which made sense, he was just a nerdy high schooler from Queens, why would the famous Tony Stark single him out over the rest of them? Still, it hurt that he was constantly laughed at and berated by everyone, even some of his teachers.

The breaking point was when he was pulled aside by his principal as the lunch bell rang, and brought to his office for a bit of a chat. Mr. Morita then proceeded to spend the next half hour lecturing him on proper etiquette, and how spreading rumours to improve his reputation wasn’t the way to go about things.

That night, Mr Stark had sensed that something was wrong, and Peter, at his wits end, confided in him. He didn’t expect how bothered Mr. Stark would be about the whole thing, and within the hour, Mr. Stark, with the help of Pepper Potts, had all the official documents crediting him as an official Intern at Stark Industries (with a few pictures to go with it.)

That was the first day he had met Pepper.

“The first thing he said, when he landed back here on earth, was that he lost the kid- lost you.” Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, but through it all, she maintained her warm smile, an attempt at comfort. “He wasn’t going to rest, if he knew there was a possibility that you could be brought back,” she continued, moving her hand to his shoulder. He barely felt the weight of it, too focused on the picture handed to him, Mr Stark’s face burned into his brain.

As much as it hurt, he felt himself smile.

“Come on,” Pepper urged, breaking him out of his stupor, “there's someone I want you to meet.”

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It became a tradition, every two weeks he would spend the weekend with Pepper and Morgan. Morgan was incredibly excited to get to know him, Spider-Man being her favourite superhero (other than Iron Man of course). She immediately dragged him into her room to show him all of her drawings of the Avengers, the majority of them being spider themed, red and blue. She also proceeded to pull out several books on different types of arachnids, all bookmarked and carefully kept. Her room almost felt like a shrine to him, it was endearing.

Pepper was a godsend, she was kind and caring in the same way as May was, with the added bonus of understanding how deeply Tony’s loss hurt. On days where the grief was all consuming, they sat on the couch together and cried, pints of ice cream discarded to the side, a single blanket between them. This was usually reserved for after Morgan had gone to bed for the night, something shared just between them.

Months passed relatively the same, and his biweekly visits turned into weekly ones. As much as his Aunt missed him she understood why he had to keep going. It was good for him, he finally wasn’t avoiding the topic of Tony Stark all together. To everyone around him, he appeared to be healing.

“We need to move forward,” Pepper had declared on one of their nights together, like if she said it outloud it would happen. “Tony wouldn’t have wanted us to waste our lives missing him.”

Peter stayed silent, and could only bring himself to nod once, looking away right after. It seemed to be enough for her, as she quickly got up and began cleaning up the empty containers.

The thing was, Peter couldn’t, because moving on felt like giving up, and he couldn’t give up on Mr. Stark. He had lost his parents, his uncle- he couldn’t lose him too.

It wasn’t fair, because why did it have to be him? So many others had the opportunity to wield the gauntlet, and almost all of them were superhuman. Why did the regular human man with heart problems have to be the one?

Grinding his teeth, he made his way off the couch and out of the living room, saying goodnight to Pepper. On his way out, he stopped outside Morgan’s door, peeking in through her bedroom door. He could see her fast asleep, clutching her toy rabbit to her chest.

Peter felt the door almost crack under the force of his hand, grip like iron, and he had to force himself to let go and move into his room.

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All things considered, it was almost comical, how something as small as a phone call could change the course of your life.

It was 5pm on a Thursday, just as Academic Decathlon let out. He was half way down the steps of his school when his phone lit up, “No Caller ID” written across his screen.

“Spider-Man is needed. A car will be there in ten, don’t move.”

It was just that simple.

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He was needed in New Jersey, something about a town going missing- they didn’t want to alert the public, so they only planned on sending a scarce few on site. In fact, they didn’t even plan on using their greatest human weapons, not wanting to alert SWORD of any outside involvement. It seemed that the organisation had been compromised, its director acting irrationally. As they were under the impression that they had the situation handled with Nick Fury unaware, they didn’t want to raise the alarm by involving the Avengers. They had instead initially reached out to Doctor Strange, who had then personally requested backup.

With Thor off world, Bruce too unpredictable, and the Sam/Bucky duo on the other side of the world handling a mission of their own, Peter was the only viable option for what Strange needed.

“Strange will brief you himself, I’m just an overpaid driver,” the woman at the wheel spoke without looking at him, unimpressed at the teen’s lack of control of his limbs, leg bouncing nervously against the passenger door.

She reminded him of Happy just a little bit, and Peter didn’t understand why that thought brought a bitter taste to his mouth.

The rest of the ride was relatively quiet, and Peter couldn’t even bring himself to do anything but stare out of the car window, watching the rain pour down against the glass, unrelenting. He had a feeling that he was about to be pushed way out of his comfort zone, and Doctor Strange didn’t seem like the “kind hearted mentor” type.

Of course, Tony Stark hadn’t always been either, so maybe he was passing judgement too quickly.

He was the first face he saw after waking up that day, shaking him awake and out of his head, pulling him up and informing him of what Peter had previously thought had happened just moments ago, was in fact five years into the past.

The car stopped in front of a large building, composed of large circular windows and tall marble columns- it looked like something straight out of the pages of Harry Potter. He snorted to himself, because wizards- duh, and then quickly shuffled out of the car, a quick thank you mumbled to the driver.

Before he could fully step out of the car, a clearing of her throat stopped him. He initially feared that she was expecting him to pay her, which would be really bad for him considering the fact that he had used up the last of his money on lunch that day. Ready to come up with an excuse, the woman instead pulled something out of her jacket.

“I was told to give you this, a gift from Stark.” Wordlessly, he took what was handed to him: a slick wooden case that fit heavily in the palm of his hand. He slowly cracked it open, as delicately as he could, and was surprised to find a pair of glasses tucked snugly inside. Worried he would ruin them in the rain, he quickly shoved them into his bag, zipping it all the way up and slinging his bag back onto his shoulder.

Steeling himself, Peter walked up into the building, pushing lightly against the front entrance, shaking himself off in an attempt to rid himself of some of the rain soaking into him. He ran his hand through his hair in order to make it appear more presentable, but it had already started to curl out of its gel, frizzing up with the humidity of the sanctum. He tried to not let it get to him, as he slowly made his way to the centre of the room.

“Doctor Strange?” He called out, hoping that someone would hear him- but to no avail. He waited a few seconds before calling to him again, but the man was a no-show. Frustrated, he began to look around for another door, something that would possibly indicate where Strange could be hiding. He was a wizard after all; he could literally be anywhere, be anything. Peter wondered briefly if this was some sort of test, a way to see if he was worthy of the mission.

“Could have just made it easy and given me his phone number,” he grumbled to himself, walking towards a bookshelf on the other side of the room.

The bookshelf itself mostly housed old looking novels, books that seemed older than his own grandparents (if they had still been alive). They seemed too perfectly placed to be recently looked at, yet remained pristine in condition, no dust or stain afflicting them, as if they were newly purchased and just let out of their plastic packaging.

On the third shelf on the right, there was what appeared to be a relic of some kind, ornate and adorned with gold flakes, weaved throughout it’s exterior. Peter had the sudden urge to touch- to hold it up to himself and look closer. With barely any hesitation he began to move closer, slowly reaching out.

“Don’t touch that.”

A voice behind him shook him out of his trance. Abruptly, he turned around, hands up in the air in defense. Doctor Strange was looking at him with a sort of contempt he couldn’t understand. Arms crossed in front of him, Strange remained where he was like a statue, just as towering as the columns outside his home.

“Didn’t your parents teach you not to touch what didn’t belong to you?”

“My parents are dead.” Peter snapped, before quickly becoming embarrassed at his outburst, stammering out a “sir” like some weird sort of apology.

Doctor Strange was unmoved, moving to pull Peter away from the bookshelf. Peter let him, as annoyed as he was, mostly out of fear of further offending the man before the mission even started.

“You’re not what I expected- but you’ll do. You fought well on Titan, you’ll be strong enough for what I need.” Strange opened a portal and stepped in briefly, before stepping back out holding a book, bigger than the ones in the bookshelf, bound so tightly the pages looked like they would burst out of their cover.

“I need you to cast this spell, it’s relatively simple- just requires someone durable to cast it, someone with a lot of brute strength. I would have done it myself, but it’s easier with a partner.”

“Doctor Strange, sir,” Peter interrupted, confused by what he was being asked to do, “I’m not a wizard or anything, my powers- they don’t work with magic?” It sounded more like a question than a fact, even if he knew for sure he wasn’t hiding any secret magical powers.

Doctor Strange scoffed, rolling his eyes at him.

“You don’t need to be a sorcerer to cast a spell, anyone can do it if they know what they’re doing and have the right materials.” Strange began flipping through the book, landing on a page filled with words he didn’t understand.

“I already marked down the spell out by pronunciation, all you need to do is come with me to New Jersey, say these words, and stay out of my way.”

God this dude's attitude was annoying, he was painfully arrogant in a way that felt unwarranted. At least he always felt like Mr. Stark was allowed to be arrogant, because he had earned it. Strange really made him feel like the bug he was, like he was going to step on him at any moment.

“I guess I can do that,” Peter started, seemed easy enough, all things considered.

“Good,” he said, closing the book abruptly- “We leave tonight. Please remember to stay out of my way, I know what I’m doing.”

“Yes sir,” He tried to smile in order for the comment to seem more genuine, but he could feel the tension rise ever so slightly. Strange obviously wasn’t too thrilled with babysitting a child, and he wasn’t even trying to hide his disdain for the situation.

“I’m serious,” Strange’s jaw was set into a perfect line, clenching ever so slightly, voice rising slightly. “We have no real idea what we’re up against- there is nothing magic can’t do if you’re skilled enough, anything you can imagine going wrong can and will if you decide to wander off and abandon your post.”

Peter could do nothing but listen, unable to get his mouth to move in order to respond. He must have appreciated Peter's silence, because the briefest look of approval passed through his face. Strange, satisfied with Peter’s probable look of terror, began to make his way back through another portal, but before he could portal himself away, Peter found himself speaking without thinking.

“If magic can do anything, why didn’t you save Mr. Stark?” The silence that followed was almost unbearable, he didn’t even plan on asking. It was something he had been stuck on in those first three months, unable to fathom why they never even tried. He eventually conceded that there were probably rules to this sort of thing, and that if Strange could, he would have.

“It’s not my place, to play God.”

That was not the answer Peter was expecting.

“Wait,” he demanded, “You could have saved him, but you didn’t- is that what you’re saying?” Peter didn’t know where this onslaught of anger was coming from, it was like it was repressed inside of him for months, finally choosing a target and shooting blindly. Doctor Strange stayed firm, maintaining eye contact, eyes hard.

“It’s not my place to chose who lives and who dies-”

“That’s rich coming from you!” Peter was shouting now, anger pulsing through him, vision clouded with red. “You let billions die for 5 years, you sacrificed Mr. Stark and Miss Romanoff in order to insure your perfect future, did you even try to find another way?”

“That’s different, allowing a few to die by their choice in order to insure the universe's protection is one thing, attempting to reverse death is another.”

“Choice?” He snarled out, like a rabid dog, “There was a gun pointed at everyone’s head! Of course they sacrificed themselves, that was never a choice.” Without realising it, he began to step forward, moving towards Strange like a wild animal. Before he could commit to doing anything, whether it be stepping back and relenting or straight up attacking the man, he felt a hand come up and push him backwards on his chest.

Suddenly, he found himself detaching from his body, watching himself flop to the floor, unresponsive. A cold sense of dread passed through him, arms translucent, passing through himself as if he were air, unsolid.

“14,000,605- that’s how many realities I saw.” Strange's voice boomed behind him like a rocket launch, almost deafening. Suddenly, the world around him bursted into colour, a swarm of images moving so fast around him that he was disoriented. His head hurt, eyes burning, the ground began to crumble beneath his feet, and he found himself falling down a wormhole, unable to hold on to the world above him.

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He should have never gone out patrolling that night, he was unstable, emotional, not thinking straight. All he could see was Titan, all he could feel was a hand wrapped around his throat, the stars in the sky fading from his view, brown eyes desperately looking down at him, begging him to stay put together.

“I don’t feel so good.”

He should have been more careful, should know by now that people were delicate, especially for him. That control was both his greatest strength, and his greatest enemy.

“I don’t know what’s happening, I-”

He was flawed, unbearably so, still so very human in nature despite his enhancements. When a man threatened a girl, no older than Peter was, holding her against a wall, Peter took the opportunity to attack, grabbing him and throwing him against the alley wall as hard as he could.

The wall cracked, his head snapped to the side, and before he knew what was happening, the man’s heart stopped, dead on impact.

“I don’t want to go, Mr. Stark- Please.”

That night in his apartment, well after May had gone to bed, Peter cried into his pillow, choking back as much noise as he could, desperate to remain grounded on to the earth, the atoms in his body vibrating together, unable to keep him whole.

“I’m Sorry”

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He cancelled on Pepper, it was going to be a weekend of binge watching Star Wars with Morgan, who was finally old enough for Pepper to allow it. They were going to sit on the couch with a bunch of fast food and junk, laughing and running around with fake lightsabers, giggling as they recreated their favourite scenes.

Peter couldn’t do, couldn’t bear to look at either of them.

Instead, he went to Harlem.

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“Let’s see some alternate futures, shall we?”

The voice was now in his head, whispering into his skull. He felt nauseous, like he was trapped on his tenth consecutive time on the Cyclone on Coney Island. He felt himself fall back on to Titan, back into his old body, panic bubbling in his chest.

God please no, not this again.

It was like every wound had been violently ripped open, every attempt of moving on brushed away, as if no progress had been made at all. He watched helplessly as their group fought Thanos, attempting to secure the gauntlet, except this time, instead of giving up the time stone, Strange let the mad Titan wrip his mentor into two, tearing him limb from limb, gutting the man until he was nothing but a pile of flesh and bones.

If Peter had control of his body, he would have thrown up.

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Peter wasn’t naive, he knew the city's undesirables had no trust in Spider-Man. It would have been a death wish, waltzing into the underground city of crime with his suit. Additionally, it would be easier to be tracked this way, and he didn’t want to leave a trace. Instead, he dressed in all black, hoodie drawn tightly over his head. He made a point of not gelling his hair, as much as it would do to disguise him. He had purchased a navy blue bandana from the dollar store, it smelled cheaply made and was already fraying at the edges, but it worked as a mask covering the lower part of his face.

Pushing past the bar’s door, he shuffled his way into the back, passing by drunk patrons, high on a cocktail of different substances, air murky with sweat and smelling of piss. His nose wrinkled in disgust, his enhanced senses making it impossible for him to ignore.

The man sitting at the bar was named Mitchell, he knew this because he had previously busted the man’s underground drug ring several months prior. A bunch of his goons had been arrested, and Peter knew he was in need of help. There were also rumours that he was into more devious actions, and that he had been responsible for the house fire that killed a family, some sort of dispute over payment, but Peter tried not to think about it.

“I’d like to place an order,” it came out as barely a whisper, and Peter had to forcefully clear his throat in order to get his voice to work. The man looked up, unimpressed.

“What would you like, kid?”

“They say you have the best cocktails in the state, I’m looking for your best money maker.”

It was a coded message, not too hard to get access to with both Spider-Man and Tony’s weaponized sunglasses. The man looked up and properly took him in then, before nodding and leading him into the back room.

“You’re younger than they usually are, whatcha got yourself into, coming to a place like this?”

Peter didn’t answer, forcing himself to stand rail straight, trying to exude confidence he didn’t have. The man took his non answer as an answer in itself, pressing on.

“You gonna show me your face?”

When Peter still didn’t respond, he laughed, once, punching through Peter’s gut. He extended his arm out, and Peter took it, steel grip and shaking his hand like Tony had taught him to.

“I like you kid, firm grip- respectful. Names Mitch.” He shuffled the chairs in the room around so he could sit, not bothering to offer Peter a seat. While he moved, Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, waiting for the man to take his seat before handing it to him.

“This is what I need.” The man unfolded the paper, uncaring to keep it unripped. His eyes scanned through the list, eyebrows raising, before looking back up at Peter.

“This is quite the ask kid, gonna take a lot of jobs to make this work. You’re gonna have to get your hands bloody.” Peter stayed glued in place, and the man folded the paper back and tucked it into a folder he had laying on the side table. He then pulled out a pad and paper, scribbling down a list of his own.

“You sure you’re not gonna go running scared at the first big thing? It looks like a good stiff wind would knock you right over.”

Peter thought of the man in the alley, how it felt to take his life, how easy it was for him. After he had wallowed in disgust, he felt strangely powerful, like a god among men. He understood, for just a moment, why people decided to be villains.

“I’m not afraid.”

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He was thrown into another reality, this time the Titan didn’t just stop at Mr. Stark, instead he used the gauntlet to burn his whole group into ash. Peter screamed in pain, locked in his body unable to control his movements, desperate for it to end.

In another reality, they were all crushed to death by meteors, in another- Peter had been stabbed with the same weapon Mr. Stark had been killed with, an extension of his own suit, Tony’s blood intermingling with his.

Dozens upon dozens of these horrific alternate realities assaulted him, it felt like it went on for hours. He felt every death, experienced each jab of pain, every way in which he could have died on Titan.

In one reality, he died early, and Tony held him there too, grasping onto him as he bled out onto the floor, blood filling his lungs. He was desperate to say something, tell him he loved him, that he missed him, that he would do anything to see him again, even for just a moment.

But he didn’t get to choose what his alternate self did, and he died anyway, a simple sorry leaving his lips, tears burning his face.

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The first person he killed by choice was a nineteen year old girl. She was a prostitute who had unfortunately seen too much, and with a single knock to her head, her skull cracked in two.

The second was a seventy year old man. He had done nothing wrong, but his son had owed Mitchell an enormous amount of money, and his father had a life insurance policy that was frankly ridiculous. Peter was able to collect the payment from him by the end of the month.

Peter wasn’t present for the third, but he was the one to plant the bomb. His death count was skewed after that, he had no idea how many people were on that subway.

Every night, regardless of his day, he still patrolled as Spider-Man, still apprehended the very people he had joined. He was a walking contradiction, but he had to keep pushing forward. Every job was another step closer, every success- another person on his side, ready to work for him just like he worked for them. Everynight he would hang up his suit and exchange it for his black hoodie and navy bandana.

It took him almost three months to get everything on his list, but that was just the start.

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The last one was the worst, because it showed what would have happened if Tony hadn’t wielded the gauntlet, hadn’t snapped his fingers in order to save humanity. Thanos, like always, did exactly what he said he would do, and with the snap of his fingers Peter watched as humanity crumbled, reduced to atoms.

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The guard letting him in seemed a lot younger than he expected. According to Mitchell, he was a plant, and Peter just had to have faith that the man wasn’t double crossing him. Worst case scenario, he called one of the Avengers crying wolf- and they would believe him. Spider-Man was harmless, Peter Parker even less so, it was a bargain that would leave lingering suspicion later down the line, but this was his best bet.

As he was led down the corridor and in front of a heavy metal door, the man turned to him, hand extended out towards him.

“Hold on,” Peter commanded, more confident than he felt, and slowly, he moved to take the glasses off of his shirt and onto his face.

“EDITH- shut all camera’s down on the current level and replace them with a loop of this floor from the past half an hour.”

“Camera system accessed, blocking all routes of communication on the third floor.”

Nerves absolutely shot over the upcoming encounter, Peter reaches into his back pocket and hands the guard a wad of cash. Wordlessly, he nods once and then opens the door. Taking one last calming breath, Peter makes his way in, as prepared for this as he will ever be.

Adrian Toomes didn’t look much different all things considered. Like half the earth's population, he dusted away into nothingness for five years, returning just under a year ago right back into his cell. Rumour had it that someone else had inhabited his cell after him, and subsequently had a heart attack upon seeing a man materialize out of thin air.

In any other situation, Peter would have been curious to know if that was true or not, but now was not the time to exchange pleasantries.

“Hey Pete,” the man grinned, almost excited to see him, “I wondered if you would ever pay me a visit.”

Peter stayed planted near the door, watching him over his glasses, gaze boring into his. Toomes was everything Peter used to hate, and although he didn’t condemn his past actions, he acknowledged that the man was a lot more useful to him than he previously gave him credit for.

“Tragic what happened, to your buddy Stark,” he joked, his eyes crinkled with how amused he was, “I still don’t like him, but the fucker has my respect.”

Torn out of his reverie by the mention of his old mentor, Peter walked forward and sat down across from Toomes, his beady eyes lighting up with excitement. This was obviously incredibly amusing to him.

Peter had the sudden urge to rip his eyes out of their sockets.

“I need a favour.”

“A favour?” he grinned, leaning forward slightly so he was close to Peter’s face, “Now why would I give you one of those?”

“Because I saved your life? Coney Island- ring any bells? You’re old, but you must have some of your brain left in your skull.”

Toomes' grin quickly shifted into a scowl. Rolling his eyes, he now sits back, leaning so far back against his chair, Peter is surprised he doesn’t fall backwards.

“All my debts to you are paid, I kept your secret, remember?” He bites back, unimpressed by the bargaining chip Peter has laid out in front of him. “Unless a certain arachnid's identity doesn’t matter to you anymore?”

Peter narrows his eyes, before removing EDITH from his face and slowly putting it back into its holder. He maintains eye contact, sliding the case in his jacket’s pocket.

“Are you threatening me right now?”

“No” The Vulture, if you could still even call him that, was curiously looking to where the glasses were now stowed away, as if he realized the significance of Peter taking them off.

“I was just reminding you that our little deal was over, both sides are clear of any future favours. Although, I don’t know what you could possibly give to me.” He raises his eyebrow as if he just laid out a challenge, and Peter takes it as his opening.

“How about a reduced sentence- must not be too fun, stuck here away from your family.”

This does not have the desired effect. Instead of looking hopeful, Toomes just snears back at him.

“Reduced for what? I have nothing going on for me in the outside world. At least here I’m fed and protected, out there- do you really think my family wants anything to do with me after what happened?”

“And whose fault was that exactly?”

The room goes silent. They are stuck in a deadlock of unresolved anger and tension. It feels as if hours go by before Toomes slowly raises his hand to rub the back of his head. Sighing, he relaxes, not defeated, but mollified for the moment.

“What do you even want for me- I already gave up the names of all the guys that worked for me.”

“That’s not what I need- but you’re on the right track. When you made your weapons, you needed a strong and non corrosive material to house the chitauri core- I know you did because I’ve seen it-”

“Get to the point kid” Toomes interrupts, sounding almost bored, like he has better things to do.

“My point,” Peter explained, “Is that you don’t get material like that just wandering around New York.”

Peter paused for a moment, attempting to gauge Toomes’ reaction. He got nothing.

“I need to know who and where your supplier is.”

“So you can arrest him?”

Peter hesitated, and that was all Toomes needed to catch on to what Peter was trying to do. A wild grin spread across his face, wider than before.

“Knew there was a fire in you kid, it seems this world finally did you in hard enough that you're willing to bend.” He laughed, pleased with himself that he figured it out so easily. Peter felt himself gripping the handles of his chair, the metal bending under his grip.

“So,” he remarked, hands thrown in the air, “Whatcha tryin to build?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is if you want me to help you out here.”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“Fine,” he bit out, tapping his hands on the table in front of him, “don’t tell me.” He moved to stand, before remembering that his feet were bound together. After a moment he decided to stay where he was, absentmindedly playing with his overgrown fingernails.

“It doesn’t matter anyways, I’m not going to tell you where he is.”

Peter felt his chest grow hot, it was taking everything in himself to not grab the man and bash his head on the table. He took another breath, and then another, eyes glued to the table, unable to look at Toomes.

“This is so much more than you and I, it’s not about what I’m making, It’s about why, It’s because-”

“Because you’re doing it for the right reasons,” Toomes interrupts what was about to turn into a desperate ramble. “Yeah kid I know, trust me I heard it all before. What, do you think I was doing it all for fun? No Pete- I did it for my family, to keep them safe, to keep them warm and fed. I did bad things to bad people for a good reason, and if all that made me a villain? Well-”

He stops suddenly, reaching out to grab Peter by the chin and forcing him to look Toomes in the eyes.

“What does that make you?”

Peter jumped up suddenly and grabbed him, yanking him unceremoniously out of his chair, slamming him to the back of the prison wall. The cement cracked slightly under the weight of Peter’s strength, but the Vulture didn’t even give him the satisfaction of a gasp. Instead he just grinned, teeth bearing down on him like he was about to sink his teeth into Peter’s neck.

“What, do you think I wasn’t prepared for this?” Peter asked, grip tightening on the man’s shoulders, his chest heaving with adrenaline. “I've come too far to give up now.” Still buzzing with anger, Peter violently shoved Toomes onto the floor, straddling his waist and slamming his head into the concrete. Blood started to pool on to the floor beneath them, and for the first time since Peter had walked into the room, a spark of fear could be seen behind Toomes eyes.

Peter smiled.

“That night,” Peter whispered, lowering his head so his lips almost touched Toomes' left ear, “I let you live as a courtesy, not for you, but for Liz- because she was good. She was everything you should be and I saw her eyes in you and I knew then she had to have you, because she would have been devastated.” Peter picked him up again and slammed him down a third time, this time Toomes let out a grunt of pain, shaking against him slightly. Even if he had any sort of leverage, he was only a man. Peter could lift buildings- level whole cities when he wasn’t so focused on holding back his strength. If Peter wanted to, he could kill him in one hit- but then he wouldn’t get the information he needed.

“I let you live because I was good.” Peter moved his hand up to Toomes’ throat, pushing down lightly on his windpipe, but only for a couple of agonizing seconds.

“And now- well,” Peter choked out a laugh, “Now I’m not so sure.”

Toomes’ eyes closed momentarily, and for the briefest moment, Peter thought he had killed him. The man’s head lulled to the side, uselessly, before he shuddered underneath him, choking out a mixture of vomit and bile. Peter jumped up, pushing the man on to his side so he didn’t choke on his own vomit. When he seemed to be finished, Peter yanked him to a sitting position by his jacket, and the man moaned in pain, his body no longer able to maintain any composure.

“Now,” Peter growled out impatiently, and if Toomes had hair, he would have grabbed on and pulled as hard as he could, “Tell me where I can get the material- I know you had a supplier.”

“I-” he coughed out, blood was dripping down his lip, pooling on his chin and on to his pants, “Washington- the state, not DC- there was a man, called him the Voyeur” Toomes took a break to cough again, violently shuddering against the wall he was propped against. “That was years ago now, I have no idea if he’s still there- he, I haven’t had any sort of contact with him.”

“It’s a start.” Peter remarked, and it was. For the last time, Peter grabbed Toomes by the neck and slammed his head back into the wall, a loud crack reverberated around the room. Peter waited, minutes passed, and with his senses, he could hear the very moment Toomes’ heart stopped beating.

Slowly, Peter got up, brushed off the dust and grime off his pants, and used Toomes’ own prison jacket to wipe the blood from his hands. He then went to knock on the door, signalling to the guard that he was finished.

“He attacked me,” Peter stated, as if it was a fact he had rehearsed over and over again. Shoving the second stack of cash into the guards hand, he made his way out of the Prison door.

Washington here I come.

-----------------

He came crashing down back to reality, gasping and seizing on the floor, broken sobs torn out of his chest. He tried to grab on to something to ground himself, but there was nothing but the cold floor beneath him. Strange hadn’t moved from where he stood, looking down at him like he was a disappointment.

“I did what needed to be done- I hope you understand that now.” Peter could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears, his cries almost completely muffling his words. As much as he tried, he couldn’t calm himself, the images fresh in his brain.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to help me like this- I’ll be finding someone else to accompany me tonight. Stay as long as you need to compose yourself.” With that, Strange was gone, and Peter was left terribly alone on the ground, dry heaving.

--------------------

Between his trip to visit Toomes, and his mission to find the Voyeur, Peter spent Father’s day weekend at the Stark household. It was a very somber affair, and Pepper had tried her best in order to maintain a certain level of levity for the sake of the three of them.

Morgan, at her local elementary school, had crafted a card for her late father, with a smattering of art showing all of them down in the lab, tables glowing blue to represent all of his tech. Represented by stick figures, the card also showed Peter, Pepper, Morgan and Mr. Stark eating juice pops, smiling together.

Mr Stark, unlike the rest of them, had a halo and wings drawn on, and Peter could only bear to look at it for a few seconds before he was forced to look away.

The next day they went and visited Mr Stark’s grave, filled with flowers and trinkets and cards from people across the globe. It was a reminder of how grateful the world was of his sacrifice. Morgan made her way past all of their gifts, tip-toeing around each card, each teddy bear, and gently placing her own card right next to Mr Stark’s headstone. She smiled briefly, patting the ground as if she could feel her father beneath her fingers, before rejoining her mother and clinging to her arm.

When Pepper and Morgan looked upon his grave, they saw a man who finally got to rest, a man they loved and looked up to who lost his life to give them a better future.

All Peter could see was what Doctor Strange forced into his head, and he felt his heart wither around itself, clenching painfully into his throat.

Peter couldn’t know for sure if Pepper knew how close he and Tony had become in the months prior to the snap, how they would spend countless hours in the lab together, how they would have movie nights cuddling up close on the couch, falling asleep before the credits would roll. She couldn’t have known, because why would she? It was something private between them, what started as a simple mentor/mentee relationship turned into a real friendship- and then, a real love. A love that a father had for his son, and vice versa, it made him feel warm and safe and secure.

The first time Peter had called Tony “dad”, he had been absolutely mortified. He felt his face heat up, and he quickly tried to stammer out an apology. Before he could bolt, Mr Stark had pulled him into a hug and held him close, ruffling his hair just a bit before pulling him away so that he could look at him.

“You’re a great kid Pete, I hope you know how happy I am to have you here.”

It wasn’t an “I love you”, It wasn’t a “You’re my son”, but Mr Stark rarely did emotions, and the message he was trying to get across was received loud and clear. Although Peter didn’t always call him dad after that, his name on his phone was officially changed to Iron Dad, and whenever the word “dad” did leave his lips in front of the man, he would smile brightly at him and ruffle his hair.

Pepper would have no way of knowing this, as much as she knew Tony cared for him, and thus, Peter didn’t want to bring anything with the word Father plastered on it. He would leave that to Morgan, as bitter as it made him feel.

“We should clear this all up,” Peter commented, looking at Pepper, who was still standing at her late husband's grave. “We should take in all the gifts and clear away the flowers, they're all withered and rotting.”

He takes a moment to let her process what he just said, and before she could deny his request, he moved in with something he knew would make her listen.

“Besides,” he said, not unkindly, “I think the world has mourned enough, his death shouldn’t be a spectacle. His final resting place should be for family, he needs to rest.”

It was almost cruel, to throw her last words to him back at her- but it was necessary in the long run. By the end of the afternoon, only Morgan’s card was left at his grave.

On his last night with the Starks, he would be the one to put Morgan to bed. Instead of reading to her like he usually did- he used the EDITH function on his phone to access old videos of her father. He was lucky to find a copy of Mr Stark's original Mark II suit’s test run. Morgan giggled watching her father fly into the back wall, and Peter felt his own laugh bubble over out of his chest. Morgan proceeded to pull Peter more on to the bed, wrapping his arm around her. He pulled her close, now snuggling up against her, body warm next to him.

“I miss him.” She whispered it like a secret, like if she said it too loud she would get into trouble. Peter felt himself freeze, but only for a moment. Sighing, he looked down at her, head buried in his shirt.

“I miss him too.”

———————

Pepper had a meeting down in DC, Happy would be accompanying her, and Morgan would be left with her Nanny. His impromptu trip down across the country was a success, thanks to Mitchell knowing exactly where the Voyeur was hiding.

He went in as Spider-Man for that one, because he was no longer interested in bargaining with criminals when he could just fight his way in and take what he needed.

It was almost too easy, he couldn’t have planned it out any better himself.

He had less than a week to prepare, to come up with an alibi, to call his contacts in Harlem, to use EDITH to her full potential.

The night before Pepper left, he insisted that they both put Morgan to bed, because he knew they would both miss her.

As the two girls slept peacefully in their lake house, Peter made his way over to Tony’s grave, shovel in hand. He would have to be careful, he couldn’t disturb the earth too much or else his plan would be ruined.

The next morning, if Pepper noticed his new pair of shoes, fresh out of their box, she didn’t comment on them.

———————-

The first thing that he noticed was how chilled the air around him was, like someone had stuck him into a freezer and left him there. He shivered, sinking lower on to himself, trying to keep warm. He tried to reach for something, anything, but his arms were so heavy at his side he couldn’t bring himself to move them.

Slowly he cracked open his eyes, the room’s light dimmed low, the ceiling spotted with different warm shades of brown. The world still blurred, and he briefly wondered if he wore glasses, but if he concentrated hard enough, he could vaguely see the outline of what looked like a camera, blinking down at him.

Who am I?

He knew he should know, and it was at the tip of his tongue. He just needed to push a little harder, almost there now. He vaguely heard himself groan out in frustration, shifting slightly, still unable to fully control his limbs.

“Mr Stark?”

There it was, Tony Stark- That’s him.

It hit him all at once, like a train barreling into him at full speed. He felt himself gasp, shooting up and on to his elbows, vision tilting sideways as he tried to steady himself. A hand came down firmly onto his chest, pushing him back down on the bed.

“Mr Stark- you’re going to hurt yourself, please-” the end of the voice's sentence broke out into a sob, and Tony could finally focus on the person next to him. Hair curled, brown eyes puffy and red from crying, a teenage boy sat at his bedside, looking both horrified and hopeful at the same time.

Peter

Before Tony could say anything in response, the boy launched himself on to him, grasping at his back and sobbing into the crook of his neck. Tony held on just as tightly, overwhelmed by it all.

“You’re- you’re awake!” Peter gasped out, shaking like a leaf in Tony’s arms. Tony quickly maneuvered him out of his grasp, pushing him away so that he could look at him, holding his face in his hands.

“I’m ok kid,” he assured him, eyes frantically scanning his face, “I’m here- I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter nodded, as well as he could with Tony holding on to him so tightly, before diving back in for another hug.

The world finally felt right, father and son together again.

-----------------------

Recovery was hard, his body seemed almost resistant to any form of pain relief. His arm ached terribly, and his chest felt like rocks. The last time he felt so terrible, he had been in a cave in Afghanistan, open heart surgery performed without any anesthesia.

Peter remained at his side throughout the whole thing, nursing him back to life like a doting mother. Anything and everything Tony needed, Peter would get for him. When he wasn’t catering to his every need, Peter would set up the TV in the room for them to watch movies, curled up at Tony’s side on the bed together.

“You were in a coma,” he explained on the second day, when Tony was lucid enough to understand. “We thought you weren’t going to make it, in fact- much of the world thinks you’re dead.”

“Where’s Pepper and Morgan?”

Peter smiled, helping Tony with his food tray, soup at just the right temperature to start spooning into his mouth.

“After it was clear that you were going to be ok, Pepper insisted we bring you back here to the lakehouse, they wanted to be near you.” Tony nodded, breaking the crackers into the soup bowl, drumming his fingers on its side. He craved something heavier, but Peter insisted that his stomach wouldn’t be able to take it. He thought about asking about the camera on the ceiling, but something stopped him, it was probably just an extension of his AI, and he would worry about it later.

“Pepper and Morgan haven’t left your side for months, you just had to go and wake up the one week where Pepper was needed in DC.”

Tony laughed, it sounded like him. He liked to cause problems, and it seemed his body liked to as well.

“And Morgan?”

“With her Nanny, she was originally going to stay here, but Pepper thought she needed a change of scenery.”

That made sense, especially if she had been cooped up in the house, he was sure the atmosphere hadn’t been especially good for a five year old.

As if reading his thoughts, Peter chimed in “She’s six now- you’re going to have to give her the biggest present imaginable to make up for missing her birthday.”

A sad smile passed against Tony’s face, it hurt that he missed so much, but he didn’t regret it. He was here now, and so was the rest of the world, and that was all that mattered.

“Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.”

----------------------

The wifi was disconnected, and there was no service in the middle of the woods. Tony, who was itching to get his hands on something technical, was begging Peter to let him get up and install Friday into the house.

Peter had laughed, in good spirits, but had been firm in insisting that Tony needed to rest. Besides, it had been Pepper who had requested everything be uninstalled, wanting a break from everything.

“You really hurt her Tony, she was a real mess for a good while.”

Tony wanted to keep pushing, but the guilt of how much he had put Pepper through stopped him, even with Peter’s assurance that it wasn’t his fault, that he did what he needed to do.
A week into his recovery, he felt well enough to walk around his room. Peter would offer out his arm and guide him, never bringing him farther than a few feet away from his bed. He almost fell over the first few times, legs collapsing under him like jello, and Peter had been afraid to keep going, but Tony was desperate to get better, and staying in bed all the time made his aches worse.

That night, while Peter was in the on suite bathroom, Tony attempted to walk on his own, planning on surprising Peter by going into the kitchen himself and grabbing a glass of water, a sure way to show that he was getting better. When he reached for the door, he was surprised to see that it was locked. Pushing against it one more time, the door refused to budge under his hand.

“What are you doing?”

Tony kept working on the door, ignoring his question.

“What is this- The Manhattan Zoo? Why am I being caged in underoos?” Tony felt an arm on his waist, gently pulling him away. Peter was smiling now, almost sheepishly.

“I didn’t want to embarrass you,” he started, eyes on the floor, “But because of the head trauma, the doctor said you could potentially become a sleepwalker.” Peter began to carefully sit him on the bed, tucking a blanket over his waist.

“The second night, I caught you half dressed wandering the kitchen, it was a miracle you made it that far without waking up. It must have hurt with how injured you were. I couldn’t constantly monitor you without your AI installed, and I didn’t want to risk you hurting yourself, so I decided to keep the door locked while you were still recovering.”

That made sense. Except, Tony had grown up in the business world, he knew a well rehearsed story when he heard one. It all made too much sense, but Tony couldn’t figure out why the kid would lie to him.

So he let it go, cataloguing it in the back of his head. The trip to the door winded him enough as it is, and he was too tired to push any further. Until he remembered the camera, until he remembered he was being monitored. Until he remembered Peter had claimed that there was no technology in the house.

Something was wrong, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

---------------------

On the ten day mark, Peter had mentioned to him that they had run out of food. He mentioned that he had planned on ordering using a grocery service, and Tony had to remind him that they were currently off the grid.

If Tony wasn’t looking for it, he wouldn’t have noticed the way Peter momentarily froze. The next morning, he set out, no other way around it as they were now living off of their last can of Campbell soup.

With Peter finally out of the house, Tony took his chance. He pulled out the notebook Peter had given him to pass the time, and ripped the sturdier cardboard off of it’s binding. Using it as a makeshift credit card, he made his way to the locked bedroom door. It took way longer than it should have, but Tony still struggled with the use of his hands, and his vision still hadn’t fully returned to normal. His arm ached in its socket, but he pushed forward.

He needed to know what Peter was hiding from him.

Suddenly, the lock clicked open, and ever so slowly, Tony inched forward out of his room, careful to not make any sound. He avoided the withered areas of the wooden floor in order to not let it creek in protest of his sore feet, every step was like fire. This was the most amount of movement he had done in days, and his body ached with every step.

Reaching just outside the living room, he moved like molasses, keeping his back against the wall, pausing to see if he heard any movement coming from behind the corner. When he established that the coast was clear, that Peter hadn’t returned, Tony proceeded, cautiously, barely moving.

At first glance, everything seemed relatively normal, the room seemed lived in, used, but not out of the ordinary. Scanning the room with his eyes, he almost missed it.

Grabbing at his mouth to stifle any noise, Tony had to stop himself from bolting when he saw the tuft of hair peeking out from the wingback sofa chair, facing away from his view.

“Peter?” he questioned cautiously, ready to come up with an excuse to why he was out of bed. When the lone figure didn’t respond, didn’t move, Tony made his way towards him. He gripped the back of the chair, moving it towards him, and with a steady tug, it moved to face him.

The body, supported by nothing, flopped forward, before shifting on to its side. Startled, Tony took a step back, still clutching hard on to the sofa. Forcing his body to move, he propped the body back up, only to be met with the face of a man he didn’t know, a bullet through his chin and out the back of his skull.

What the hell is this?

Tony had never been more confused in his life, dropping the body back onto its side, he quickly began to look around for anything else out of the ordinary. There was no splattering of blood around, and Tony hadn’t heard a gunshot- so it was clear the man hadn’t been shot here, at least, not any time recently.

No longer worried about being heard, he quickly moved to find something to defend himself, rushing as fast as he physically could into the kitchen to find a knife, anything. Leaving his room had done nothing but leave him even more confused, why was there a body in the living room? Why was Peter, of all people, trying to cover it up?

What had happened in the months that he was in his coma?

Before he could dwell any further, he was stopped abruptly at the entrance of his dining room, body reacting before his eyes could process what he was seeing.

It was as if all the blood drained out of him, body numb, he felt himself crash towards the unforgiving floor before he realized what he was doing. A guttural wail left his throat before he could stop himself, fist banging harshly on the coffee table. Every nerve in his body was on fire, crackling with an unrelenting heat he couldn’t put out. Time stopped, the world around him came to a screeching halt.

In front of him on the table was a body, clad in pajamas, hair loosely falling around her face. She was unnaturally pale, so much so that she more closely resembled a doll than a person. Her eyes were glazed over, almost translucent, and her face was set in a permanent frown, tears still staining her face.

Morgan

Without thinking, Tony grabbed her off the table and pulled her into his arms, holding her against his chest as if he could bring her back to life. Her body was stiff and so very cold, it was obvious she had been here for days, just lying there, alone. Tony began to sob, hysterical- clutching her even harder. He began to rock her, just as he did when she was a baby.

“It’s ok baby, you’re alright- you-” he couldn’t stop babbling now, the words tumbling out of him, not making any sense. He had half a mind to start resuscitating her, but he knew it was hopeless. Morgan was gone, she would never open her eyes again.
He was so distracted by his grief, that he didn’t hear the door open, didn’t hear the footsteps moving towards him.

Didn’t feel the prick of the needle before it was too late.

--------------------

Strange had made the mistake of leaving him unattended in the sanctum, with bookshelves full of spells and the knowledge that anyone with a strong enough will could cast them. It was a dangerous thing, knowledge, that paired with utter desperation, a willingness to bend reality to achieve his goal.

It took only a few hours for him to locate exactly what he needed, Peter was a smart boy after all, and harmless all things considered. His squeaky clean record made even Captain America look like a monster, and the man was stuck on the moon, far away and unable to stop him.

--------------------

Waking up hurt. His head pounded, brain so swollen against his skull it felt like it could crack open at any moment. He felt incredibly disoriented, and immediately attempted to ground himself by analyzing his surroundings.

He could feel the soft sheets against his skin, he could smell the damp air tickle his nose. If he listened hard enough, he could hear somebody's steady breathing. Slowly, Tony attempted to turn on to his side, but was quickly stopped by something cold keeping his arms in place.

Tony felt himself freeze, panic settling in his gut. Where the hell was he? He tugged once on the restraints, as hard as he could bear through the pain in his head, but nothing happened. Desperately, he attempted to open his eyes to see, but the pain wouldn’t let him.

He started to shake, whether it was from pain or from fear, he didn’t know.

“Shhhh” a voice whispered softly, breaking through his panic, “you’re ok.” Tony could feel a warm rag placed on his head comfortingly, as if wiping something off of his forehead. He should recognize the voice, he knows he should, but as hard as he tried, his brain wouldn’t connect the dots for him.

“You’re thinking too much, I’ll be here when you wake up. Just rest.”

As if compelled to listen, Tony once again fell into a deep sleep.

This time around, Tony was a lot more coherent upon awakening. The pain was still there, but it was bearable. Looking around the room, his eyes quickly landed on Peter, who was absentmindedly typing away on his phone. For the briefest moment, relief coursed through his veins- because Peter was here, Peter was safe.

And then the memory of what he saw hit him like a ton of bricks.

He tried to drag himself off of the bed, but the restraints were tight and well placed, and he could only move minimally, forced to stay down where he lay helpless. Whether it be from the sudden movement or the noise, Peter had been pulled away from his phone and to Tony’s bedside, attention completely on him. For a brief moment, Tony feared that he would drug him again, and that thought along with everything else sent him spiralling into a panic attack.

“I don’t-” Tony gasped, still pulling weakly at his restraints, desperate to rid himself from the cold metal keeping him fastened to the bed.

“How could you do this?”

Stark men didn’t cry, they were made of Iron, it was like a mantra repeated to him over and over again by his father, burned so strongly into his brain that it was like the man himself was standing in the room, whispering in his ear. Still, unable to stop himself, Tony found himself openly sobbing, unable to catch his breath, heart pounding so hard against his ribcage he thought it might explode out of him.

He would like to think that in his place, the great Howard Stark would also be reduced to something equally as pitiful.

Tony was violently shaken out of his thoughts by a hand tightly gripping his face, moving it ever so slightly to the right in order to make eye contact. The soft finger brushing his tears away almost hurt in contrast, and he felt himself flinch violently away from its grasp.

“Please stop crying,” Peter begged, almost desperately, “I don’t like seeing you upset- this is why I wanted you to stay in your room while you recovered.”
“Please just- how could-” as much as he tried, Tony couldn’t control his choked gasp, it was like his head wasn’t connected to his mouth. His whine sounded pathetic even to him, and Peter slowly moved his hand into his hair, soft enough that it was an obvious attempt to comfort him, but rough enough that it was easy to read the underlying warning.

“I’m sorry you’re so upset,” Peter started, looking not at him, but at his hand threading through Tony’s hair, “the spell was complicated, and it required a lot of blood to work.”

The hand tightened, as if expecting Tony to trash violently away from him at his next words.

“She was just too small.”

Instead of recoiling, Tony froze, as if finally putting all the pieces together.
“You-” he started, almost as if he couldn’t believe the words about to come out of his own mouth, “you lied to me- I wasn’t in a coma was I? All this time…..” he trailed off. It was a startling realization, one that seemed impossible, but it made so much sense.

Peter seemed wholly unbothered, getting up to retrieve the pitcher of water and two glasses from across the room. Tony watched him move, too startled to continue his thought process out loud. When Tony didn’t continue, Peter sighed, and for the first time since his confession, made eye contact once again.

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you- it was for your own good.” It was said so firmly that Tony almost believed it was true.

“Kid-”

“Don’t call me that!” Peter snapped, a look of anger passed sharply across his face. Tony recoiled momentarily, shocked at his outburst, before he was hit with the events of the past few hours. Instead of breaking down like he did before, he was instead consumed with absolute rage. Anger curled in his gut, and he felt the back of his neck go red.

“I will call you whatever I damn please! Peter-” he barked out, and he watched as Peter’s face dropped in response, “You murdered my baby, you- god I can’t even look at you!” Tony once again began to trash violently, pulling as hard as he can on his restraints, his goal to snap the wooden bars they were attached to. Peter, frozen by his words, quickly snapped out of it and jumped up, grabbing him violently by his throat.

At first, the act didn’t deter him, and he continued to move as hard as he could, spurred on by the adrenaline. Slowly, hand squeezing his windpipe, he began to feel lightheaded, his movements slowly decreasing in energy.

“You need to calm down,” Peter said, too calmly for the situation, “or I’m going to have to make you.” He could have let go of his throat, as Tony had stopped struggling. Instead, he held firm, and Tony could do nothing but lie there and take it. White spots began to dance across his vision, and the pain in his head increased- accompanied by a forced sense of calm as he felt his limbs go numb.

Just as he was about to pass out, Peter let go of him, stepping back to watch as Tony choked and coughed on his back, gasping desperately for air. Peter moved to pour the water from the pitcher into the two glasses, and then moved back to Tony who was slowly calming back down.

“Here,” he said, kneeling down and slowly pouring the glass of water down his sore throat, “drink.” Unable to do anything else but listen, Tony gulped down the water that was given to him, finishing half the glass before Peter pulled it away from his parched lips.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he continued, as if he wasn’t the one hurting him in the first place, “I’m the only one right now who can keep you safe, and I can’t do that if you keep panicking.” Peter seemed almost disappointed in him- which was insane. He looked no different from the last time he saw him, on the battlefield, fighting Thanos, all boyish with those bambi brown eyes and curly hair. On paper he was the same boy he looked to as a son, and yet as much as he tried he couldn’t recognize him.

“Who are you?” He was hanging on a loose hope, that this wasn’t Peter after all, that he was some sort of imposter, masquerading as his kid, putting on his face like a mask. He felt himself hold his breath, waiting for an evil smirk to fall on the boy's face, maybe the illusion would fall away right there and then. If Tony had figured it out, why keep up the act? Tony only hopped wherever Peter was; he was safe- he couldn’t bear to bury both of his kids.

Instead, Peter just looked at him incredulously, turning to fully face him once again. “You know me Mr Stark, come on- ” A brief flash of concern passed through him, “You do remember me right? Amnesia shouldn’t have been a side effect.” He stopped once again, and an unreasonable expression took over the concerned one, “or did you think I wouldn’t have been able to do all this?”

Through this entire ordeal, there was always a certain level of concern radiating through Peter, Tony could almost hear the worry pouring off of him and hitting the floor below them. It seemed so authentic, so well meaning- and to Peter, it probably was. Now, he seemed so calm, unnaturally so. None of this felt real, the haziness of his vision from the drugs in his system, the overwhelming panic, the grief- combined with the prolonged amount of time where he lacked oxygen. He willed himself to just wake up, but there was no use.

This was frighteningly real.

“You always underestimated me- you know. It was a flaw I allowed, because I knew it was because you were worried about me. ” Peter began, just like every monologuing villain before him, because here- Peter wasn’t the Hero, even if he still believed he was.

(Tony so desperately wanted to believe it too, because this was his son, he would have- has done everything for him.)

“I never wanted her dead, believe me- I don’t relish in the death of innocent people, and in the past few months, she had become something of a little sister to me.” The rage he felt previously started to slowly return, but he forced himself to stay calm, he didn’t know if his body would survive another attack- he needed to keep the kid talking, he needed to know if anyone else was hurt.

Unaware of the thoughts swirling around his mentor's head, Peter continued on.

“The spell- it needed a lot of different things to work. It needed your bones, it needed your hair, it needed a power source, a container strong enough to maintain it.” He gripped the headboard above Tony’s head so hard it began to crack, Tony could feel the dust hit his face.

“The spell did what it needed to do to put you back together, but it couldn’t create organs, couldn’t make you a liver, or eyes. It could transform matter, but not create it out of thin air. Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t like I had access to a surplus of any of those things. The fast way would have been impossible, because then I would have had to bring in a bunch of people who would have stopped me. Sure- the world loved you, what’s left of those who fought next to us that night loved you, but they didn’t love you like I did.” He spat out the last sentence like it pained him to say, needing a moment to compose himself. “I was so lucky then, that Harlem had an underground black market, and thanks to Spider-Man, I knew exactly who to look for.” Peter chugged the water from the other glass on the table next to his half filled one, before grabbing the pitcher and refilling it.

“One thing the spell didn’t require was a sacrifice- nobody needed to die in your place, I thought it was a miracle. I didn’t want to have to kill for you- I was never too fond of people dying, not by my hand. What it did require was blood, specifically the blood of someone closely related to the victim.” He sighed, as if it was all merely an inconvenience at best, an obstacle he had to overcome. Peter began to pace around the room, sparing several glances at Tony as he did. He was expecting some sort of reaction, especially considering the absolute panic the man had already worked himself into initially. Instead, Tony Stark’s face portrayed absolutely nothing of what he thought, eyes void of emotion, calculating. Trying to remain unbothered by it all, Peter pushed forward with his story.

“When I first saw Morgan at the funeral, I was- so angry,” he barked out a laugh, as if anything he said in the last fifteen minutes was anything other than horrifying. “I guess jealous would have been a better word, and of what? A five year old with a dead father!” He was laughing for real now, shaking his head as if in disbelief of his past actions, and he probably was.

“Why did she get to have you when I didn’t? Why did she so easily get your love when it took months for you to even notice me? Then I realized something, something I didn’t notice before.” He stopped, smiling now, and sat at the edge of the bed, hands adjusting the blanket at Tony’s feet.

“It was so clear that she was just a replacement, that you needed her because you didn’t have me. It was easier for me to love her then. It hurt when I realized how much blood was required to make the spell work, because I wanted her to be a part of our happy little family. If she was an adult, she would have survived- but I wasn’t willing to wait that long- I needed you now.”

Peter would no longer look at him, he was completely focused on the threading on the blanket in front of him.

“Besides,” he said, a dark look passing over his face, “if she really was just a replacement- then she wouldn’t be needed because I’m here now, and if you were really so desperate to pass on your DNA- well, you could always make another one.” Peter let go of the blanket, patting his leg lightly before turning around, back towards Tony, unmoving. Maybe the man had silently started to cry again, maybe he was glaring, maybe he understood. Quite frankly, Peter didn’t want to know- couldn’t handle the thought that all this work would lead to absolutely nothing. He didn’t regret it- couldn’t regret it, because Mr Stark was alive, and that was all that mattered in the grand scheme of things. He deserved to keep living, more than anyone else on that battlefield, even more than him.

If he had to sacrifice his morality, he was glad it was for the man lying behind him.

“I loved her Mr Stark, I promise you she felt no pain, no fear. I asked her if she would do anything to get you back and she said yes, I gave her a choice, and like me- she chose you” By the end of his speech, he was almost whispering, desperate for him to understand. He was so caught up in himself that he didn’t realize how much time had passed in complete silence. As awful as these turn of events have turned out, Peter had never felt any lighter. It was like a weight had been lifted off his chest, now that his sins have been exposed to the person he relied on the most. He waited, listening to Mr Stark’s unsteady heartbeat, waiting for him to say something, anything.

“Pete,” Tony Stark was never one to stay silent for long, “please, look at me”. His voice was hoarse, cracking from the strain on his throat. Slowly, Peter turned, finally meeting the man’s eyes. He seemed, devastated. Even so, Peter still couldn’t place where his emotions stemmed from.

“Did you really think I would be ok with all of this?” He asked, and it was a fair question all things considered. Mr Stark waited only for a moment to see if Peter would answer, and when he didn’t he continued. “That I would have wanted you to trade her life for mine? I made my choice, I did it so you could live, so that people could move and and be with their families again-”

“You really think I believe that!” Peter shouted, jumping up, anger once again smashing into him like hot coal. “You could have reversed the last 5 years so they never happened, you could have made it so nobody was displaced by the blip, you could have made it so nobody suffered. Instead, you just threw everybody back, because you wanted your family to stay the way it was.” He snarled out, hands gripped into fist at his side. Mr Stark’s eyes flickered town towards them for a fraction of a second, almost unnoticeable, before looking back up at him. Before he could get another word in, Peter continued on.

“We aren’t so different Mr Stark, this isn’t about what you want- it’s about what you need. I’m sorry it had to end this way, and I’m sorry you had to find out about Morgan the way you did.”

“What- do you think if you sat me down and explained it all to me I would have reacted any differently?”

“You were never supposed to find out it was me- Morgan, she was being babysat by her Nanny, a man named Brian Carleson.” This was it, everything was out in the open now, there was no going back. All of Peter’s carefully thought out plans were slowly cracking open. He would have to regroup later, come up with something else- he had to still make this work, had too. He had come too far, lost too much. With a steadying breath, he unlocked his phone, opening up all the documents he had saved and connecting it to the flat screen across the bed.

“Honestly I should thank you Mr Stark, this whole process was so easy with access to your technology, to EDITH.” Something flashed across Mr Stark’s eyes, recognition, and his attention was now on the screen in front of him, the smiling face of the man he had previously discovered dead in his living room.

“How easy it was to add a criminal background to just about anyone using your technology, did you know Mr Carleson had several different sexual assault charges to his name? All dropped of course, but with so many you have to wonder…” Peter trailed off, swiping down to show the myriad of allegations filed against Mr Carleson throughout the years. It hurt Peter to tarnish a dead man’s legacy like this, but it was the only way, the man owed it to Tony- his wife had been taken from him in the blip, and Tony had brought her back. He earned this.

While Peter was lost in thought, a cold feeling of horror began to settle in Tony’s gut, a startling realization began to build on the tip of his tongue at the implication of the specific charge Peter had chosen to place on Morgan’s so-called “murderer”.

oh dear god

“You didn’t.” The very thought made him want to vomit, and he would, if Peter confirmed it to be true.

“I’m not a monster Mr. Stark-” Peter almost looked offended now, as if Tony was crazy for even thinking it. Tony let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, still wary as the documents kept popping up on screen in front of him.

“No,” Peter continued, “When the doctors examine her, they’ll find absolutely nothing pointing to sexual assault. Poor Morgan would have fought and screamed, just like her daddy taught her to- and in his panic our good friend the nanny strangled her until she stopped.” Peter stated, as if what he was saying was true, and he was saddened by this story he was telling.

Tony felt his face go white.

“An unfortunate accident, and in his grief, the absolute horror of killing the daughter of the most influential women in America, the daughter of earth's late saviour - well, he had a good reason for taking the easy way out.”

“Where’s Pepper?” Tony demanded- he had been here in the lake house for days, and if she didn’t know he was alive, she wouldn’t have left Morgan here for so long without checking in. He tugged on the metal restraints once again, desperation clear in his voice.

“Where’s Pepper?” He asked, louder now. Peter seemed unphased, as if he had been expecting him to ask. Tony almost felt guilty for not asking sooner.

“Well, I couldn’t have her in the way now could I?” It was said so casually, like he was discussing last night’s football results. “There was a little accident on her way down to DC. Happy was with her, and unfortunately both of them were, let's just say, compromised.”

It was like all the energy was sapped out of him, and Tony felt his head hit the pillow, eyes closing in pain. His head hurt, but it wasn’t from the drugs- no, this was absolute helplessness. God, how could all of this happen? How could all of this be Peter?

“Don’t worry, both are in stable condition. Colonel Rhodes was already in DC on some business and is with them now. I have many friends in many places, and I made sure they would make it out just fine.” His voice was soothing now, but Tony refused to open his eyes. “They’re both in a medically induced coma, I was going to break that news to you first, that Morgan was ok and with her Nanny, and that she would be making her way back to us. Unfortunately she never would arrive, and well- you know the rest.”

“You’re crazy” The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he bit his lip to stop himself from following up with a snarky comment. He couldn’t afford to be drugged again, not if he wanted to escape. He heard shuffling coming from across from him, and for the briefest moment, Tony wondered if Peter was going to kill him. It would have been too easy, and Tony knew now that he was never supposed to find out, that by escaping the room the day before, he had ruined every plan Peter had carefully put into place. It was like when the blindfolded victim accidentally saw their kidnapper, it was a death sentence. He felt himself push back on to the bed slightly, trying to maintain a level of dignity. The bed creaked once again, this time near his chest, as Peter sat down next to him. Sighing, Peter once again began to play with his hair, rubbing circles along his forehead and down the bridge of his nose. Any other time, his touch would be comforting, across his eyelids and down to his jaw.

Now, he just felt unbearably nauseous.

“No- “ Peter finally said, voice so quiet Tony almost couldn’t hear him. “I just know what I want, and for once in my life, I wasn’t going to stop until I got it.”

Slowly, Peter got up and made his way to the door. If he looked back at him, Tony wouldn’t have known, eyes still glued shut. Before the door could shut, leaving him alone, Tony could hear a brief tapping sound on the door, a clink, and the sound of something electronic.

“The restraints, they may not be vibranium, but they are pretty much impossible to break, even more so with your… condition. I wouldn’t try anything if I were you, it would be a pity if I decided that Pepper wasn’t worth the trouble of keeping around- I know how much you love her, and she’s been so good to me.”

With that, Peter was gone, and Tony had the beginning of a plan.

-------------

In her desperation to save her family, Wanda Maximoff had torn a hole in our reality, opening up the Multiverse.

Peter couldn’t bring himself to blame her, and as the others over the phone voiced their shame and anger, Peter stayed silent.

-----------

After the “little incident”, as Peter liked to call it, Tony was kept almost constantly tied down to his bed. The only time he was allowed out were in half an hour intervals, observed through the camera at all times, and that was only twice a day so he could stretch his legs and go to the bathroom.

“Try anything, and I'll put you in a diaper.”

Yeah, that was definitely not happening.

At first, Tony planned on depending on Peter’s adoration for him. It was obvious that the boy craved their old relationship, so Tony had hoped he could convince him that he was ok with all this, that he would go along with his plan and they could be together again, as a family. It would have worked too, but Peter had become overly paranoid, and had little trust for anything Tony said.

Tony also wanted to prolong the inevitable fight. Normally he would want to get out of a hostage situation as soon as possible, but Tony didn’t think he was in any danger of Peter killing him. Peter had gone through such extremes to bring him back, it was unlikely he would give up now. Besides, the longer he had, the more time he had to recover, he was in no condition to fight his way out of anything, especially without a suit.

The problem with that plan was that Peter was obviously panicking over the turn of events, scrambling to come up with a way to make everything still work for him. It was obvious that as soon as Tony made contact with anyone that wasn’t him, he would immediately tell them everything, and then Peter would really never see him again. So in order to prolong the inevitable, Peter had begun feeding him less, tying him down in uncomfortable positions, making it harder for him to heal. He wasn’t outright hurting him, but he definitely wasn’t helping him. Lack of food was making it harder to think, and his body felt just as weak as it did in that first week. Walking to the bathroom alone was almost impossible, Peter was no longer comfortable being in the room with him while he was untied, and outright refused to help him. Peter would also drug him at night with a sedative, ensuring that he wouldn’t try to escape while he was asleep.

The boy was smart, it was why he was initially so drawn to him, and now- it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

He was beginning to feel hopeless, it felt like no matter what he did he was screwed. In his darkest hours, just before the sun broke over the horizon, the sedative almost completely out of his system, he would imagine his daughter's last moments, struggling to breath, calling out for help, held down by the very same hands he taught to build, face void of any emotions. No matter how hard he tried to save her, his body would never move, and he would wake up gasping for air, body covered in sweat and tears.

He wondered if Peter would keep him here forever, chained to his bed, letting Pepper and Happy die so no one would ever find him. Constantly observed unless he was taking a piss-

Wait

That was when it hit him.

There were no cameras in the bathroom.

He knew there weren’t, Peter had mentioned briefly once, not realizing that he was giving himself away, that he hated when he took too long, how boring it was to stare at a blank screen while he showered. It was a comment that he probably didn’t remember making, probably didn’t even strike him as important. There were no windows in the bathroom, and Peter would be able to hear him if he tried to smash his way out.

He would be able to hear me, Tony thought, if Peter thought I hurt myself, he would come in to help me.

It was a risk, but he was running out of options. The night before his attempt at escape, Tony turned on the shower, quickly washing his hair in order for him to smell like his shampoo, and then spent almost fifteen minutes loosening the screws on the grab bar in the shower. His nails were just long enough, and he worked them down to their nubs.

That night, he dreamed of the outdoors, Pepper voice softly whispering in his ear, a child's giggling coming from behind him. In his haze, he couldn’t figure out which one of his children hw heard. Young and happy and innocent, still thriving in a world that had so much left to offer, yet was so violently torn away from them. He woke up strangely calm from that one, like his body knew it was all about to end, one way or another.

On the day, when Peter came to let him out, he made a comment about feeling lightheaded, shaking his head as if he was attempting to wake himself up. Peter looked momentarily concerned, before continuing back out the bedroom door.

“I’ll bring you some water to drink once you’re done, try not to take too long.”

With that, he was back out, door locked, and camera blinking down at him. Slowly, he moved towards the door, trying to seem slightly off balanced. Closing the door behind him, he quickly moved to the bar, almost completely loose now, and pulled as hard as he could. The bar snapped off with a pop, and Tony stilled, waiting to see if anything happened.

Nothing.

Now, taking a steadying breath, Tony grabs the large shower gel bottle above his, and slammed it into the bathtub, shouting in pain as loudly as he could, before quickly hiding against the wall, ready to strike.

Exactly how he expected, he heard the bedroom door tear open, feet running into the bathroom to check on him. As soon as the bathroom door opened, Tony slammed the bar as hard as he could onto Peter’s head, and with that, Peter crashed onto the floor, knocked out cold.

Tony almost fell down right on to him, hand clutching his chest, breathing heavily. He quickly composed himself before running as fast as his feet would take him. In Peter’s panic, he had left the door wide open, now was his chance.

Tony knew that trying to escape out of the front door was a death sentence. There was no one anywhere close to him, the closest store was still a twenty minute drive away, and this whole ordeal already left him exhausted. He would most likely die of a heart attack if Peter didn’t catch him first, and he would catch him. Peter wasn’t going to stay down for long, and Tony had to move now.

No, what he needed to do was get to the basement.

After Titan, after the snap, Tony had pretty much fully retired from Iron man. When Pepper became pregnant with Morgan, there was even more reason to keep any sort of weapon away from her. He had promised Pepper that the lakehouse would be a reprieve from the outside world, away from his work. Originally, Tony was all for it, but the PTSD from losing one child made it impossible for him to stop himself from putting in a safety net. Without telling anyone, Tony had installed a secret basement with a mini lab, equipped with access to Friday.

Access to an emergency suit.

Tony prayed that in his months under the earth, no one had found the secret entrance and boarded it up, especially not Peter who would have definitely destroyed any way for Tony to get out. Using the wall as leverage, Tony dragged himself down the hall and into his office, stumbling over to the bookshelf. He tugged as hard as he could at the dictionary, and slowly, the hidden door moved, opening to a staircase winding downwards.

He moved down, hitting the switch haphazardly, and the room whirled to life, untouched for over a year.

Unable to take the time to admire it, he first activated his emergency containment unit. This suit wasn’t nano tech, and was an older more rudimentary model- but he would make do. The progress bar lit up at ten percent, beeping as it charged. Tony then moved around the table to the panic button- which would alert a select group of people that he needed help. It was connected to both Rhodey and Happy’s phones, and he prayed Rhodey would see it and take it seriously.

Thirty seven percent now, the suit was charging faster than he thought it would, and Tony could do nothing but wait. He looked around for something he could use as a makeshift weapon, before his eyes landed on a screwdriver sitting next to his workbench. Moving to grab it, Tony was startled by something wrapping around his wrist, stopping him from moving.

Web fluid

“Why…” Peter trailed off, he looked absolutely devastated. There was a bump growing on the side of his temple, purple and green, and his eyes were rimmed red as if he had been crying.

“Why would you hurt me?”

They were at an impasse, and Tony could only stand and gape at him.

Peter really had gone insane.

The thought hurt, but Tony couldn’t dwell on it now. He didn’t dare shift his attention to the screen, not wanting to tip Peter off.

“I just wanted to see the lab, you know how I am, always working.” He tried to smile at him, tried to appear calm, like this was normal. “Why don’t we build something, together, like we used to.” Tony pulled his hand, spider webs breaking at his wrist, and Peter let him.

“Mr Stark?”

“Why don’t we build an engine?” Tony continued, voice slightly higher than usual, “wouldn’t that be fun? We can go to a junkyard, find an old car, fix it up. I can teach you how to drive, something that could be just ours.”

Peter stayed frozen, eyes searching for something, and Tony tried so hard to portray nothing but love and excitement. Whatever he was looking for, he must have found it. Lowering his web shooters, Peter’s shoulders relaxed, and he seemed a lot calmer.

“Come here kiddo, let’s get started.”

Peter moved then, walking towards Tony purposefully. Tony had to stop himself from flinching when Peter moved in for a hug, forcing himself to relax against him.

“That’s it kid, I’m here.”

It was the calm before the storm, and for a moment, Tony could pretend everything was ok. He felt Peter’s hand move up behind his neck, fingers grasping his hair at the nape, and before Tony could react, Peter grabbed on tight and slammed his head down against the table,

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Peter spat out, towering over him. Sprawled on the floor, Tony tried desperately to claw his way back up, only to be stopped by a foot slamming down against his back. Wind knocked out of him, Tony could barely concentrate on anything other than the throbbing pain in his head.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re trying to do?”

Peter kicked him to do his stomach, foot stepping on to his neck. Tony could feel the blood dripping down his eyebrow, into his right eye, blurring his vision slightly.

“You’re Frankenstein’s monster, Mr Stark- I created you.” He snarled, the foot on his neck twisting painfully, crushing into him. Tony was worried that his neck would snap with the pressure.

“And I can unmake you just as easily, chop you into little pieces and start again. All of this, everything I did, I did for you. You can at least be grateful, Mr Stark. Though I guess that was never your forte.”

Please keep talking. Tony can hear the beeping of the suit slowly coming back to life, and there was no way Peter didn’t hear it too. He just hoped he wouldn’t figure out why, too distracted with the man laying on the ground in front of him.

“We could be together again. I love you, please just let me love you.”

His voice was cracking, whining like a petulant child who wasn’t getting his way. He released his foot off of his neck, moving it directly on to his chest, right where his arc reactor used to be. Tony couldn’t stop himself from shivering.

Come on

The beeping stopped, and Tony reached out his arm, slamming it to the side towards the container. The gauntlet formed around his arm first, and before Peter could react, Tony aimed it right at Peter's chest, crashing into him so hard that he flew backwards into the work station.

Tony jumped up, aided by the suit forming around his person, only to have the process stopped halfway through by Peter throwing himself on to the charging port, breaking the connection and shattering the container.

Tony only has half a suit, but it’s enough.

He shoots forward, grabbing Peter and rocketing out of the basement, through the floor and out the roof. They land violently on the front lawn, Peter torn from his grasp, rolling uncontrollably away from each other.

Peter gets up first, reactivating his web shooters, and goes to web up his opponent, but Tony is running on pure adrenaline and instinct. Faster than he thought possible, he jumps out of the way, slamming down roughly into the grass behind the wooden shed. Peter runs forward, ripping off a piece of wood from the structure, and using it to push Tony off balance. It works, and Tony is momentarily distracted, unable to block the punch directed towards his chest, metal bending with the force of his strength. Tony punches him hard across the face, and Peter is forced backwards for just a moment, before proceeding to jump on top of Tony, pushing him back down into the earth.

Tony frees his arm and goes to shoot Peter off of him, but Peter figures out what he’s about to do, and grabs his hand away from his face and aims it behind him, beam hitting a tree, wood and leaves exploding down onto them from above.

“Friday, eject!” Before Peter can react, Tony shoots out from under him, suit throwing him across the lawn and reforming around him. He raises his gauntlet, ready to send out a missile toward Peter, when he sees the kid crumble to the ground, pain flashing across his face.

“Dad!” He gasps out, and before Tony realizes what he’s doing, he’s rushing to his side, desperate to make sure Peter is ok.

It's exactly what Peter is counting on, and Peter kicks up and hits Tony in the face, blood gushing out of his broken nose. Tony winces in pain, but doesn’t let it stop him, he grabs on tight to Peter’s shoulders, as hard as he physically can.

“Friday, taser.”

Peter convulses in his hand, dropping onto the floor. Tony drops down to restrain him, arms held tightly to the ground below, sitting on his waist so Peter couldn’t gain any leverage or kick himself free.

He’s crying now, sobs wracking through his whole body. He’s no longer trying to get free, and instead is trying to push himself closer to Tony, hugging him, head buried in his now uncovered chest, metal broken off by the strength of Peter’s hits.

“Please,” he wailed out desperately, “I can’t lose you again, I can’t- Dad please.”

He almost breaks, almost wraps Peter in his arms and holds him close, wants to tell him more than anything that it’s going to be ok, that he’s here.

But then the image of Morgan, pale faced and stiff on the kitchen floor, flashes into his mind, and he instead activates the missiles on his shoulder and aims them towards Peter as a warning.

“I’m sorry kiddo- I can’t let you do this.”

Peter breaks into hysterics, trashing underneath his hold, but Tony’s metal hands are holding him tightly in place, and all he can do is cry.

“I’m sorry- please don’t leave me. Dad- please.”

Tony feels himself break, tears falling down on Peter's struggling form. He can’t give up now, he needs to end this. Before he could do anything further, Tony was startled to hear the distant whirling of a suit coming towards them.

Rhodey

Distracted, Peter took the opportunity to rip his arms out of their restraints, bucking Tony off of him. Peter had heard it too, knew what it meant for him, and instead of staying to fight, he fled, swinging deep into the forest.

Tony tries to move, tries to stop him, but the fight has left him too weak. Instead he collapses onto the floor, staring up into the sky, sun shining down through the tree’s above him. He vaguely hears someone land, shouting out words, shaking him, steadying him- but it all just sounds like background noise. He thinks for a moment, that he can hear Pepper, telling him that it's all going to be ok, that he can rest now.

Yeah, he thinks, I think I'll do that.

He passes out before any words can reach his lips, knowing that the next time he wakes up, he'll wake up safe.

--------------------

Peter had made it to New Jersey in record time, especially considering the man hunt in place. He doesn't know much, but it's not hard to piece together that the Avengers wanted him caught, dead or alive.

He wondered if they found him, would they kill him on site- or would they bring him to Mr. Stark himself to finish the job.

He had obviously gone about this the wrong way, bringing back a ghost would have never worked, there would have been too many questions, too many variables. He had been naive to think he could do it on his own, without help, and that had been his downfall.

It didn’t matter, in the end, Peter would get his father back, no matter what the cost- and a perfect opportunity had fallen straight into his very willing hands.

The portal in front of him was violent, pulsating with energy, red and purple light spraying out of it, almost blindingly.

All he needed for this to work, was want, and god how he wanted.

The multiverse was filled with Tony Stark’s, he just needed one who would not be angry at him for what he did, he knew he had to be out there, and he would welcome him with open arms.

Concentrating on the light emanating from the portal, he asked it to give him what he wanted, and as if the world was righting it’s wrongs, a lone figure emerged from it’s grasps.

Tony Stark in the flesh, walking towards him, grin plastered on his face. His sunglasses were perched on the tip of his nose, unnaturally blue eyes peeking out from behind them, the only noticeable physical difference Peter could see. He moved with a confidence that just radiated an energy that Peter had grown accustomed to seeing, very different to the snivelling mess of a failure his universe's Tony Stark had become.

Of course, Peter couldn't be too hard on him, not when his creation was a failure on his end. As if hearing his thought, Mr. Stark closed the distance between them, cupping his face in his hand, thumb brushing against his cheek, pressing against the bruise that had formed from his last encounter.

"You really are something else kid."

Peter smiled.