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Peter didn't know how he got here. Didn't know where he had been. Still, he stared up at the tower that was his home. Something about it felt... off. Wrong. Just slightly. Almost imperceptibly. He brushed it off. It was because he was confused. Perhaps he had hit his head on patrol, and that's why he didn't remember how he got here. He looked down at himself, assessing. He wore a shirt and pants he didn't recognise. Okay. That was odd, but not completely unheard of. Whatever.
He moved forwards, entering the tower as he always would, only to freeze. If the wrongness of the outside had been minuscule and impossible to put a word on, the interior was the opposite. Everything was different. The walls had been painted a slightly different shade, the collection of couches that were often occupied by school students using the free wifi had been removed, replaced by a room labeled "Free Wifi Zone" that had definitely been a meeting room before, still full to the brim with school students doing their work though. All the furniture had changed. The art on the walls was different. The front desk had been renovated. It was different. So different. As though Pepper had come down here with a sledgehammer and a book on interior designing and had changed her old design completely.
Peter hesitated, uncertain how all this could change without him knowing. How long had it been since he had last been here? He remembered visiting... A day ago. At least, a day in his memories, but this couldn’t have been achieved in one day. Not with any amount of money. How long had he lost? Mr. Stark was going to kill him for hitting his head so hard he lost his memories. Oh, he was in deep shit.
On instinct, he reached around to grab his tag from where it would be hanging from his backpack, but of course, he didn't have his backpack. If he had lost it, and inevitably the tag as well, again, Happy might actually murder him. Great. Well, at least Pepper would still love him after this.
With a deep sigh, Peter headed to the front desk. He could enter without doing so, FRIDAY knew his biometrics, but that meant going through that scanner and he really didn't feel like that right now. He would just go talk to whoever was at the front desk. He liked all the employees there anyway, and he did his best to check in with them semi regularly.
Reaching the front desk, he was met with a face he didn't recognise. That... seemed improbable. Pepper always told him when they hired someone new and Peter always went to introduce himself and get to know them, so why was this employee a mystery? Seriously, how badly had he hit his head?
"Hi, I'm Peter," Peter began hesitantly. The young man behind the desk just blinked at him with zero recognition. What? Had he not introduced himself yet? That... how long had he been here? He must be a very new hire, and Peter just hadn't had the time to meet him. Yeah. That made sense.
"How can I help you?" The man asked, not unkindly, just with the slight tone of someone confused by the person standing blankly in front of them. Right. Right.
"Is, uh, is Mr. Stark in?" Peter asked. After all, if he didn't remember all this, he might have also forgotten any trip Mr. Stark had taken.
"I'm sorry, but we cannot disclose that information to the public for safety reasons."
"Oh! Right, of course, we haven't met yet, I'm Mr. Stark's personal intern," Peter grinned, glad the new employee was aware of such policies. That was good. If someone came in to check and was told Mr. Stark wasn't here, it would be so much easier for them to attack the tower.
The employee at the front desk – Peter really needed to get this guy's name – frowned.
"Tony Stark does not have a personal intern."
What? But... This wasn’t just a lack of having introduced himself, this was... what? The staff in the tower all either knew him or knew about him. Was today this guy's first day? But wouldn't someone be accompanying him then?
"Is Martha here? Or JD?" Peter tried. He knew those two quite well, and they were both full timers, so at least one should be here.
"Martha quit a year ago to join Mr. Stark's outreach program. I... I'll get JD," The man agreed hesitantly, eyeing Peter like he was some kind of threat. Peter just stared blankly after him. He knew Martha had been wanting to move to a job that could help more people, but last they talked – which Peter could have sworn was a week ago – she had decided not to pursue that until her son, Peter's age, had graduated high school, since the job involved far more traveling. A year ago? That just... how?
Finally, the man returned, tugging along a very tired looking person with dyed black hair and barely visible bright red streaks poking through. Peter squinted for a moment then froze. That was JD. They looked older, their hair had changed a LOT, but it was undeniably them. JD in turn, met Peter's gaze and stared, wide eyed, at him, face pale enough that Peter worried for a second they would faint.
"Peter?" They gasped, before rushing forwards, vaulting over the front desk with way too much ease and lunging at him, wrapping him in a bear hug, which, holy shit that was not at all like them, "Peter, fuck man, where have you been!? I thought you had died, fuck, I fucking mourned you, holy shit, holy fucking shit – Martin! Martin call Stark, and Pepper Potts, get them down here ASAP, holy shit, Peter do they know you're back?"
"I... I was gone?" Peter blinked, staring at JD, more than a little rattled.
"You– YES YOU WERE GONE!? Pete, it's been four fucking years, I thought– Stark was sure you were still alive, but I– I was so sure you were dead, what the hell happened man!?"
Peter stared blankly at JD. Four years. Four whole years, and he didn't remember any of it.
"What?" He breathed, confused and uncertain, but before JD could say another word, the sound of Iron Man's thrusters overtook the lobby, and a mere second later they cut off and Peter was being enveloped in Mr. Stark's arms, the man shaking and crying – Holy shit Mr. Stark was crying. What had HAPPENED.
"Kid, fuck, kid, where have you been!?" Mr. Stark cried into his ear, not letting go of the all encompassing hug that barely gave Peter room to breathe, let alone think.
"I don't– I don't know, I don't remember– has it... has it actually been four years?"
"Four years and 78 days," Mr. Stark replied grimly.
How? It... It made no sense.
"Tony, get off him, let him breath," Pepper's voice, gentle but stern in the way only she could truly make it, interrupted Peter's panic, and slowly, Tony released him, stepping back enough to take in Peter's full form, but not letting go of his shoulders.
"I don't... For me it's been... I mean... I don't... I don't remember anything. For the last four years. What... what happened?"
"You were taken, fuck kid, you were taken, you were gone, I searched for you, I tried but you were gone. You... we lost you."
"If his memories are gone he could have a head injury, let's... let's get him to med bay," Pepper instructed, the break in her voice giving away the fact that she was far from cool and collected, pretending to be because while Tony panicked very visibly, Pepper hated letting her panic show. Still, as she wrapped her arm around him, leading both him and Tony to the private elevator, Peter could feel the way she was shaking slightly, just as distraught as Tony was.
"I'm okay," Peter whispered, an attempt to calm the two somewhat, "I'm not injured – or not in pain at least."
"We'll still get you checked out," Pepper insisted, stepping into the elevator and breathing out slowly as the doors shut behind them. There was a moment, a flash really, where the elevator suddenly felt too small, to enclosed, too much of a trap, but then the claustrophobia Peter had never felt before melted away, and he refused to think about it. It was just nerves. He had apparently lost years of his life. Of course he was on edge.
Those thoughts kept him semi-sane, looping and repeating until they reached the medbay. Mr. Stark opened the door, revealing the surgically clean room of medical supplies, and dread flooded through Peter's system, every neuron in his body screeching at him to run, all his senses shouting of danger. He stepped back, the screaming didn't stop. He couldn’t breathe. The air was too sterile. It couldn’t be trusted. His hands covered his ears, trying to block out the high pitched squealing of danger, danger, DANGER.
He stumbled back, shaking his head and curling in on himself. Protect his organs. Protect his head. The hands that were blocking his ears moved, covering his head as a whole as best he could as he hunched forwards, protecting himself. He felt the screams and pleas that ripped out of him, rather than instructing them himself. It was as though he had no control over the writhing panicking being he had become.
He stumbled back, back, back, until he hit the wall behind him, then he turned and ran, pounding on the elevator doors as though that would somehow make them open. He felt arms wrap around him and he screamed, high and desperate, clawing at them to get off, to stop, to let him go. He couldn’t. He couldn’t go through it again. Not again.
A needle pierced his neck and Peter thrashed away from it, not caring of the risk of tearing his skin. No. Please. No. Not again. Not again. Not again. His vision went black and he fell, lifeless to the floor, sobs halting pathetically.
When he woke, the lights were too bright, the bed too thin, the sheets too papery, the noises– oh, fuck, the noises. He heard the beeping getting faster, knew his panic would alert someone but he couldn't move, couldn't rip himself free, couldn’t even slow his racing heart.
A face appeared over him and Peter's mouth dropped open in a silent scream, but still he did not, could not, move.
"Pete?" The voice was speaking, talking, calling out to him. Peter wanted to thrash, wanted to fight, but movement meant pain, meant punishment. He didn't know much, but he knew that.
"Peter, hey, kid, you're okay, you're safe, we've got you. You escaped. You're free. You're okay, Peter."
The words flowed over him, a constant stream, reminding him, pleading with him, comforting him. He had no clue how long it was before finally, his body allowed enough movement for a few shaky, barely audible words.
"I think... I think there is something very wrong with me."