Archive of Our Own

Peter had tried to get used to this new normal. Had tried to reconcile himself with his realities, the two of them the same and yet unyieldingly different. His memories, the things he knew he had experienced. And then this…new version. This version where Tony survived, where he never died and he was there. He was there in that tulip field in the Netherlands, he was there to steady Peter after his identity was revealed.

Peter had texted him goodbye before the spell took effect. He had found screenshots of the conversation on his phone.

Yet he knew that had never happened. But it had.

Time was weird. Malleable. If Peter had learned anything it was that.

Of course, the world wasn’t kind enough to keep Peter from being forgotten. But Tony was alive. He must’ve kept his promise.

Peter ached with longing for MJ and for Ned and for May and for Tony. It had grown so much worse, his body felt weighed down with it.

He felt the wind rush past him in a familiar adrenaline rush. This was his therapy, his peace, his favorite part of the job. Falling closer and closer to the pavement before catching himself and launching above skyscrapers.

The night was cold for late September, he could feel the chill running through his veins.

One robbery, a carjacking, and an attempted mugging. Not an uneventful night, but not peaceful. Everyone was safe. He barely got a scratch, though his healing was slowed with his lack of a steady source of food. He wondered half heartedly what he’d eat after patrol.

Peter tried not to think about the previous day as he launched himself forward, accelerating faster and faster. Tony had found him, somehow. He was retired but the world would stop spinning before Tony Stark didn’t jump into a fight to protect New York.

”You’re hard to find, kid,” Tony said, making Peter nearly fall off the ledge where he was sitting. “Wh- Stark! What- do you need something?” He said, feeling his heart pang with Tony’s familiar nickname.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” he said, the unmoving face of the armor staring down at Peter. “Can’t imagine there’s much for us to talk about,” Peter hummed, standing up. He needed to get away now. “There is, actually,” Tony said shortly. The formality in his voice struck Peter like a knife to his heart. “I think we should work together, Spider-Man. I have many reasons to think we could benefit each other.”

Tony would never know how badly Peter wanted to tell him everything.

“Sorry, Stark,” he said with a quickness in his tone, “Spiders are solitary creatures. I work alone.”
“You’re not a spider, kid.”
“You’d be surprised.”

The armor shifted a little. “Just hear me out,” Tony said, a familiar firmness in his voice, “It’d be good, I promise. Just listen.”

Peter stretched his arms casually above his head, stifling a yawn. “Look, man,” he sighed, “It’s been a long day. All that-” he gestured half heartedly to the smoke that was still lingering downtown, “It takes a lot out of a guy. And like I said, I work alone. ‘Fraid I have a no negotiation policy on that. But if I’m in the area, I’ll help you and your friends out.” “Kid-” “Don’t call me that, Stark.”

It took six minutes and forty three seconds to lose Tony in the labyrinth of concrete that was New York City.

Peter let himself fall until he could nearly feel the pavement on his skin.

He tried to let himself breathe.

thwip

The feeling of cars underneath him.

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Feeling the city breathing and living with him.

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Trying to forget memories he didn’t really feel like he lived.

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“Peter,” EV said in his mask, “Another mugging is taking place two blocks away.” “Show me the way, darlin’,” he hummed, feeling the night sky around him as he hit the apex of his swing.

thwip

Peter landed on the pavement behind the criminals. He saw the victims face sag with relief, blood running down the side of their face. They were in the dark spot between street lights, right by a bodega. “Hey now,” Peter said, “Don’t you know to keep your hands to yourself? You can’t graduate kindergarten without knowing how personal belongings work.”

The muggers turned, both holding guns up. The victim's wallet was clutched in one of their free hands. “Now, now,” Peter said with teasing disapproval, “That’s not very nice of you, is it?”

Peter’s spidey senses screamed just in time for him to duck one of the man’s fists and jump over the other’s bullet. He webbed the gun to the wall, tripping the taller criminal in the process. The other got a hit in, Peter being preoccupied trying to web up his friend.

He hit the pavement hard, feeling his body groan around him, his vision becoming shaky and tilted for a moment. He shook it off. Keep going. Ignore the spider crawling around in his bed, urging him to take things a little further, to just end it already.

Web up the tall guy. Make sure the victim gets away. Just one guy left, one gun.

One gun too many, it seemed. A bullet whizzed past him, grazing his shoulder and cutting through his suit. He bit back a cry of pain and shot a web at him, plastering him to a wall. “You idiots stay there and think about your actions,” he spat, “Police already have your location.”

He swung to a nearby alley, trying to tuck himself into shadows and trying to calm his racing heart. It was fine. This- this was fine. He was fine.

Peter’s body was shaking. He could smell the blood as if it was all around him. The spider in his head loved making sounds and sights and smells so much worse.

“You’re losing blood, Peter,” EV said, her tone tinged with worry. Sometimes he hated himself for coding her voice like that, making it seem like someone cared for him. “I know, Eve,” he choked, biting his tongue and tasting copper.

Peter webbed the wound carelessly. He could cauterize it when he got home. He might even have some antibacterial left, though he wasn’t hopeful. He moaned softly, letting himself feel the pain for a few seconds.

The things he did for this job.

~~~

Tony was, in a word, frustrated.

Frustrated because of Spider-Man.
The guy was an unknown variable, a solution and a problem mixed into one.There was so little Tony knew about him and it was frustrating.

Tony suspected Spider-Man was young, from his voice and his stature. The way he talked made him sound like a spite filled college student. He’d guess maybe early or mid twenties, but he could be wrong. The kid was thin but strong. He could stick to walls, he could lift too much for a regular human. Probably enhanced.

Tony leaned back in his chair, chewing on the cap of his pen and staring at the screen in front of him. Spider-Man was a problem, an equation that Tony needed to solve. He had information on the vigilante pulled up. Tabloids and security camera feeds and conspiracy theory blogs. Anything he could find, real or fake, he didn’t care.

Tony massaged the space between his eyes, his head aching and filled with too many thoughts. If the kid had just listened to him, he wouldn’t have had to stay up, burning the midnight oil trying to pin him down to any kind of information.

He didn’t understand why Spider-Man didn’t listen to him. They had worked together before multiple times, Tony didn’t get this aversion. All he wanted to do was work a little closer together so they could plan and have each other’s backs. Since Tony retired New York needed another reliable superhero. And not that Spider-Man wasn’t reliable, he was just…unregulated.

Tony’s sleep deprived mind wondered idly if Spider-Man was a ghost. It felt like he was. Some kind of spirit that disappeared and hid invisibly in the shadows. Helping the people of New York City one at a time.

“Sorry, Stark. Spiders are solitary creatures. I work alone.”

The vigilante was infuriatingly hard to stop thinking about. Tony knew he could be useful, but the puzzle of this man, this hero, was keeping him awake more than anything else. This ghost was haunting him. It was stupid, he knew it was. Why did he care so much?

Tony couldn’t answer that, not really. He just knew he wanted to solve the equation.

The lab whirred idly. “Boss,” FRIDAY chimed. “Yeah?” Tony hummed absent mindedly. “A traffic camera has spotted Spider-Man in Queens,” she reported dutifully. Tony sat up fast enough to make his head spin.

“Pull up the feed and add the location to the map. Track ‘im,” Tony commanded, watching as the screen in front of him shifted, showing him live feed from camera to camera. The vigilante swang above cars, though the street was almost empty. Strange for the city that never sleeps.

Spider-Man looked like he was favoring his right arm. “Fri, compare that to his usual swinging pattern.” “There is a seventy two percent deviation from the usual pattern.”
Tony swore under his breath as Spider-Man swung around a corner and somehow disappeared. Maybe he really was a ghost.

“Do you think he’s hurt?” Tony asked, leaning back in his chair again and swiveling side to side gently. “Footage from twenty six minutes ago shows Spider-Man being shot at by two criminals while preventing a mugging. It appears he was grazed by a bullet,” Friday answered, voice measured. Tony felt his heart sink a little. Spider-Man was too young for this.

He was probably insane for caring this much.

“Pull up the sighting map and that spidey tracker website,” he said. He ran his finger from dot to dot on his map of New York City. The kid tended to stay in Queens. Probably lived there, though Tony wasn’t crazy enough to go looking for wherever he lived. He studied the map for a few more seconds before dismissing it. He was too tired for more of this wild goose chase.

~~~

Peter was so tired. It felt like he was being dragged through water as he moved sluggishly around his apartment, soft music playing as if it could wake him up. He really didn’t want to exist today.

The world felt slow. He tried to shake himself awake, downing the sugariest drink he could manage to afford (he had learned the hard way that spiders can’t stand caffeine). He wasn’t starving, but he wasn’t full either.

He pulled his suit on with a sigh deep in his bones.

Peter tried to find that same peace in swinging as he had the night before, but his shoulder still ached. Even when healed, it didn’t feel fantastic. That, coupled with the fact he had had to repair his suit, meant he had stayed up late. But Spider-Man didn’t rest, so neither could Peter Parker.

He should visit May.

He really missed her. He wondered what she’d think of what he’d become. Who he’d grown into. Watching New York sail underneath him, Peter felt his heart lift a little. Maybe she’d still love him like she used to, if she came back. Maybe she’d look at him and smile because he’d become someone she was proud of. If he did this for anyone, it was for May.

EV directed him from place to place. Nothing crazy, just helping the people of his city. The day wasn’t as horrible as he expected when he woke up. It was quiet under the mask. He found himself sitting on some high up metal scaffolding, watching the people pass by in rushing rivers in the street beneath him. He waved at the people who spotted him.

Despite how much it hurt, sometimes he loved being Spider-Man, if only for days like this. He could feel New York City’s beating heart under his palms.

Peter stood and tipped off the beam where he had been sitting, letting himself sink into free fall.

The day continued and Peter fell into his usual rhythm, swinging around, helping whoever he could. Be that friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Then, of course, who other than Tony Stark had to come and ruin it all.

~~~

It was one of those days where Spider-Man seemed to be everywhere at once. He was a slippery guy, twitchy almost. Tony didn't take suits out often anymore, but he needed to be fast. Usually all that happened was a few tabloids making fun of him. He’d been through worse.

Tony needed to find out who this kid was. He needed to make him understand how much they could help each other in protecting the city they both loved. The suit the vigilante had was impressive, but Tony knew his half a century of experience could make something even better. Maybe Spider-Man was an engineer, like him. How funny would that be?

He found the arachnid sitting at the base of a skyscraper needle, high in the sky. In the back of his mind Tony noted that the man seemed to like high places. Could be useful.

“You’re just not right, Eve,” the vigilante said through a mouthful of sandwich (gross), his mask lifted half way up his face, somehow not hearing Tony’s approach. He saw a glimpse of chestnut curls peaking out beneath it. “You gotta watch the original trilogy first, then the prequels. It’s just, like, math.”

“Who’s Eve? I thought you worked alone,” Tony said wryly. Spider-Man jumped up, pulling his mask down over his mouth in an instant. “Jeez, Spidey, no need to kill yourself over me,”

The vigilante seemed stuck for a moment, watching Tony with those strange, alien-like lenses on his mask. It was a little unnerving. After a second, the kid’s posture relaxed just slightly. “What’re you doing up here, Stark?” Tony had never noticed just how thick Spider-Man’s accent was. He was definitely from Queens.

“Why else would I be here except for tracking down the most annoying spider in New York City?” Tony unfolded the face plate as he said it, raising an eyebrow. Spider-Man’s lenses narrowed. “I really don’t know what you want from me,” he said resolutely, crossing his arms. Man, this kid was stubborn.

Tony took a step forward, eyeing the narrow platform they were standing on. Spider-Man took a measured step backward in response. “I told you,” he said, “I want to work with you. I want you to work with the new Avengers.” “And I told you,” Spider-Man quipped, “I work alone. Sorry, Stark, but that’s a no exceptions rule. I’ve learned that the hard way.”

For what felt like the millionth time, Tony wondered who this man was. What he had been through. What he was hiding behind that blood red mask.

“Fine, but can’t we just talk for a second?” Tony asked, not liking how much he sounded like he was begging. “We’re talking,” Spider-Man snapped, his voice lower now. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this amount of…reservation. But I promise you there’s no ulterior motives here, Spidey.”

The vigilante sighed, his breath almost…shaking. He looked unsteady. “You’re not known for being the most honest of men,” he said, “Why should I believe that?” “Because I want to help you. I swear to you, kid-""I told you not to call me that.” “Sorry, right. Uhm- Spider-Man just…look-” “I’ve never seen you at such a loss for words, Stark,” Spider-Man said, his voice even quieter. He sounded almost pensive, reflective.

Before Tony could respond, the vigilante continued, “Anyways, you interrupted my lunch, so I’m gonna take off,” he hummed, lifting his mask just enough to pop the last of his sub sandwich into his mouth. Tony caught a glimpse of a tapestry of scars underneath it.

“Spider-Man-” “You should stay away. Trust me, everyone will be happier for it,” Spider-Man said, tugging his mask back down. Tony had never heard the lighthearted hero sound so serious. He recognized the sound of hidden melancholy.
The vigilante flipped backwards off the building before Tony could say a word.

~~~

Peter found himself on his bathroom floor post panic attack, still trying to breathe.
His tears stung his eyes. Couldn’t he have one day where he wasn’t reminded of everything he had lost? Everything he had given up?

The world spun around him, making his stomach turn as he tried to ground himself on the cold tile beneath his body. He was so tired of being the hero everyone else needed. When did he get to be selfish?

Spider-Man was never selfish.

Peter Parker didn’t even exist.

He put a hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat, just to make sure he was even real. To make sure he was alive.

Peter felt his brain slipping. He’d started to recognize the feeling, the way he began feeling less and less human. He didn’t even try to fight it. It felt better to just give in to being something other than a person, to softly slide into a dissociative state of spiderish existence.

It had taken some getting used to, but Peter had kind of made peace with the thing in his brain that made him not quite human. He let it have its fun in his apartment, the doors and windows locked (Spider-Peter was remarkably bad at using keys). He let himself go spiderish during fights as well, though not fully. It actually helped, in most cases.

He woke up that evening encased in webs. He hated when that happened, it was so hard to clean up and made him feel all wispy and disgusting. But it was warm and for a moment he let himself pretend the world had stopped moving around him, if only for a moment. Then the phone rang.

Peter fought his way out of the webs, the cold air of his apartment hitting him like a truck. He pulled on a hoodie as he scrambled for his phone. Who would be calling at - he blurrily checked the time, still feeling half asleep - ten forty five. There were few people who had his number.

“Hey, Peter.”

The voice was familiar. He smiled a little, heart settling in his chest as warmth spread through. “Hey, bug,” he hummed, sitting shakily on the edge of his bed. Jean scoffed into the receiver. “Seriously, why do you call me that?” “You love my nicknames, and ‘bug’ is hardly the worst one.” “Whatever, idiot.”

He hadn’t realized how much he had missed this girl.

“Any reason you’re calling me?” He asked, “Not that I don’t wanna hear from my favorite telepath, but you don’t usually just call for no reason.” The line buzzed in silence for a moment.

“Don’t really know,” she said quietly. Peter could tell it was a lie. It was the same voice she used when she was trying to wall up her emotions behind some kind of impenetrable shield. He had heard it after she had had a nightmare after crashing at his place a month or two ago.

“Wanna try again?” He asked, holding the phone steady to his ear as he laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Another beat of silence. A crack in the shield. “It’s just the…the anniversary. Of Sara…y’know.”

Peter hummed softly, heart sinking. Jean continued, voice speeding up, “And I thought- I thought I could get through today by myself but it’s the first anniversary since I knew she was dead and- and-” “Hey, hey it’s okay, bug,” Peter reassured her, “I get it. It’s okay.”

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” Jean mumbled quickly, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself, “I keep seeing Sara in my head held down by those men and then…then you falling and your blood coating my hands.”

They had talked about this before. The first time Jean had seen him after the fact, she called him a lot of names for nearly dying over her. She had been so angry. Peter would take that bullet for her again and again but he hated how much guilt she carried.

He imagined this was like what being an older brother felt like.

“I know,” he said softly, “I know. I’m so sorry, Jean.” He could hear her low breathing over the line. It seemed like both of them were having bad days. Jean had lost Sara, had been kicked out by her mother, had been captured and tortured and shot at. Peter had lost everyone too. He got it.

“You’re okay, right?” Jean asked, voice shaking. Peter wished he could give her a hug (even if she hated them). “Yeah, I’m fine,” Peter said, trying not to think about the way Tony had looked at him on the top of that skyscraper.

“Okay,” she wavered, “I’m gonna assume you mean physically because that did…not really sound like the way someone who was actually fine mentally would say that.” Peter chuckled a little. They had talked enough to see right through each other. “You got me there, bug,” he admitted, “I’ve just been…thinking about someone too.” “MJ?” Kind of. He was always thinking about MJ.

But right now it was mostly the annoying billionaire Peter had once considered to be almost a father.

“Partially,” he said, “More of a family thing, though.” “I’m still coming down on your aunt’s anniversary, right?” “Invitations there if you want it, Jean. Always is.”

They sat in soft silence for a moment. “Peter?” She said quietly, “You sure you’re okay?” “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I mean it,” he said. “You’re not actively dying?” She pushed. “If I died you’d bring me back to kill me again,” he quipped. The laugh he got made warmth spread through his chest again. “That’s right,” the teen said stubbornly.

It was hard to imagine a year ago he had been tracking this girl. That she had been using people’s bodies. She was better now, a lot better. Peter remembered her apologies vividly, the memory tasting like blood.

He loved her so much it made his chest ache. He was so scared of losing another friend. A friend like a little sister would be worse, he imagined.

“Peter, I have to go. I’m using a payphone,” Jean said in a slight rush. Peter’s heart sank. “Stop by soon, okay?” “Yeah, I’ll see if I can get back up to New York.” “M’kay. Bye, bug.” “G’bye Peter.”

The line went dead. Peter put his phone on his old bedside table that he had gotten when it was abandoned on the side of the road with a paper that said ‘free’. He plugged it in his frayed charger and swallowed a few pain pills without water. He took more than the recommended dose, like always. His head ached, but he had to patrol.

Later that night, after going to bed with shaking hands and a few new bruises blooming on his arms, he thought about Jean.

He thought about how she grabbed his pulse when she was upset. About how she would call randomly to ask for reassurance. How she would scream at him and apologize for it later because she was just a kid who didn’t know how to be a person quite yet.

He thought about the time he had held her down during a violent panic attack, telling her she was real and loved. About proving to her that he was who he said he was and that he cared.

And then he fell asleep and dreamed of a memory.

It was one of those memories that hadn’t been there until after that limbo. It only existed in this odd world where Tony survived.

It was the tulip field in the Netherlands.

Peter stumbled forward, feeling like his legs were about to snap underneath his weight. His ribs were still healing from being hit by a train.

The Quinjet made the tulips pulse in waves. Peter was dizzy with blood loss and vertigo. The plane stopped and the bridge at the bottom dropped down.

Tony stumbled out of the plane, looking desperate and worried. “Peter!” He cried, moving forward towards him. He wasn’t real, Mysterio- Mysterio was doing this. He knew how much he needed his father and was trying to make him hurt more. Had he not been through enough?

Peter held up a hand. “Don’t- don’t move!” He shouted, voice hoarse, “Don’t come any closer!” Tony stopped in his tracks, tensing. “Prove- prove it’s really y-you!” Peter said, jaw tight and teeth chattering with anxiety.

“Kid,” Tony said softly. “Just- prove it. Tell me something only you would know,” Peter’s voice broke, “Please.”

“Okay, okay. Okay, kiddo,” Tony conceded, shifting from foot to foot, considering him. He hesitated for a quiet moment, dark eyes trained on Peter and filled with so much care and love that Peter desperately wanted to believe he was real.

“You- your favorite Star Wars character is Leia but you told people it was Luke foryearsbecause some jerk made fun of you for liking the girl best,” Tony said, voice sure but shaking, “You like her because she’s strong but she’s still kind and she reminds you of your Aunt May. You’d fight someone to the death for dissing her because to you she taught you how to be brave. She- she’s also why Carrie Fisher is your favorite actress,” he took a breath, “How’s that?”

Peter stumbled into his mentor's arms like a lost soldier finally coming home.

~~~

“You should stay away. Trust me, everyone will be happier for it,”

This equation was wearing Tony to the bone. There was something about Spider-Man that got him on edge. Something about his persistence that he worked alone, about how he seemed convinced that if he didn’t bad things would happen.

“Tony,” a voice said softly. He looked up and saw Pepper, ever his foundation, watching him with concerned eyes. “You need to sleep.” Tony leaned back in his chair with a sigh. He had been pouring over FRIDAY’s recording of his conversation with Spider-Man. He was zoomed in on the frame where the man’s mask was halfway up, his hair peaking out.

“I know,” Tony murmured as Pepper pressed a kiss to his temple. Every day he woke up and wondered what he did to deserve this woman. She took his hand and pulled him to his feet, raising her fingers to trace his face with a small smile. “You’re going to go insane like this,” she said, “You can take your time.”

Tony leaned into her touch on instinct, studying her deep blue eyes. “Go to bed,” she said, voice a little firmer. Pepper loved to abuse the fact that Tony would do anything for her. Didn’t mean she wasn’t getting resistance. “I gotta get it done, Pep,” he murmured, putting his hands on hers and curling his fingers around them. He moved her hands away so he could kiss her knuckles.

“Then you can get it done tomorrow,” she hummed, “But I want you alive enough to do it. Get to bed.” He complied without much more arguing.

And he dreamed of that stupid beach.

Tony sat on the pebbled shore, looking out at the deep waves that were almost the color of his wife's eyes. He was waiting for someone, he wanted them there.

Yet, for the life of him, Tony didn’t know who he was waiting for. All he knew is that he was waiting on this foggy beach for someone who was incredibly important and precious. He knew he’d wait on this beach forever just for this person.

Their name was on the tip of his tongue, yet always resolutely and frustratingly out of reach. It was like the memory of them had been ripped from him and he hadn’t agreed to it.

He rolled stones between his fingers, throwing them one at a time into the surf. He missed them so much he felt fractured with the weight of it. Tony hated waiting, he knew they knew he hated waiting, especially for them.

He just wanted to know they were safe. That’s it. He just wanted to look in their eyes, those eyes he knew so well but couldn’t remember, and see life there. Tony wondered, trying not to fall apart, if the person he was waiting for was dead.

Tony woke up with no air in his lungs, still tasting the beach’s fog. He could see the sky outside the window, seeing it just barely beginning to lighten with the coming morning. Settling back into his pillow, he turned his head just enough to see Pepper’s sleeping form.

The beach dreams were so frustrating. He couldn’t figure them out, he couldn’t make them stop. Who was he waiting for? Who, other than his wife, could he miss with such a bone deep longing?

No matter who he talked to about it, Pepper or Rhodey or even his therapist, Tony couldn’t remember the name of the person he would wait for, night after night after night.

He couldn’t dwell on it. He had to find Spider-Man.

~~~

To be honest it was probably Peter’s fault for being reckless.

He had gotten in his head and hadn’t planned and now he was going to bleed out under a collapsed building.

Breathing hurt. Peter could feel his broken ribs pressing painfully against his skin. It hurt to even try to stay alive and he knew no one was coming to save him. Blood trickled from his mouth to the floor.

Peter Parker had died so many times. He knew what it felt like, he knew what it tasted and sounded like. The hollowness of it was familiar. Maybe this time, though, he’d actually be allowed to rest.

His ears were ringing, everything felt oddly quiet. He could hear the cries of survivors through the rubble, people he hadn’t gotten out in time. It was likely they would die and it would be his fault. It was always his fault, wasn’t it?

May.

Peter wanted to see her with a violent desperation that exhausted him with every broken breath. Even as his mind flitted from sound to sound, he could only think of her as he heard the stranger’s desperate pleas for escape.

The sounds of people digging through the rubble were deafening, even if he knew they were far away and faint. They’d be too late to save him. Did he want to be saved? He knew the avengers were near. They should save the others before him. Their crying was so loud in his ears it made his head hurt. Was that why his head was hurting?

Peter could feel his coherency dipping.

He hadn’t realized he’d passed out until he saw the outline of Captain America against sunlight, as if he’d teleported there. Sam…Sam was cool. Yeah. He liked Sam. Sam was funny.

“Spider-Man!” The hero said, dragging Peter up out of the rubble by his arm. Peter cried out, feeling his skin tear. It burned, it hurt, he wanted to go home.

He felt the spider in his brain crawling to the forefront, but he kept it at bay. He wanted to be Peter when he died, even if it meant nothing. He wanted to feel himself slip away for a final time, he wanted to savor his last painful breaths.

Sam was calling someone, but it sounded like he was underwater. He was getting someone who could help Peter. Help was…was good. Peter liked being alive. At least, he thought he did.

Peter slipped back into darkness, even as Sam told him to stay awake.

~~~

Sam Wilson’s call was unexpected, but Tony answered it nonetheless. He liked Sam a lot. He was strong and took responsibility. Tony missed working with him more often.

“Hey, Captain,” he said, “You need my help at that gas leak building collapse?”

Sam’s breathing was labored, and Tony could hear him straining. He felt his heart sink. Things weren’t going too well. “Tony,” he said, “I have- You’ve been looking for Spider-Man.”

Tony stilled. He’d talked to Sam about this a few weeks ago. “Yeah, what about it?” “He- he was caught under the building and- you still got that med wing in your tower right?” Tony’s heart sank. He was moving, though he didn’t know where he was going. “Yeah, it’s operational. How bad is it?” “I…there’s a lot of blood.”

Tony swore.

“Bring him up here, or make someone do it just- get him here,” he ordered. Tony might not be too happy with the vigilante, but New York couldn’t lose Spider-Man. A moment of static over the phone. Tony could faintly hear Sam telling someone to stay awake, his voice tight.

“Sam? Sam, what’s happening?” Tony asked. Another agonizing beat of muffled voices. “I’ve got him,” the hero said, “I was just making sure I was good to leave. I’ll see you in, like, five minutes. Ten at most.” “Get him here alive,” “Wouldn’t dream of anything else.”
Tony notified the staff of the med wing that they’d be having a guest, maybe in critical condition. He leaned against the wall, his heart beating unevenly. This was his chance to convince Spider-Man to trust him. It was a bad situation and Tony wasn’t exactly happy about it, but maybe he could show the kid that he meant no harm.

“Boss,” FRIDAY said, “Captain America just arrived.” “Take me to him,” Tony ordered.

There wasn’t much that could’ve prepared Tony for what he saw. Sam wasn’t wrong when he said that there was a lot of blood. The kid’s suit was burned and shredded, one of his lenses was broken and cracked, revealing the young man’s half lidded eyes. He looked like he had been ripped apart by rabid dogs.

“He’s been in and out of consciousness,” Sam said, adjusting his grip around Spider-Man’s shoulders, “Keeps saying…weird stuff.”

Spider-Man hummed softly. “‘S not weird. Y’ jus’ don’ remember.” Sam shot Tony a pointed look. Tony took a breath and waved his hand, gesturing to Sam to follow him. “I’ve got doctors waiting.”

Spider-Man kept mumbling incoherently. “Sucks that y’ don’ remember. I miss us bein’ friends.” The vigilante’s head lolled and his eyes found Tony. He could only see one of Spider-Man’s eyes, yet the deep pitch black of his irises made Tony shiver. The kid’s eyes were foggy and tearfilled.

“Dad,” the hero moaned softly, “I’ hur’s.”

Tony’s blood went cold. Spider-Man was delirious, delirious enough to see his father where Tony stood. “Dad,” he cried again, voice trembling and childlike, yet more urgent and sure. “Sorry to disappoint,” he responded half heartedly, opening the door to the med wing, “But it's just Tony Stark. You don’t like me very much.”

Spider-Man watched him with those creepy eyes. “No,” the hero murmured, “I love you. Y’re like my dad. Jus’ hur’s being near you. Cause-” he drew in a rattling, painful breath. “-You don’ remember.”

Tony shook his head and watched Sam lay the young man on a gurney that a few nurses had brought out. “You don’t know who you’re talking to, Spidey,” he said resolutely. The nurses started wheeling him away but Spider-Man’s hand shot out and grabbed Tony’s sleeve.

“I do,” Spider-Man said, voice a little stronger now, but still loopy sounding, “I do, Dad. Y’ just- jus’ need to remember.” The boy’s voice trailed off and his hand went slack.

Tony was left reeling as the vigilante was wheeled out of sight.

~~~

Peter was dreaming. It was…it was really nice just to dream of some place soft.

Every scene was a disjointed memory, yet with each one he felt safer and safer.

“How do you even like- dance? At these kinds of things?” Peter asked with butterflies in his stomach. “Well how would you usually dance?” May asked, a laugh in her voice. “That’s the problem! I don’t dance!”

He scowled half heartedly at her fit of giggles, though he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad. He was just too happy. “Well, slow dancing at a school dance is easy. Here, take my hand baby,” she offered hers out to him and she placed it right above her hip, taking the other in her hand.

Peter let himself stand there awkwardly as she placed her hand on his shoulder and began to sway them back and forth in odd circles. “Is this it?” He asked. “For a school dance? Yeah. I can teach you some moves from my ballroom days if you want,” she offered, though they both knew it was a joke.

Peter laughed. “I’d probably die, May, and you know it.” “You’d be a fantastic dancer if you tried,” she insisted, making him spin her in a circle. “Do you even know me?” He teased, “I know you very well baby, and I say you’d be a good dancer!”

“Who knew Spider-Man liked to cook?” Jean hummed with a teasing lilt as she cut up potatoes. “I had to! My aunt was more of an experimental type growing up, and you know I love her, but I had to eat something,” Peter protested, mixing spices into the curry.

The little attic apartment was full of light from the setting sun, the smell of comfort food wafting around the two of them. Peter had been so excited to see Jean again, even if she had been stand-offish for a while. He didn’t care, he missed her.

“I’m not saying you liking to cook is a bad thing, Peter,” she retorted with a smirk, “I’m just saying it's unexpected. You’d make a good house husband.” “I know I would,” he said, flourishing the spoon he was using to mix the sauce pot, “I’m great husband material.”

Jean rolled her eyes at him and he flicked the side of her head light heartedly. “Hand me the cream, would’ya?” He asked. Jean put down the knife and passed it to him. “Thanks, bug,” he hummed absentmindedly.

”Bug?” Jean said incredulously. “Yeah,” Peter said, measuring the cream into the sauce, “Cause you’re short and scary.” “I hate you,” she groaned, tipping the potatoes into the pan he was working above.

Peter just smiled.

“Kid, if you don’t get some sleep soon I’ll call your aunt and she’ll make you go to bed herself,” Tony threatened, crossing his arms and staring across the work table. Peter looked up from his project with a frown. “It’s not even that late, though!” “Growing spider-kid’s need sleep. And it is late, it’s a little past one am.”

“Time isn’t even real,” Peter said, picking up a small flathead screwdriver, “That’s what you told me when you stayed up for almost two days straight.” Tony rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “That’s different,” he argued lamely. “It’s really not,” Peter smiled a little, “You’re a terrible example.” “I’m a great example!” “Whatever, Dad.”

A moment passed.

“Did you call me dad?” Tony asked. Peter could hear the smile in his voice without even looking up. He could feel his face burning with embarrassment. “No,” he said, though his voice cracked a little and gave his stupid lie away. “You did!” Tony laughed, “Awe, you can call me dad, bambino, I don’t mind.”

“I hate you,” Peter grumbled. “Now, now,” Tony said with mock authority, “Is that any way to talk to your father?” Peter looked up at his mentor, eyes narrowed. “I will start calling you Mr Stark again, don’t test me Tony.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “You’re such a weirdo,” he teased, before adding, “If you call me dad I get to call you my son, though.”

Peter felt warmth spread through his chest at the thought.

“Stop moving, idiot,” MJ said, “Do you want to make it worse?” “MJ,” Peter whined, shifting a little at the touch of the antibacterial wipe, “You know I heal fast. I don’t need all this.”

She shot him a look that shut him up. “Ned, can you tell your best friend why not cleaning wounds is stupid,” MJ said, deadpan. Ned turned from his computer, his eyes still glimmering with worry. “I really don’t think I need to tell him again,” he said with a tone of sass.

Man, Peter loved Ned.

MJ threw the wipe away and started applying bandaid after bandaid. “If you die, I’ll break up with you,” she threatened. “I’m not gonna die from this,” he complained, “It’s just a few scratches-” She shut him up with a quick kiss.

“Where’s my kiss?” Ned asked with a laugh. MJ glared at him and he wrinkled his nose. “Not from you, MJ, from the hot guy whose legs you’re sitting on. I was here before you, y’know.”

They all laughed a little too hard at that, delirious with adrenaline and the late hour.

Peter liked this dream.

~~~

“FRIDAY, do we have the kid’s bloodwork in the system yet?” Tony asked, pacing back and forth across his lab. Spider-Man’s words were haunting him. He just needed to remember. Remember what?

“Yes, Boss. His nurses entered it twenty three minutes ago,” she responded easily. “Could you run it against mine for any genetic similarities? Look to see if there’s any way we’re related.” He asked with a shaking breath. Spider-Man had been so insistent that Tony was his father. But it couldn’t be true, it- it couldn’t. “Of course,” FRIDAY responded.

Tony kept pacing.

The sight of the vigilante nearly dead in Sam Wilson’s arms was all he could see when he closed his eyes. All he could hear was how young his voice sounded in between death rattle breaths.

“Boss,” FRIDAY said, and Tony’s heart jumped into his throat with anxiety. “What’d you find, babe,” he asked, placing a steadying hand on one of the metal tables. It was cold and grounding. “You are in no way closely related to the John Doe known as Spider-Man.”

Tony let out a shaky sigh of relief. Yet part of him…part of him twinged at the thought. But he had to remember. That’s what the vigilante had said, it might be the last thing he ever said. Tony had to remember. He had to go talk to Dr Strange.

The Sanctum Sanctorum was always cold. Tony had been here a few times, but it never really felt like a place that belonged on earth. He supposed, technically, it both was and wasn’t. He didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Tony Stark,” said a voice from the top of the staircase, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Tony looked up and smirked at the sorcerer. He knew it was Strange’s polite way of asking why on earth he had shown up so randomly.

“Strange,” Tony greeted as the man floated down the stairs (show off), “I had a sort of…metaphysical type question for you.” Strange raised an eyebrow in question, and they began to walk together, though Tony had no idea where they were headed.

“Is there a way you could trace a spell that made you forget something? Someone?” Tony asked, “Could it be reversed?” Strange looked forward, eyes calculating. “Yes, there are spells that make people forget. Reversal is difficult but…not impossible.”

They walked into a room with a blazing fireplace and walls of artifacts.

“Is there a way that you could find out if a person had had their memory changed?” Tony asked, watching Strange’s facial expression carefully as they paused and came to face each other. “Yes,” Strange said in a low voice, “I could do that. What happened, Stark?”

“There’s someone who’s claiming I’ve forgotten him. I want to know if he’s telling the truth,” Tony said shortly. Strange nodded, lips pursed as he gestured for Tony to sit down in an arm chair. The sorcerer sat across from him, looking across a low, intricately carved table.

Tony watched as Strange seemed to sink into a meditative state. He twitched every so often. It felt like hours were passing in the stifling room. Then Strange let out a small gasp and opened his eyes. “What?” Tony leaned forward, “Did- did you find something? Who did I forget?”

Strange looked at him for a moment before nodding slowly. “There’s a trace of a spell in your memory,” he said, almost breathless, “Some kind of erasure, or blockage.” “Well can you get rid of it? Can you bring these memories back?” “Are you sure?”

Tony was a little taken aback. Was he sure? Why was it so important he remembered Spider-Man?

The young man’s soft voice echoed in his memory. Telling Tony that it hurt, telling Tony that- that he loved him.

He was sure.

Tony nodded. Strange nodded in turn and began to make strange shapes with his hands. The air in front of him started to ripple like a heatwave, and an orange light appeared. It looked almost like Saturn, surrounded by moving rings. Tony watched, almost memorized.

Strange reached forward and tried to touch the light before pulling back, face slightly twisted in pain. “Strange-” “Shut up, Stark,” the sorcerer muttered. Tony complied. Strange reached forward again, this time avoiding touching the rings. He pulled strings out of the light, which swirled between his hands and formed an even smaller orb. It looks like a marble made of citrine or agate.

The weird Saturn-like light faded as Strange held the marble tightly in one fist, forming an odd, small glass box with the other. He deposited the sphere in the box and closed it. Tony let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The whole thing took no more than a minute, but he had been mesmerized.

Strange gave him the small glass box. “Open it when you get home,” he warned sternly, “I’m not sure what the…side effects will be. Just be sure you want those memories back. You may be the one who requested them be blocked in the first place.”

Tony nodded and left as fast as he could. Getting home felt like it took a million years. He was a curious man by nature, and this weird little spell thing held answers. Answers he needed more than he needed air.

And yet, when he was finally home, he couldn’t get himself to open the glass box. Pepper was out running an SI conference, Happy was running some logistics, and he actually wasn’t sure where Rhodey was. Probably helping clean up downtown.

He stared at the box on his kitchen table, feeling far too aware of his breath. The little spell orb was taunting him, pulsing with light. Anxiety filled Tony’s mind and made his hands shake.

Did he really want this? He had said he did but now…now he didn’t know. Now he wasn’t sure. What if it somehow ruined his life? What if these memories hurt his wife or his friends?

“I love you. Y’re like my dad. Jus’ hur’s being near you. Cause- y-you don’ remember.”

Tony chewed his lip, throat tight. Spider-Man had sounded so desperately young and so vulnerable. He might be dying in a hospital bed downstairs. What if Tony had known him? What if he could help?

Something made him think of that beach in his dreams. That waiting feeling.

Tony, his movements laced with trepidation, opened the box.

“I can’t go to Germany…I’ve got…homework.”
“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

Tony felt like someone had shot him in the back of the skull. The pain was blinding.

“I just- I wanted to be like you.”
“And I wanted you to be better.”

He brought his hands to his face, clutching at his hair. It hurt so bad, it hurt, it hurt.

”Hey man!”
”Kid, what are you doing here?”

He had fallen out of his seat, his vision was spotted and spinning.

“Mr Stark, I don’t- I don’t feel so good.”

“No!” Tony cried out, tears escaping his eyes.

”I don’t know what’s happening, Mr Stark, I don’t- I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go.”

Peter.

“Promise me something, please, Tony.”
“Anything kid just- stay.”
“Don’t touch that gauntlet. Promise me you won’t, that you’ll find another way.”

Tony could taste blood, he must’ve bitten his tongue.

”Just- prove it. Tell me something only you would know. Please.”
“Okay, okay. Okay, kiddo.”

Peter Parker.

“Did you just call me dad?”
“No.”

His kid.

”Tony, I- I’m so sorry, there was no other way-”
“What are you talking about?”

His son.

”You’re gonna forget me, Dad.”

Peter Parker, Spider-Man.

The pain stopped in an instant, the world snapping into clarity.

He’d forgotten Peter.

His body stood up shakily, almost on its own, carrying him towards the medical bay. Peter, Peter Parker. No matter how hard Tony tried to stop it, he was still forgotten. Alone. He was sick with guilt.

Peter was dying and alone just a floor below, he needed to get to him, how had he left? Tony’s breathing was constricted. His kid, his kid, his kid. Twenty three and alone and dying.

Tony couldn’t get to the medical wing fast enough. If Peter was gone, if he had died and Tony had left him alone for five years, Tony might die of guilt and overwhelming grief.

Peter was out of surgery as of an hour ago, he had gotten notified about it. But at that point, he hadn’t known who Spider-Man was. He hadn’t known that it was Peter and if he died again the world might stop spinning.

How on earth had he forgotten his kid?

Tony walked past confused staff, trying to find where on earth Peter might be in his haze. He shook off someone who put their hand on his arm.

“Where’s- where’s Spider-Man?” He asked, voice cracked and desperate. “He’s been moved to the recovery unit,” the nurse said, face twisted slightly in confusion, “Do you need to see him?” “Yeah, yeah I need to see him,” he said, his voice feverish.

The nurse led him dutifully to the room and left him there quietly. He stood in the doorway, unable to breathe.

There he was.

Peter.

That’s who he’d been waiting for on that beach.

The sight of him made Tony’s legs feel like they were collapsing out from under him. All he could think of was Peter. His name, repeated like a mantra in Tony’s head like a prayer. His kid, his kid, Peter.

Tony locked the door behind him and pulled a chair over to the bed so he could look at Peter. He felt like if he touched him then he’d fall apart, crumble into ashes again. The young man was so heavily scarred, so much older. There was a ventilator shoved down his throat, whirring and clicking. His head was half wrapped in bandages, IVs administering blood and sedatives and painkillers.

“Oh, Peter,” Tony warbled, a lump in his throat. He finally broke, letting tears spill down his face at the sight of his kid destroyed and broken into a million pieces. Peter couldn’t even breathe on his own. He had been alone, alone.

Tony shook violently, pressing his face into his hands and trying to stifle his sobs. This was his fault. He had known what would happen, had been warned by Peter himself. But he couldn’t save his kid. No matter how hard he tried, Tony couldn’t protect Peter from what seemed destined to happen.

Peter had been shot. Almost a year ago, he’d been shot. Tony hadn’t been there, he should’ve been there. Peter, his kid, his kid.

Tony couldn’t think straight. He tentatively took Peter’s thin, limp hand in his own, like a sinner picking up a rosary, but instead of counting beads for his prayers, he ran his thumb across Peter’s knuckles.

His kid, his Peter. Where had Tony been?

~~~

Peter woke to warmth and soft darkness. There was a weight on his chest that seemed to be pushing him deep, deep down into the darkness. It hurt a little to breathe, but his body was always aching in one way or another, so he didn’t mind.

His brain felt sluggish and slow, trapped in soft warmth surrounding him.

Had he died?

He’d died before.
This was different.

Peter could feel his heartbeat, slow underneath his ribs. He could feel those very real, aching breaths. He was still alive, probably thanks to Sam. Good ol’ Captain America. He opened his eyes a little bit.

Everything was slightly blurry and shadowed. Was he in the hospital? This felt like a hospital. There was someone there but he just couldn’t make them out. From their low breathing it sounded like they were asleep.

Who would be here for him? Frank? Jean? He hadn’t been shot again, though. This wasn’t the same. Peter tried to blink the sleep from his eyes, but he felt as if he was slipping back into sleep. He couldn’t allow himself to sink back, though.

As he gained more consciousness, he realized just how much his body ached. He could feel and hear IVs pumping chemicals into his veins. A small groan escaped his lips, and he turned his head a bit.

Tony was sitting there at his bedside, slumped over and dozing.

Why was he here?

Peter needed to go.

Go.

Go home?

Yeah.

Home was good. Home was safe. It wasn’t this warm but he didn’t put people in danger when he was home.

Groggily, he began detaching the IVs and shedding the oxygen mask. Even in his less than ideal state, Peter knew he couldn’t just take off the heart monitor because it would flatline and make nurses come running and it would wake Tony up. He couldn’t let that happen, instead just opting to unplug it and hoping that would give him a bit more time.

How long had he been asleep? How much time had he wasted? He couldn’t quite wake himself up. How long had he been on sedatives? Peter felt sick to his stomach, already exhausted with movement.

When he tried to stand he fell to the floor. One of his legs was in a cast. Peter swore under his breath as his eyelids began to feel heavier. Pulling himself up on the bed, he tried to steady his trembling body.

He had to go.

Go. Go, get out. Go home.

Home.

“Peter?” A tired voice said. The voice gained alertness the next time it said his name. Tony was staring at him. Peter stared back, feeling like his heart was being skewered. How did he know his name? He couldn’t know that.

“Peter, kiddo-” “How?” Peter interrupted, a rasp in his voice, “How do you know my name?” Tony had stood up, and Peter couldn’t help but notice how his hands shook.

”Peter.”
“How?!” Peter demanded.

“Cause you’re- you’re my kid,” Tony said, voice laced with such grief that Peter thought he might be hallucinating. “You’re Peter Parker, and you’re my kid,” Tony said, stronger now. Peter shook his head a little bit. “No…no you- you can’t know me. You’re not supposed to know me.”

Tony’s shoulders sagged as he walked around the bed. Peter stepped backwards, wincing at the pain in his joints and still leaning heavily on his bed. “I do know you,” Tony said, “I’ve known you for years, but someone- someone made me forget. I’m so sorry, Peter,” the man’s voice broke on his name.

Peter’s heart was lifted with impossible hope. This couldn’t be real, and yet he knew he wasn’t dreaming. He could feel it. But Tony wasn’t supposed to know him. There’s no way he could know him.

“Prove it,” he said, throat hurting, “Prove you remember me.”

Tony’s eyes were so heartbroken and soft that it made Peter want to fall apart.

“You used to pretend that Luke was your favorite Star Wars character,” Tony said after a moment, and Peter realized what he was referencing, “But it was always Leia. She reminds you how to be brave. She reminds you of your Aunt May.”

The world fell into static as Peter listened. It couldn't be real. But it was. He was.

“Tony,” Peter’s voice was strained. “Dad.”

Tony caught him as he stumbled forward, swaying on the spot. “Kid,” Tony murmured softly, pressing a kiss to his hair, “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here now, you’re not alone anymore.”

You’re not alone anymore.

“Dad,” he choked, feeling as vulnerable and pathetic as a small child, “I- it hurts. It hurts.” “I know, I know. I’m here,” Tony held him tightly, as if he wanted to somehow try and keep him together. It wasn’t working, Peter was falling to pieces. It had so long, he had tried so hard to keep going but he was so tired and he missed May and he missed having friends and he missed Jean and he missed his dad.

Peter, a hero, a soldier, a man who had known so much pain in his twenty three short years, cried like a baby.

~~~

Tony couldn’t leave Peter. He had lost him so many times, too many times. He sat on the bed and held his kid and felt his pulse and tried not to break down again.

He felt Peter fall asleep, slumping limply with dazed eyes slipping shut. Tony had expected him to fall asleep eventually, but it still sent anxiety coursing hot through his veins. He should call nurses, should get his IVs back in. They’d want to know their patient, who had been almost comatose for a week, was awake.

But he just couldn’t tear himself away. Tony couldn’t let Peter go, because what if he disappeared? His kid, grown up and desperate and starving. He couldn’t let go.

He wished he could keep him safe like this, warm and protected. Tony knew he couldn’t but, oh, he wanted to.

The door opened without Tony even having to press the call button. But there wasn’t a nurse or a doctor. There was a girl with a long jacket and a hood pulled over her face. He held Peter tighter, a protective flame sparking in his chest.

Tony felt like he blinked and he was somehow sitting in the corner of the room. He had…no memory of walking over here. It was too quiet. The girl was sitting at Peter’s bedside, staring at him with electric blue eyes.

“I’m only letting you stay because I know you care about him,” she said, voice clipped, “But you have to stay over there.” “What- who are you?” Tony asked, venom dripping from his voice as he stood up. “I’m Peter’s friend,” she said, matching his tone,“I told you to stay. There.”

Tony tried to ignore her, striding forward. He blinked and found himself in the corner again. How was she doing this? The redhead had her head bowed, her hands fidgeting. The IVs had been put back in Peter’s arm. Had she done that? Tony’s mind swirled with questions.

“You care about him,” the girl repeated, voice quieter now, “I can see it in your head. You care about him like he’s your son.” Tony just looked at her with a steely gaze, daring her to say Peter was anything but.

She opened her eyes and looked right back. “I still don’t- you can’t get close to him,” she rasped, “We look out for each other. He got hurt again and I’m so unbelievably mad at him but I’m also mad at you because you didn’t stop him from doing this.”

“If you can see inside my head then you know I only just remembered him,” Tony retorted icily, “You can see that someone stole my memories of him and locked them away.”

The girl looked at him, unimpressed. “We need to go home,” she said stubbornly. “He’s not going anywhere,” he spat, jaw tight as leaned against the wall. “I’m not taking him now! I’m not insane, he still needs all your fancy medical equipment,” she said, “But he has to go home. He said- he said-” The girl trailed off, setting her face and leaning forward, glancing at Peter.

Tony wanted to tell her to get away from him. But he could see the anger in her eyes. The fear. She wasn’t lying to him.

“Who are you?” Tony repeated, softer this time. She reminded him of when he was younger. The redhead just stared at Peter, chewing her lip. “I told you,” she said, her voice lowering marginally, “I’m his friend. And I’m gonna be here when he wakes up this time.”

This time.

“...Right,” Tony conceded, trying to ignore the panic rising desperately in his throat. They sat in gentle silence. The heart monitor, which had been plugged back in, beeped softly and steadily, sounding like the loveliest of hymns.

Tony tried not to focus on the growing, clawing guilt in his gut. This was his fault.

~~~

Peter came too and felt much more alive then he had the first time. It still hurt to even exist but at least his head was clear. Someone had affixed the oxygen mask on his face again. He blinked, hard, trying to make his eyes focus.

Jean was there in his peripheral vision.

“Peter,” her voice broke as she rose from her chair. Peter looked at her, heart sinking. “Jean,” he said, voice still rasping and gravelly. Man, he needed some water. He reached out a hand but stopped short. He had learned that it was smarter to let Jean initiate contact from one too many complaints and uncomfortable glances.

Jean dove into his arms seemingly without a second thought, wrapping her arms carefully around his bruised and broken torso. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her safety in, reveling in her existence.

“I hate you so much,” she said, face nestled in the crook of his neck. Peter could hear her tears. “Lay down, bug,” was all he said. She complied, laying so she could be buried in his side. He wrapped her in his arms, holding on as tightly as his damaged body could manage.

“You were supposed to be more careful,” she mumbled, tears soaking the sheets, “But here you are. You were asleep for six days, Peter. I had to- I had to come find you, I thought you were gone.” Peter felt his heart crack. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, “I’m so so sorry.” “You almost died again. I had to rifle through people’s thoughts just to find you here with that loser-""Tony’s not a loser,""Yes, he is,” her voice was so young, “I had to make him go away just because he was so annoying.”

Peter ran a hand through her long, unruly hair, smiling a little. “He’s gonna hate you for that,” he said softly. Jean burrowed her head further into his side, saying nothing. Oh, how he adored this girl. His girl. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ve got you, bug,” he whispered, trying to soothe her shaking sobs.

“I’ve got you.”

~~~

Tony was tired of somehow teleporting to random places around the room. He’d blink and be standing or sitting somewhere else. For a few seconds he had been up in his penthouse, but now he was back in Peter’s hospital room, sitting by his bed.

Tony swore under his breath.

“Sorry,” Peter said, startling him a little, “She wanted to be alone for a while, but she brought you back when I asked.” Tony blinked at the teen girl nestled in Peter’s arms, sleeping peacefully.

“So she wasn’t lying,” Tony murmured. “About what?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow. Tony was still trying not to focus on how many scars he had on his face and arms. “Being your friend,” He explained. Peter smiled, and it made the weight on Tony’s chest lift. “Yeah, she’s like…a sister, or something. Don’t tell her I said that, though.” “Wouldn’t dream of it, bambino.”

Tony watched Peter adjust his hold on the girl, sheltering her from the light filtering in from the hallway. The clock read two thirty two am. He took a shaky breath. Pepper would tell him to sleep. But he just…he just couldn’t leave his kid.

“Sorry for being kinda rude over the past few weeks,” Peter said, startling Tony just a little. “I was just…missing you, I guess.” Tony tipped his head, watching Peter’s tentative face. The boy’s eyes were trained on the redhead he was holding. “I had to get used to you being alive again,” the young man admitted.

Tony’s heart sank. Peter had still lost him. He thought that if he had somehow stayed alive, if he kept that desperate promise, then Peter would be okay. He would never lose Tony. But he still remembered that grief. Tony hadn’t realized that not only had he lost Peter, Peter lost him. “Don’t apologize,” he reassured, heart hurting.

“I still remember the world without you, but I remember this one too,” Peter said, swallowing, “I dunno. It’s weird.” “We’ll figure it out, kid,” Tony promised, taking Peter’s hand again, squeezing it a little. Peter smiled again, a little brighter than before. “We always do,” the hero said, a laugh in his voice.

Tony really loved this kid.