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He screwed up. He always screwed up.
He screwed up when his parents died. He screwed up when Uncle Ben died. And now he had screwed up again. Peter thought there had to be something fundamentally wrong with him if he couldn’t keep a single father figure in his life.
Before his parents left, he had fought with his father over something stupid – something so small only a kid could cling to it. He remembered the anger, the slammed door, the certainty that there would be time to make it right later.
Then his parents died.
There was no later. No apology. No chance to take it back.
Uncle Ben died because of him. Because Peter had gone out that night. Because he had been careless, selfish. It was his fault – he knew it was – and Aunt May was the one left to pick up the pieces.
And now – now Peter had managed to ruin things with Tony Stark.
The first time Tony had shown up, it hadn’t even felt real. Anthony Edward Stark, sitting on their couch, talking to Aunt May like this was normal, like he belonged there. Offering Peter a chance to fight alongside the Avengers. That had been the best day of his life.
After Berlin, everything changed.
Training sessions turned into something more. Tony showed him his personal lab, and Peter fell in love instantly – with the tech, with the space, with the way Tony trusted him enough to let him touch things that probably cost more than his entire neighborhood. They stopped seeing each other every couple of weeks. Peter started going to the Tower every Friday. Sometimes on weekends too. To work. To help. To stay.
To belong.
Somehow, Tony had even found peace with whatever had happened with Captain Rogers. Peter didn’t know the details – didn’t want to. He just knew there had been yelling, and then understanding, and suddenly the Avengers were together again.
Which meant Peter got to know all of them. Not just as Spider-Man, but as a fifteen-year-old science nerd from Queens. They teased him, included him, gave him a nickname – kid. Peter liked it. He thought that maybe, finally, the constant ache in his chest had faded for good.
At least… until he fucked up.
Big time.
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
Friday didn’t start the way it usually did.
Peter had stayed up too late patrolling the neighborhood, doing the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man thing – not because he wanted to be late, but because he’d lost track of time. Again. By the time he finally dragged himself home, the sky had already started to lighten, and the few hours of sleep he got were nowhere near enough for a fifteen-year-old who insisted on being a superhero on the side.
When May left for work, calling out a quick goodbye and reminding him not to be late, Peter barely registered it. It wasn’t until the door slammed shut that he jolted awake.
Late. He was really late.
Panic kicked in instantly. He scrambled out of bed, tripping over his own feet as he pulled on clothes and grabbed his backpack. He ran all the way to the subway, lungs burning. He could’ve used his powers – could’ve swung – but he was too tired to think straight, and the idea of web-slinging through Queens in broad daylight felt like too much effort.
By the time he reached Midtown, he was already exhausted – and it only got worse.
He got scolded for being late, then remembered, far too late, that they had a science test that morning. He lost precious minutes, rushed through questions he normally would’ve enjoyed, but still – somehow – he managed. He always did.
Between Flash calling him “Penis Parker,” shoving him into lockers, and overhearing people laugh and whisper, him? an apprenticeship at Stark’s? yeah right, Peter limped into lunch with a pounding migraine that only a full night of sleep could fix.
Too bad that wasn’t happening.
The academic decathlon reunion meant extra hours at school, more noise, more lights, more talking. By the time it was over, his head felt like it was splitting in two.
But it was fine. He was fine. He had Ned. He had MJ. Everything was fine. He told himself that over and over, breathing shallowly, fingers digging into his backpack straps as if anchoring himself.
When he finally walked out of the school building, Happy was waiting.
And then – then – Peter could breathe.
“How was school today, kid?” Happy asked, glancing at him through the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the curb. “You look like a zombie.”
“It was fine,” Peter said automatically. “I just didn’t get enough sleep, and then I remembered we had a test, and then the decathlon reunion, and th – ” He stopped himself, realizing he was rambling. He rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry, Happy. I’m just tired.”
Happy chuckled, easy and warm. “You know, you look a lot like Tony sometimes.” He shook his head fondly. “Don’t worry, kid. Everything’s gonna be fine. You’ll get a good night’s rest.”
Peter smiled weakly and leaned his head against the window.
If only Happy knew how wrong he was.
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
As soon as he arrived at the Tower, Peter headed straight for the lab. Normally, the place made his chest feel light, like everything was possible. Today, it just felt… heavy. He was exhausted, down to his bones – but that was on him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. St – ” Peter started as he stepped into the lab.
It was empty.
He stopped short, glancing around once, then twice, confusion settling in.
“Hello, Peter. Tony is currently occupied. He will join you as soon as he can.”
Friday’s voice came out of nowhere, and Peter nearly jumped out of his skin. His hand flew to his chest as he sucked in a sharp breath, heart racing like he’d just sprinted a mile.
“Jeez, Friday,” he muttered. “You scared me.” He let out a shaky laugh. “But, uh – thanks for letting me know.”
“You’re welcome, Peter,” Friday replied calmly.
With nothing else to do, Peter dropped his backpack beside one of the stools and sat down at the workbench. He pulled up schematics for the latest project he and Tony had been working on. Usually, Tony was right there with him, talking a mile a minute, asking questions, challenging him.
But Tony wasn’t here.
Peter told himself he’d just tweak a few things. Just keep his hands busy. He couldn’t sleep without doing something, right?
Minutes blurred into nearly an hour. His eyes started to burn, the numbers on the screen swimming together. He blinked hard, tried to refocus – but the weight behind his eyes grew heavier with every second.
Then his spider-sense fizzled uselessly, drowned out by exhaustion. His head tipped forward. The cool surface of the desk met his forehead, and before Peter even realized what was happening, sleep pulled him under.
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
Tony didn’t come to the lab in a good mood.
The meeting had dragged on for hours – too many suits, too many careful words, too many not-so-subtle attempts by the U.S. government to wedge itself back between the Avengers. Again. He’d kept his smile sharp and his answers sharper, but the tension clung to him even as the doors slid open and he walked down the familiar hallway.
“Friday,” he said, loosening his tie, “next time someone says oversight one more time, just cut the feed.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Tony,” Friday replied.
He pushed into the lab, already halfway through another complaint – then stopped. Peter was slumped over the workbench. At first, Tony’s irritation faltered. The kid’s curls were a mess, his shoulders hunched, one arm tucked awkwardly under his chest. He looked too small in one of Tony’s labs, surrounded by glass and metal and half-finished ideas.
Tony sighed, the edge dulling just a little. “Kid,” he muttered, almost fondly. “You can’t just – ” Then he saw it. Peter’s hand had fallen forward, fingers curled loosely against the prototype they’d been working on for weeks. The casing was cracked, components bent at an angle that made Tony’s stomach drop. One wrong pressure point. One careless movement.
Ruined.
Just like that, the softness evaporated.
“Are you kidding me?” Tony snapped.
Peter jolted awake with a sharp inhale, head lifting too fast. His vision swam, the lab lights too bright, his skull pounding like he’d been hit.
“What – ?” he croaked, blinking. “Mr. Stark?”
Tony was already gesturing wildly at the bench. “Do you have any idea what you just did? That was calibrated. Precisely. You can’t just fall asleep on it like it’s a pillow.”
“I – I’m sorry,” Peter said, pushing himself upright, his limbs heavy, uncooperative. “I didn’t mean to, I was just – ”
“Just what?” Tony cut in, voice rising. “Too tired to pay attention? Too tired to care?”
Peter’s mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at the project, at the damage he hadn’t even noticed yet. His head was still foggy, his stomach aching with hunger, the words not lining up fast enough in his brain.
“I didn’t know,” he said quietly. “I didn’t even – ”
Tony laughed sharply, a humorless sound. “Right. Because sleeping in my lab while wrecking weeks of work is totally accidental.”
That stung. Peter flinched. “I stayed because you weren’t here,” he said, confusion bleeding into his voice. “I thought I could help. I didn’t think it would – ”
“Well, thinking seems to be the problem,” Tony shot back.
The room felt suddenly too small for Peter. Tony dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning back, eyes blazing. “If all you’re going to do is sleep and ruin our work, you might as well go home. Actually – don’t bother coming back.”
The words landed like a slap. Peter froze. Something hot and sharp flared in his chest, cutting straight through the exhaustion. “What?” His voice shook, but he didn’t back down. “I didn’t even understand what was happening, and you’re yelling at me like I did it on purpose.”
Tony crossed his arms. “I don’t have time for this, kid.” That was it. “You know what?” Peter snapped, anger finally pushing through the fog. “Maybe I will go. And maybe I don’t want to see you again either.”
The lab went dead quiet. Tony’s jaw tightened. “Fine.” Peter swallowed hard, hands curling into fists. “Fine.”
He grabbed his backpack, didn’t look back, and walked out before either of them could take it back.
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
Peter ran. He ran and didn’t stop – not until the Tower was far behind him. Not until his lungs burned and his legs ached. He didn’t even know where he was. He hadn’t said goodbye to Friday. He hadn’t thought of anything at all.
He just ran. By the time he slowed to a walk, he was lost. But he was too hurt to care.
Why, why, why, why, why.
The question looped endlessly in his mind as he sank down onto a bench. His hands tangled in his hair. Rain poured down, soaking through his clothes, his backpack, his shoes – everything. He barely noticed.
“Why?” he whispered, tears finally spilling over. He sat there alone, shoulders shaking, sobbing openly as if he could somehow stitch his heart back together by crying hard enough. The last time he had felt anything close to this, Uncle Ben had died. But this was different. It had to be. So why did it feel the same?
He hadn’t done it on purpose. He was just tired. He hadn’t even realized that when he’d fallen asleep, his hand had slipped forward, pressing down on the prototype. He hadn’t meant to ruin anything. But Mr. Stark was right. They’d worked on it for weeks. There had been a deadline.
But – but – but –
Peter’s thoughts tangled until they stopped making sense altogether. His chest tightened. His breaths came faster, shallower, until it felt like no air was getting in at all. Panic clawed its way up his throat. What was he supposed to do now?
Don’t bother coming back.
His heart clenched painfully. So Peter cried. He cried until the sky darkened behind the clouds, until the rain became his only company.
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
He didn’t take the subway. Instead, Peter walked all the way back to Queens. He didn’t know what time it was – didn’t care enough to check. The distance blurred together, hours passing without meaning. He just knew the Tower was far from home, and walking felt like the only thing keeping him upright.
When he finally reached the apartment building, he dragged himself up the stairs, fingers fumbling for his keys. As soon as he opened the door, reality hit him again. May was working the night shift. She thought he was staying at the Tower.
Don’t think about that.
Thinking about it made everything hurt more. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. He would never step foot in that Tower again. The fridge was almost empty. Of course it was – May had planned to go grocery shopping the next day. He was supposed to eat dinner with the Avengers. Peter swallowed hard.
It was fine. He told himself it was fine. He was fifteen. He was Spider-Man. He could handle this.
He took a hot shower, slow and quiet, but the chill never really left his bones. When he opened the cabinets, he found an already-open box of mac and cheese. He cooked it mechanically, hands moving on autopilot. It wasn’t enough. Not even close. He hadn’t eaten since the day before – no breakfast because he’d been late, no lunch because he’d forgotten about the extra hours, and dinner had never happened.
Still, he couldn’t finish it. He cleaned up, moved through the apartment like a ghost, and crawled into bed. He buried himself under the blankets, wishing he could disappear entirely.
Tomorrow will be okay.
But Peter knew better. Tomorrow was not going to be okay. He just wanted to sleep.
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
Surprisingly, the weekend passed quickly.
On Saturday morning, May came home with grocery bags in her arms, humming softly to herself, convinced she had the apartment all to herself. Peter woke to the familiar sound, warmth spreading through his chest before reality fully caught up with him.
When May spotted him standing in the doorway, she nearly dropped everything she was holding.
“Peter?” she said, startled. He was supposed to be at the Avengers Tower. With Tony Stark. Not here. May took one look at him and knew something was wrong. Really wrong. He looked exhausted – dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slumped, his frame a little too thin, his eyes red and glassy like he hadn’t slept or stopped crying.
She didn’t ask questions right away. She put the groceries away first, moving carefully, deliberately. Then she made tea for both of them, the kettle whistling softly in the quiet apartment while Peter watched her in silence. They sat together on the couch, a blanket pulled over their laps. Only then did May turn to him, her voice gentle.
“What happened?” That was all it took. Peter broke down, burying his face in her shoulder, sobs wracking his body as he tried to explain between gasping breaths. The words came out messy and tangled, but May listened to every single one.
“Hey, Peter. Hey,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around him. “Slow down. Breathe with me. In… out. That’s it. You’re doing good, Pete.”
Eventually, the storm eased. Peter sniffed, hands wrapped around his mug, sipping the hot tea while May ran her fingers through his hair, soothing the tension from his scalp. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. This isn’t your fault, okay? You’re going to be fine. We’re going to be fine. I’m here.”
Peter leaned into her touch, his chest finally loosening after days of holding everything in. For the first time since the lab, he felt it – his heart beginning to heal. Because May was here. And as long as she was, he knew he’d be okay.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
On Sunday, Peter started to feel better. Not completely – he was still a little clingy – but May didn’t push him away. She knew he needed comfort, and she was more than willing to give it. They made popcorn and settled in for a Star Wars marathon, curled up on the couch together. Slowly, steadily, the light returned to Peter’s eyes.
They took a break for lunch and went outside. Nothing fancy – just a walk, some street food, the kind of normalcy Peter hadn’t realized he’d been craving. Then they went back home and finished the marathon. Peter fell asleep with his head in May’s lap, her hand absentmindedly brushing through his hair.
When she woke him, it was already time for dinner. They ordered pizza and turned in early. May tucked him into bed like she used to when he was younger, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“We’re going to be fine, Pete,” she whispered. “I promise.”
Peter fell asleep easily that night. And for the first time in days, his dreams were gentle.
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
Things were fine for a while.
Peter still needed time to heal. And it didn’t feel right – at all – to wear the suit he and Mr. Stark had made together when he couldn’t even bring himself to think about what had happened without his chest tightening.
So, the following Friday, Peter boxed the suit. He brought it with him to Midtown, ignoring the curious looks people gave him as he carried the Stark-tech container through the halls. After the academic decathlon meeting, he said goodbye to Ned and MJ, lingering longer than usual. He told himself Happy would be waiting outside – not to take him to the lab, just to help him return the suit.
But no car pulled up. Happy wasn’t there. No one was.
Peter tightened his grip on the box as his eyes burned and his breathing sped up – but he forced himself to slow down. In. Out. This was fine. Everything was fine. He took the subway alone. When he reached the Tower, he stopped across the street and just stared at it. The glass reflected the sky like nothing had changed.
What if Mr. Stark banned me? What if security throws me out? What if –
Peter couldn’t move. Someone bumped into him on their way inside, nearly knocking them both over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Peter blurted out instinctively. “I didn’t see you, I was just – uh – ”
He stopped short. It was Harley. “Oh – hey, Pete,” Harley said quickly. “Sorry, that was on me. You okay?”
Peter nodded automatically, then followed Harley’s gaze to the box in his arms. “Yeah,” Peter said weakly. “You could say that.” He hesitated, then rushed on before he could lose his nerve. “Listen – could you do me a favor? I’ll pay you back. I mean – somehow.”
Harley tilted his head. “Is it about the box?” Peter swallowed. “Yeah. I need you to take it inside. To Mr. Stark.” His voice wobbled, and he looked down at his hands. “I – I can’t go in. Something happened. I just can’t.”
For a moment, Peter couldn’t bring himself to look up. Then Harley spoke. “Alright.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “And – hey. If you ever need anything, call me, okay?” He scribbled his number on a scrap of paper and handed it to him. “Seriously.”
Peter nodded, gripping the paper like it mattered more than it should. They stood there for a moment longer. Then Harley turned and walked into the Tower – a place Peter used to call home. Peter turned away and headed back toward Queens.
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
When Tony left the reunion that Friday, he moved slowly toward the lab. He wanted the kid to be there – just as he always was on a normal Friday – so he could see him, talk to him, maybe get back to how things used to be.
But when he arrived, the lab was empty. Tony exhaled slowly, a tight, ragged sound. His heart clenched, and his traitorous mind whispered the cruelest truth: It was you. You did this.
He tried to focus on work, pushing the thought aside, and Pepper came by to check on him. When she noticed Peter wasn’t there, she gave him a gentle look.
“It’s okay, Tony. Give him some space. You probably scared him,” she said softly. Tony just nodded, returning to his work, but the guilt gnawed at him. Piece of shit. No different than my father. I didn’t want to scare him. It’s my fault.
Then Friday interrupted. “Sir, there’s a young boy here requesting permission to come in.” Tony’s chest jumped. Peter? But if it had been Peter, Friday would’ve said so.
Instead, another boy entered, carrying a box. As he stepped closer, Tony realized he recognized him – one of the interns from the lab.
“Uh, good afternoon, sir. Err – Peter asked me to bring this to you. I’ll… I’ll take my leave now.” Tony froze. Peter? Peter’s here?
He reached for the boy. “Peter asked you to bring this box? Who are you?”
“I’m Harley, sir,” the boy replied. “I know Peter. We worked together in the labs sometime. He was just outside, asking me to bring the box to you. That’s all he said.”
Tony’s heart hammered in his chest. Without another word, he bolted toward the doors, desperate to find Peter before he left – but he was gone. The streets were filled with pedestrians, oblivious. Peter was nowhere to be seen.
It’s your fault.
Tony trudged back to the lab, mind spinning. When he looked up, his eyes fell on the box Harley had delivered. He opened it slowly. Inside lay the Spider-Man suit. And only then did Tony hear the quiet, bitter truth of himself.
I fucked up. Didn’t I, Underoos?
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
A couple of months had passed, and Peter had settled back into a semblance of normal life. He woke up early, dragged himself to school, and spent the afternoons building Legos with Ned or talking with MJ about her sketches. The routine was comforting, familiar – a small bubble of ordinary in the chaos of his past. For a while, it felt like Spider-Man had never existed, like he had never known the Avengers, and they had never known him.
Of course, school hadn’t completely changed. Flash still made it his mission to make Peter miserable. Once, he even broke Peter’s phone, laughing straight in his face while Peter scrambled to clean up the pieces. Peter had managed to buy a new one on his own, finding a part-time job that didn’t take too much time from school or May. She knew what had happened and had quietly kept some money aside for him, just in case. In the meantime, Ned suggested he use one of his old phones, and that was what he had been doing ever since. Just living. Existing. Like a normal kid in Queens.
Peter had learned to avoid the news. Whenever he caught a glimpse of a headline mentioning Spider-Man, he tore his gaze away. It was easier that way – at least until he was ready to face it again. He didn’t think that one fight could have such lasting consequences, but the fallout had been bigger than he imagined.
Sometimes May worked night shifts, leaving him alone for an evening. It had always been fine; she had arranged for the sweet old lady across the hall to check in on him before bed. It wasn’t perfect, but it was manageable.
Peter kept going. He kept living. Everything was fine.
Until one morning, May told him she’d been assigned to a conference for a couple of days, leaving him alone for more than just a night. He could hear the worry in her voice, but he reassured her, promising he would be fine. She finally nodded and left, and Peter followed his usual routine: school in the morning, lunch with Ned and MJ, working on a project in the afternoon. Only in the late evening did he finally make his way back to the apartment.
He knocked on the door of the old lady across the hall, wanting to check on her, but there was no answer. Panic prickled at the back of his neck. A neighbor, clearly irritated by the noise, stomped down the stairs.
“Don’t you know? She felt ill, and an ambulance came to get her. Now would you shut up? I’m trying to sleep up there.”
Peter barely had time to respond before the man stomped back upstairs. He stood frozen for a moment, staring at the empty apartment across the hall, then at the closed door of his own flat. Dumbfounded, he stepped inside. Alone.
But he could do this, right? He was fine. He could handle it.
He ate a quick dinner, studied for a while, and even managed a short call with Ned.
“Ehi, Pete! My cousin and my uncle came to visit for my mom’s birthday. Sorry if we can’t talk much, but I gotta go!”
Peter stared down at the phone in his hand and nodded to himself. That was fine. He was fine.
Eventually, he fell asleep. But his dreams were restless, not sweet. In the middle of the night, he woke, shivering despite the pile of blankets wrapped around him. His teeth chattered, his chest tight. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and went to check the heater – it was off. He tried the light – dead. Then he looked out the window. The street, usually glowing with lamps and passing cars, was swallowed in darkness.
Peter shivered again, both from the cold and from the gnawing unease in his stomach. What if something happens? What am I going to do?
He told himself he could manage. He piled on more blankets, layered warmer clothes over his pajamas, and crawled back into bed. But sleep wouldn’t come. His mind refused to quiet itself.
He wasn’t really fine. May wasn’t here. The old lady across the hall wasn’t here – she was in the hospital. He fought with Mr. Stark, he couldn’t go to the Tower to remain the nights, and he didn’t have his number. There was no service on the phone, he couldn’t reach neither Ned nor MJ. And he was fifteen, completely alone in Queens, in the middle of what he thought was a blackout.
He thought about checking the upstairs neighbors, but the fear of disturbing them was stronger than the need for company. He stayed alert, listening for any sound, every creak of the building twisting into a threat.
Exhaustion eventually pulled him under again. But when he dreamed, it was of the fight with Mr. Stark – the anger, the shouting, the guilt. He woke with a jolt, trembling, eyes wet, his heart hammering. He didn’t know if it was the dream or something real that woke him.
Then he heard footsteps on the stairs. His chest tightened. It’s fine, he told himself. Someone from the upper floors returning home. But the steps grew closer. And then he realized: someone was trying to break into the apartment downstairs. In the darkness, he thought maybe he had the wrong place, but no – because then he heard the same noise from the apartment across the hall, the old lady’s.
Panic surged. Did I lock the door? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t remember. Breathing came fast, shallow. Damn it, think, Peter, think!
He started to step into the living room – and froze. The doorknob turned. His breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t locked the door.
He moved as quietly as possible back to his room and pressed himself against the wall, trying to control the panic. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. He muttered it over and over, but it didn’t help. He wasn’t Spider-Man anymore. He was just Peter. And he was trapped.
What if he had a gun? What if he ended up dead like Uncle Ben?
Finally, he did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed his phone and a blanket, climbed out the window, and ran to the nearest police station.
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
The police believed him. They moved quickly, voices low and urgent, radios crackling in the dark as they followed the directions Peter gave with shaking hands. It didn’t take long before someone shouted confirmation from the hallway. They’d caught him.
The man had been armed. A gun – a real gun. Peter’s stomach twisted violently at the sight of it, cold dread settling deep in his bones. The officer told him the man had been trying to steal whatever he could find, rifling through Peter’s room when they arrived.
Peter had been right. That knowledge didn’t make him feel better. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling as he sat on a hard plastic chair at the station, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, phone clutched like a lifeline. When he finally managed to call May, his voice broke almost immediately.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, words tumbling over each other. “Aunt May, I’m so sorry. I tried – I swear I tried – but I froze. I didn’t know what to do – ”
“Peter,” she interrupted gently but firmly. “Stop.”
He could hear the panic in her breathing, the rush of movement on the other end of the line. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You’re fine. You’re alive. That’s what matters.” Her voice softened, but the certainty in it didn’t waver. “I’m coming back. Right now.”
He didn’t ask how. He didn’t ask about the conference or the flights or anything else. He just nodded, even though she couldn’t see him, and held the phone tighter. That afternoon, when he walked into the apartment and found her sitting in the living room, all the tension he’d been carrying finally broke. Relief flooded him so suddenly it almost knocked the breath from his lungs. He wasn’t alone.
May hugged him like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go. “I’m not leaving you alone again,” she said quietly. “Not even for one night.” Peter believed her.
School returned to its usual rhythm after that, though Ned and MJ were anything but usual when they found out. Ned went pale. MJ’s jaw tightened, eyes sharp with concern. They both hugged him. And for a moment, Peter thought maybe he really was fine.
He had May. He had Ned. He had MJ. He was safe.
But then Mr. Harrington clapped his hands together at the front of the classroom, grinning far too widely.
“Alright, everyone! I’ve got some exciting news. We’re going on a field trip.”
Peter’s stomach dropped.
“Pack your bags, because we’re heading to Avengers Tower.”
The room erupted in cheers.
Peter felt the world tilt.
Everything he’d been trying to ignore – every memory, every word said in anger, every door that had closed – came crashing back all at once, like a wave he couldn’t outrun.
He wasn’t fine.
Not even close.
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
When Peter told May about the field trip, she didn’t answer right away. She just looked at him, really looked at him, like she was reading all the things he wasn’t saying out loud.
“If you don’t want to go,” she said gently, “I won’t force you. Not for anything.” Then she sighed, reaching out to take his hands. “But I think it could be a way to move forward. You’ve been telling yourself you’re fine, Peter… and I know you’re trying so hard. You’re just not there yet. And that’s okay. I just – ” her thumb brushed over his knuckles, grounding, steady, “ – I really believe this could help.”
Peter listened. He breathed. And then, despite himself, he cried. He hugged her tight, face pressed into her shoulder, voice muffled and shaky. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for backing me up. For… for letting me choose.”
Ned and MJ were worried too, that much was obvious, but when they talked it through, it helped – at least a little. The trip would probably be limited to the labs and the museum, supervised, structured. The chances of actually running into Mr. Stark were slim. After all, Tony Stark didn’t even know Peter was coming.
Peter hoped it would stay that way.
The morning of the trip, he stood in front of the bathroom mirror far longer than necessary, talking to his reflection in a low, shaky voice. You can do this. It’s just a building. Nothing happened. You’re fine. He didn’t fully believe it, but he tried.
Before leaving, he opened his drawer – the one he hadn’t touched in months – and stared at the badge resting inside. His Avengers Tower badge. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked it up and slipped it into his pocket.
Just in case.
At Midtown, Flash was already watching him like a shark that had scented blood. Peter barely had time to set his bag down before Flash opened his mouth.
“Let’s see if you’re really an intern there, Penis!” he laughed loudly. “As if!”
Peter kept his eyes down. Ned muttered something under his breath, MJ rolled her eyes spectacularly, and Peter focused on breathing. Just breathing.
On the bus, nausea curled in his stomach. His leg bounced uncontrollably, hands clenched tight in his hoodie sleeves. Ned sat beside him, excitement practically vibrating off him – but he kept glancing over, nudging Peter, pointing things out the window, rambling about tech and labs and exhibits, anything to keep Peter anchored.
Peter appreciated it more than he could say.
The Tower came into view far too soon.
As soon as they got off the bus, chaos erupted. Cindy and Betty were already taking pictures and whispering excitedly. Mr. Harrington clapped his hands, trying – and failing – to organize the group. Abe walked beside Peter, enthusiastically explaining a science project idea. Ned and MJ stayed close behind him, like quiet sentinels. Flash had already surged ahead with his friends, loud and obnoxious as ever.
When they reached the entrance, Peter froze. The glass doors loomed in front of him, sleek and familiar and terrifying. His heart pounded so hard he was sure someone could hear it. Avengers Tower. He was really here. What if Tony had banned him? What if FRIDAY flagged him the moment he stepped inside?
“Come on, Parker,” MJ said softly, meeting his eyes. There was no teasing there – only encouragement. Peter looked at her. Then at Ned. And then, heart in his throat, he stepped forward with them.
Mr. Harrington was already speaking with the receptionist, gesturing animatedly. After a moment, a young woman joined them, smiling politely as she addressed the group.
“Hello everyone! You must be Midtown High,” the woman said brightly. “Welcome to Avengers Tower. My name is Linda, and I’ll be your guide for today. First things first – let me tell you a bit about the Tower’s history…”
Her voice faded into background noise almost immediately. Peter already knew this – he’d lived it. He stared at the sleek walls, the familiar shine of metal and glass, and focused on slowing his breathing. You’re fine. You’re just visiting. Nothing more.
The group began moving, and Peter startled slightly, forcing himself to pay attention again.
“In Avengers Tower,” Linda continued, walking backward so she could face them, “security is our top priority. That’s why everyone here uses badges that indicate who you are and what level of access you have.”
A hand shot up immediately. Cindy, of course.
“How many levels of security are there, Miss Linda?”
Linda laughed warmly. “Good question! You’re all level one – guests. That means you’re allowed in the Tower only if accompanied by someone with a higher clearance. For example, I’m level two, which is reserved for tour guides. Level three is for interns, scientists, and medical staff. Level four is for the Avengers themselves…” She paused just long enough for the effect to land. “…and level five is for Mr. Stark’s personal family.”
Peter’s chest tightened painfully, like invisible fingers squeezing his heart. The scars there – ones he pretended had healed – pulled and burned. Family. He swallowed hard.
Linda began handing out badges, one by one. When she reached Peter, she gave him the same polite smile as everyone else, clipping a level one badge onto his hoodie. Guest. Nothing more. He didn’t reach for the old level four badge in his pocket. What was the point?
He used to think he belonged here. He used to think he mattered.
“Next,” Linda said, clapping her hands once, “you’ll all pass through the scanner. FRIDAY – Mr. Stark’s personal AI assistant – will analyze your badges and identities.”
Linda stepped through first. A soft hum filled the air.
“Linda Davis,” FRIDAY’s calm voice echoed, smooth and precise. “Level two. Tour guide. Welcome back, Linda.”
“Thanks, FRIDAY!” Linda replied cheerfully.
She turned back to the group. “See? Nothing to be afraid of. I’ve already given you your badges – just step through.”
One by one, they went.
“Flash Thompson. Level one. Guest.”
Flash puffed up like he’d just been knighted, grinning obnoxiously. Peter almost laughed despite himself.
“Cindy Moon. Level one. Guest.”
Cindy filmed the entire thing, whispering excited commentary under her breath.
“Ned Leeds. Level one. Guest.”
Ned waved at the scanner like it could wave back.
Then all too soon, it was Peter’s turn. He hesitated – just a second too long. His palms were sweaty, heart hammering against his ribs. He could feel Flash’s eyes on him, hear the snickers starting behind him.
“Oh, what’s wrong, Parker?” Flash sneered. “Scanner too scary for you?”
Peter clenched his jaw and stepped forward.
“Well,” he thought faintly, here goes nothing. The scanner activated.
“Peter Parker,” FRIDAY said. Peter’s breath caught. “Underoos. Level five. Family. Welcome back, Peter.”
The world stopped. FRIDAY hadn’t read his badge. She hadn’t acknowledged him as a guest. She hadn’t corrected herself. He was not level one, and he wasn’t either level four.
Level five. Family.
The sound of blood roared in his ears. His vision blurred, edges darkening as panic crashed over him all at once. He couldn’t breathe. His knees buckled.
No, no, no –
The last thing he saw was a man with a familiar goatee rushing toward him, fear written plainly across his face. Strong arms caught him before he hit the floor. And as everything went dark, one thought echoed softly in his mind, warm and devastating all at once.
I’m home.
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
Tony was having a normal day – if you could call anything that came after that blasted Friday normal.
He hadn’t really slept. He’d just… closed his eyes for a few minutes here and there. Morning came anyway. He sat through breakfast with Pepper, mechanically sipping coffee while Sam and Rhodey traded jabs, Nat and Clint dared each other to increasingly stupid feats, and the Tower felt almost peaceful. Almost.
Then he retreated to the lab. Like always. Like it was the only place where his thoughts didn’t get too loud.
“Sir,” FRIDAY said suddenly, her tone just a fraction sharper than usual, “Peter Parker is currently inside Avengers Tower.”
Tony’s heart slammed into his ribs.
“What?” He was already moving. “Pull up the feed, Fri. Now.”
The hologram sprang to life – and there he was. Peter. His kid. The kid he’d scared, the kid he’d hurt, the kid he’d pushed away with words he could never take back. Standing in the Tower like he belonged there. Like he always had. Tony swallowed hard.
It wasn’t even Friday.
“What – what is he doing here?” Tony muttered, equal parts disbelief and fragile hope twisting in his chest. The last time Peter had been anywhere near the Tower, he hadn’t even walked inside. He’d sent Harley. He’d sent the suit back like a resignation letter. Tony had ruined everything. He knew that.
“This is my chance,” Tony whispered, more to himself than to FRIDAY. His only one. Peter hadn’t answered his calls. Or his texts. Or his increasingly unhinged voicemails. After the suit came back, Tony had known – really known – that he’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross. He was supposed to be the adult. And he’d failed spectacularly.
“FRIDAY, why is he here? Not that I don’t want him here, of cour – ” Tony cut himself off with a sharp breath. Talking in circles wasn’t helping. “Why?”
“Peter Parker is visiting as part of a Midtown School field trip,” FRIDAY replied. “Additionally, per the Underoos Supervision Protocol, I am required to inform you of all of Peter Parker’s movements while inside the Tower.”
Tony winced. Right. That protocol. The one he’d written at three in the morning because he was terrified of something happening to a fifteen-year-old kid who thought jumping off buildings was a hobby.
He stood up abruptly and ran a hand through his hair, straightening his shirt, checking his reflection in a dark screen. Thank Thor he’d showered. At least he didn’t look like a complete mess. Just an emotional one.
He headed for the security scanners at a near jog. He arrived just in time. FRIDAY’s voice echoed through the lobby, calm and unmistakable. “Peter Parker. Underoos. Level five. Family. Welcome back, Peter.”
Tony saw it instantly – the way Peter’s face drained of color, the way his shoulders sagged like his body had suddenly given up on him. Oh no. No, no, no –
Tony surged forward just as Peter collapsed. He caught him before he hit the floor, arms tightening around the too-light weight of him, blocking out the gasps and murmurs around them. Peter was warm, breathing, alive, and that was all Tony cared about.
“I’ve got you, kid,” Tony murmured instinctively, holding him close. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
He didn’t look up when he spoke again.
“FRIDAY, I’m taking my kid to the penthouse,” Tony said, voice firm despite the tremor beneath it. “I’ll talk to the teacher later. Let the class continue the tour.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tony adjusted his grip, careful and protective, and turned away from the crowd. He would fix this. No matter how long it took. No matter how hard it was.
Even if it was the last thing he did on this Earth.
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
When Peter woke up in the room he used to sleep in during weekends at the Tower, his first thought was that everything – everything – that had happened over the last few months had been nothing more than a nightmare.
The familiar ceiling stared back at him. The soft light. The quiet hum of the Tower. For a few precious seconds, he let himself believe it. He lay there, unmoving, trying to piece his thoughts together. Then he turned his head.
Tony Stark was sitting in the armchair beside the bed, elbows resting on his knees, one hand covering his eyes like he was trying to erase the world out of sheer exhaustion.
Reality crashed down on Peter all at once.
The Tower. The field trip. Level five. Family. Tony.
His chest tightened violently. His breathing broke apart, coming too fast, too shallow. Panic clawed its way up his throat before he could stop it, memories piling on top of each other until he couldn’t tell where one ended and another began.
He couldn’t breathe. Then arms wrapped around him – strong, warm, grounding. A hand slid into his hair, steady and familiar, and suddenly there was a scent that felt like safety and guilt and home all at once.
Tony.
“It’s okay,” Tony murmured, voice rough but certain. “I’ve got you. I’m here. You’re safe. I’m sorry, kid – God, I’m so sorry.”
Peter clung to him without thinking, breath hitching until it finally slowed, until the world stopped spinning. Only then did he realize his face was wet. He pulled back just enough to see the darkened patch on Tony’s shirt and panic flared again.
“I’m – I’m sorry,” Peter rushed out, trying to pull away. “I didn’t mean to – I’ll go, I’ll just – I shouldn’t be here – ”
Tony shook his head immediately and tightened his grip, refusing to let him go. “No,” he said firmly. “No. You don’t apologize. Not for this. Not for anything.” His voice cracked despite himself. “This was my fault. All of it. I hurt you, and I shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry, Pete.”
Peter froze, confused, overwhelmed. They stayed like that for a long moment, Tony murmuring soft reassurances, hands never still, grounding him. When Peter finally pulled back, it was only enough to look at him.
“I didn’t ruin it on purpose,” Peter said, the words spilling out like they’d been trapped for months. “The prototype. I was just so tired. I stayed up late, then I was late for school, and I forgot breakfast, and there was a test, and I didn’t eat lunch, and we had extra hours and – ” His voice broke. “I just fell asleep. I didn’t even realize my hand – ”
Tears blurred his vision again.
“And then you yelled and I went home and May wasn’t there and then the blackout happened and I was alone and I didn’t lock the door and someone broke in and – I froze. I couldn’t do anything. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
Tony listened to every word. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t let go. Didn’t stop stroking Peter’s hair, like it was the only thing keeping his heart from breaking apart entirely.
“Oh, kid,” Tony whispered. “I’m the one who needs forgiveness.” He pulled Peter close again, forehead resting against his hair.
“I was angry,” Tony admitted. “Not at you – never at you. I was angry at the government, at the world, at myself, and I took it out on you. I said things I didn’t mean, and I scared you.” His voice shook. “I should’ve been there for you. I wasn’t. And then you gave back the suit and I thought… I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
He swallowed hard. “You’re like a son to me, Peter. And I failed you. I swear to you, I will never leave you alone again. Ever.”
Peter cried quietly against him while Tony wiped every tear away like it was sacred. They stayed there, holding onto each other – two people who had hurt each other without meaning to, finally finding their way back. And this time, they both knew it.
They were going to be fine.
For real.
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
And if, the next day, no one dared to make fun of Peter Parker anymore, if Flash Thompson turned pale and looked moments away from throwing up whenever Peter glanced his way, if Mr. Harrington couldn’t stop praising his favorite student –
Well.
Nobody said a word.
– 🕸️🕷️🔬 –
And they all lived happily ever after.