Chapter Text
“Of all the idiotic, reckless, dangerous, harebrained….”
“Mr. Stark-“
“Insane, irresponsible, stupid…”
“Mr. Stark, please just let me explain…”
Mr. Stark stopped his tirade, turning to look at Peter with pure rage in his eyes. “Let you explain?? What explanation could possibly excuse this behavior? Did I or did I not forbid you from getting involved in this?”
“You did, but…”
“But what? There is no but! You screwed up!”
“I know,” he said, praying he could fix this. “I know, but…”
“No.” Mr. Stark cut him off, something resolute and terrifying in his eyes, something that Peter had seen once before.
Peter froze, his heart dropping into his stomach.
He knew what was coming.
“Look,” Mr. Stark said, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
This couldn’t be happening.
Not again.
“I thought you were mature enough to handle this, but clearly you aren’t.”
“Mr. Stark, please….”
Mr. Stark held up a hand, stopping Peter’s breath. “Maybe in a few years, we can give this another go, but you’re just not ready. For any of this.”
“But…”
Mr. Stark cut him off, speaking words that Peter still had etched into his soul. “I’m going to need the suit back.”
Peter didn’t know what to say.
He felt like he was dangling on the edge of a cliff, his heart pounding and his brain threatening to explode.
This couldn’t be happening.
Not this time.
Not again.
“Listen,” Mr. Stark said, his voice losing some of its edge. “This is for your own good, Pete. You’re a great kid, but you’re just a kid. You’ve already seen some dark shit, and you shouldn’t see any more…”
“That has nothing to do with this,” Peter whispered, knowing exactly what Mr. Stark was talking about.
“Like hell it doesn’t!”
Peter took a step back, disturbed by the look in Mr. Stark’s eyes. There was something profoundly dark there, something painful.
“You told me yourself!” Mr. Stark said, holding up his hands in air quotes. “When the bad things happen, they happen because of you. That’s why you’re doing this.”
Peter shook his head, feeling sick.
This wasn’t because of Ben.
It wasn’t.
“Don’t lie to yourself, Pete. He's the reason you just nearly got yourself killed. Again.”
“I would have been fine,” Peter whispered.
“You can’t know that,” Mr. Stark said. “And I don’t think you even care.”
Peter opened his mouth to protest. Then, almost against his will, he snapped his jaw shut, a nauseous twist growing in his stomach.
Did he care about getting hurt?
Had he ever cared?
Mr. Stark noticed his hesitation, certainty growing on his face. “This is exactly why you need to stop. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“I won’t,” Peter protested, his voice shaking. “I just beat him, didn’t I?”
He gestured toward the Vulture, who was now pinned down by a vast array of Mr. Stark’s tech, his eyes and ears covered, oblivious to the argument taking place mere feet from him.
Mr. Stark glanced at Toomes, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter if you beat him. This isn’t your responsibility. This isn’t your fight.”
“It is!” Peter yelled, losing his cool completely, memories threatening to drive him insane.
“It shouldn’t be!” Mr. Stark shouted back.
He ran hand through his hair, looking back at Peter with exhausted eyes. “What happens next time, Peter?" he asked. "What happens when you throw yourself into a crazy situation and lose?”
Peter knew exactly what happened when he lost.
When Peter lost, people got hurt, people died.
“What happens when you get hurt, and we can’t save you? What happens when I have to tell your aunt that you used my tech, acted like an idiot, and got yourself killed? What happens then?”
Peter didn’t know.
He couldn’t even think.
“I’m not going to take that risk.”
“It never seemed to bother you before!”
Peter didn’t know what made him say it, didn’t know what made him so bold. His brain was simply spinning too fast for rational thought, the words spilling out before he could rethink them.
To Peter’s surprise, Mr. Stark didn’t seem angry, a look of guilt passing over his face. “It should have bothered me.” He looked at Peter, and maybe for the first time, really looked. “You’re literally fourteen-years-old!”
Seventeen
“Fifteen,” Peter whispered.
“Same exact thing, kid,” Mr. Stark said. “You’re not an adult at fifteen. Or even eighteen, really. Certainly not adult enough to be risking your life in a guilt-induced suicide mission.”
Peter shook his head. “That’s not what this is.”
Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”
Was it?
Peter didn’t know anymore.
He didn’t know if he’d ever known.
“It’s…” Peter couldn’t finish the sentence, didn’t know what to say.
Before Thanos, before Beck, before the Goblin, Peter might have had an answer for Mr. Stark. He might have mentioned responsibility or power, might have brought up the joy of swinging or the satisfaction that came from having an impact.
But now, with years of losses weighing him down, Peter no longer had an answer to the question of “Why Spider-Man?”
All he had was a drive, a need to protect, a compulsion to be a hero.
And, for the first time in his life, Peter wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing.
“There you go,” Mr. Stark said, looking at Peter like he could read his mind. “That’s why you need to take a break from the hero life. It’s clearly not healthy.”
“I don’t need the suit to be Spider-Man,” Peter said, looking at Mr. Stark, trying to make him understand. “You can’t take that from me.”
“No,” Mr. Stark agreed. “But I can tell your Aunt.”
Peter’s heart stuttered to a stop. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Stark…”
“I’ll give you 48 hours to tell her. Then, I make a call.”
Peter could only stare at him. “Why?”
“Call me sentimental,” Mr. Stark said, his eyes resolutely fixed over Peter’s right shoulder. “But I guess I want you to have a chance to be a normal teenager.”
And hadn’t Peter wanted that once?
Hadn’t he wanted to forget the dust and the death? Hadn’t he wanted nothing more than to leave Spider-Man in a box? Hadn’t he wanted to lock away the weight of responsibility and finally be able to breathe?
But, just like that summer in England, Peter didn’t have the luxury of taking a break.
The world needed Spider-Man.
And, in the face of destruction, in the face of death, Peter’s needs were nothing.
He had to make Mr. Stark see that.
“I won’t stop,” he said, voice full of a desperate conviction that sounded incredibly wrong coming from his still slightly squeaky fifteen-year-old voice. “I don’t care what she says, I don’t care what she does, I won’t stop.”
Peter drew in a deep breath, knowing that he couldn’t let Mr. Stark do this.
He had to make him understand.
“I can’t just stop,” he said, voice breaking. “Spider-Man isn’t just a suit for me, Mr. Stark. It’s who I am. I can’t just…”
Mr. Stark was staring at him, his eyes impossible to read.
“I know that I’m not always careful, I know that. But I can’t stop. I just…I can’t.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Mr. Stark asked, clearly already knowing the answer.
“Yes,” Peter said, taking a shaky breath. “I won’t be able to give this up, Mr. Stark. No matter what you do. No matter what anyone does. Please understand that.”
Mr. Stark sighed, looking right into Peter’s eyes. “I do understand.”
And Peter could tell that he did.
After all, Mr. Stark carried a weight too, the weight of a destiny that he couldn’t yet name.
In that way, with fate pushing down on both of them, Peter and Mr. Stark were much the same.
They were both tethered to a power that was often as destructive as it was transformative. They were both living lives in double, twin identities battling for complete control.
Peter could tell that Mr. Stark knew it too, seeing the exact moment when he decided that Peter wasn’t going to back down.
“Christ.” Mr. Stark sighed, running a hand down his face. “This is not how I thought this would go.”
Peter watched him, his heart pounding an insane rhythm behind his ribs.
“You’re stubborn, kid,” Mr. Stark said, a hint of a smile tugging at his face. “I’ll give you that.”
Peter nodded, unable to speak, his fingers crossed behind his back in a silent plea for Mr. Stark to let him keep the suit.
He couldn't do this alone.
He didn't want to be alone.
“You’re an idiot, though,” Mr. Stark continued, familiar sarcasm returning to his voice. “I mean, fighting a flying guy on a boat? Are you kidding me? Did you forget that you can’t fly? Or swim?”
“I can swim,” Peter defended, blushing.
“I thought spiders hated water.”
“I’m not literally a spid…” Peter trailed off, going even redder when he realized that Mr. Stark was joking. “Oh.”
Mr. Stark looked highly amused. “I know you can swim, dummy. Your plan was still idiotic, though.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Peter’s plans hadn’t been all that intelligent recently, something which, on reflection, seemed to be rather a pattern with him.
“I guess I should help you learn how to be less of an idiot.”
Peter snapped his head up, looking at Mr. Stark with an expression of such unadulterated hope that the man actually winced.
“Jesus, kid. Don’t look at me like that.”
“Sorry,” Peter said, struggling to contain a smile as he remembered all the times the old Mr. Stark had complained about Peter’s ability to make people melt with his eyes.
“I’m probably going to regret this,” Mr. Stark said. “But since I can’t make you stop this idiocy, I guess I have to help you.”
Peter nearly passed out from pure relief. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. Just, thank you…”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Mr. Stark interrupted, narrowing his eyes. “You’re still in big trouble.”
“Right,” Peter said quickly. “Of course.”
“And there are going to be conditions to this. Lots of ‘em.”
“Okay,” Peter agreed, trying hard not to smile.
"I'm not joking. I think you need therapy."
"Fine," Peter whispered, the smile growing wider.
Mr. Stark rolled his eyes, but there was something fond in his glare, something that Peter recognized as the first sign that they would be okay.
“Maybe this could be good,” Mr. Stark said thoughtfully, a ghost of a smile in his eyes. “I’ve always wanted a protégé.”
…
Peter walked home in a daze, his brain short-circuiting from all the emotional turmoil of the past few hours.
He knew that he probably looked vaguely intoxicated, wandering down the streets with an enormous grin on his face, dressed once again in Hello Kitty pajama pants.
He really needed to start stashing spare clothes around the city.
Mr. Stark had made him go home, promising that Happy would show up at Midtown the next day for the beginning of what Mr. Stark was calling Operation Common Sense.
Peter thought it was rather rich of Mr. Stark, whose version of having a plan was blowing things up, to lecture Peter for being dumb.
Mr. Stark was the dumbest genius Peter had ever met.
Well, he was the dumbest genius Peter had ever met until about fifteen minutes later when Ned Leeds claimed the title.
When Peter made it back to the apartment, he found Ned waiting for him, a look of absolute horror on his face.
“What?” Peter asked, immediately expecting the worst.
“I did something really stupid,” Ned breathed. “Like, really stupid.”
“What?” Peter demanded, looking around for a threat, his Spidey Sense buzzing wildly.
“Just…I’ll show you.”
Ned opened a portal, doing it far more easily than he had before, only needing a half-eaten Twizzler to anchor his power.
He beckoned for Peter to go through, his hands visibly shaking.
Peter stepped through the portal, appearing in the middle of Ned’s bedroom.
At first, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, wondering what on earth Ned was going on about.
Then, he saw it.
“Oh my god,” he whispered, eyes widening.
“Yeah,” Ned agreed, appearing behind Peter.
“How?”
“Not sure. I was just thinking about the Chitauri, you know.” He gestured toward the glowy thing sitting innocently on his desk. “And I remembered all the stuff that went down. You know, how I was kinda caught in the middle.”
Peter knew that story well. Ned had told it maybe a million times, regaling Peter with the details of how he’d actually seen Loki during the New York attack all those years ago.
Ned had come back to elementary school with a wide smile, telling everyone exactly what had happened. “He threatened me!! It was awesome!”
Being threatened by an actual God should have traumatized him, probably, but Ned was nothing if not optimistic.
“And you thought about this?” Peter glanced back at the object, then at Ned, then back.
“Yeah.”
“I mean….what the hell?”
“I know.”
“You shouldn’t be able to just…” Peter waved his hand wildly at the thing, wondering if this is what it felt like to have an aneurysm.
“I know.”
“What are we going to do?”
Ned moved toward the object, eyes fixed on the gleaming blue cube. “I don’t know.”
Peter came to stand beside him, hoping this was a dream.
Because if this was real…
“We’re doomed,” Peter whispered, the full horror of the situation dawning on him.
The fucking Space Stone was in Ned’s bedroom.
“We’re totally doomed.”
“Yeah.”