Happy Saturday!
This is the penultimate Homecoming chapter, so this time next week we'll be moving on.
Thank you all for sticking with me and the story. I had someone working their way through With Great Power in the week and they had a reaction to the Raft situation which got me down. A lot of people left the story at that point and and more after, but you're all still here which means a lot to me.
Chapter Thirty-Three
September 11th
Peter's eyes blinked open slowly, and he rolled over with a groan. He'd been sleeping on and off all day, ever since he got home from the hospital after breakfast, and he was tired of it. He was frustrated by how weak he felt.
He struggled to sit up and was overcome with a coughing fit that wracked his lungs. Eyes closed, he fumbled on the bedside table for a Kleenex, found one, and brought it to his mouth to spit the foul stuff he was choking up. It had been the same since the fire—choking up black scum that seemed to fill his lungs.
He balled up the tissue and threw it into the trash, then struggled to his feet and made his way into the bathroom. He used the toilet, then washed his hands and rinsed his mouth with Listerine. His reflection met him when he raised his face, and he saw how awful he looked. His face was pale, his eyes still irritated by the smoke and shadowed from his broken night.
As much as he'd hated spending the night in the hospital, with cheerful nurses that praised his actions with each visit to him, he hated being home, too. He didn't know exactly what it was he did want, but he knew it wasn't here.
The story of what he'd done after the explosion had spread fast through the people that had been there—going in to save Liz and then to retrieve her inhaler—and Liz's mother had come to his bedside to tearfully thank him. She and the nurses that heard the story all saw him as some kind of hero. Only Ned knew the truth, and his brief visit to Peter's bed, three stitches closing the cut over his eye, had been as uncomfortable as any of them as Ned still saw him as some kind of superhero, even though he knew Peter had caused the explosion.
It was a little better to be at home, at least, away from that attention and praise he did not deserve.
He made his way slowly into the kitchen and fixed himself a glass of water, then plodded back into the living room and curled on the couch, pulling a blanket over himself.
May had gone to the store to stock up on all the things she thought he'd like and would be good for his sore throat—juice pops, Jell-O, and ice cream. She had been just as enthused and proud of his heroic actions as anyone, more even, but she'd dropped the praise when he told her it was all his fault. He didn't explain why it was his fault, too ashamed to be honest with her, but she knew he was uncomfortable and so didn't make it worse.
She'd walked out on her shift when she got the news about the fire, and she'd been given the weekend off to take care of him. She said he didn't have to go back to school Monday if he didn't want to, and he didn't particularly want to see them all and hear them talking about how he'd been a hero, but he knew he couldn't hide at home forever.
He had to face it and hope it passed quickly and was replaced with some other great event in the life of high school—like someone coming out of the bathroom with toilet paper stuck to their shoe, which was a big deal for teenagers.
He hid his face under the blanket and then ripped it back and froze, eyes wide, when he heard a firm knock on the front door. May had her key, and no one else was likely to visit. He was worried someone had decided to track him down and torture him at home with their enthusiastic praise.
Still, he was Ben and May Parker's nephew; he'd been raised to face things, so he threw back the blanket and made his way down the hall, calling, "Hang on," when the knock came again.
He unlocked the door and ease it open, and then stopped, breath frozen in his lungs and eyes wide as he saw Tony on the other side, his tinted glasses hiding his eyes and his jaw set. His face was strangely colored on one side, almost as if he was wearing concealer.
"Hello, Peter," he said stiffly.
"I thought you were in India," Peter said, covering his mouth with his sleeve as the words made him cough again.
"I came home when I heard what happened," he said. "We need to talk."
Chilled with fear, sure that he had finally met someone that wasn't going to praise him, he stepped back and gestured Tony inside. He didn't understand how Tony could know what he'd done, but he was sure Tony knew more than anyone else.
Tony marched down the hall into the living room and stood with his arms crossed over his chest.
Cowardly, Peter took his time closing the door and making his way to join him.
"You want to sit down?" he asked tentatively.
Tony nodded curtly. "As long as you do. You look like you're about to fall down."
Peter sank down onto the couch and curled his legs up in front of him. He also wanted to bundle the blanket around him, but he resisted the urge.
"How do you feel?" Tony asked.
Peter licked his lips and said, "I'm fine," though it was quickly dispelled by another wheezing cough.
Tony flinched slightly, his hands clenching and flexing on his lap. "What happened, Peter?"
Peter couldn't meet his eye as he answered. "It was my fault. I had one of the weapons that were being sold, and I took it to school. It had this power core; it was purple and glowed. I don't know how it happened. It just got hot, and then— I tried to put it in the cloud chamber because I thought it was going to blow, but I was too late. It exploded."
Tony nodded again, cleared his throat, and said, "It was a Chitauri weapon core, by the sounds of it. I'm guessing it was exposed to radiation."
"Yeah," Peter said quietly. "That makes sense. Flash was doing something with a uranium source."
Tony took a deep breath, swallowed noisily, and said, "You know it can't go on, right?"
Peter frowned at him. "Uh… no, I don't know what you mean."
Tony turned his face away as he answered. "Spider-Man. The suit. I can't have you running around Queens with my property if you're doing stupid things like that. It makes it my responsibility, you're my responsibility, and I can't have it on my conscience."
Peter felt prickling behind his eyes as he was swamped with horror. He was going to lose the suit. He understood it, it was what should happen, but he saw his whole life crumbling in front of him with Tony's words.
"Okay," he said quietly.
Tony seemed to glance at him for a moment, though Peter couldn't see his eyes, and he said, "I told you that you had a clean record. You don't have that anymore. It's pure chance that no one was killed. That core must have been depleted with their interference when they put it in a weapon. If it had been at full power, it wouldn't be one classroom destroyed—it would have been the block."
Peter flinched and bowed his head.
"You could have killed people, Peter. You could have died yourself. Do you know what that would have—" He stopped, gritted his teeth, and breathed through his nose.
"I'm really sorry," Peter said quietly. "I know that doesn't really mean anything because I did what I did, but I never meant to hurt anyone."
Tony's face was pained, almost tortured, and Peter guessed he was thinking of just how many people Peter could have killed with his stupidity. Peter was thinking of that, too.
The explosion and what followed were blurred in his mind now, but some things stood out: Liz's wheezing breaths, Mr. Hapgood's limp weight as he'd lifted him, the bloody cut over Ned's eye. They were all people he'd hurt, lives he'd risked.
Tony had been testing him, and Peter could not have failed more spectacularly if he'd tried.
"I'll go get the suit," Peter said quietly.
He got to his feet and went into his bedroom, heart racing and breaths coming in choking rasps as he battled to not cry. He took the silver case which his suit was stored in from the closet, gripped the handle tight and whispered, stupidly, "Bye, Karen," then carried it back into the living room.
Tony was on his feet, and he held out a hand for the case. Peter handed it over, a heavy feeling in his gut, as if he was handing over something so much more substantial than just a suit; it was almost as if he was handing over his whole life.
"Thank you," Tony said curtly. "About the internship… I need to think and—"
Peter cut him off, not able to bear hearing the words from his hero. "I know I can't be an intern anymore. You can't have someone like me representing Stark Industries. I get it. I'm just… Thank you for the opportunity. I'm really sorry for putting your reputation at risk."
Tony took a deep breath as if he was going to say something, and then he gave his head a curt shake and said, "Thank you for understanding," in a voice that shook with what Peter assumed was suppressed rage.
Peter thought he'd gotten off lucky with Tony not raging at him. Perhaps he already knew Peter was in hell without him adding to it. He knew exactly what he had done and how much worse it could have been. Ben's death was on his conscience because he had not acted to save him, but these lives would have been lost because he had acted.
Peter saw his own pale face reflected in Tony's glasses for a moment as he looked at him, and then he said, "Take care of yourself, Pete," and marched out of the room.
Peter trailed after him, holding the door as Tony slipped through it, and said, "Mr. Stark…"
Tony stiffened, and half turned towards him. "Yes."
"I'm really sorry for letting you down. You trusted me to do better, and I messed up. I just…"
"Just what?" Tony asked, the words seeming to catch in his throat as if he did not want to release them.
"I wanted to make you proud," Peter whispered.
Tony walked away without a word, his footsteps brisk on the tile floor, but as Peter closed the door and sagged against it, he heard Tony say, "Damnit, Pete."
Tears filled Peter's eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He'd thought he couldn't feel worse about what he'd done, but he did now. He'd lost the suit, he'd lost the internship and his time with Tony, he'd lost Karen. He didn't know for sure, as he still had his old suit, but he wasn't sure he could ever use it again.
He might have lost Spider-Man, too.
When May got home, twenty minutes later, Peter had moved to the couch and was buried under the blanket, tears still streaming down his face.
"Hey, honey," she called from the door. "I'm home. How are you feeling?"
Peter didn't answer, and he heard her footsteps approaching, and then a soft gasp and thump as, he assumed, she set down the grocery bags.
"Peter! Honey, are you feeling ill? Are you in pain?" Light burgeoned behind Peter's closed eyes as she pulled back the blanket. "Talk to me."
"I messed up, May," he moaned, fixing wet eyes on her worried face. "I really messed up."
"Oh, honey." She stroked his hair back from his face. "You were a hero."
Peter closed his eyes again, fresh tears creeping down. May lifted him and sat down beside him, pulling him against her. He hid his face in her neck and sobbed.
"Talk to me, Peter. Tell me what you're thinking."
With a supreme effort, Peter sat up and wiped at his face, smearing the tears. He knew the moment had come for him to tell her the truth; it was the only way he could make her understand what he had done.
"I'm Spider-Man," he said in a whisper.
"You're what?" she asked, leaning closer to hear him.
Peter cleared his throat, a stab of pain following. "I'm Spider-Man. The vigilante The Daily Bugle is always talking about."
May's mouth dropped open. "What? You're… No! You can't be. I saw what he can do. One of the kids in pediatrics is a fan. He showed me videos of him. He… he stopped a speeding car! He can climb walls! That can't be you!"
Peter sucked in a shaky breath and pushed back the blanket. He got to his feet, his throat tight with tears, and jumped onto the ceiling and turned, hanging by his feet.
May jumped up and held out her hands as if she thought she needed to catch him, and then she seemed to accept what she was seeing. Her hands flew to her face, eyes wide above her fingers.
"Peter!" she said, his voice pitched high. "How?"
Peter dropped to the floor again and curled on the couch. He took a breath, coughed, then told her everything: from the field trip and spider bite to Ben—his heart ached as he told her that part of the story, and he stopped and awaited her judgment, but she merely nodded for him to go on, sitting down beside him and clasping her hands in her lap.
He told her about how he'd started out as Spider-Man, how he'd told Tony about it, and they'd made the suit. With shame and fresh tears spilling, he told her about the weapon he'd found, how he'd taken it to school to examine it, and finally, in stilted sentences, he'd told her about the explosion.
When he finished, he forced himself to look at her. She seemed pained, her eyes were tight, and she finally said, "I wish I'd known."
"I couldn't tell you," Peter said quietly. "Not after Ben."
She gave her head a brisk shake and said, "Okay, we'll start there. What happened to Ben was not your fault. It was Dennis Carradine that shot him."
"I could have—"
She held up a hand. "You weren't Spider-Man when it happened. You didn't have the skills and tools you have now. It was not your fault."
Peter stared at her, seeing her sincerity, and it made a wave of shame well in his stomach. He knew better, he knew he shared the blame, but he accepted she would not see it as she loved him.
"And what happened at the school…" She bit her lip. "Yes, you have some of the blame for that, but it was an accident. You didn't know what it was, and you didn't know what would happen. And after it happened, you went back into a burning building twice to save people. That's heroic, Peter, no matter what caused the circumstances."
Peter shook his head. "No, it was my fault."
She cupped his cheek in her hands and said, "You're too much like Ben for me to argue, so I won't, but I know better." She lowered her hands and clasped them in her lap. "And now we need to talk about Tony Stark."
Peter flinched. "He took the suit back, and I've lost the internship because of what I did."
She sighed. "Well, yes, that's a problem. I know how much it meant to you to have that internship, and I know from what Tony said that you were good at it. We don't need the money, though. You can get a scholarship for college, or we'll find another way. We will make it work, honey. Just because you don't have Tony Stark or his money anymore, it doesn't mean your future is going to be any less amazing."
Peter gave her a watery smile. "You know, I didn't even think about the money part. I'm just… I'm so ashamed, May. I let him down."
She smiled slightly. "Yes, you did, but he let you down, too. He should have told me about you being Spider-Man the moment he found out, and he should have been there supporting you when you told him what you'd seen. You did tell him, didn't you?"
"Yeah, but it wasn't his fault. It's not an Avengers thing, and he's really busy. He had to go away. He only came back because he heard what I did."
May's eyes softened. "I know no fifteen-year-old wants to hear this, but you are only fifteen, Peter. You shouldn't have been in a position to make these choices—none of them. Yes, you did mess up, and people were hurt, but it was while you were trying to do the right thing. I'm not happy with what happened or that you hid this Spider-Man thing from me, but now I know, we're going to work it out together."
"I don't think I should do it anymore, May," he said. "Be Spider-Man, I mean. I hurt people."
"And before that, you saved them," she said. "I know that part doesn't seem big to you right now, but it does to me. You don't need to decide now. Honestly, I'd sleep better at night if I knew you weren't out there facing muggers and robbers with alien weapons, but I know you." She stroked a lone tear from his cheek. "You don't need Tony Stark or his fancy suit. You and me, we only need each other."
She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. For the first time since the explosion, he felt maybe things would be okay after all.
Maybe he hadn't lost it all—but he had lost enough.
When Tony got back to the penthouse, there was no one there, not even Pepper.
He was relieved. He'd thought they all might have come to hear how it had gone with Peter, and he didn't want to relive the nightmare of the past hour for them. He'd done what needed to be done, he had the suit back, and Peter's heart was broken. No one could ask anything more of him now because he had nothing left to give.
Talking to Peter had been awful. His son was pale and red-eyed from the smoke; his eyes were shadowed with how rundown his body was; he'd coughed and wheezed for his words.
All Tony had wanted to do was to take him in his arms, tell him he understood, that he was sorry for what he'd let happen. He would have said he would have been there, stopped Peter from taking that weapon if he could. But he'd not been allowed. Mind's words, Peter's through him, had forced him into that hellish position.
He loved his son, would never stop loving him no matter what he said or did, but for a moment, while looking into the eyes of his younger self, he'd wanted to curse Peter for putting him through this.
It was a weak, selfish moment, and he'd quickly banished it, but he hated that it had come at all. None of this was Peter's fault. He had sent them there to save his own life, and he'd forced Tony to do that, take the suit, because he believed it was the only way for him to survive when it mattered.
He threw the case containing Peter's suit onto the floor then went to the fridge for a beer. He twisted off the cap, gulped it down, and wished it was whiskey. But he would not do that. He wasn't going to drink himself to death when there were two children waiting for him in 2023, one of which he'd also have in just two weeks in some form. And Mind had promised that was the end of him keeping a distance. After this, he would never have to hurt Peter again.
He grabbed another beer and carried it to the couch, but before he could drop down onto it, Vision drifted through the wall.
"Not now, Vis," he said tiredly. "I can't take more."
"I'm Mind."
Tony looked up. "Then I definitely can't take more. Please, whatever you think I need to do, however I've got to hurt my kid next, save it for another day. I've given enough already."
He smiled slightly. "We know that. Peter knows that. He's waiting for you now."
Tony's fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle, and his eyes widened. "What?"
"If you were to use BARF now, Peter would come."
Tony didn't speak. He sprinted from the room, carelessly dropping the beer bottle onto the counter, so it toppled and rolled onto the floor to smash, but he didn't stop. He skipped the elevator and sprinted down the stairs to the lab level, charged down the hall, and threw open the glass door as Friday unlocked it for him.
With shaking hands, he fumbled in the drawer for the case containing the glasses, tore it open, and slipped them on, his breath trapped in his lungs.
The scene formed, Peter's bedroom in the compound, and he stared around. There was a soft breath behind him, a small gasp, and he spun around to see Peter.
His rainbow eyes were wet with tears and his mouth a steep downward turn. Tony didn't stop to talk, greet, or apologize; he merely crossed the room with sweeping strides and pulled his son into his arms.
"Oh, god, Pete…" he said, his throat closing around the words, and tears filled his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Peter said into his neck. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to have to do it, I really didn't, but there was no choice."
"I know, I know," Tony said, cradling the back of his head and feeling Peter's quick breaths on his neck. "I understand."
Peter held him tighter, his breaths coming fast and shaky, and Tony soothed him wordlessly, humming and shushing him as Peter cried.
It took a long time, it could have been hours for all Tony knew, but Peter calmed slightly and loosened his grip. Tony held him at arm's length and then pulled him closer to press a kiss to his temple.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you, too," Peter said, voice choked. "I'm sorry for what I made you do."
"And I'm sorry for doing it to you. This past hour was… It was hell, Pete, but it's what it took to save you."
At least they hoped it would work. Peter living was the least likely outcome now, which tore Tony apart.
Peter mopped his face with his sleeve. "It is the best chance, we're sure. And I have to be alive. Nemesis will come in 2023, and without me having the Stones, there's no one that can fight them."
Tony's eyes grew wet again as he listened, knowing that without Peter alive, Nemesis would never be free to threaten them. He wondered if that would have made a difference if Peter knew Nemesis would not come. Would he still have sent them back to save him, to suffer at times, and for Tony to be away from Morgan, if it was just about saving his own life?
He didn't think so, and that made the tears spill down his cheeks afresh.
Peter's face fell, and he wiped at Tony's face. "It was good in a way," he said in a rallying tone. "I won't interfere with the weapons deal now, so those lives won't be risked on the ferry. And things have already changed for me. I'm telling May about being Spider-Man." He smiled slightly. "I'm not alone now. I've got her support."
"Thank god," Tony breathed.
"And without the weapon, there won't be the accident in Washington. Though that probably would have been better, since no one was actually hurt when that happened. This time I—"
"This time doesn't matter," Tony said forcefully. "What happened was an accident. I know that. And this is it—I am going to be there soon. I can be, right? Mind said I don't have to hold you at a distance anymore."
Peter nodded eagerly, the force of his smile offset by the drying tears on his cheeks. "Yes. It's almost over. I can see all of you soon." His smile grew. "Bucky, too."
Tony huffed a laugh. "Yeah, I figured that was coming. I'll give you the full Avengers introduction soon; let them meet Spider-Man."
"Great," Peter said, his hands flexing at his sides. "Because I've not seen them in so long, apart from Bucky and Steve, and I only saw Rhodey a few times. I miss them all. Here, where I am, I'm just watching."
"Is it hard?" Tony asked. "Is it too hard?"
Peter shook his head jerkily. "Not too hard. It's not easy, no, and I miss everyone, but if I wasn't locked away like this, time would move for them too. You, the ones I sent back, are basically just shells now. I mean, you're breathing and everything, but you're deeper under than even a coma. I can't put Pepper through that, and Morgan. She'd want to know where you are."
Tony sighed. "I know, kid. I'm just sorry it has to be this way. I don't like to think of you all alone."
Peter shrugged. "I've got the Stones."
Tony scoffed. "Yeah, I'm sure Power is a real delight."
Peter chuckled. "He's not so bad—he's just got a temper. I don't see it much anymore. I'm okay, though. I talk to them, I watch things change, and I remember."
Tony cupped his face in his hands, just relishing the contact with his son as he truly was for the first time in so long.
Peter placed his hands over Tony's, his warm fingers an embrace, and said, "We've got time. I'm not too tired now, so we can talk."
Tony smiled widely. "Perfect. Let's get comfy." He dropped down on Peter's bed and patted the spot beside him. Peter grinned and sat, then lay, with his cheek pillowed on Tony's chest, his arm wrapped around him.
"What do you want to talk about, kid?" Tony asked.
"What life was life after the snap," Peter said. "Tell me about Pepper and Morgan, about your wedding; I want to know it all."
Tony ran his hands through Peter's hair as he started to tell his tale, purposefully avoiding the parts he was ashamed of, like his downward spiral after Peter's death.
"Okay, I've got a good story for you. Me and Happy went shopping for baby clothes before Morgan was born, and there was this kid with a t-shirt that said, 'I'm The Big Brother,' and I wanted one for you…"
So… That was hard on me, and I'm sure it was hard to read. Snarkymuch was against me doing Homecoming because of the repetition, and I didn't want to do it either, because I knew it would be angsty, but the rules I created for the story relied on it. It's almost over. Just stick with me a little longer.
Until next time…
Jadey xxx