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Peter blinked, and everything was different.
He died on the battlefield, and then he was revived on the battlefield. He took his last breath in Tony’s arms, and then Tony returned the favor in his. Tony felt Peter's skin turn to ash, to dust, floating away like dandelions into Titan’s thin atmosphere; then, Peter listened as Tony’s heartbeat slowed gradually, the time between each beat increasing, until eventually there was nothing but silence and the familiar feeling of denial settling in his gut.
Peter, though, barely felt the darkness. It was there, but the light returned just as quick as it’d left, and then he was whole again. Except somewhere in between his supposed trip to death and back, Peter’s perception of time had become wildly distorted.
At first, he’d thought Strange was telling some cruel joke. It hadn’t been five years. Like…what? It doesn’t work like that. Nothing works like that, especially not time. Time is one of the few things Peter’s known to be constant in his turbulent life. But the more he fought the opposing army, the more questions he had. How was he back on Earth? How did all of these other heroes get here?
His mind hadn’t truly let himself believe that half of a decade had been stolen from him until he’d seen Tony’s face. His teared-up, wide-eyed, disbelieving face. The man was crying. And if there’s one thing in the world that scares Peter shitless, it’s seeing the most emotionally-sheltered man in the world crying.
Okay. So yeah. Maybe five years had passed.
War hardly provides an opening to dwell on the implications of the future or the past, though. It constrains one to the present, the focus on surviving taking control of all of the body’s functions, crowding the mind’s thoughts, and breeding psychological fight-or-flight responses—because what good is the future if you don’t make it past the present? He hadn’t even hardly had the time to process the fact he was fighting in a fucking war until he was mercilessly reminded that war was always accompanied by casualties.
Apparently, he was seeing Mr. Stark for the first time in five years. And then he got an entire thirty minutes with him until the man was gone.
All things considered, Peter's return from death was smooth sailing. Because when he had the pleasure of witnessing Strange magically resuscitate someone by simply willing their body to work through horrifically body-traumatizing injuries, and when he had to listen to Mr. Stark screaming through the never-ending torturous pain, it became clear that it could’ve been much worse.
Good things always come with a price.
This time around, Peter did not find time to be a constant in his second chance at life. It often slipped away from him. He’d zone out in the hospital chair, and then he’d be on the ground, having fallen asleep with no recollection of having moved himself horizontal. Pepper would wake him up, confused, and he’d mumble a half-hearted excuse, and that would be the end of it.
It wasn’t long before Morgan would be thrust upon him.
She was certainly a bundle of joy, and Peter immediately became endeared to her. She, however, seemed far more interested in her father who wouldn’t wake up. At first, Peter was delighted to have some extra company, and was ecstatic that Pepper and Tony had created something beautiful despite the tragedy.
And that’s when the first striking blow had hit. Pepper and Tony had created a family that did not include him.
According to other people and the media, it would be a month before Tony woke up, and it would be two before they finally moved back home. To Peter, though, it felt like days. He’s not completely sure of everything he did during this time period. He knows he watched Pepper bend over backwards to keep Morgan appeased every morning. He remembers scrolling social media for hours upon hours, learning about what he missed. He thinks he ate. Occasionally.
It got better when they got home. Tony, of course, had been happy to see him, but like Pepper, he became increasingly distracted by Morgan every time the girl visited him. He had a metal arm now. Vibranium. The man was clearly disturbed by the missing appendage, but he didn’t show his discomfort much. It was just one of those tells Peter managed to pick up on. His time in the hospital sitting vigil at Tony's bedside had made him practiced in the art of observing.
Oh, and apparently home is a cabin in the woods now. Which… If Peter is being honest, he absolutely despises. It’s so quiet. Disturbingly quiet. It makes him feel isolated and claustrophobic, and it reminds him of the silence that ensued after all of the rubble that fell on him during Homecoming finished its shifting and groaning. It reminds him of the quietness on Titan after they’d realized they’d failed.
He misses the sounds of the city. He misses the cars, and the honking, and the subway, and the tall buildings that he used to soar through. He misses his school, and he misses his friends. He misses the tower. His room. Not whatever this empty guest bedroom is at the cabin that has blank walls and white bedsheets and no Star Wars LEGO models in the corner.
He knows he should be thankful, though. Tony is alive. Pepper is alive. They have a daughter. And even through all this, they still offer Peter a room.
Does it matter that they hardly talk to him? That they tuck Morgan into bed in the evenings and read her a bedtime story but don’t even spare a simple ‘goodnight’ to Peter?
Maybe it doesn’t. Because he’d blinked and everything was different, and sometimes, that’s just how it goes. His life was always throwing hurdles at him, increasing in size each time, and he knew one day that there’d be one too tall to jump.
Perhaps this is it.
The days go by extraordinarily ordinarily. He spends most of them in his room, sleeping and thinking. Tony and Pepper invite him on a couple of excursions outside, but he always declines, not wanting to intrude, and they don’t bat an eye at it. Soon, it becomes obvious they just ask out of obligation.
It’s sometime in August when he comes downstairs for breakfast that the news is broken to him. The school year will begin in September, and all blipped students have to restart the classes they were taking previously. Peter’s talked to Ned and MJ some. Thankfully, he still has them. He’s not completely alone.
Tony, as he’s flipping pancakes, recites everything the school board has put out about the matter. Peter just nods along, hardly paying attention, mostly questioning when Tony learned to even cook. It’s decided that Happy will drive Peter to school in the mornings while Tony and Pepper alternate taking Morgan.
Peter isn’t sure why he asks. It just comes out. He’s been sitting on it for a while, but he’d shoved it down hard, trying to remind himself that this is the least of his worries. Maybe it’s because school is starting again and things are looking like they might regain some sense of normalcy. Maybe it’s because he’s realizing how just how much he yearns for the city.
But almost subconsciously, he finds himself wondering aloud, “Do you think I could start patrolling again?”
Tony almost misses the next pancake toss. He’s clearly stunned. It takes almost thirty seconds of his jaw working before he finally replies, “I don’t know, Pete.”
“You don’t know?”
“I—look, Morgan’s about to wake up. Could we talk about this later?”
Peter is rendered speechless, not sure why he’s surprised at the blatant rejection. “Sure,” he mumbles.
Deep down, he knows full well they’re not going to talk about it later.
It stings.
At some point, school becomes his home away from home. Even with Flash still there.
It’s familiar. Despite there being new kids in his classes, and despite the fact the gym was renovated, everything else is the same. It’s one of the few things that didn’t drastically change after the snap, which is why it quickly becomes a place of comfort for him.
Unfortunately, Ned and MJ must be far more attentive than Tony. On the first day back when he heads to see them, he’s expected to be met with a hug or a handshake. He’s not expected to be met with Ned’s blunt, “Holy shit, what happened to you?”
Peter recoils. “What?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine…?" he answers, confused, scrunching his eyebrows.
“Bullshit,” Michelle denies. “You’re—I mean—you look—”
“Awful,” Ned finishes, saving her from her spluttering. “When’s the last time you’ve eaten? I can literally see your ribs through your shirt.”
All of the sudden he feels very subconscious. He ruffles his tee, making it looser on his skin. Does he really look that bad? If so, has Tony just, like, not noticed? Peter gets offered food every day of course. They don’t completely forget about him, because it’s hard to do so when Peter doesn’t even leave the house. Tony always makes him and Morgan breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Whether Peter accepts the food is a different story.
Some days, he’s just not hungry anymore.
He plasters on a fake smile. He doesn’t want to talk about this. “I’m fine,” he reiterates confidently, and then does his best to shift the topic of the conversation. “Anyway, it’s good to see you guys too! For five years having passed you look exactly the same!”
It’s a poor joke, even for his standards. Ned and MJ exchange a worried glance, and Peter feels irritation beginning to brew in his gut. But then Ned appears to shake himself off, realizing they’re not going to get anywhere further with this right now, and launches into an exuberant story about how he was dusted from the moving bus, and then reappeared on the side of the street with some other members of their class.
Peter listens intently as they begin walking to their first period. He can feel MJ’s eyes, however, burning a hole in him.
It sucks having to redo a class you’ve already taken. Especially one that you were passing with flying colors. And, well, for Peter, that’s basically every subject. It makes it exceptionally boring, and he finds himself drifting for most of the day.
At lunch, Ned shoves half of his meal at him. It’s a banana, a muffin, and a ham and cheese sandwich. Peter gives him a knowing look, pushing the food back. “I told you—”
“Aren’t you supposed to eat, like, three times a normal person?” he whispers indignantly, cutting off Peter’s words.
Oh. Yeah. Huh. Peter forgot about that whole thing. Maybe that’s why he’s lost so much weight in the past few months.
Ned’s words greatly remind him of the before. Apparently Tony has forgotten about his enhanced metabolism too, because the man used to badger him almost every hour to make sure he was eating something. He also used to have these special protein bars that were designed for supersoliders, making it easier to consume upwards of 5,000 calories a day. Peter hasn’t seen one of those in—well, five years.
Five fucking years.
It doesn’t get easier to comprehend. It’s been five years, but at the same time it’s been five months, and the contradictions do nothing but make his head hurt whenever he thinks about it.
“Eat it,” Ned says almost demandingly.
Peter doesn’t really have an appetite, but he nods and takes it, if only to get his friends off his back for a little bit. It doesn’t work.
“So what’s life like with Tony and Pepper now? I can’t believe they have a daughter,” MJ says casually, but Peter instantly notices what she’s doing. Since they’ve gotten closer, he’s learned how to pick up on her tactics. She’s analyzing him, trying to figure out what’s wrong. She’s determined like that.
Peter shrugs, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “Morgan’s amazing,” he says, and for the most part, it’s true. She is amazing. Except for when she wakes him up at 5am with her screaming, or her begging to play Disney princesses with him. “Tony and Pepper are doing well. Tony seems to have adjusted to the new arm. They’re…they’re happy.”
“Are you happy?” MJ returns, levelling him with a serious, but sympathetic gaze.
The question makes him pause. The lie is on the tip of his tongue. Yes, he’s happy. Of course he’s happy. Why wouldn’t he be? He has everything he should ever need.
…Except for Spider-Man. Except a home that feels like home. Except for just a little bit of attention from his family to remind himself that he exists.
Eventually, all that comes out is a quiet, shaky, “I—I don’t know.”
She holds his eyes for a moment longer, before turning back to the book in her hands. To anybody who didn’t know Michelle, the gesture would seem insensitive. But Peter does know Michelle. It’s concern, maybe fear, and she doesn’t know how to continue this conversation. So she lets it go.
Ned places a hand on his back. “You should talk to them,” he tells Peter.
Peter nearly snorts. That’s way easier said than done when they don’t even talk to him. But still, he replies, “I will.”
But he knows himself well enough to understand that he won’t.
Things remain frighteningly constant.
Ned continues to give him half of his lunch. Peter gets better at eating it. MJ, every day, asks him how he’s doing. Tony and Pepper and Morgan live their life of suburbia, and Peter continues to miss his old life.
Steadily, his hatred for the cabin, and his hatred for his situation grows. Now, each time he comes down to Tony making the perfect family breakfast, he can’t help but roll his eyes. In his opinion, it’s a shitty look on the man. He misses when his mentor’s face was smeared with oil and grease from long nights in the workshop rather than painted with fairy makeup that Morgan insists on applying.
He feels selfish for feeling this way, though. Peter was gone. Tony was here. Things change. Typically not within the blink of an eye…but y’know, it is what it is. He isn’t the one who had to deal with half of the world being gone in an instant.
After a while, it starts to hit him that he just needs to make it through his senior year. Do that, and then he can go to college. That way, he can leave Tony and Pepper and Morgan to their life, and pursue his own. The knowledge that maybe, soon, he’ll escape, makes things a little better.
That’s why, on one random day when he gets home from school, he’s a little—okay, a lot—surprised to hear Tony call him into his office. Office, by the way. Not lab, not workshop. Office.
Tony’s sitting at his chair, hunched over something. Peter enters cautiously. Admittedly, he’s a little afraid to know why he’s being summoned.
“Hey Pete,” Tony greets him.
Peter gives a hesitant wave back before sitting at one of the other chairs. He finds himself fiddling with his hands, something he hasn’t done in a while. “Hi.”
“Look,” Tony starts, leaning back and not wasting any time before diving into the conversation. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
At first, Peter isn’t sure that he heard the words correctly. There’s no fucking way Tony is sitting him down and saying that to his face after so long a period of silence between the two of them. There’s no way that he’s the problem here.
He doesn’t even know what to say.
Tony keeps going, though. “I know things have been rough, okay? You’ve been really distant lately, and even Morgan’s picked up on it.”
Of course she has. It’s always got to tie back into Morgan.
“She keeps asking what’s wrong with you. I try to tell her that you’re just going through some stuff, and that you’re trying to adjust, and that you need, space—”
“Space is the last thing I need!” Peter blurts out, instantly shutting his mouth afterward, realizing that he’s fucked up.
Tony jerks back at Peter’s outburst as though he’s been slapped. “What?”
For some reason, that singular word hurts more than anything Tony has done—or rather, hasn’t—for the past few months. Because it makes one thing abundantly clear. This hasn’t been done out of maliciousness, or contempt. It was pure obliviousness. A complete lack of understanding who Peter is as a person.
In a way, that’s worse. Tony has forgotten how to even talk to Peter.
He shoots to his feet, done with this conversation, completely ignoring Tony’s, “Wait!” as he exits the room, not caring that the door slams loudly behind him.
Instead, he makes his way to his room, and dives under his bed. Grabbing a box, he pulls it out, flipping the lid off. A plume of dust hits him in the face. But under that, rests the one thing he desperately needs right now.
An escape.
His webshooters slide onto his wrists like a second limb. His mask fits exactly like it used to. And out the window he dives, the taste of freedom a breath of fresh air. He takes it in like he’s starving for it. Perhaps he is.
There’s not much to swing on. All that surrounds him are trees. Fucking trees, for miles. But he manages, only a few cuts and scrapes making themselves known to him—and yet, still, he hardly notices those. Because for a moment—for a small, brief moment—he allows himself to remember what it was like to feel alive.
Peter’s not sure he really ever did come back from Titan.
He has the most fun he’s had in mon—no, that’s not right—in years. Not months. It’s been years.
The amount of people who are happy to see the friendly neighborhood hero is staggering. Every time he stops by a crowd of people, he gets a hailstorm of questions rained upon him.
Where were you?
Are you okay?
How did it feel to save the world?
Peter relishes in each and every one. They remind him that he does matter. Spider-Man does, at least. Peter Parker might be a different story, because currently, Peter Parker is drowning; and yet, his alter-ego is flying, literally, and the dichotomy sucks because—well, they’re the same person. Right? But how can both be true at the same time?
He feels like he’s being ripped apart from the inside, and all that’s holding him together are band-aids. Those are nothing but a temporary solution, though. At some point, they’ll break. Maybe they already have.
On the bright side, he saves a lot of people that night. Cats stuck in trees, citizens getting mugged.
On the not-so-bright side, though, it’s around one in the morning when everything turns to shit—as always. He’s about to leap off the side of a skyscraper when he hears something loud in the air. He turns around just in time to see Iron Man landing behind him with a loud clang.
But that’s—that isn’t right. Tony’s retired. He said so himself. No more getting in the suit.
The mask lifts, revealing a very—very pissed off Tony Stark.
There was a time where Peter would’ve shrunk under that furious stare, but now, he finds himself returning it with his own anger. Tony doesn’t get to be pissed off. At all. He doesn’t deserve that right, not when Peter’s right here in front of him.
“Peter, Jesus Christ, I’ve been looking for you for hours—”
Peter can’t help it. He laughs loudly, bitterly. “Wow, I think that’s the most time you’ve invested into me since you woke up.”
Tony snaps his mouth shut, clearly dumbfounded by that statement. Then, slowly, as though he’s talking to a wounded animal, he says, “I think there’s a big misunderstanding here…”
“A misunderstanding?” Peter echoes, and immediately, he knows that those are the words that have opened the floodgates. “Ignoring me isn’t a misunderstanding, Tony! Barely talking to me isn’t a misunderstanding! Leaving me alone because you’ve got a new family now, it isn’t—it just—it’s not a misunderstanding!”
Tony’s eyes are wide. “Pete, breathe,” he says, causing him to be conscious of how shallow his breaths have become.
It doesn’t matter though. “I needed you,” he continues, his voice nearly a whine, desperation and sadness and disappointment coating his tone. “I—everything—nothing is the same, and you’ve got a family, and I don’t—it’s been five years. Except it hasn’t been! It’s been months, not years—for me at least. It doesn’t make sense, and I don’t know how to even begin processing that! There is a memorial in central park with my name on it—with millions of names on it—and I don’t even remember dying. How does that even work?”
“Peter…”
“And then I’m just supposed to accept that everything from before—it’s all gone? In a matter of seconds? That my new home is in the middle of the woods, not the middle of the city; that you have a daughter, and a wife; that I’m not even allowed to be Spider-Man anymore? I—I can’t. I’m sorry, Tony, but I just can’t. I can’t have you ignoring me and pretending like you want me here when it’s obvious that you don’t and—”
“Peter, hold on for a second, okay?” Tony tries again, this time fully stepping out of his suit.
And Peter…he isn’t sure why he does it. He doesn’t mean to. It just happens, as though his brain has finally decided that enough is enough. He rears back, making a fist, and throws it toward Tony’s face, all of the pain and anger that he’s bottled up finding itself an outlet.
Tony is quick to react—thankfully. He lifts his vibranium hand, catching Peter’s punch and blocking it just enough to cause Peter to return to his senses and stop his follow-through. He blinks, Tony’s hand still grasping his. The man is staring at him with such—such guilt. Peter stares back, eyes filling with tears, as he realizes what he just tried to do. He could’ve killed Tony just now.
Wilting, he collapses to the floor, sobs that have been held in for weeks finally breaking loose. Tony grabs him to soften his fall, pulling Peter in close to his chest, wrapping his arms around him. Quickly, Peter finds that the air is becoming scarce and his fingers are becoming numb.
“I—you,” he chokes out, but he doesn’t exactly know what he’s trying to say. He can’t breathe. He just…he can’t, and it’s terrifying, because—why can’t he breathe? He should be able to breathe just fine, there’s nothing stopping him from doing so, he’s fine. Except he’s not, because—it’s been months, but it’s been years, and he—he can’t breathe. He clenches onto Tony’s shirt tight, trying to ground himself, curling inwards.
“Peter,” Tony says in his ear, “listen to me, okay? You’re okay—you’re okay. Forget everything else. It’s just you, and me, alone on a rooftop. Fuck the rest of the noise, okay? It’s just you and me. It’s just…it’s just us, kiddo.”
Peter opens his eyes, not sure when he’d scrunched them shut. He’s still sprawled across the floor, Tony clinging onto him, Peter clinging back, the side of his head resting against Tony’s chest.
That’s when he hears it. Loud, strong, and rhythmic.
Tony’s heartbeat.
He finds his breathing calming, falling in line with the sinusoidal beat.
After a couple of seconds—or maybe even minutes, it’s not like time matters to him anymore—Tony asks cautiously, “Pete?”
“Your heartbeat,” Peter explains softly. “I haven’t been close enough to you for months to hear it.”
Tony lets out a breath. Hugs him tighter. “Peter, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean for this to happen—”
“What did you mean to happen?” Peter asks.
“I thought…” Tony says, shaking his head. “I thought you needed some time alone. I didn’t want to overwhelm you. With Morgan, with the house… I figured I’d let you do it at your own pace and be patient. I didn’t want to be overbearing, and I figured you’d come to me more as you got used to everything.”
“Everything’s different,” Peter says, not sure why he feels the need to keep hammering that same point.
“I know. I know…” Tony replies, but Peter doesn’t think he does know. “I just… I was scared to push you away.”
“But that’s what you did,” Peter fires back. “You—you pushed me away, and I thought—that you didn’t want me. You wouldn’t even let me go out as Spider-Man. It’s just—I need him. He’s me. And you—”
“I took that away from you, I know. I’m a fucking asshole Peter, but I—I need you to understand something. I went five whole years with you. Five. I lost you, kid, and it fucked me up. Severely. And I—I didn’t want it to happen again. I didn’t want you to get hurt again, but most of all, I was terrified that you would decide you wouldn’t want to stay with me anymore. I need you, and the thought of losing you again—”
“If you’d just talked to me—” Peter insists, still crying.
“I know. God, Pete, I know. I’m so sorry. I just… I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.”
“So you didn’t say anything at all.”
Tony swallows. “I didn’t mean to let it get this bad.”
Peter directs his gaze to the skyline.
“And I understand If you don’t want to stay with us any longer. I’m sure Happy would gladly look after you—”
“No.”
Tony seems confused. “No?”
“I—I love you Mr. Stark, okay? And sometimes I hate that I do, because—what you just did to me? It—it can’t happen again. It just—it can’t. I want to be with you. But I want to actually be with you. I want to be a part of the family.”
Tony begins rubbing soothing circles on his back. “Of course.”
“And I want to go back to the city.”
“Done.”
Peter peeks his head up. “Really?”
“Fuck the cabin,” Tony says. “If you hate it, I hate it. We can go back to the tower.”
“But Morgan—”
“Will adjust. I swear, I’m going to make this right, Peter. It might take some time, but I’m going to do my best.”
Peter nods, wiping his face. That’s all he wants. All he needs.
It doesn’t matter whether it’s been five months or five years. Change is the law of life. He can only look toward the future. And hopefully… Hopefully better days lie ahead.
Tony’s right. It’ll take time, but if the effort is there? Then that’s already a step in the right direction.