Chapter Text
Present - July, 2025
Peter’s patrol had been exceedingly usual. He had saved four people from muggings today, two of which called him a murderer, one spat at him, and the last just left silently with nothing but a glare and muttered ‘I was fine’. He had managed to avoid two buckets of paint and several thrown produce, but he did get nailed by a baseball while he was dodging those. He missed when he would swing through the streets and be met with cheers, rather than thrown insults, curses, and food. Queens hated him, they loved Mysterio. The world loved Mysterio. But Peter still had the ability to help, so he would, even if that help wasn’t wanted.
He was swinging by an alley on the way home — if that abandoned building holding his sparse belongings could be called a home — when his spidey-senses hummed at the back of his neck.
Swinging back around, he carefully crawled down the wall into the alley, feeling the humming increase ever so slightly with each movement forward, but there was nobody there. Cautiously, he dropped into the empty alley, quietly using his senses to navigate the alley — if Tony were still here, he would lecture Peter about going towards the dangerous thing triggering his senses, but Tony wasn’t here — until he found what was causing the humming.
Crouching down, he found a small box. It was made of a thick material, some sort of metal. He carefully opened it to find two circular divots in a foam cushioning material. One slot was empty, but the other held a small, thin, metal disc with a raised center. Intricate carvings that looked like another language, not human, covered the metal material.
He picked it up, carefully examining it as he held it between his fingers. His spidey-senses buzzed in warning, but it was more a warning of power, than danger. As he examined it, he found that the raised center was slightly disconnected from the disc around the edges, almost like a button.
Before he could think it through, Peter pressed on it, slightly surprised when it actually clicked down like a button.
Suddenly, there was a blinding white light consuming the entire alley, sending Peter stumbling back, nausea swirling in his gut as the world seemed to move around him for a second, before the light was gone and he was left blinking, once again alone in the alley. Now, however, the box and disc were gone and his senses were quiet again.
He searched around the alley for a few minutes to make sure they weren’t there before shrugging and moving on. It seemed to be some sort of one-use flashbang that somehow also destroyed the box with it. Not the weirdest thing he’d seen, though he wished he could have studied it a bit more. Curse his lack of impulse control.
As he swung back to his building, he paused, noticing a new mural. It was a large, beautiful painting of Spider-Man, showing him shooting out a web as he swung around. He smiled softly, thankful to see that someone still appreciated him here, appreciated his work even though most people thought he was a murderer.
He stood, staring at the mural for a while, taking note of the flowers left beneath it. It was a nice tribute, a wonderful way to show appreciation, and Peter felt a little better with the show of support. He really needed it, nowadays.
He swung the rest of the way home, only to find his building a pile of rubble, demolished with all of his — admittedly very few — belongings inside.
He knew that was always a risk, staying in an abandoned building, he had just hoped there would be signs before it happened. This was too abrupt for him to see coming. Not that it really mattered in the long run. He hadn’t been able to get most of his stuff after the spell since it was all under May’s name, and she no longer had any record of her nephew. The few things he managed to get had been slowly stolen over the past several months by various people who found his stuff, until the only thing he truly had left to value was the thin, gold necklace that always hung around his neck, the only charms being the small, stamped letters of his, May’s, and Ben’s initials.
He turned around and sighed, heading off in search of a new place to stay.
He ended up searching into the early morning, becoming too tired to continue, so he set up camp on a rooftop. He laid back against the cool concrete and stared up at the skyscrapers, watching as lights flicked on and off as people went to bed late or got up early for work, the colorful glows standing out against the dark sky, not yet touched by sunrise.
He fell asleep there, admiring the glow of the city, dreaming about the days when it was his city.
*****
When Peter woke up, it was dark again. Based on the noise from the streets below him, it was late evening. He’d been sleeping a lot more lately, not having the food or security for his body to sustain more time awake.
At least he could patrol now.
Swinging through the city, he listened for trouble, but his ear was drawn to a familiar voice in the distance. Curious, he let himself follow the sound to a run down, empty street. One of the stores held a variety of TVs, all playing the same news channel.
Peter’s heart stuttered as he saw Tony’s face lighting up the screen. His eyes were underlined by deep bags and his hair was streaked with gray, he was missing his normal blinding press smile, but it was Tony. He hadn’t seen his mentor’s face or heard his voice in ages, and it brought back the pangs of memory.
His breath caught in his throat when he saw the word live accompanying the text at the bottom.
Live. As in, right now. As if Tony was standing, speaking, existing right now. His eyes locked on the screens, but he couldn’t see through the haze of tears. For just a millisecond, he let himself believe it, that it was live, that Tony was alive, right now, instead of buried at the lake house that Peter never wanted to return to. But it couldn’t be true. He had heard for himself as Tony’s heart slowed and stopped, the fight leaving his eyes as his head lolled. Tony was dead. Peter knew that.
He knew some places liked to rerun TV segments on their TVs, but this was old, years old. It had to be. And to make it seem like it was live? That was cruel.
He felt burning in his throat spread down through his chest, anger at the shop, at the news station, at the universe, at himself. He clenched his fists, trying to keep the tears at bay and breathe instead of letting his fist shatter the reminder in front of him.
Peter shot a web out, yanking himself away from the wall of screens. It was just an old rerun, he told himself. He shouldn’t get himself so worked up over something.
But, a nagging voice in his mind pointed out, Mr. Stark never looked like that in front of the press, and he looked older than Peter remembered. But maybe Peter just was forgetting. God, that seemed like quite the common theme in his life lately, forgetting.
He pulled himself up, through streets and past dark windows, trying to steady his breathing as confused panic pressed down on his chest, unsettling the grief that he had tried to push down for so long.
It felt like the universe was teasing him, taunting him with what he used to have just to make him so much more aware of what he lost, as if he hadn’t already been through enough.
The panic was clouding his mind, clawing at his chest, forcing him to land on a rooftop, falling to his knees as he gasped for breaths. His vision was becoming blurry and distant as the world fell away into a haze of grief and confusion. Maybe he was dying? Maybe this was a weird, last-moments-hallucination because it certainly felt like he was dying. He couldn’t let that happen, he had people to help. If Spider-Man died, Queens would lose their protector.
With wobbly legs, he forced himself to stand up as he tried to suck in more breath.
Only for a weight to slam into him, tackling him to the ground hard.
Yep, definitely not dead, at least, because man did he feel that. Before he knew it, a person was pinning him down, sharp, cold metal stinging his throat.
“Who the fuck are you?” the person — who Peter now realized was wearing a red and black leather suit, possibly a villain — growled, white eyes of his mask narrowing.
“What the fuck,” Peter gasped out in a wheezing breath, the weight on his chest making it hard to breathe.
He tried to shove the man off, but his arms were quickly grabbed by a second form, also in a red suit. “Answer the question.” The second man demanded, rage seeping into his voice.
“Dude, I’m Spider-Man. What is wrong with you?” he squeaked, trying to use his body to throw off the man or fight out of the second guy’s grip, but his recent (aka last several months) lack of food and sleep made him too weak.
“We all know that’s not true, who are you really?” the first man demanded again. Seriously, what was up with these questions?
“Look, if you’re trying to get my identity, I’m not telling you. Kinda defeats the whole point of a secret identity” Peter quipped, trying to quell the panic from rising again.
“You know,” the man on top of him began. “I’ve met and heard of a lot of sick fucks, and I mean a lot, but this? Pretending to be Spidey? That’s just fucked. He’s the best of us, he deserves more respect than this shit,” he spat.
“What? What the fuck are you talking about, I am Spider-Man! I’m not pretending!”
“I’m sick of this shit,” the other figure grunted, grabbing Peter’s mask.
He yelped and tried to protest, but with no strength or free hands, he was helpless to stop the man from yanking it off.
“Dude, come on. I already got my identity revealed once, I’m really not looking forward to reliving that.” Peter whined petulantly, even as his breathing was picking up in fear. It sounded even more childish now that the voice modulator he had made and sewn into the mask was taken off, revealing Peter’s real voice.
Both men froze, staring at Peter. Peter stared back, unblinking. He hated when people got all weird when they found out his age. He wasn’t a kid, god damn it! He braced for the lecture, but it never came. They just stayed there, staring at Peter as Peter stared back.
The silence was killing Peter, he just had to break it. “Um, is this like a staring contest or something? Because I hate to break it to you man, you’ve already blinked like five times, I think I win.”
Instead of responding, guy #2 — who Peter now noticed had devil horns on his mask, he’ll call him devil dude — whispered, “Wade?”
“Yeah?” the man — Wade, apparently — responded, voice quiet and shrill with what sounded like shock.
“Am I hearing what you’re seeing?” Devil dude asked, hand still clutching Peter’s mask.
“Yep. You are. I think we’re hallucinating.”
Peter cleared his throat, trying desperately to break this weird tension. “Hey, um, love the close bonding time, but could you like, get off me maybe?”
Immediately, Wade scrambled off of him, nearly leaping away. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, before shaking his head. “Wait, no. Why am I apologizing? You’re not real. You can’t be real!”
“Wade, we can’t both be hallucinating the same thing with different senses.”
“Well how else do you explain this!”
“I don’t know! I just-”
“Sorry to interrupt, but I kinda am real and, as a real person, I would really appreciate some context here.” Peter interjected, looking at both of them skeptically.
A long, uncomfortable silence stretched out, making Peter antsy. Finally, devil dude took a tentative step forward. “Peter?” he breathed, tone disbelieving.
“Yeah?”
“Is it actually you?”
“I mean, yeah of course it is- wait, how did you know my n-” he was cut off by the devil pulling him into a tight hug.
“I can’t believe you’re real.” he whispered, holding Peter close as he ran a hand through his hair, voice thick with tears. Peter wanted to pull away and demand to know what was happening, but he hadn’t had any meaningful human interaction in the past seven months, and this was really nice. It reminded him of May comforting him and Mr. Stark hugging him on the battlefield when he came back. So, he let himself be hugged, maybe even sunk into it a little, not that he would admit it.
“Wade,” the man called over his shoulder. “It’s really him.”
In an instant, Wade had joined their hug, wrapping his arms even tighter around Peter as he choked on a sob. Peter wasn’t sure who they were, why they thought he wasn’t him, or why that made them so emotional, but at the moment, he couldn’t care. Their embrace sent warmth sinking deep into his bones, cutting through the months of cold, aching loneliness. He wished it was Mr. Stark or May, or his friends instead, but beggars can’t be choosers and Peter had given up on even begging months ago. All that had been left was an empty acceptance of this eternal solitude.
Eventually, the two men pulled away, but the warmth of their hug lingered, leaving Peter confused but oddly comforted.
“What the fuck happened to you, Peter?” Wade finally demanded, still sniffling under his mask.
“Yeah, we have a lot of questions,” devil dude added.
“Um, yeah, I do too. Like, sorry if this offends you because you certainly seem to know me but… how do I put this delicately… who are you?”
At that, the men froze, every muscle in their body tensing.
“Shit. Did you hit your head?”
“We gotta get him to Claire.”
Both men started forward, making Peter take a hesitant step back. “Look, guys. I appreciate the concern but I didn’t hit my head.”
“Peter, you don’t have any way of knowing that if it messed with your memory. You could be in shock or have some sort of brain damage.”
“Um, I’m pretty sure I do know. But it’s not like I can afford healthcare anyway. I can’t go to a hospital.”
“It’s not a hospital, it’s Claire.”
Like that cleared anything up.
“I think I’m gonna go now…” he said slowly, reaching one arm behind him to shoot a web, but the devil was faster, grabbing his other hand and pulling him back towards them.
“Hey man! What the-”
He was picked up by Wade and slung over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He tried to wriggle and punch his way out, but the man just grimaced through the hard hits and kept his hold, even when Peter heard a crack beneath his fists coming from the man’s shoulder blade.
“DD, a little help here?” Wade grunted.
“Sorry kid,” the devil murmured before his hand hit a pressure point in Peter’s neck and he blacked out.
*****
When Peter woke up to a comfortable bed beneath him, he immediately shot up into a defensive position at the unfamiliar feeling.
As he kept his back to the corner, raising his fists to fight, he noticed two men in the room startle at the movement.
One man was bald with heavily scared skin, jumping to his feet, but faltering when he saw Peter’s determined (and, admittedly, terrified) expression, freezing where he was across the small room.
Then, Peter flicked his eyes to the other man, noticing he was still sitting in his chair, tense but not advancing. Peter looked back at the bald man before his mind caught up with the image and he did a double take, full body turning to stare at Matthew Murdock.
Did Matt Murdock kidnap him?
In his shock, he let his hands fall as he stared straight at Matt. This was a lawyer. A blind lawyer at that. What the fuck was he doing kidnapping people? Kidnapping a minor? And how did he even end up here? It’s not like he remembered Peter. No one did.
After a moment of tense silence, Peter couldn’t stop himself from squeaking out “Mr. Murdock?”
He waited, tense, for Matt to question how he knew him. Instead, however, Matt tilted his head slightly. “Yes, Peter?”
His voice was softer than Peter expected. He wasn’t ever unkind to Peter, he was actually an incredible lawyer and Peter really appreciated his help, but he had just kidnapped Peter now and he had never heard his tone that soft. It had remained kind, but professional throughout his help. Now, it was laced with undertones of care and fear and grief and a million other things Peter couldn’t comprehend.
But most importantly, he called him Peter.
“You remember me?” he whispered, eyes wide.
Matt frowned. “Of course I remember you, Peter. I’m glad you remember me, now. Do you remember Wade?”
Peter took a second to process the question and Matt gestured to the bald man. Peter matched Matt’s frown. “No, I don’t. Um, sorry… Mr. Wade.”
He knew he shouldn’t feel bad for not remembering his literal kidnappers but the flash of despair that crossed Wade’s expression was enough to bring up a twinge of guilt. These guys seemed a lot nicer than your average kidnapper. They even gave him a nice bed and everything. The door wasn’t even closed, light streaming softly through the crack.
“So, um, Mr. Murdock?”
“Yeah?”
“Why did you kidnap me? Aren’t you a lawyer?”
Matt and Wade exchanged a concerned glance before turning back to Peter.
Matt took a long breath before slowly asking, “Peter, what do you remember?”
Peter wanted to scoff. He was the only one who remembered. But that was such a loaded question.
Everything. Too much, he wanted to say. He settled on clarifying instead.
“About what?”
“Let’s start with us.”
Okay, that was manageable. It certainly wasn’t much. “Well, I don’t remember you,” he said, pointing at Wade, then cringing as his shoulders drooped. “Sorry. Um, Mr. Murdock, you were… well this is gonna sound weird because you really shouldn’t remember but I guess you do? Somehow? But you were my lawyer during the whole Mysterio debacle. Thanks for that, by the way.”
“Mysterio?”
“Yeah, do you not… you know, the murder charge?”
“Murder charge?” Wade shrieked from his corner, making Peter jump.
“Yeah, I guess you might not know about that, Mr. Wade. I’m honestly not sure how Mr. Murdock does. You were supposed to forget me.”
“Peter,” Matt started, speaking very carefully as he leaned forward slightly.
“Yeah?”
“Do you know Daredevil and Deadpool?”
“Who and what now?”
Both men sucked in a breath at that, making Peter shrink in on himself. It seemed to be the wrong answer.
“Um, were those the guys that kidnapped me? Red suits, scary voices?”
“Okay, first of all, you’re not kidnapped-” Matt started before being cut off by Wade.
“Scary voices? Oh my god Matt we literally got him back just to scare him what the fuck is wrong with us.” he whispered, sinking back against the wall.
“Got me back? What are you talking about?”
Matt heaved a long sigh. “Ok, so clearly there are some discrepancies here. We don’t know what you’re talking about and you don’t know what we’re talking about. How about we clear some of that up.”
Peter nodded firmly. “Yes please.”
“Peter, I am, as you remember Matt Murdock, a lawyer. I am also a vigilante known as Daredevil, operating in Hell’s Kitchen.” Peter remembered the guy with horns on his mask. So, devil dude was a vigilante — not a villain, yippee for the small wins — named Daredevil and was also a blind lawyer actually what the fuck-
“Wait, hold up. You are a vigilante? How can you- but- what- how- ….?” Peter ended with an unintelligible noise of confusion, earning a chuckle from Matt.
“Yes, I am blind and I am a vigilante. My other senses are enhanced, in a way, so I basically have a mental image of everything and use that to fight. For example, I can hear the way the air circulates in this room, reflecting off that window and your bed. I can also hear heartbeats and use that to detect if someone is lying or check how many people are in a building, among other things.”
“That is so cool,” Peter breathed out, eyes glossy with amazement.
“Thanks, kid,” he said with a fond smile, a hint of something sadder behind his unseeing eyes. “Anyway, that,” he said, gesturing to Wade, “is Wade Wilson, aka the mercenary and vigilante Deadpool. He has regenerative abilities that make him, effectively, immortal.”
“Immortal or invulnerable because those are two different things and I think regenerative makes him more invulnerable or something in the middle unless it does apply to old age or something and I mean both are incredibly cool like, wow that is awesome- wait did you say mercenary?” he shrieked as the words caught up to him. He was kidnapped by two vigilantes, one of which was a fucking mercenary? “Oh I’m so gonna die,” he whispered, shrinking himself back into the corner.
At that, Wade shot up and towards him, making him flinch away which froze Wade in his tracks.
“No! Baby boy I would never hurt you! You’re our buddy! I- I didn’t mean to scare you, I promise, I don’t kill whenever we work together! I follow your rules!” He sounded genuinely horrified at the implication, tone almost pleading. It helped Peter relax a little bit, confirming his death wasn’t coming even sooner than expected.
“Okay so… why did two vigilantes kidnap me?” He asked skeptically, looking between the two.
Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you stop with the- We didn’t kidnap you, we were just making sure you didn’t have a head injury. You have a habit of hiding those. You don’t have one though, so I’m not sure what’s causing the amnesia.”
“Amnesia? I don’t have amnesia? I remember everything perfectly!” he defended himself, crossing his arms. He didn’t bother denying the injury hiding allegations, that lie would be see-through even without Matt’s freaky (awesome) lie-detector hearing.
Matt didn’t look convinced. “Alright, then walk me through your day.”
Peter huffed, not seeing the point because he was fine, but acquiesced. “Fine. I woke up around 2pm — don’t you judge me, it’s been a hard year — and went dumpster diving for some more tech, spent a few hours tinkering with that, then went on patrol. Well, I didn’t actually get very far because… Well I got distracted by something and then you guys attacked me out of nowhere and I ended up here.”
“What got you distracted?” Matt asked, while Wade asked “Where were you sleeping?”
“I don’t want to answer either of those. I’m entitled to my privacy.” he responded, raising his chin defiantly. “I’m invoking my fifth amendment right.” he added with a huff.
“Kid, first of all, you aren’t under arrest, that’s not how that works. Second of all, the distraction could be what caused the amnesia, we need a little more context here.”
“I don’t have amnesia! I just… I…” Peter swallowed as tears began to well in his eyes. “I saw Mr. Stark on TV and for a second- god it’s so stupid. I… I thought he was actually still alive for a second.” He wiped furiously at the stray tear that managed to escape. Great, he got kidnapped by cool ass vigilantes just to start crying in front of them over a fucking news rerun.
Wade shot him a confused look, opening his mouth to speak before being cut off by Matt, who shot him a pointed look.
“Peter, what do you mean you thought Tony was still alive? Do you think Tony is dead?” he asked gently, eyes soft with concern.
“What do you mean ‘do I think Tony’s dead?’ I watched him die. I listened to his heart stop. I know he’s dead! God, I know better than pretty much anyone that he’s dead! He died in a fight that he started because of me! It shouldn’t have been him!” he shouted, letting the ‘it should have been me’ go unsaid. The look the two men gave him told him it was heard regardless.
“Peter, I’m not sure what exactly is going on, but Tony is very much alive. That hasn’t changed.”
“Yeah, he’s not the dead one-” Wade was cut off by a shoe smacking him in the face, thrown from Matt who held another one, glaring at the other man.
But Peter couldn’t focus on any of that. He stopped processing anything after the word ‘alive’. That one word, that word that applied to practically nothing for him anymore, and yet it was said about his late mentor. Mr. Stark- Tony was alive. He couldn’t be, but the TV and Matt and Wade… maybe he really was alive. After all this time…
“I need to see him.” he demanded, finally standing from the bed.
Wade stared at Matt incredulously, still deeply offended by the footwear assault, but Matt was considering Peter. “I think we can do that. He should know about… this too. Maybe he can help figure out what’s going on. C’mon.” Matt stood and left the room, gesturing for Peter to follow.
Should he be following his kidnapper blindly simply because of the promise to take him to his very dead mentor/father-figure? Probably not, but the prospect of the chance at seeing Tony again, even if it was all just an elaborate, fucked up trap, was enough to send him following Matt without hesitation.
He only paused in the doorway when he caught sight of himself, suit still on.
“Could I get my mask back? Or some clothes to change into?” he asked hesitantly.
“Oh, shit, yeah. One second.” Matt said, whirling around and heading back into the room they had left. He emerged a moment later with a bundle of clothes, pointing Peter to the bathroom.
When Peter got dressed, he stared down at the clothes he was wearing because these were his clothes. He recognized that science pun and the rip in those jeans from when he tripped sophomore year trying to roller skate with Ned.
How did these people have his clothes?
This whole situation was getting weirder and weirder, and Peter decided to ignore it. He would demand answers later. Now, he had to go see Mr. Stark.
Deadpool hung up a call as Peter came back out. He noticed the way they both regarded him with something similar to hopeful disbelief, but brushed it off. He had a father figure to talk to.
When they got down stairs, there was a taxi waiting for them outside. Deadpool got into the front seat, already chatting with the driver who cheerily called him “DP” while Matt and Peter got in the back seat.
The driver — a lanky, awkward but cheerful seeming man — did a double take upon seeing Peter before whipping his head back to Deadpool.
“Peter?” he asked, more of a demand, eyes wide.
“Yep!” Wade responded simply.
“But he’s-” He was cut off by Wade slamming a hand over his mouth.
“Dopinder, sweet angel, he is on his way to reconnect with his old man Stark and we are going to let him, got it?”
Dopinder looked at him, then back at Peter, then back to him before reluctantly nodding.
“Good!” Wade exclaimed, patting Dopinder’s shoulders. “Now step on it, we have a family reunion to attend.”
*****
When they stopped outside of the Avengers Compound, a wave of nausea washed over Peter. The last time he was here, the Compound had been destroyed and he had just woken up on an alien planet after dying in Tony’s arms, then went through a magic portal to fight Thanos. Again.
He tried to push the memories away, but every time he caught a glance of the field, he remembered Tony sitting against rubble, unable to move or speak. He remembered realizing that he had just gotten his mentor back, had finally gotten to hug him, just to see the light draining from his eyes what felt like minutes later. He remembered apologizing, remembered that he failed to protect Tony. He remembered crying as someone pulled him away, finally calling him Tony like he had insisted so many times before giving up on Peter ever calling him anything other than Mr. Stark.
He remembered hearing the uneven beat of his heart stop.
“You okay?” Matt murmured next to him, and Peter realized he had started crying.
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” he insisted, wiping his tears away, though his voice was too high and raw to be convincing. Luckily, Matt dropped the subject.
Peter was certain now, every vivid memory coming back up, that Tony was dead. This was all some sort of fucked up prank. But he didn’t have anywhere else to go, anyone else to talk to, so he resigned himself to following along with their cruelty. At least he got some human interaction, he thought bitterly. He had really missed talking to people who didn’t scream and throw things at him, calling him a murderer.
When the taxi screeched to a stop — Dopinder really was not one for traffic laws, but who was Peter to judge? — Peter stepped out of the car before pausing. No one would remember him, he realized, and just strolling into the Avengers Compound wouldn’t exactly work. Why would a 17 year old be there? What was even their plan, here?
Seeming to catch on to his hesitance, Matt stood in front of him, Wade joining his side, and the two led the way through the doors to the front desk, Peter hidden timidly behind them.
“How may I help you?” a man asked, tone friendly but smile tight.
“We would like to speak to Tony Stark.” Matt responded evenly, as if that was a normal request to make.
“I’m afraid Mr. Stark is unavailable at the moment, and he doesn’t speak to strangers without good reason. Is there anything else I can do for you?” he responded, a hint of annoyance slipping into the question.
Wade leaned forward with a grin. “Oh trust me, we have good reason.”
The secretary let out a quiet sigh before typing away a message. Apparently vague responses like that were enough in the hero business to get you a chat. “Mr. Stark will be with you when he is available, though it may be some time. Feel free to take a seat.” the man told them, gesturing to the chairs. It struck Peter as odd that the Compound had a lobby. This place must get more visitors than he realized, mostly press, he figured.
But as he moved to sit, Matt’s hand on his arm stopped him. He was still blocked from the secretary’s view by the two men.
“Tell him it’s about Spider-Man,” Matt said, voice low.
At that, a hint of anger flashed across the man’s face, almost protective in nature, but he quickly typed another message. Seconds after it was sent, Peter could hear the elevator behind the desk whirring, coming down fast.
The doors opened with a ding, and he heard someone step out.
“Who the fuck are you to come in here and talk about him?” he demanded.
Peter’s breath caught in his throat. He knew that voice. He knew that smell of motor oil and coffee. He knew that buzzing sound from the arc reactor. But he couldn’t… could he?
While Peter’s mind was reeling, the familiar voice barged on “What give you the right to bring him up-”
“Mr. Stark?” he whispered, just loud enough to be heard through the rant. The voice cut off in an instant, and Peter couldn’t help himself anymore, stepping to the side, away from the cover of Matt and Wade to see the impossible image for himself.
Sure enough, standing in front of him was the one and only Tony Stark. And he was staring back at Peter, hand still frozen where it had been pointing angrily at Matt, as his jaw fell slack and his red-rimmed eyes widened, sucking in a gasp.
“Peter?” he choked out. “Is that really you?”
“I was about to ask the same thing.” he whispered, voice strangled with years of built up grief.
They both stood, staring at each other for a long moment before Matt gently nudged him forward. At the reminder he could move, Peter launched himself at Tony, arms wrapping around him in a bruising hug as he burst into tears.
He apparently hit the man a bit too hard, because they went tumbling to the ground, but Peter didn’t care because Tony was here and alive and nothing else could possibly matter right now.
Tony seemed to share the sentiment, wrapping his arms tightly around Peter in return and pressing a kiss to his hair, pulling him as close as possible. Tears ran down into Peter’s curls as Tony huffed an incredulous laugh, one hand cradling his head as the other wrapped around his back.
“I missed you,” Peter whispered, burying his head into Tony’s chest because screw ‘not there yet’, they were there now whether Tony liked it or not. He was the one who hugged Peter first, after all.
“God, I missed you too, bud. I- I can’t believe it,” he murmured, kissing Peter’s head again with a wet laugh.
They stayed like that for a long time, just breathing in each other’s warmth and presence. Peter would be happy never moving a muscle again. It had been so long since he saw someone he knew, since he was seen by them too.
Eventually, Tony moved back to look at Peter, gently cradling his face.
“You look older,” he remarked.
Peter let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, it’s been awhile.”
“I’ll say. You’ve seen May, right? She knows you’re okay?”
Peter almost told him yes, that he saw her every week to give her an update on his life. He tried to keep his updates light. He didn’t know if he believed in an afterlife or if there was any way she could hear him, but on the off chance she could, he didn’t want to worry her. He just wanted to talk to her, even if it was really only to her headstone.
But he realized, then, that Tony didn’t know. He wasn’t there when it happened.
His eyes started welling with tears again as he tried to find the words. He could deal with the grief most of the time, but talking about it always stirred up something he couldn’t quite shove back down. Maybe because he talked about it so rarely, not having anyone to talk to.
“Tony, I… I have to tell you something.”
“What is it, Pete? It’s okay.”
Peter shook his head. It wasn’t okay. He had told May she was okay, but she bled out in his arms anyway, surrounded by the rubble of what had come to be their home. He lied to her. He failed to protect her. How was he supposed to admit that to Iron Man? He had literally sacrificed himself to save the universe, and yet Peter couldn’t even save his Aunt.
“May, she- she’s gone. I screwed up. I couldn’t protect her and she died. Seven months ago.”
Tony froze for a moment, taking in the sobbing boy in front of him, concern and confusion etched across his features. “Peter, what are you talking about? I talked to May yesterday.”
Peter shook his head, scrubbing at his cheeks. “No, I know you think it was yesterday because of everything with the blip and you… coming back, but that was years ago. A lot has changed.”
He didn’t want to meet Tony’s eyes. He knew this was probably overwhelming and weird and Peter sounded insane, but he had to tell him. He wanted to tell him everything.
“No, Peter,” Tony shook his head, growing more confused. “I haven’t lost time. May isn’t dead. Look,” he paused, fishing a phone out from his pocket.
Peter watched as he pulled up May’s contact and listened to the phone ring as Tony put it on speaker. His heart sank, knowing the feeling that was coming. He was all too familiar with it. There had been a lot of times that he simply forgot, for a moment, and called her, only to be hit with the loss all over again when it continued to ring and she didn’t pick up.
He reached out to hang up, not wanting to hear the voicemail message that broke him apart every time, but the ringing stopped, halting Peter’s hand where it was.
“Tony? What’s up?” May’s voice filtered through the speaker.
Peter choked on a sob. This couldn’t be true, but it sounded so real. It really sounded exactly like May was on the other line, talking to Tony as if it were any other day. Her voice had an undercurrent of a deep exhaustion, but it was distinctly May.
“May, I think you should come to the compound.”
The exasperated sigh on the other line made Peter bite his lip to hold back another sob. It was so familiar, so normal, as if the last seven months- hell, the last seven years hadn’t happened.
“Alright, I’m at work right now but I’ll stop by in a few hours when-”
“No, May, now.” Tony demanded, a hint of urgency slipping through making May pause. “It’s really urgent. Nothing bad. The opposite, actually,” he said, voice growing fonder as he looked back at Peter. “But this is something you need to see for yourself. Fri already texted Happy, he’s on his way. I’ll deal with your boss if you need, but tell him it’s an emergency.”
There was a long pause, tension stretching thick, before May blew out a breath. “Okay,” she responded firmly. “But this better be worth it.”
“Oh, trust me. It is.”
With that, they hung up and Tony searched Peter’s expression, taking in his watery eyes and quivering lip.
“She’s really okay?” he asked, voice cracking as more tears slipped down his cheeks.
“Yeah, kiddo, she is. I promise. We’ll talk about whatever you think happened later, but right now, how about we head over to your room? It’s a bit more comfortable than the lobby floor.”
“My room?”
Tony bit his lip, looking away. “Yeah,” he croaked out, blinking back tears. “You’re room. We kept it the same.”
Peter wanted to ask more questions, to figure out what was going on, why he had a room, how Tony and May were alive, but he was too exhausted, so he let Tony help him up and followed him quietly into the elevator, leaning into his side when he wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
When the elevator stopped, Tony led him out into a hallway with three doors. One was clear and led to a lab, one was unlabeled, and one had a red and blue sign hanging from it, black webs engraved across along with Peter’s name.
Cautiously, he pushed the door open, gasping at the room. It was large, but not overwhelmingly so. There was a large, comfortable looking bed in the middle with red sheets. The walls were a muted, dark blue, dark enough that it wouldn’t hurt his eyes if his senses were too dialed up. A large window was framed with blackout curtains and there was a soft rug beneath his feet. Beanbag chairs and blanket piles littered the floor. There was a lamp illuminating a desk covered in stray papers and textbooks, crumpled paper and eraser shavings scattered on the floor underneath, next to his yellow backpack. There was another desk on the other side of the room, covered in a mixture of old, probably salvaged tech, and new Stark tech, various pieces half-disassembled and laying with their wires spilling out in a tangled mess.
The walls were lined with bookcases full of textbooks, science books, fantasy books, DVDs, VHS tapes, action figures, and stuffed animals. Above those were posters, Einstein, the Avengers, and Star Wars all featured, while floating shelves between them held lego creations. Other legos, namely the death star, an x-wing starfighter, and millennium falcon were all hung from the ceiling from invisible thread. The ceiling itself was covered in glowing stars, tiny pin points of light forming constellations against the black backdrop.
This was the type of room he dreamed about, but knew he could never afford. His eyes widened as he took in everything, running his fingers lightly over the shelves as he walked around. Someone had clearly been using it, and Tony was right that it was kept exactly the same, but he was sure he had never been in this room. He would definitely remember.
As he inspected the papers on the desk, he recognized an assignment Mr. Harrington had given him last year. He had definitely turned that one in. All of these assignments, in fact, were from last year, around the same time. So were the textbooks.
He turned to ask Tony who had been working here and why it was all a year old, when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. He tensed, ready for a fight even though his spidey-senses weren’t going off, but the scent of lavender shampoo and vanilla perfume wafted lightly down the hallway.
“Oh, Tony. You know looking at that room doesn’t do you any good.” He heard May’s soft voice sigh as it got closer. “Was this the emergency?”
“In a way,” he told her, smiling softly as he stepped out of the doorway, gesturing for her to take a look. Her footsteps were apprehensive as she approached, and Peter braced himself for… well, he didn’t know what, but he couldn’t let himself believe what every sense was screaming at him until he saw the proof for himself.
Peter hesitantly stepped towards the door as the steps paused outside, just out of view. He willed his breathing to calm as he waited, but his heart was thundering in his ears.
It was too good to be true.
A figure stepped into the doorway, questioning expression falling into one of shock as May stood before him, their eyes locked on each other. She was wearing her scrubs still, but had taken her hair down. It fell over her shoulders like it had draped over the rubble, mingling with her blood less than a year ago.
But this time, May’s eyes were clear, her clothes clean of blood and her steps measured, uninjured. Her breathing had sped up, but was even, rather than the stuttering breaths in the dusty air that haunted his memories.
This was May, and she was alive.
“May?”
“Peter?”
They ran to each other, arms holding each other tight with terror that made them never want to let go. He sobbed into her shoulder, clutching her shirt in trembling hands as her hands traced shaky, soothing circles on his back.
“I’m so sorry, May. I’m so, so sorry. I never should have- I should have sent them home. But I did what you said. The other Peter didn’t let me kill him and I cured them all and I sent them all back home, I promise. I tried, I really tried. I just messed everything up.” he cried.
She squeezed him even tighter before pulling back and leading them to sit on the bed. “Baby, what are you talking about? What happened? Where have you been? How are you even here right now?”
“I don’t really know what happened, I don’t know how you’re alive but I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you last time. I’m sorry” he rambled on, sobs choking his breath.
“Okay, one question at a time,” she urged, voice soft despite the concern in her eyes. “What are you sorry for?”
“I let you die,” he whispered, looking at his lap where he was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He hated admitting it, admitting that he was a failure, that he failed to protect the person who had spent her life protecting and helping him.
She tilted his chin up, making him meet her gaze. “Peter, honey, what are you talking about? I’m here, I’m okay.”
“That’s the thing. I don’t know how. If there was a way to save you, to bring you back I should have done it earlier but I’m not even sure what brought you back now!”
“I never died, Peter.”
“But you did!” he cried, clenching his hands into fists and letting his nails dig into his palms. “I heard your heart stop! I watched you get hit by his glider and you fell down and said you just needed to catch your breath but you never did. I watched you die, May, just like Ben.”
May was staring at him with wide eyes, lips parted as she searched for something to say. Flicking his gaze to the doorway, Tony was frozen there too.
He locked eyes on his mentor, taking a deep breath. “And you aren’t the only one, May,” he admitted, still staring at Tony.
“What do you mean?” she asked softly, voice still hollow with bewilderment.
“Tony died too. I watched him… I heard his heart stop.” Peter watched as fear and sadness flickered across Tony’s expression before he schooled it back into one of gentle concern. “I don’t know how either of you are here.”
“Peter, we aren’t the ones who died.” May spoke carefully, bringing Peter’s gaze back to him. They seemed really insistent on that fact, that they never died. But that was impossible, because Peter remembered. He wished he didn’t most nights, but those memories were carved into his soul, a truth he carried with him as a burden with each breath.
“Yes, you are,” he insisted, but the look in May’s eyes stopped him from arguing further.
“No, we aren’t.” she continued, tightening her grip on his hand.
“What do you mean? Who is?”
“Kid,” Tony cut in, drawing both their gazes. “She means we never died. You did.”
“What?”