Chapter Text
now, as we face the perils of the long night
tags: time travel, time travel fix-it, irondad, avengers big super family, peter&ned&mj friendship. ITALIANO
and yesterday, you will wake up
Shortly after Mr. Stark hugs Peter, he gets pulled to the side by Doctor Strange.
“This isn’t the only way,” Dr. Strange says, his voice low and cryptic. Before Peter can respond, he shoves something towards Peter.
It’s a simple silver necklace with a small, round pendant that resembles an old pocket watch. The screen glows and the face crackles, almost as if it’s alive.
“What—what is this?” Peter asks, staring at it, bewildered. The clock glows red and he can see the hands moving rapidly at probably three or four times the rate of a regular clock.
“This is directly connected to your sense of self— your consciousness. You will go back. How far back, I am not sure. You must realize that you must use it if things go irreparably wrong.”
But still. Peter swallows hard, still staring at the still-ticking clock within his grasp. “How do I use it? If. If I ever need to?”
Dr. Strange looks at him with a calculating, wary, expression. Then he sighs, forlorn. “You will know.”
“Right,” Peter says. “Lets—just pray. That we don’t have to, you know. Use it.”
Dr. Strange inclines his head, but there is no conviction in his actions. “Let us hope.”
Peter turns around with the necklace safely tucked under his suit, chain clasped in his back. The unfamiliar weight of the pendant hums on top of his skin, strange yet comfortable.
“Peter.”
He stops and glances back. Strange looks... hesitant. It’s an expression Peter isn’t used to seeing on him.
“For what it’s worth,” Strange says softly, his voice almost breaking through its usual cool detachment, “I’m sorry.”
Mr. Stark dies.
The smoke from the battlefield is heavy in the air, desolate and suffocating. Peter stays, sobbing with Mrs. Potts. Mr. Stark lies in the rubble, unmoving.
Peter instinctively grasps the clock pendant for comfort. It’s a stark reminder of what has happened, and what they’ve lost. The clock has stopped ticking. The hands in the face swing slowly in random directions.
Dr. Strange is close to Peter as he surveys the ruckage with an unreadable expression in his eyes. The chaos of the battlefield has subsided, leaving an unnatural silence and the aftermath for the survivors to deal with. Dr. Strange’s eyes flick over to him, and for a split second, their gazes lock. Peter sees something—something more than just grief or exhaustion—in his eyes. It’s knowing. Warning.
“Peter,” Dr. Strange murmurs. The weight of what Peter must do hangs between them, and Peter sniffles. He continues. “Do you understand now? Do you understand what you must do?”
Peter’s throat tightens. He knows that he has to go back, to fix everything. He alone has the power to change their fate. Mr. Stark’s fate. Pepper’s grief.
His grief.
He lifts his hand to look at the clock pendant. It starts humming with power and it glows white. The hands are rearranged and are ticking to zero.
“Yeah,” Peter mumbles, hoarse. “I’m going. I—I have to go back. To save him.”
Dr. Strange nods, his expression unreadable but filled with resolve. “Then go. Do not waste more time than you can possibly spare.”
The clock ticks ominously, its hands getting closer to zero each tick. Peter takes a shaky breath.
“I’m sorry, Tony,” Peter whispers to Mr. Stark’s broken body when Ms. Potts stands up, looking at him with alarm.
“Peter?”
The clock shows seven more seconds until zero. The red-orange sky starts cracking open and pieces start crumbling off the edges. The light from the clock is almost blinding.
Two more seconds. “I’m sorry, Ms. Potts,” Peter says. “I’ll fix everything. I promise.”
If Ms. Potts wasn’t alarmed before, she is now. “Peter—”
The last thing Peter sees before everything goes white—cliche much?—is Ms. Potts frantically reaching out to him and Mr. Stark’s closed eyes. Doctor Strange meets his eyes.
He looks—grudgingly proud.
Peter wakes up in a bed for the first time in five years (according to Mr. Stark) and feels as if there’s another building on top of him. There’s a haze as he slowly pushes the covers of the blanket until he remembers.
Thanos. Mr. Stark, Dr. Strange, the snap.
The dusting, the blip.
He scrambles off of his bed.
The necklace is still underneath his clothes, although the suit is now replaced with his regular raggy t-shirt and boxers. Wait. Pause. Peter looks— really looks—at his clothes.
These clothes were from before Mr. Stark took away his suit. Before he gave Peter the hello kitty pajamas, Peter wore the large t-shirts and pants that Uncle Ben left behind as a reminder.
Which means this is before Mr. Stark took away the suit.
Maybe Mr. Stark still hasn’t even met him, yet. Peter does feel smaller than he did at 16 a day ago (although not by much).
When he scrambles for his phone on his bedside table and it turns on, Peter almost cries. It’s almost perfect. Later this day, Mr. Stark will come to this lowly apartment complex, flirt with Peter’s “ridiculously attractive aunt” May, and lie to May about Peter’s supposed grant. Peter will come in, flustered and wowed by the fancy car parked outside, and let himself go to Germany to fight in the “civil war”.
The clock is wayward once again. Peter squints at the small display. The hands shift erratically with no specific order. This makes him really think . Does the clock only activate when a major event is about to happen? Can he go back in time multiple times? Did Strange leave a message anywhere in the clock?
Groaning, Peter quietly gets up from his bed and opens the middle drawer of his bedside table. After a few minutes of tinkering, the clock’s backplate swings open to reveal countless inscriptions and etchings.
“Great,” Peter says. “I sure love deciphering me ruins at 2:13 AM. I’m sure that’ll be so fun!”
Deciphering the ruins gives Peter the escape he’s looking for. He doesn’t want to think about what this situation all says, what the future holds. He just wants to be a kid for another night (or is it morning now?).
Suddenly the clock ticks. At first glance, it looks broken—hands frozen in place, cracks splintering the glass—but then, as he stares, something shifts.
The hour hand trembles, almost reluctant, before it jolts forward with a faint tick. Beneath the cracked surface, the numbers on the face don’t match any clock Peter’s ever seen: instead of 1 through 12, there’s a peculiar set of glowing runes circling the edge. They rearrange themselves as he watches, glowing faintly. Then the second hand begins to move, jerky and uneven, like it’s being wound against its will.
Peter frowns. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows. The clock isn’t counting the usual kind of time. Each tick feels heavy, deliberate, like it’s dragging something closer. And then, as he squints at the hands, the realization dawns:
36 hours. He has 36 hours left until… what?
The clock doesn’t tell him outright, but the weight of its ticking feels like a countdown. A warning. A promise. Peter tucks it back under his clothes, unease prickling his spine. Whatever this thing is, it’s not just a necklace—it’s a harbinger.
He’ll decipher the ruins tomorrow. Peter just wants to pretend, even for a little bit, that he’s a normal teenager.
When Peter finally falls into a fitful rest, he dreams. In the dream, Mr. Stark takes him and another young girl—Morgan, he thinks her name is—inside of a lakeside cabin. Inside, Pepper is conversing with Aunt May. Aunt May says something funny and Pepper laughs. The dream shifts, and Peter sees the Avengers. Not the heartbroken, wayward group they were before he came back. Mr. Rogers and Mr. Stark are laughing about something, while the Black Widow makes hot chocolate with Mr. Barton. Doctor Banner is studying some papers at a table with the Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Happy smiles slightly with Colonel Rhodes.
They all look happy . Happy and youthful in a way Peter has never seen them look before.
This is what could have happened.
They could have been happy.
Peter wakes up with a start, his heart pounding. It isn’t a dream.
He’s really here.
For a minute, he takes in the details of his cramped bedroom, with LEGOs in different places and hundreds of borrowed and used textbooks. The familiar cracks of paint, and the faint hum of the city outside—it’s all exactly as it was. Exactly as he remembers.
Frantically, he rolls out of bed and opens the trap door on his ceiling with the stick with practiced ease. His breath catches.
His old suit—if he can really call it that—is there. Hanging on a string, with the mismatched fabric patiently sewn together with hours of Peter’s blood, sweat, and tears. The clunky, dark goggles contrast highly with the red and blue. It’s like staring at a relic from a past life long ago. A life he thought he would never see again.
Which means the clock is telling him something.
Peter’s hands fly to his neck and he yanks the pendant off. The pendant feels heavier now, pulsing faintly against his palm. He flips it over and watches the hands on the face shift and settle.
The realization hits him like a truck.
He has yet to meet Tony Stark properly.
Today, when he gets home from school, Tony Stark himself will be in Peter’s small living room, chatting up with Aunt May. Mr. Stark will pretend to talk to Peter about a grant, show Peter videos of Spider-man, and then—
Germany.
“Holy crap,” Peter whispers.
Peter knows what he has to do.
He has to make Steve Rogers and Tony Stark reunite.
The weight of what he has to do hangs heavily upon him, but suddenly, Peter believes.
Believes that he can do this. Believes that he can save Tony .
Peter needs to think. And then he’ll take a shower before going to school. And brush his teeth (morning breath sure stinks a lot).
After taking a quick, cold shower in the also cramped bathroom, Peter grabs a notebook from his backpack and starts scribbling, the words coming out faster than his brain could process.
Today
- Make sure the Avengers don’t split up (????????????????????)
- Figure out WHY the Avengers split up ASAP!!!
- Don’t let Mr Stark know that i know him (weird)
- Don’t let anyone find out about the clock
- Maybe contact Dr Strange?
“Yeah, okay,” Peter scoffs. “Light work. Easy.” Peter taps his chewed-out pencil on the table repeatedly before he writes one more item at the bottom:
- Don’t screw up!!!!!!!!!!
Then, in parentheses beneath it, he adds:
(This is a dumb one. I’ll definitely screw up. Just try not to, like, destroy the timeline, I guess??)
“Pete, honey!” Aunt May calls, and Peter jolts. “Eat some breakfast or else you’ll be late for school!”
“Coming!” He calls back, before grabbing a random blue hoodie and some sweatpants to put on.
Peter quickly shoves the notebook into his backpack and tucks the necklace safely under his clothes. Hopefully Aunt May won’t think he has a sudden fascination with jewelry that ticks ominously and glows red before literally rewriting time.
Peter’s day starts with a whirlwind of distractions. Between the weight of the clock which won't stop ticking and the thoughts of the “civil war” between the Avengers, it’s hopeless for him to even try to concentrate.
“Dude,” Ned says, waving a hand in front of Peter’s face when he blanks for the fourth time in the morning. “Did you not sleep or something?”
“Uh, yeah. Totally.” Peter lies, his voice cracking slightly. “Just... you know. Homework.”
Ned narrows his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “You love homework.”
Before Peter can retort and make a brilliant comeback, Mr. Harrington, bless him, starts class. Ned reluctantly turns around and gives him the universal I’m watching you gesture.
Peter tries to focus, but his mind wanders every time. He resorts to messily doodling Captain America’s shield on his notebook.
Why do the Avengers split up?
All Mr. Stark told him in the past was that Captain America did some wrong things and thought he was right. That he was dangerous because he thought he was right. It can’t just be because of the Sokovia Accords. Peter’s pretty sure the Avengers were family before, and family doesn’t split up just because of some stupid laws.
He bounces his legs repeatedly and his thoughts spiral. The clock pulses where it’s located on his chest. Something big is coming, and not just the split.
The bell rings and Peter jumps up from his seat, startled. Ned gives him another look that he ignores.
At least it’s a good starting place, Peter thinks to himself. He’ll just have to research some more during lunch.
By lunchtime, Peter’s nerves are shot. He grabs a plate of the daily mystery meat (which looks less like meat and more mush than anything) and sits at his usual table with Ned. MJ sits at the far end of the table for some reason. Peter ponders over this until he remembers that he’s about 6 years in the past, and this MJ hasn’t stormed her way into Peter and Ned’s awkward nerd friend group yet. She’s still in her enigmatic, too-cool-for-you phase.
Dang it. He already misses her.
“You look like a zombie,” MJ tells Peter, flipping through her book.
“Thanks.”
Ned frowns. “Bro, are you really okay?”
Peter ignores the question. “Hypothetically,” he asks Ned, “if you were to break up a major fight. Like, a huge fight between friends. How would you do that?”
Ned looks stumped. “We don’t fight, Peter?”
“Well, obviously not,” Peter says. “Just—hypothetically. Humor me. A world-ending fight.”
“Uh… call the police?”
MJ snorts. “Right, because the NYPD is totally equipped to stop world-ending battles.”
“It’s hypothetical !” Peter insists quickly, throwing up his hands.
“Is it though?” MJ raises an eyebrow, and Peter feels a bead of sweat roll down his temple.
“Anyways,” he says, shoving a bite of mystery meat into his mouth to avoid further interrogation. It tastes as terrible as it looks, but it serves as a fine distraction for Ned, if not MJ.
In history class, Peter finally has a moment to think about the situation without interruptions.
Their teacher drones on about the Treaty of Versailles, but Peter’s mind is elsewhere. The Sokovia Accords are basically the modern version of the treaty anyways, but punishing the Avengers and other heroes and hero-adjacent groups instead of Germany.
He remembers the videos he’s seen: Captain America refusing to sign, Tony Stark defending the Accords. Two sides of the same coin, both convinced they’re doing what’s best.
All Peter knows is that if he can’t get them to see reason with each other, it’ll all be for nothing. Peter taps his pen against the desk, his thoughts racing. If he can’t get them to see reason, it’ll all fall apart.
The last bell rings, cutting off his train of thought.
Peter walks back to the apartment from the subway station, his nerves building with every block. He keeps replaying his plan—or his lack of—in his head. All he has to do is prevent the Avengers from splitting up even more, and have Captain America and Mr. Stark kiss and make up. How hard can it be?
The clock thrums faster against his chest, almost reassuring with its warmth and steady rhythm. But the ticking reminds him—time is running out.
By the time Peter reaches the apartment, he’s ready to meet Tony Stark again and kick ass. Sort of. Maybe. The frankly insane car Mr. Stark drives (or is Happy driving it? Peter never found out) is parked in front of the complex again. People are ogling at the ridiculously sleek car again, too.
When Peter arrives at the door, he fumbles with the keys. His heart is pounding. He knows who's inside. He knows what’s about to happen.
But it’s different now. Last time Tony Stark wasn’t anything to him, really—just a superhero who saved Peter at the expo with the catchphrase “genius billionaire playboy philanthropist”. Now this is Tony Stark , Peter’s.
Peter doesn’t even know what Mr. Stark is to him at this point.
This Tony Stark has a tragedy lined up for him in about six year’s time.
Before he can think any more depressing thoughts, Peter opens the door and steps through the door.
Even without his enhanced senses he can hear Mr. Stark’s confident voice talking to Aunt May. Tony Stark’s laugh carries through the apartment, as casual and self-assured as ever. His laugh fills the small apartment with warmth. Peter swallows hard and rounds the corner into the living room.
Like before, Tony Stark lounges on their old couch like he belongs there with his casual clothes that probably cost more than Peter’s entire closet doubled. He gestures animatedly as Aunt May laughs at whatever joke he just cracked.
Peter can feel his heart breaking into many pieces watching this.
It’s only been what feels like a day since he last saw Mr. Stark, yet it feels like a lifetime. It’s hard to believe that this confident man standing right in front of Peter is the same one who was in the rubble and broken.
“Ah, Mr. Parker!” Mr. Stark says, pointing at Peter like they’re old buddies. “The man of the hour.”
Peter freezes. His mind blanks for a second. How is he supposed to act nonchalant? How is he supposed to pretend to not have any sort of attachment to this still-stranger Tony Stark?
“It’s about time we met,” Mr. Stark continues on, winking once with his bad eye and once on his good eye. “You did get my emails, right?”
Peter stares at him like he’s a live grenade before responding. “Um, yeah. Yeah.”
Aunt May immediately turns around. “Peter! Why didn’t you tell me about the grant!”
“The September Foundation,” Mr. Stark adds. “You applied, and I approved. Now I’m here.”
That’s the exact same excuse he came up with before to talk to Peter. If Peter had doubts, they’re now proven wrong.
“Keeping secrets from me?” Aunt May looks slightly disappointed.
“Uh, yeah.” Peter feigns disbelief. He quickly racks his brain to remember what he said exactly. The clock hums against his chest. “S-sorry May! I just, you know, wanted to keep it a surprise. I know you like surprises. So I thought I would let you know later.” Mr. Stark raises his eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.
Now that Peter isn’t tripping over himself from shock like his first time around, he can finally soak in all the minute details. Mr. Stark’s patented smirk looks weary from his scuffles with Captain America.
Mr. Stark continues, oblivious to Peter’s inner conflict. “Yeah, that’s what I’m here for. To hash out the details about the grant.” To May, “Can I have five minutes with him?” Mr. Stark already starts rising from his place on the couch.
“Of course,” Aunt May replies. “Don’t take too long, though—I made brownies too!”
Mr. Stark gestures for Peter to lead the way. The clock starts ticking quicker and Peter starts panicking. He shouldn’t even be panicking, dammit, this isn’t even a major moment.
The moment the door swings shut Mr. Stark spits out Aunt May’s infamous walnut date loaf. “As far as walnut date loaves go, that wasn’t bad.”
Honestly, Peter can relate. But Aunt May is trying her best!
The first thing that comes out of Peter’s mouth when they’re alone is the same as the past. “I definitely did not apply for this grant.”
“Nuh uh,” Mr. Stark interrupts. “Me first. Quick question of the rhetorical variety. That’s you, right?” He pulls out a video of Peter swinging around the city. “Look at you go.” The phone switches to another of him stopping a bus with his hands alone. Mr. Stark pauses at the frame where Peter catches the bus. “Wow. Nice catch—three thousand pounds at 40 miles an hour—not easy. Got mad skills.”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter stammers, trying to feign confusion. “You got all those videos from YouTube, right? They’re probably fake and computer generated.”
Tony gives Peter an unimpressed look. “Kid, I’m the one who knows everything on the internet. I have hundreds of AIs. I have evidence of you being Spider-man.”
“Um,” Peter’s mind is racing, but internally, he’s very proud of himself for letting the conversation steer this way. This is comfortable territory. This is fine. Mr. Stark will poke along his room, and then they’ll quickly discuss his abilities. Mr. Stark will ask him why he does what he does, and Peter will say that he wants to look out for the little guys. He’ll get invited to fight at Germany, he’ll accept, and the rest is history.
Easy.
Mr. Stark uses the stick—just like before—and his old suit comes swinging out from the string. Peter doesn’t bother with any pretenses. He still feels a bit offended when Mr. Stark once again automatically assumes that someone else manufactures his web fluid. Sure, Peter may not be the best sewer in Queens, but he goes to Midtown! He can engineer his own web fluid, thankyouverymuch.
“So, why do you do what do you do? I’m curious.” Mr. Stark asks, walking around the room casually.
Even though Peter has already rehearsed this conversation with himself hundreds of times, he still feels trapped. Peter swallows and the weight of the necklace pressed against his chest is unbearable right now. He has 24 hours left, but it feels like he’s out of time already.
“I just—you know, want to look out for the little guys.” Great, he’s stuttering. “Before all of this , I was just. Normal. You know? But now I got these powers, so I can help people now.”
Last time, Peter rambled about responsibility and bad things happening, and Mr. Stark, in his roundabout way, tried to comfort him. This time, Peter doesn’t talk much. It’s all for the better. Maybe this way he won’t accidentally let anything slip. Everyone knows that the less you speak, the less opportunities you have for failure. Or something along those lines.
Mr. Stark nods and starts pacing around the small room. “Right. So here’s the deal. I’ve got a job for you. Not like your usual street-level stuff. Big leagues. You game?”
“Germany?” Peter blurts out before he can stop himself. Mr. Stark looks shocked and Peter realizes he’s messed up. He backtracks as quickly as possible. “I mean, I dunno. I have a lotta homework and I can’t miss school.”
If Mr. Stark looked shocked before, he’s now the epitome of unimpressed. Peter wilts.
“I’ll just pretend you never said that,” Mr. Stark tells him.
The rest of the interaction plays out like before, but Peter’s heart is heavier. This time, he knows what’s at stake. This time, he’s determined to save Tony Stark—and everyone else—no matter the cost.
Bonus scene: Tony Stark
Tony isn’t sure what he was expecting when he meets Peter Parker.
Definitely not a nervous wreck in big hoodies with sleeves balled-up like a security blanket. Definitely not a short kid with the voice of an 8 year old girl.
Sure, FRIDAY had already informed him of virtually everything there was to know about Peter Parker—including the frankly embarrassing height of 5 feet 4 inches—but Tony had still been bracing himself for... more. Some swagger, maybe a touch of smirky arrogance, or at least the kind of scrappy energy that screamed Hey, I deserve to be here .
Instead, the kid in front of him fidgets like he's auditioning for the role of Awkward Teenager #1 . The kid blurts out, “Uh, hi! I’m, uh, Peter—Peter Parker," in a voice so shaky it’s almost endearing.
Tony stares for a second before sighing. "Great. A human stress ball."