Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter’s eyes trailed along the street’s edge, catching the various vendors, business people, and a series of other regulars that frequented the spots. He had frequented these streets often enough himself, so much that he found himself shirking back slightly as he passed one of the taco stands, hoping that the sellers wouldn’t recognise him. Thankfully they were too busy handling the mid-afternoon crowd to notice him, and –

“Hey Pete, keep up!”

Peter jerked, eyes flashing forward and landing on Tony, who was waiting in the middle of the sidewalk. His reflective glasses hid his eyes, but Peter knew they were looking at him expectantly. Realising he’d slowed to a near stall, Peter quickly picked back up the pace.

“Sorry,” he said, drawing up alongside Tony, and they began continuing down the street once more.

“Don’t apologise,” Tony replied. “Just keep walking if we want to keep our reservation.”

Peter watched as Tony adjusted his jacket slightly, doing his best to walk as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Peter knew that a few people had recognised him as they walked past, their eyes going wide and some of the smaller fingers pointing in awe, but for the most part the people of New York had no idea who walked in their midst.

The sun shone high above them in the sky, its light cascading down through the clouds in its full-spring warmth. The last of the snow had melted only a week before, and to celebrate Bucky had asked Peter for a re-match of their previous race around the track. After much pushing and cajoling from more than one other Avenger, Peter had finally relented and agreed to run. And after nearly twenty-minutes of straight, full-on sprinting – to which both Natasha and Tony thought aneurysms were surely going to be blown – Peter finally put Bucky out of his misery, pulled ahead, and won.

Bucky had immediately demanded a rematch, both Steve and Tony had rolled their eyes, and Peter had declined. One could only humiliate a super-soldier so many times in a row, after all.

Tony and Peter came to a halt at the crosswalk, stopping with a mass of others as they waited for the lights to change. The hairs on Peter’s skin whispered in familiarity, and Peter glanced to his left, noticing a small grocery store along the street. Images of a bloodied man left behind by robbers flashed briefly behind his eyes and Peter swallowed, quickly turning his gaze away. But, as the lights turned and the crowd began to move across the road, Peter couldn’t fail to notice the same man moving items in the window, well and whole, a smile on his face.

“Peter, do you need me to hold your hand?” Tony asked without glancing back. “Because I will, I swear. Don’t think I’m above that.”

Peter huffed, fought back rolling his eyes, and picked up the pace once more.

It wasn’t his fault everything was distracting him. He hadn’t been back on the streets of New York in nearly four months; of course he’d want to take a look at how everything was going. But Tony was right; if they wanted to reach their reservation in time, they’d have no time to stop and stare. And considering Happy had dropped them off nearly five blocks away (he claimed that with the traffic, it would be faster to walk than to drive), they had no time to waste.

After that final confrontation with Tony that had happened what felt like a lifetime ago, Peter had expected Tony would take him back to Aunt May’s. But to his surprise, Tony had instead taken him to the Tower, claiming he had business to take care of there anyways. So the two stayed in the apartments on the fiftieth floor for two days, before Peter finally agreed to go back with Tony to the Compound.

Though at first he insisted on staying in the guest rooms that had practically become his own in the past year, he had eventually agreed (though not without much prodding and pushing) to move back into the rooms he had used to occupy, back when he had first joined the Avengers. Tony had insisted he needed him nearby, for consultation and discussion reasons of course, and therefore Peter couldn’t really say no.

May hadn’t been particularly happy at the news; Peter could tell that from the tone of her voice when Tony had called her, letting her know Peter had been found and that he was staying with Tony for a few days. Which of course had turned into weeks, and then into months. Eventually Peter had finally gummed up the courage to call her himself, explaining that he needed some space, that he needed time to adjust, and that no, May had nothing to do with it, and yes, he promised he’d come over soon and they’d go out for lunch at Delmar’s, and they’d talk about anything and everything.

Well, not everything. Peter was still far from talking about everything. And he was quite sure he never could be. Some things, certainly. Many things, perhaps. But not all.

The wind picked up, sweeping over Peter’s Ganni jacket and ruffling through his hair as he kept pace with Tony. Though no one was likely to recognise him, Pepper and Happy had insisted he at least look the part of a son out with his father, even if that father was Tony Stark. He felt foolish and not a little bit like an impostor, but Pepper had insisted appearances were important for people like them (and the clothing made him look so smart, she’d said), so Peter finally relented and agreed.

The last near-four months had been anything but easy. Going back to the Compound after he’d run off had left Peter feeling more terrified and humiliated than he was quite sure he ever had. But Tony had insisted that no one had been told about what had happened except Pepper and Happy, and that when asked after his welfare, he had only told the others that he was doing good. So he could be thankful for small mercies, at least.

When they had realised that Peter wasn’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon, Steve and Natasha had been only too eager to suggest (Peter would argue, insist) he train with them. They had both been the forerunners in his training from Before, so Peter wasn’t surprised by their excitement to return to it now. The daily sparring quickly became routine, and soon they had gained a regular audience as well, both Bucky and Clint offering their own (and often unwanted) suggestions from the overlooking balcony above. Natasha and Steve were both surprised and impressed by the raw skills Peter brought, clearly learned from the streets, and they smoothly incorporated them into techniques and styles that would aid Peter if ever he were to –

Well. They didn’t ever go there, but it was clear from their instruction and teaching what sort of environment they were trying to prepare him for. But for whatever reason not one of them brought up the topic of Peter’s old… day job, and Peter himself certainly never mentioned it. But in the end Peter had to admit, the quickly established regiment of both work-out and lessons was a welcome diversion from the rest of life.

Then there was Bruce. Bruce and his lab. Bruce and his ever-hungry desire for knowledge, his never-ending curiosity of the unknown and unexplained, and his insistence that Peter aid him in all those endeavours. Namely, the endeavour of figuring Peter and his seemingly ever-morphing biology out. Finally, after much suggestion and quiet, passive-requests, Peter relented to allowing Bruce to study him.

First had been his webbing. With everything that had gone on, Peter had almost forgotten entirely about it. It felt natural, far more natural than the web-shooters ever had. Tony (having just been “walking by” and “overheard” the two talking) had been as enthralled by them as Bruce was, both men studying Peter’s wrists and taking x-rays and pressing on his skin as though he were in a petri dish. It was humourous at first, to see them so excited. Like puppies having found a new bone to chew on, and nearly fighting each other over the opportunity to gnaw on it. But then Tony had asked the question of when the new ability had shown up, and when Peter responded with Osborn and the lab, the enthusiasm had quickly waned.

Peter was able to then admit that that was when his increased healing had shown up, too. Along with his even greater hearing and sight, as well. Among other things.

“So the question is,” Tony had said, his fingers rubbing beneath his chin and staring at Peter’s wrists with a frown, “is whether or not these increases in your abilities came from Osborn trying to remove the Watcher from you, or whether they’re the result of your body just… reaching the second level.”

Peter had frowned, staring at Tony in bemusement. “Second level?” he repeated.

“Yeah, you know – like all those video games you play. You’ve leveled up. Maybe the… trauma, to your body released some sort of latent abilities that you hadn’t been able to access before. Now instead of being able to run as fast as a lion, you can now run as fast as a cheetah.” He caught Peter’s eye, and gave him a pointed look. “Metaphorically speaking, Parker. Don’t go getting any ideas.”

Peter leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. He had always believed that it was because of Ascar that his abilities had changed, that something of him had been left behind when Osborn had tried to take him out. But maybe they were right, maybe his increased hearing and sight and webbing were powers he’d always had, powers he just hadn’t accessed yet. Maybe his newfound ability to feel people’s emotions and never get cold anymore were just abilities that had lain dormant, waiting to be activated, and –

An image suddenly flashed behind Peter’s eyes, an image of a man beneath him, of anger coursing through his veins like fire, of covering the man in endless webbing, trying to cut off his airways, trying to suffocate him, trying to –

Peter had quickly torn his thoughts away from the – the dream? The memory? – and turned his attention back to Tony and Bruce, who were now studying the x-rays of Peter’s wrists on the wall screen.

Well, whether all his powers and abilities had come from the same source or not, Peter didn’t know for certain. And perhaps he never would. And perhaps, in the end, it really didn’t matter. He was stuck with them, as far as he knew, and he’d have to get used to it sooner or later, and –

The horn of a car startled Peter out of his memories, and he quickly dodged round a bunch of people until he was beside Tony once more.

He really had to stop letting his mind wander; it was a habit that he had formed long ago, to keep himself occupied during long days of doing nothing. It was a habit that was now proving quite difficult to break, no matter how many times Tony snapped his fingers in front of his eyes or impatiently repeated his name.

“Finally,” Tony muttered under his breath, and Peter glanced up at the sign, both relieved and nervous to have finally arrived. They walked through the doorway, a small bell sounding their arrival.

The hostess at the desk flashed them a bright smile as they stopped in front of her. “For two?” she asked.

“We have reservations,” Tony said. “Under Howard Potts.”

The woman looked down at her computer and swiped up a few times, before she looked back up with a smile. “Right this way, sirs.”

Tony followed the hostess and Peter followed Tony, as they were lead to a small corner in the back of the restaurant. Pepper had obviously used the magic words when making the reservation, as they were given a small booth relatively on its own, giving as much privacy as the restaurant could. Peter couldn’t help but feel slightly in awe as he sat down, if not a little fearful, as well. He had never set foot in the restaurant, before.

No sooner had they sat down than did a waitress arrive, handing them both menus and requesting their drink order.

Tony ordered scotch on the rocks, because he was Tony Stark and billionaires like him probably didn’t know any other drinks existed. But seeing as Peter was neither Tony Stark nor a billionaire, he just ordered a coke with ice.

Then came the worst part – waiting.

“I know you’re nervous,” Tony said after they’d gotten their drinks, “but don’t be. Seriously, this will be fun. Here, how about we talk about something to take your mind off it, huh? How about we talk about school? I know that’s a favourite topic of yours.”

Peter didn’t even try to fight the glare. “Tony,” he groaned, “just… just don’t.”

“I thought you had said you were going to consider applying to university! I thought we had that discussion, and you agreed it was something you wanted to do, I –.”

“I agreed that I would agree to think about it,” Peter said, cutting Tony off. “I said I would think about it, not that I’d do it. Besides, I still don’t know if I can apply. I don’t have my eleventh or twelfth grade, much less an actual diploma, so I –.”

“And I thought I told you that when you know people like Tony Stark, AKA me, that that sort of thing doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters! Mister Star – Tony – I can’t just keep name-dropping you wherever I go, using you to jump past the line that everyone else has to wait in! If I do ever decide to go to university, then I want to get in because of me, not because you asked them –.”

“Hah – so you do want to go!”

Peter balked, blinking as he shook his head. “N-no! That’s not what I…. Tony, I swear, I –.”

“Can I take your order?”

The argument was momentarily postponed as Peter and Tony both gave the waitress what they’d like to eat (Tony was having shrimp fettuccine, while Peter simply ordered a chicken sandwich), before resuming their positions once more.

“Okay, okay,” Tony relented finally. “Just say that you did want to go to university. Do you have any particular ones in mind?”

Peter clutched his glass of coke, tapping the edge absently as he thought how to answer.

The truth was that he had thought about it. More than once, if he were honest. Not that he was positive about going, but if he did want to go somewhere this year, he’d have to start applying to places now, and, well….

Tony cleared his throat, tapping his right hand against the table, while smoothly drinking his scotch with his left. After he finished, he said, “I guess what I’m trying to say is, do you think you’ll go to a university in the city, or somewhere out of state?”

For over two years all Peter wanted to do was leave the city, and start a new life somewhere else. For over two years he had fully believed his old life was well and firmly behind him, and nothing like the sort could ever stand in his path again. So the idea that a life of university and old dreams was back before him, well… it was still taking quite some getting used to.

The last four months had been… an emotional rollercoaster, to say the least. At first they had been difficult, so very, very difficult. But then, bit by bit, as time went on, they began to remind him just what his old life had actually been like. Being around everyone again, bantering with them, learning from them – he was reminded why the two years on his own had been as painful as they had been; and why he had once been so intent on getting as far away as he could.

Once been. But not anymore.

“No,” Peter said at last, and he could hear a slight exhale of breath from Tony’s lungs. He tried not to smile. “No, I think… I think if I do go to a university – and I’m not saying if I did it would be this year, or even the next, but… but it’ll be here. In New York.”

Tony took another sip of his drink, and Peter could see just the barest hint of a smile behind it. “Do you have any particular ones in mind?” he asked when he’d finished. “NYU is a given, of course, but there are plenty of others to consider. Have you ever thought of Columbia? Or Cornell? You’d do well at any of those. And if you’re worried about passing the exams, I wouldn’t bother. You’re already smarter than all their professors, anyway.”

Now it was Peter’s turn to try and hide a smile as he leaned back, tapping his finger against the glass cup. “Well, before… Before all this, back when I was in school… I always thought I might try and get into… into Empire State. It’s got a good science program, and they’ll let you finish your degree early if you can put all the work in, so if I wanted to try and do other things I could, and….”

“Empire State?” Tony repeated thoughtfully. “I hadn’t really thought of that. You know, that might not be a bad idea. I actually have –.”

At that moment the food arrived, cutting Tony off, and the two of them waited as the waitress set their plates in front of them. Peter gave her a small smile of thanks, and as soon as she left, they began to dig in.

Peter was nearly finished his sandwich and Tony halfway through his pasta, when the latter lowered his fork and spoon and met Peter’s eye. “All right,” he said. “You ready?”

Peter’s stomach did a small, nervous flip, and he nodded.

Tony grinned. “Let’s get this show on the road, then.” He dropped his utensils on the plate with a clatter and cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he called loudly, motioning to a nearby waitress as he snapped his fingers. The waitress who had been passing by stopped, quickly plastering a smile on her face as she turned to face them.

“Yes?”

Tony motioned to his half-empty plate with a wave of his hand. “This food came out cold and the shrimp is grossly under-cooked. I want to speak to your manager.”

Peter could see the woman’s muscles tense, and he watched as she tried to rectify the situation.

“I’m sorry about that sir, we can get you another one straight away –.”

“No,” Tony interrupted angrily. “I don’t want another one, I want to speak to your manager. In fact, I want to speak to your owner. Are they here? This isn’t the first time I’ve had sub-standard food here, and frankly I’m sick of it.”

“I’m sorry sir; you can have the meal – both meals – for free if you’d like. And I’ll pass the issue on up to my supervisor –.”

“I don’t want your supervisor, I want to speak to your owner – now.”

Defeated, the woman swallowed back a frustrated sigh and proceeded to take Tony’s plate, before walking off without a word.

Tony continued to stare coolly through his glasses, a perfect picture of elitist impatience.

A few moments later Peter could hear man’s annoyed voice, and listened as the footsteps left the cold tile of the kitchen and stepped onto the carpeted dining room. A few seconds after that he arrived, schooling his face to not show how annoyed he was.

“I heard there was an issue with the food here. How can I help you?”

“You heard right,” Tony said, “we have a major issue here. One I plan to fix immediately. Do you even know who I am?”

Julian frowned, his jaw clenching.

“No sir, I’m afraid I don –.”

“Well then, how about him?”

It was only then that he finally turned, brows furrowed in confusion, and finally looked at Peter.

He blinked, his furrowed brows deepening as he stared, before his eyes grew suddenly wide and his body went completely still.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then finally, he spoke.

“P… Peter?” His voice was quiet, the word uncertain, and Peter could no longer fight against his own smile.

“Hey Julian,” he said, swallowing back the emotion in his own voice. “You know, I have to say, the food here tastes a lot better from a plate than it does from a dumpster.”

And just like that, Julian’s shoulders fell, and wide eyes and a growing smile of incredulity formed on his face.

“Peter?” he repeated. “Is that… how can….” He looked back over to Tony, who had removed his glasses and was looking back at Julian with a smile.

Julian looked back at Peter. “Peter, what – how –.”

“Well,” Peter began, “it’s a long story. But after what happened a few months ago, I guess I just wanted to let you know that everything was okay. And to say thanks. So… thank you.”

Julian just shook his head, still unable to believe what he was seeing. “Peter, how are you… I mean, I’ve been wondering for the past four months what the heck happened that night. I thought… I thought maybe you’d found Iron Man after he got hurt, or… or something. But… but I don’t understand –.”

“Pete and I go way back,” Tony intervened, leaning his arm casually against the back of the booth. “Let’s just say we were both in a rough spot that night, and if it weren’t for you we’d have probably been worse off. So from one businessman to another – thank you.”

Julian still looked as though he were going to fall down, so Peter quickly moved over and sat him down beside him.

After the initial shock wore off, Julian had many questions that Peter tried his best to answer. He asked what had happened (just Iron Man business, can’t go into detail), how badly they’d been hurt (it wasn’t good, but they keep some decent doctors on staff at the Compound, so they recovered), and most of all, how Peter had managed to get involved in the first place (it’s… complicated).

Nearly forty minutes had passed before Julian’s questions began to ease, and turning to Peter he asked his last. “So Peter, does that mean you’re living with… with Tony Stark now? For real? Or are you still on the streets, and….”

Peter glanced briefly at Tony, before quickly looking away. “Yeah, I’m… I guess right now I’m living with Tony. The attic was torn down a while back, so… well.” Peter staved off a wry grin. “All I can say is that having a warm shower in the morning is actually pretty nice.”

Peter waited for Julian to say something, but when he didn’t he tentatively looked up, meeting the other man’s eyes, and was surprised at what he saw.

Julian was smiling at him, but something about it was different. His eyes had the faintest of glimmers, and from the way he was looking at him, Peter could almost swear he looked… proud?

“Good,” Julian finally got out, and Peter watched him swallow. “Good. I… I knew you could do it. I knew you weren’t meant for the streets, I knew… I knew you were a lot smarter than you made yourself out to be. I could never figure how the heck you’d gotten on the streets in the first place, but I….” He paused, swallowing once more, before continuing with a smile. “I’m glad you’ve made it somewhere better.”

They talked for a bit more, about nothing and everything, before Julian finally had to go back to work – but not before wrestling a promise out of Peter to come back and visit.

Peter left first, giving Julian a small wave as he headed towards the doors. Tony made his way after him, but not before placing the cheque book in Julian’s hands.

“For looking after my kid,” he said.

Julian opened the book and his eyes went wide. His head snapped back up, his eyes meeting Tony’s.

“Mi… mister Stark, I can’t… I can’t accept this.”

“You can and you will,” Tony replied, sliding his glasses back onto his face. “You looked after him when I couldn’t, and I’ll always be grateful to you for that. So thank you.” He held out his hand, and after a long moment, Julian shook it.

Tony flashed him a smile, before turning round and heading towards the exit, where Peter was waiting. With a final wave goodbye, Peter and Tony walked through the doors.

A week later Peter found himself sitting on the rooftop of the Compound, his legs swinging off the edge as he tapped away on his phone. Ned had been texting him lots, asking if he was joining them for graduation or if he was planning on graduating at all. Peter hadn’t had the heart to tell him that he hadn’t so much as looked at a textbook since… well, there was no real better way to put it: since he’d been back. Back at the Compound, back in their memories, back in their lives. Many – Ned not least of all – had encouraged him to pick back up his studies, to try and graduate with his old class, but Peter hadn’t done it. Life, he had long since learned, was far more than any school room. And at the moment, he was still trying to figure that life out.

MJ had been texting him, too. But despite her seemingly initial desire to text and chat, their conversations were plain and simple. She never asked much about Peter being at the Compound, or even his relationship with Tony. She simply told him what was going on in her life, how school in senior year was just as much a pain as all the previous ones, and how her parents were urging her to go into law (and how, Peter was able to prise out of her, she secretly wanted to pursue her art).

Peter knew something was off, that things were different between them, more than they were different between him and Ned, but Peter had no idea what to do about it. It were as though he were trying to walk on eggshells, not wanting to say the wrong thing and in doing so, not knowing what to say at all. And the few times they had hung out together as a group was little help, either. Whenever he was around her, she had a smile firmly plastered on her face - which was odd enough, considering it was MJ - and they joked and laughed like it was old times. But beneath the laughter, Peter was able to sense something else. And though he couldn't understand why he was sensing it, he knew the emotion all the same - guilt. Except there should be nothing MJ had to feel guilty about; so why did she? One day Peter would have to ask her about it, if they still saw each other, that is.

MJ hadn't said much of anything about university, at least in regards to Peter. She had informed them that she had already applied to universities across the country, including a number of ones in New York. Peter asked her if she wanted to stay in the city, or if she hoped to move somewhere else. She had responded that it would 'depend'. Depend on what, Peter didn't know. But he couldn't deny the empty feeling he got in his chest whenever he thought of MJ leaving for good.

Perhaps there was still a spark, after all.

Tony hadn’t pushed him either way on it, except perhaps for the obvious mentions of university and where Peter planned to go. But those had been musings – ideas. Thoughts and curiosities that naturally arose when someone you knew was eighteen and ready to go out and face the world. Except Peter had already gone out and had already faced quite enough of that world, thank you very much. So they’d have to forgive him if he wanted to stay indoors a little longer.

But secretly, Peter knew, his time here wouldn’t last forever, and he’d have to make a decision on where he was going one day. And as terrifying as it all sounded, the fact was that he currently had the entire world laid out before him – and with that world came choices. With hunger no longer regularly haunting him, with warm showers and warm beds suddenly the norm – he had many choices. And – though Peter would never say it out loud – he had to admit, he was actually sort of… looking forward to it. For the first time, the future actually looked… exciting.

Peter’s phone suddenly buzzed, and a message from Tony appeared at the top.

‘Hey Pete, get down to the workshop. I have something to show you.’

Peter sighed, clicking the phone off and shoving it in his pocket. He stood up, about to turn round and head for the rooftop door, before he suddenly stopped and looked down. With a small grin, he stepped over towards the edge, leaned forward, and let himself fall.

He snapped his web at the last moment, swinging across the windows until he landed on the ground with a graceful thud, right beside a very startled Steve Rogers.

Steve proceeded to let out a profanity that only made Peter’s grin widen.

“I thought America’s great captain didn’t even know words like that, much less say them out loud,” he remarked.

Steve just gave him a glare.

The two chatted as they made their way inside, Steve asking how Peter was (I’m fine, thanks for asking for the billionth time), how things were going (same answer as the first, thanks for asking), and where Peter was headed off to (Tony has a top-secret project going on in his lab, and he needs me to give him advice). At the elevator the two finally parted as Peter got inside, never noticing the small smile on Steve’s face as the doors close.

Peter found Tony sitting at his desk, leaned over and seemingly enthralled with whatever it was in front of him. Peter opened his mouth to announce his presence, but at the last second decided against it. Tony had been stuck in his workshop for the last week, and it was obvious that whatever he was working on was important. So instead, Peter began taking a slow turn around the room, looking over the countless bots, computers, and desks of papers that filled it.

The entire place was messy, of course. Tony on a work rampage only meant proper food became secondary, and the vending machine out in the hallway became his primary chef. Something crunched beneath Peter’s foot and he looked down to see a half-eaten bag of chips on the floor. He grimaced. Point proven.

“You know, I may not have your particular capabilities of sensing whenever someone is so much as in a hundred yards of me, but that doesn’t mean I’m entirely oblivious.”

Peter looked up, but Tony was still hunched over his desk.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Peter said after a moment, not sure what else to say.

“I asked you to come here, ergo, I was expecting you, ergo, you couldn’t possibly be a bother.”

Peter fought back rolling his eyes, and instead continued along his inspection of Tony’s chaos.

“What did you want me to come here for?” he asked, eyes trailing over seemingly endless designs for new suits, scribbling of alterations to existing nano-tech, as well as a few papers that were clearly from Pepper and awaiting Tony’s signatures.

Tony didn’t respond, and Peter tried not to sigh. “Tony?”

“Hm?”

“I said, what did you call me for?”

“Oh, that. I called you here to ask you a question.”

Peter waited patiently for Tony to continue, and when he didn’t, his shoulders fell in exasperation. “Well?” he asked, continuing his tour of Tony’s workshop once more. “What’s the question?”

He had reached the back of the room, where only a couple tables sat with papers strewn across them, and was about to leave when something caught his eye.

“The question?” Tony repeated, clearly distracted. “Oh, right. The question. Well the question has to do with Pepper. You see, our anniversary is coming up, and – you have to understand, I had this list, and it’s lasted me for almost fifteen years, but I used up the last idea last year, and….”

But Peter was no longer listening.

Looking over the papers, Peter took them in his hands, not sure if what he was seeing was actually real.

It was Spider-Man. Or rather, his suit. Tony had a drawing – multiple drawings – of the Spider-Man suit. Here, in the workshop. They weren’t the ones that Peter had come across all that time ago, when Tony had been kidnapped. No, these drawings had finesse. These drawings were precise. These drawings were designs.

“Pete?”

Peter didn’t know what to think. Part of him was repulsed, immediately shirking away from the image and everything that it brought with it. The other part of him simply didn’t know what to think or how to react. So in lieu of not knowing what else to do, he simply stared.

Finally, after a few long moments, he turned round, looking up and meeting Tony’s eye.

Tony was looking at him in confusion at first, not knowing what Peter was holding, but when his gaze fell on the papers in Peter’s hands, his body grew still.

After a long moment, Tony said, “They don’t mean anything, Pete. Seriously, I was just messing around. I was struggling on designs for the Iron suits, so decided to waste some time on something else. It was the first thing that came to me; honestly Peter, don’t think anything of it.”

Peter’s eyes fell back to the drawings, the pencil shading most of the suit, a different logo of the old, familiar spider splayed across the front. It was clearly stealth that Tony had been going for; something to use when going undercover, or trying to hide in the dark. The numerous lines that crisscrossed all around it were achingly familiar, and all Peter could do was stare.

He hadn’t really thought about Spider-Man in a while. In a long while, if he were honest. With everything else that had been going on, Spider-Man and Peter’s once-hero life hadn’t been all that terribly important. Not when it came to the question of Spider-Man, anyway. Obviously Spider-Man had brought Peter to where he was now, but now Peter was Peter, and Spider-Man was… he was….

Suddenly Tony was beside him and taking the papers from Peter’s hands, and Peter was left holding air.

“Come on,” he said, crumpling the papers up and tossing them towards the bin. “Let’s get some lunch, shall we?”

“It’s almost supper,” Peter said absently, still staring at the crumpled papers on the floor.

“Really? Because I swear, an hour ago it was only breakfast. Well whatever it is, let’s get going.”

Tony started walking and had nearly reached the doorway, when Peter’s quiet voice reached his ears.

“I can’t be him again.”

Tony came to a stop, his shoulders tensing slightly as he sighed and turned back round. “Peter, you must know I don’t care about that, right? Whether you ever decide to be… you know who again or not, it doesn’t matter.”

But that’s why I came here in the first place, Peter thought to himself. At the start, you only wanted me because I was Spider-Man. But now….

He knew it was irrational to worry about it, he knew that after all this, Tony cared more about Peter Parker than he did about Spider-Man. But still, regardless of this knowledge, he couldn’t help the guilt that now sat on his chest, reminding him of who he once was. Reminding him of all that had been taken from him, what felt like a lifetime ago.

Blinking, Peter tore his eyes away and looked at something else, determinedly fighting against the growing weight. “You brought me here because I was Spider-Man,” he said, voicing the thoughts that were running through his mind. “I can’t… I can’t be an Avenger if I’m not Spider-Man.”

“Peter,” Tony began, “you’ll always be an Avenger. You don’t stop being an Avenger just because… just because you don’t wear a fancy outfit and stop the bad guys. It’s more than that.”

Peter shook his head, suddenly unable to let the subject go. Tony needed to understand – he needed to understand why Peter couldn’t ever be Spider-Man again. It wasn’t because the suit was taken away, it wasn’t because everyone forgot who he was, it was… it was because….

A long moment passed, and finally Tony broke the silence, his voice tentative and quiet. “Peter? Peter, come on. Let’s just go get something to eat. Don’t worry about it anymore.”

He started walking away again, but Peter’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“I stopped helping people.”

Peter’s hands were now fists at his side, clenching and unclenching, as the words came out in a tumult before he could stop them. “I stopped helping people. That’s why I can’t be Spider-Man again. I don’t… I don’t deserve….” He took a breath. “You recruited me because I wanted to help the little guy. You made me an Avenger because I was determined to help people, not matter what, even if it ended up getting me killed. But after… after what happened, I… I just… stopped caring. I didn’t want to care. Caring about people, trying to stop the bad guys, being Spider-Man – it’s what all got me in the whole mess in the first place.”

There was a pause, a quiet moment, then Tony said, “but I thought you said you couldn’t be Spider-Man because you didn’t want to draw our attention to you? You didn’t want anyone you used to know to find out about you, in case their memories came back.”

Yes, that was what he had told them. And in part, it was true. That fact was what had driven him to such seclusion at the start. But if he were honest with himself, it wasn’t what had kept him there.

“It… it was, at first,” Peter replied. “But after a while… after a while I just… didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care if someone was getting mugged, or if a store was being robbed. I didn’t care if someone was being hurt, or a bank was being held up, or… or….” He swallowed, the heat in his eyes beginning to fade as he pushed his shoulders back. “What made Spider-Man Spider-Man was the desire to help people, no matter what. Well I stopped wanting to help people, Tony. I was selfish. I only cared about myself, and my own problems. I couldn’t – I wouldn’t – be bothered by anyone else’s. And that’s why I can never be Spider-Man again. Do you understand?”

Peter finally looked up, meeting Tony’s eyes. He tried to make out what the other man was thinking, even what he was feeling, but with all his own emotions roiling inside him, he couldn’t.

There was a long silence after that, and for a moment Peter wondered whether Tony would say anything at all. He hoped he understood where he was coming from; as awful as the revelation showed him to be, as terrible a person Tony now knew he was, he hoped he’d somehow be able to forgive him. He hoped he wouldn’t think too less of him; less of Spider-Man, sure – but Peter Parker had always been a screw up. He had always failed others, gotten others hurt, gotten them killed; so surely this was no new thing, and….

Tony suddenly stepped forward, making his way back to his desk where he sat down with a thump. He leaned back in the chair, looking at Peter for the longest time, hands folded on his lap and thumbs twirling against each other, before he finally spoke.

“You know, when I first built the Iron Man suit, I was sitting in a cave in Afghanistan, held against my will. You know that, right?”

Peter stared at the man, shaking his head slightly in bemusement. Of course he knew that, who on this earth didn’t?

“And,” Tony continued, “you know I went back there afterwards, right? I killed people. I even hit a few civilians.”

Peter just continued to stare, not sure where Tony was going with this.

“What I’m trying to say, I didn’t make the suit in order to help others. And I didn’t go back there because I wanted to save people. I know that’s how it looked to some, but that’s not why I really did it. I was pissed. I was angry that I’d been kidnapped and made a fool of; I was humiliated at the way I’d been forced to live for three months, in stink and feces and dirt, my life threatened every single day. I was so angry, that the only way I felt would make things better would be to go back and kill every last bastard that had had anything to do with me. And guess what? I did.”

Tony held Peter’s gaze for a few moments longer, then continued, “I’ve been smart for my entire life, Peter. Not just smart, top of the class smart, but smart, better than any Harvard or Yale university professor, smart. I’m a certified genius, and I have been since I was your age. But what did I do with that genius? Do you think I ever used it to be even the littlest bit of help to others? No. Instead, I chose to waste decades of my life away on booze, women, and making bombs. Does that sound much like a hero, to you?”

The heat had suddenly returned to Peter’s eyes, and he couldn’t help but break Tony’s gaze as he looked away.

“What I’m trying to say is, is that just because you weren’t being Spider-Man for a while, doesn’t mean you’re not him any longer. It doesn’t mean you can’t be him again. And I’m sorry, I hate to break it to you, but Spider-Man isn’t another person. He’s you. You are as every bit Spider-Man as you are Peter Parker.”

Peter opened his mouth to speak, to refute Tony’s claims, but Tony immediately cut him off, raising his finger and tutting his tongue.

“Ah ah ah! No, silence! The adult is talking right now, and you’re going to listen, even if I have to have DUM-E hold you down to do it.”

Peter frowned in impatience. “I’ve told you a hundred times Tony, I’m eighteen now, I’m an adult just like you, and –.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that; and I have to say, you’re wrong. I’m sorry kid, but I’m a good two decades older than you, and that makes me the adult no matter which room we’re in.” He grinned, then added, “And Peter? You’ll always be my kid no matter how old you are – kapeesh?”

Peter’s instinct was to argue back, but somehow he found himself fighting off a small smile, instead.

“And besides,” Tony said, getting back to his feet once more. “You saved Clint and that woman in the alley, and you also saved my ass and all the asses of the Avengers. That sounds like a pretty Spider-Man thing to do, to me.”

Peter didn’t know what to say to that, but Tony didn’t give him any room to, as he slapped his hand against Peter’s back and began all but pushing him out of the room. “Now, let’s get something to eat. I think you were right about the whole supper-time thing – I’m starving. What are you going to have?”

Pepper had joined them in the small cafe on the lower floor of the Compound, and together they sat around a table, plates of spaghetti in front of all three.

“May called,” Pepper informed, sipping her coffee. “She thought she might come hang out here for an evening some time this week. Does that sound all right to you?”

Peter nodded, giving Pepper a smile as he slurped up a string of pasta.

“And hey,” Tony said, sprinkling what was likely an unhealthy dose of parmesan on his food, “I heard you were planning on some more sparring with Romanov this evening. You still doing that?”

Peter twirled the pasta round his fork, making sure it had an extra helping of cheese. “Yeah, except Clint wanted to spar instead, so she agreed to tap out.”

“Barton certainly knows how to throw his two cents into the ring; it’ll be interesting to see if he can bring anything to back it up.”

Peter grinned, taking a drink of water as the conversation lulled into a gentle silence.

The last two years – almost three, now – had been ones that Peter couldn’t even begin to describe in words. To go from where he had been to where he was now… there were days when he could still hardly believe it himself. If he didn’t have daily reminders in texts from May or lunches and suppers with Tony and Pepper, he’d almost be tempted to believe it was all a dream. But it wasn’t. Somehow, he had remembered what he had forgotten; somehow he had gotten back all that he had lost. And there were some mornings that Peter still had to pinch himself to believe it was real. Maybe he never truly would. Only time would tell.

And to think – it had all begun because someone, somewhere, had thought he would change the world; they had thought he would one day become such a threat, that the only way to defeat him was before he grew too strong. Peter couldn’t help the slight grin that pulled at his lips at the thought; it was such an absurd thing to think that he, Peter Parker, could be anything but ordinary. Well, as ordinary as one with altered spider DNA could be, anyways.

Well, even if both Seftis and Ascar claimed that he would do ‘great things’, they were mistaken. Because even if Peter decided to wear the mask one day again – and that wasn’t saying he would, mind, he truly didn’t know if he ever would – he would only ever be a vigilante, or a local menace, according to the Bugle (Joe had been right, and Jameson really had run a story wondering where the old masked menace had gone to, which of course had been just a dandy thing to read). And that’s all he’d ever be.

“So Peter,” Pepper said, breaking Peter’s train of thought. “Tony said you were wanting to go to Empire State? I think that’s wonderful!”

Peter’s eyes immediately flashed to Tony, giving him a flat glare. “Seriously?” he said, unable to hold back the sarcasm. Tony had the grace to at least look a bit guilty. Turning back to Pepper, Peter shook his head. “I don’t know if I’m really going to go, or even when; I was just saying that I was thinking about it, that’s all.”

Pepper just smiled. “Well I think Empire State would be a wonderful university to go to. Both Tony and I know a few of the professors there. Isn’t that one man you used to work with now working in the physics department?” she asked Tony. “What was his name again?”

“Doctor Octavius,” Tony supplied, taking another big bite of pasta.

“Right. Doctor Octavius. Otto Octavius. He has one the most brilliant minds in nuclear physics ever to come around. In fact, I think he’s working in the atomic research field, if I remember right. And he’s incredibly nice – I actually think you two would get along quite well. We could introduce you to him, if you’d like.”

Peter couldn’t deny that the thought of meeting someone with Doctor Octavius’ credentials was attractive, but before he could even open his mouth to reply, Tony had already jumped in.

“I don’t think he needs to worry about that right now,” he said, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. “Now come on Pete, you’ve got a date with Barton, and I’ve got a video to record. Let’s go.”

Peter gave Pepper a smile and got to his feet, following Tony as he left he cafe and headed down the hall.

His life may have changed forever; he may have been through hell and back, but what mattered was that he was back. He had his family, and his family had him. And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he could truly and honestly say that life was good, and that he was happy – for he was at a place he had never thought he would find again.

He was home.