My first MCU fic, at long last. I actually wrote this ages ago I just never bothered to like, edit it enough to post it lol

It probably has potential for a sequel dealing with the aftermath but idk if I'll ever bother to write one. Anyway enjoy 3

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The morning after Peter had been bitten by the spider, he'd woken up with such a severe case of sensory overload that all he'd been able to do for the entire morning was hide under the covers and wait it out. In hindsight, he'd described it as having his senses 'dialled up to eleven'. Every sense he'd had was pushed to its limit – with a new sixth one thrown into the mix just to make it worse.

It had taken a while but eventually, once he'd realised that the dial was stuck where it was, he'd gotten used to it. Eleven became the new baseline and he could barely remember what it had been like to not be able to hear the argument going on three floors below.

Maybe he'd gotten too comfortable. Maybe the universe had seen him adjusting and disagreed. Because the void Peter had fallen into after his body had fallen apart like a Cadbury Flake was literal hell. It was like someone had twisted the dial right down to zero. There was no light, no sound. Nothing to touch or see or feel. Just... nothing. And Peter had been stuck there, floating aimlessly for eternity, voiceless and scared and alone.

The return of his senses came without warning. One moment he was trapped in the abyss and the next he was lying on his back in the dust of Titan. The sudden, unexpected onslaught of sensory input was so much worse than eleven. The dial might as well have snapped off entirely.

The sky was red agony, the wind a scream in his ear. The scuffle of movement and the beating of hearts from nearby bodies, the hard press of dirt against his back; all of it a form of torture.

The void might have been hell but escaping it was far, far worse.

A scream bubbled up in Peter's throat, cut off before it could become more than a gasp by the knowledge that the sound of it would be crippling. He curled up on his side, hands pressed to his ears. Without any conscious input, the mask of his suit seeped up over his face and immediately removed all visual and auditory input. If not for the lingering burn of tactile sensation and the far too loud sound of his own breathing, he could almost pretend he was back in the soothing emptiness of the void.

He only got a moment to enjoy it.

Something touched his shoulder. He could tell it was intended to be gentle, but it might as well have been a slap for the way Peter flinched away. The loose rocks beneath him jostled with the movement and he let out an involuntary hiss. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. He didn't know what was out there. An ally? An enemy? Somehow the threat of the latter didn't scare him as much as it probably should have. He felt like he was going to die as it was. At this point he might even welcome it.

But if it was an enemy then that meant the others could be in danger. Mr Stark could be in danger. Peter had to help.

He braced himself as best he could and increased visual and auditory input to the lowest possible setting. Even that small amount was too much.

"Peter," someone yelled. Or said. He wasn't sure he could tell the difference anymore.

The wizard and the bug lady were hovering over him. The bug lady had her hand clutched near her chest – had she been the one to touch him? Beyond them Peter could just make out the forms of the other aliens watching them from a respectful distance. There was no sign of Mr Stark or the blue lady.

"Where's Mr Stark?" he forced out, voice barely a whisper.

"On Earth with the rest of the Avengers," Doctor Strange said without preamble and Peter cringed into himself at the volume. Doctor Strange's face twitched, and when he spoke again it was quieter. "It's been five years since we fought Thanos. They need us there now. Can you fight? Yes or no."

Five years? No way. No way. That wasn't possible. It couldn't have been five years. The void had felt like an eternity but that was only because there was nothing to do but panic and think and no way to track time.

Right?

"Peter. Yes or no?"

Honestly? No. No, Peter could not fight. Because he was too busy bouncing between a sensory meltdown and a mental breakdown like a pinball on ten cups of coffee. He wasn't even sure he could stand up.

But.

But Doctor Strange said Mr Stark needed help. Needed Peter's help. There was no way he was going to stay here and wallow in self-pity when Mr Stark needed him.

So, biting back the panic as best he could, Peter forced himself to nod. Doctor Strange nodded back and then pushed himself up to his feet, turning away to open a portal.

The bug lady offered Peter a hand to help him up. He weighed up the pros and cons of having to touch someone or risking falling on his face and accepted the help. She let out a strangled gasp and retracted her hand the second Peter was up on his feet.

"You cannot fight," she said.

"I'm okay," he lied. He had to fight. He couldn't be benched when they needed him. Maybe they'd failed before, but Peter would do better this time. He'd be faster. Stronger.

"You are not." It wasn't an accusation; just an observation. She stared up at him with huge pitying eyes and he had to turn away.

"I'll walk it off," he assured her and hurried over to Doctor Strange's magic portal before she could call him out on that lie too.

Ever step was agony. The jolt of his footsteps were like nails hammering into his feet.

"Prepare yourselves," Doctor Strange warned. "We're stepping into a warzone."

The other three didn't hesitate to follow him through but the bug lady glanced back over her shoulder at Peter as she went. Peter pretended not to notice as he took up the rear, hands clenched into fists to try and stop them from shaking.

If he'd thought waking up on Titan had been bad, it was nothing compared to what they found on the other side of the portal.

It looked like the Avengers compound upstate, except all that was left of it was rubble. The surrounding area was overflowing with aliens and humans, all of them shouting and fighting and dying. Up in the sky hovered several massive spaceships releasing even more aliens just as dozens of portals did the same for the opposing side.

Doctor Strange and the others spared only a second to orientate themselves before diving into the fray. Peter remained rooted to the spot, sucking in air like he was going to suffocate.

So many people. So much death. So much noise.

The urge to cut off sight and sound again and find somewhere to hide was nearly overwhelming. But he was Spider-Man. He had to help. He had a responsibility to help.

"Okay, Peter, okay," he breathed. "Okay. Hold it together. We can do this. We can do this."

He could just... keep his distance. Yeah. Find a good vantage point and help from there. Easy.

Down below, the unmistakable form of the Iron Man armour was slammed into the dirt from behind.

Mr Stark.

Peter was moving before he could even fully process what he was seeing.

The alien towering over Mr Stark was huge. It also wasn't paying attention to anything other than Mr Stark, who had yet to regain his bearings.

The alien raised its weapon. Mr Stark lifted a hand in flimsy defence.

Peter shot out webs from both shooters, snagging the alien by its wielding hand and yanking it backwards. Where it was promptly crushed under the foot of an alien the size of a skyscraper.

Peter cringed.

Mr Stark slowly lowered his arm, his helmet disappearing into the rest of his suit as Peter staggered down and around the alien pancake to join him. He looked older. And pale. And a bit like he'd seen a ghost.

"There's grey in your hair," Peter said mindlessly. That had definitely not been there before. Did that mean it really had been five years? He did look older. And tired. Way more tired than Peter remembered.

Oh. Wait. That had been a rude thing to say. And Mr Stark was still staring at him.

"Not-Not that that's bad, it's just. The wizard – Doctor Strange? – he said it'd been five years? And I was kind of freaking out, right, cause the sensory overload and I wasn't sure I'd heard right but I didn't get a chance to ask cause then he said you needed us and he started doing that yellow glowing sparkly thing he does-" he mimed the action and Mr Stark's face went weirdly emotional "-and I mean you do look a little older and more tired so maybe-"

His word vomit was abruptly cut off when Mr Stark reached out and tugged him into an embrace so tight that even without the sensory overload thing going on it probably would have hurt.

"Mr Stark," Peter managed through clenched teeth. The contact was like another building had been dropped on him. "Mr Stark, there's no door."

Mr Stark huffed a laugh. "We're there, kid."

"Oh." Peter tentatively brought his own arms up to wrap awkwardly around the Iron Man armour. It probably would have been better without all the metal between them and the sensory stuff but Peter still found himself sagging against Mr Stark. Maybe it was making the overload worse, but it was doing wonders for the anxiety. He hid his face in Mr Stark's shoulder.

God, he never wanted to let go.

It didn't last long. Nowhere near as long as Peter would have liked. Mr Stark was the first to pull back and the suspicious wetness in his eyes was a pretty clear sign that he felt the same.

And then another alien had to ruin the moment by taking a swing at them.

They got enveloped back into the fray. It would have been easy to get separated again in the chaos but no matter how distracted he got, if Peter looked up he'd always spot Mr Stark close by. It was a relief to his increasing anxiety to know that Mr Stark had his back, especially with how rapidly everything around him was becoming a blur.

Dodge that bullet. Block that blow. Don't panic. Punch. Taser web. Swing. Don't panic. There was no time to think, no room to breathe. If he paused for even a moment he knew it could be his last. Adrenaline was the only thing holding him together.

His fragile control lasted right up until the spaceships started shooting at them.

The ground around them exploded, sending both him and the enemies in his direct vicinity flying. Peter landed hard on his back, gasping. Another blast hit just to his left. More dirt sent flying. Debris raining down.

And the gauntlet.

The gauntlet was right there. And all of the stones were in it.

He dove for it. More shots from above sent him tumbling like he'd hit a landmine, the gauntlet tucked against his chest as he rolled. His ears were ringing, hearing blown out by the sound of it. A small blessing, given what he was seeing.

With every shot that struck the ground, bodies and dirt and debris went flying. And through it all, Peter clung tight to the gauntlet, eyes screwed shut, and silently begged for it to end. He wasn't an Avenger. He was just a scared kid from Queens who was in way over his head.

The firing squad called it quits as abruptly as they'd started. His little crater blocked most of his view of the battle. What was going on? Did it matter? His ears were still ringing. The gauntlet was still tucked into his arms.

The gauntlet.

The reality-defying gauntlet that could literally turn people to dust. The gauntlet with the power to throw moons and warp the world with just a thought.

The gauntlet that Peter was currently in possession of, both of them temporarily forgotten in a little crevice between rubble and rock.

This was a bad idea. Mr Stark was going to be so mad.

But this was beyond them. This was beyond Peter or Mr Stark or the Avengers. This was beyond friendly neighbourhood. Beyond Earth.

He remembered what Uncle Ben had told him. With great power comes great responsibility. Peter had the power to stop this. Which meant he also had a responsibility.

He took a deep breath.

And put on the gauntlet.

It was instantly the worst decision he'd ever made. His entire arm was on fire, the pain worse than anything sensory overload could possibly do to him. He couldn't think through the static. Why had he put it on? What was he doing? There'd been a reason.

He was going to use it, right? What had Thanos done to make it work? Clicked his fingers?

Something tugged at him and it registered like he was underwater. Through the haze he realised Mr Stark had appeared in front of him and was trying to yank the gauntlet off his arm.

No. No, he could do this. He could fix everything.

Mr Stark was yelling. Peter couldn't hear any of it, but it was clear from his expression what he was trying to say. Peter shoved him back, forcing him to let go. Just in case.

Sorry, Mr Stark.

Snap.

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The sky was a mixture of red and pinks, slowly fading into blue.

"Peter!"

It was so vast and soft. A blanket covering the whole world. It was hard to imagine there could be anything beyond it.

He couldn't feel his body anymore. The pain was gone. He was floating. As weightless and impermanent as the clouds disappearing over the horizon.

"Peter!"

He let his eyes slip closed. He was so tired. It was okay to rest now, right?

"Kid! Kid, open your eyes!"

Something jolted him. His head tilted to the side.

"Peter, wake up! Don't fall asleep!"

He forced his eyes open. He just wanted to sleep. Why couldn't they just let him sleep?

"I know. I know, Pete, but you can't fall asleep. You've gotta stay awake."

It was Mr Stark. His face was blocking Peter's view of the sky. He looked scared. Why was he scared? They'd won, hadn't they? He'd used the gauntlet?

"It's okay, Mr Stark," he croaked. His left hand inched up to rest on the one Mr Stark had on the side of Peter's face. He couldn't feel it.

Mr Stark's eyes were suspiciously wet.

"It's okay," Peter repeated. "Don't cry, Mr Stark. We won. We won, right?"

"Yeah, Pete," Mr Stark's voice wavered. "We won."

Good. That was good. They were safe. That was all Peter had wanted.

He watched Mr Stark's face for as long as he could keep his eyes open. He'd apologised last time, hadn't he? He should probably apologise again.

His tongue was heavy in his mouth. It was so hard to find the words. Getting even harder to think.

Mr Stark was crying.

"It's gonna be okay, kid."

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "I'm just gonna... gonna take a nap. Just like... five minutes."

His eyes slipped closed. Vaguely he could hear Mr Stark yelling again, but his head was starting to get too foggy to focus.

But that was okay. Thanos was gone. Peter could afford to rest for a while.

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Sometimes there was just Too Much. Too many problems. Too many days. Not enough sleep. That last one especially, even though it was largely his own fault.

It'd been a month and a half since all the people lost in the Snap had come back. A month and a half since Alternate Thanos and his cronies had been wiped out by a suicidal kid and his fancy stolen glove.

Peter had woken up three times in that period. Which was a whole goddamn miracle on its own. Tony could still see him falling apart in his arms every time he closed his eyes. On the rare occasion he managed to sleep at all, he'd see Peter lying there in the dirt, right arm completely decimated by the power of the stones and eyes staring vacantly up at the sky. In the nightmares, Peter was already gone by the time he reached him, less than an hour after Tony had finally managed to bring him back. In the real world, he was still alive – asleep in the medbay and absolutely clueless to the endless panic attack Tony's life had become.

They'd brought him back to the Tower after everything – with the compound destroyed and Wakanda dealing with more than its fair share of problems already there weren't really all that many options. And the Tower was already well-equipped to deal with Peter's... 'special needs'. He'd brought Helen Cho and her team in to treat him. Didn't trust anyone else.

Cho's Cradle had been a godsend. Peter was still doing most of the work, though. His healing factor was insane. The Cradle had been focusing on the damage to his arm, but even Cho herself had said Peter's 'natural' healing was significantly speeding up the process.

And then Peter had surprised them all again by waking up not once but three separate times. Tony had been there for all but the last one, when Peter had been the most coherent (to Tony's great frustration). He'd practically moved into the medbay, catching sporadic sleep in the chair by the kid's bedside until Strange literally dumped him into a proper bed via magic hole in the floor. Tony had been ready to fight him on it until he'd promised to watch the kid in his place.

It also gave him the first opportunity to see Pepper in over a week. The work had really been piling on; after five years the world had started to adjust to life beyond Thanos and now they were trying to readjust again. People were coming back from the dead to find they'd lost jobs and homes and in some cases families. Stark Industries was doing what it could to ease the transition, just as it had the first time. It just meant that Pepper was spending most of her time in conferences and meetings.

Morgan had been alternating between hanging out with Tony in Peter's room and with Happy and Harley, doing... whatever it is the three of them did. Probably dress-up and superhero battles. Morgan was always Iron Man because she had excellent taste.

It was all just... a lot. Tony felt like he should be doing more. Maybe be more involved in the company even though he was retired. Help ease the load on Pepper's shoulders. But the thought of actually taking his eyes off Peter Parker for even a moment was enough to make the anxiety spike. Like if he looked away for even a moment the kid would disappear again. It had literally taken magical intervention to get him to sleep in a real bed.

Which was exactly why, when FRIDAY woke him up in the middle of the night to inform him that Peter's medical bracelet had disconnected from the monitoring equipment, his first reaction was anger.

Of course this had happened. He'd let Pepper and May and Strange coerce him into leaving the medbay and what happened? Something had gone wrong.

The second reaction – worry – quickly overshadowed it. Or maybe panic was more accurate.

Tony was sprinting for the elevator before he was even fully awake. If something happened to the kid now-

The ride down to the medbay floor took way too damn long. As he watched the numbers tick down, he cursed himself for not having just suited up and gone through the window. It would mean replacing the glass and being chastised by Pepper but if it would get him to Peter faster then it didn't matter.

The hallway lights were still on in the medbay. Tony ran down towards Peter's room as fast as humanly possible. There weren't any nurses or doctors around – the floor had been cleared when they'd brought Peter in to preserve the kid's identity, and Cho was presumably asleep – but Strange had promised to watch the kid.

Strange, who was sitting in a chair at Peter's bedside, head tipped back in sleep. Peter's empty bedside. The blankets were pulled back. Peter was nowhere in sight.

The bracelet's connection had failed because it had gone out of range.

Tony cursed loudly.

"FRIDAY, trace the bracelet!"

Strange startled awake.

"It's on the 81st floor, boss," she informed him.

Nearly thirty floors up. Goddamnit!

Strange blinked dumbly at him and then down at Peter's bed. "What happened?"

"You would know that if you'd been doing what you were supposed to!" Tony rounded on him. He forced himself to take a deep breath. He could rip into Strange later. Peter came first. "Portal. Now. 81st floor."

It was a testimony to how close to a panic attack Tony was visibly getting that Strange didn't offer a single protest.

The portal dumped them near the elevator. The 81st floor was the communal living space, right before the residential floors. The lights were all off.

"Where, FRI?" Tony was asking before he'd even fully stepped through.

"The signal is coming from the kitchen."

The kitchen was as dark as the rest of the floor. For a moment Tony feared all he was going to find was the bracelet dumped on the floor somewhere, until a quiet noise somewhere behind the island counter caught his ear. He immediately reached out and flicked on the lights.

There was a sharp hiss. And there was Peter, leaning back against the cupboard by the fridge, IV pole on one side of him and a pizza box on the other ("Property of Tony Stark – Rogers if you touch this I will make sure you never eat solid food again"). He raised his non-bandaged arm to shield his eyes against the light. He was still dressed in the hospital gown.

Tony let out a breath, deflating with relief. He was alive. Safe. Awake.

Peter squinted up at him and whatever expression he saw on Tony's face had him sitting up a little straighter.

"Mr Stark," he said hoarsely, eyes wide. He kicked the pizza box across the floor until it was out of view. "I'm not doing anything. Definitely wasn't eating your leftover pizza. I don't even know what pizza is."

Tony could have cried. Probably would have if he'd been alone. As it was, he staggered the last few steps between them, dropped to his knees on the floorboards, and pulled Peter into the fiercest hug he was willing to risk on an injured hospital escapee.

Only Peter's left hand came up to return it this time. "Mr Stark?"

"You've gotta stop doing this to me, kid," Tony gasped out. He was absolutely certain he was on the verge of a heart attack. "I have a heart condition. I can't handle this kind of stress."

"...I thought they got rid of the shrapnel?"

"It's not that. It's a rare disease called Lovingpeterparkeritis. It's terminal. Shit like my kid disappearing from his sickbed in the middle of the night when he's supposed to be in a coma? Aggravates it."

Peter made a small noise and Tony gave one last tiny squeeze before pulling back. He kept his hands on Peter's shoulders in case he got any funny ideas about vanishing again. A third time might actually kill him.

"Symptoms include elevated stress levels, high blood pressure, severe anxiety, and a compulsion to defy the laws of time and space."

Peter winced. "Sorry."

"It's also highly contagious. May's got it too, you know? Pretty sure I caught it from her."

"Sorry."

"Stop apologising."

Peter opened his mouth to apologise for apologising and Tony narrowed his eyes until he shut it again.

Now that the panic about him being missing was out of the way, Tony could focus on the panic of him having woken up and then walked all the way to the kitchen on the 81st floor on his own.

"You alright? What the hell are you even doing up here?" He side-eyed the pizza box. "Besides eating my breakfast."

Peter ducked his head, face red. "I woke up and I really needed the bathroom but then I was, like, super hungry and I figured we're at the Tower right? And there's a communal area in the Tower that has a fridge. And I'm sorry I ate your pizza, I know it said not to on the box, but it was right there and the easiest thing to grab and I felt like my stomach was gonna turn into a black hole–"

God, Tony had forgotten how much he missed the rambling. He was never going to take it for granted again.

"-and I figured I could buy you another one as a replacement. As soon as I remember what I did with my wallet. And my clothes. And-"

"Pete. Kid," Tony cut him off. "I'm not mad about the pizza."

"Oh." A pause. "You're not?"

"That threat was specifically aimed at Rogers. Says nothing about any Parkers." Frankly, as far as he was concerned Peter could eat literally every edible thing in the goddamn Tower and Tony wouldn't care as long as he was safe. "I'm upset that you vanished from your room instead of, say, using the button to call someone. Or waking up the wizard."

Upset was an understatement, actually. A big understatement. But Peter looked worn out and stressed enough already.

"I didn't see a button," Peter confessed. "And Doctor Strange was asleep. It would've been rude to wake him."

God. This kid.

"For future reference, I'd prefer you wake me than leave the medical wing," Strange said from the doorway. Tony had honestly forgotten he was there.

Peter went even redder at the realisation that it wasn't just Tony who'd found him on the kitchen floor in the middle of the night.

Strange moved around the counter to join them and Tony unwillingly shifted to the side so he could crouch in front of Peter. He pulled a penlight out of his pocket and shined it in the kid's eyes, enticing a significant wince. Tony had also forgotten that Strange had originally been a real doctor.

"How are you feeling? Any pain? Nausea?"

"Um," Peter blinked rapidly, dazzled. "My arm hurts."

"To be expected." He clicked off the penlight.

"And I'm really tired. And a little nauseous come to think of it, but that could just be from the sensory overload. Can we turn the light off please? Everything's kind of been A Lot since the void, you know?"

"FRIDAY, lights," Tony said and the lights dimmed to the lowest setting. "Void?"

Peter shrugged his good shoulder. "Yeah. The big empty space I got stuck in after I got all dusty."

Tony turned to Strange, only to find blatant confusion on the man's face. Apparently this 'void' was not a universal experience.

Fantastic. Something else to worry about.

"The nausea could also be from eating solid food," Strange said, dismissing the void issue for later. "Given that you've been tube fed for the last month and a half I imagine that pizza isn't going to sit well." Then, to Tony, "Help me get him up."

Tony guided Peter's left arm over his shoulders and eased him back to his feet while Strange secured the IV pole.

"Come on, Sleeping Beauty," Tony grunted. "Let's get you back to bed."

Strange portalled them back without needing to be asked and Peter only mock protested as he was tucked back under the covers. He must have been more tired than he let on because it was less than a minute later that he was asleep again.

Tony watched the steady rise and fall of his chest from his reclaimed place in the closest chair. Every breath was a reminder that Peter was still here. Safe. Alive. It was more than the Tony of three months ago had ever dared to hope. And he wasn't going to let anything take him away again.

Nothing was going to convince him to get out of this chair, either. Not until he was absolutely certain that Peter was fine, anyway. Not even magic. Strange was smart enough to not suggest otherwise.

A bucket was set down on the floor by the bed.

"For when the pizza comes back," Strange explained.

"Gross."

"He was coherent enough that I expect he'll be awake again sometime tomorrow," he continued, "but I'll have Cho come down first thing to check on him."

Tony let his attention drift back to Peter, already pulling out his phone to send May a text. She'd probably be down here as soon as she read it. With any luck that wouldn't be until after she got a good night's sleep because Tony was a hypocrite.

"At this rate he'll likely be able to leave the medbay by the end of the week," Strange finished, watching Peter critically. He shook his head, muttering something under his breath that Tony didn't catch.

Tony had never been so grateful for that goddamn radioactive spider.

Strange left then and it was just Tony and Peter. Not for long, though, he suspected. May would be down soon. And Morgan would be up at the crack of dawn to check if her brother was going to wake up and play with her yet.

God, wait until he met Morgan. The two of them were probably going to turn all his hair grey by the end of the year. Faster if Peter hit it off with Harley like Tony suspected he would. All three of them together were going to be a nightmare for his stress levels.

Tony leaned back in his seat, setting his phone face-down on his knee, and smiled into his hand.

He'd never looked forward to something more.