Happy Wednesday!

This will be the last mid-week update as it's the last of Homecoming. I'm actually at the peak of the story where I'm writing now, with Nemesis' final attack about to be launched. I'm excited to work on it as soon as these nerves clear up. I think you'll like what I've got planned.

Chapter Thirty-Four

September 28th

Tony's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he took it out and answered, not glancing at the screen to see who was calling as he already knew.

"Hey, Hap."

"Okay, Boss, I just got the call from Peter's friend Ned. I hung up on him like you told me."

Tony grimaced, but his tone was grateful as he said, "Thank you, Happy."

"I still think this stinks, though. I'm finishing up the plane right now, it's almost loaded, and then we're about to send it off to be hijacked."

"I know," Tony sighed. "But I told you, this is what has to happen."

"Yeah, I know, but it stinks."

Tony huffed a laugh. "Believe me, Hap, what I'm about to stand by and watch happen stinks even more. But it's what has to happen. Peter told us, Mind told us, it's the last step."

Happy grumbled inarticulately and said, "I guess I'll see you later then."

"I'm sorry about making you do this. It's hard on all of us. But it's almost over."

"It damn well better be, since I'm not sure I can stand by and see him go through something like this again, whatever the reason. This goes against everything I want and believe in."

"Me too," Tony said, voice strained. "I've got to go, Hap. I'll see you soon."

He ended the call before Happy could say anything else and stuffed it back in his pocket.

"He's upset?" Steve asked, standing at Tony's side.

Tony gave a grim laugh. "Your super-soldier hearing means you heard it all, too, so you already know. Happy is not remotely happy right now. He's bonded with Peter already faster this time, and I've put him in a hell of a position." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm an asshole."

"No!" Steve gripped his shoulder, a little too hard. "You're not. If you messed this up, interfered with the plan, that would make you an asshole. You're doing this because it's the right thing for Peter. And you told me he's just as sorry for making you do this as you are for doing it."

Tony nodded, a small smile playing around his lips as he thought of the hours he'd spent with his son through BARF before Peter needed to go to rest. They had been the very best thing to happen to him since he came back to 2016. For just a while, he'd been with his son as he was supposed to be—he could tell him he loved him.

"He was," he said.

They waited in silence a little longer before hearing the squeal of tires, and a car skidded to a halt just in front of their hiding place on the roof of a low building. They were out of sight, hidden in the shadows, looking at the warehouse Tony had tracked Toomes' operations to—the warehouse he knew was soon going to fall on his son.

Peter jumped out of the car in his old suit, the homemade one which offered him no protection. He looked so vulnerable in it that a lump formed in Tony's throat. Peter disappeared inside the warehouse, and Tony took a breath and waited.

Steve seemed concentrated, and Tony guessed he could hear what was being said within the factory. He was glad that he couldn't hear it because he thought it would break him to hear and not help.

"He's holding his own," Steve murmured. "He's brave."

"He always is," Tony said, his voice filled with pride in his son.

Even the times in which Peter had seemed weak, the weeks of catatonia, it had been Peter's strength and drive to protect them that had made it happen. He'd been strong enough and brave enough to lock himself away from them because he believed he was a threat to them.

Steve's hand snapped out and tightened around Tony's wrist. "It's time. Remember, he's going to be fine," he said. "It's almost over."

Tony knew what was about to happen, and he drew a breath, locked it in his lungs, and braced himself for what he was going to see.

A vast shape flew into the air as a creaking and groaning sound came from the warehouse. Tony's lungs emptied in a rush, and he resisted the urge to close his eyes and hide from this horror.

"He's okay. He's going to be fine. He's okay," Steve chanted.

Tony nodded and then jolted with shock as the building started to fall, the roof collapsing, the walls buckling, and a cloud of dust pouring into the air.

"Oh, god," he moaned.

"He's okay," Steve said again.

His grip on Tony tightened as if he thought Tony was going to rush away, to go to Peter. Tony was tempted, but he knew he couldn't. Not only was it against the plan, the mission, but Steve would also knock him out again if he tried.

The destroyed building settled, and Tony tried not to imagine Peter trapped beneath. He had seen it, though, through Peter's experience with BARF, and he remembered his scared voice as he'd cried for help. He couldn't hear it now, he was too far away, but he was sure Steve could, a certainty strengthened when Steve's face became a picture of pain, and he dropped his grip on Tony to tighten his hands into fists over his heart.

"It's almost over," Steve said, seeming to be speaking to himself this time.

Tony nodded, gritted his teeth, and waited.

It seemed to take too long, and he started to worry something had gone wrong, that Peter had been changed too much to save himself. Then Steve huffed out a breath and said, "That's it, Queens, you've got it."

Tony saw the rubble move, huge sheets of concrete shifting, and then Peter appeared. He was bloody and covered with dust, but he was doing it. He pulled himself free from the rubble, his movements unsteady, and then shook himself off.

Tony stared at him, yearning to help, but Steve cut into his thoughts. "It's time to go, Tony. We've got to get to the beach."

Tony nodded and made his way across the room to the fire escape steps they'd used to get themselves onto the roof.

His heart raced as he walked, an agitating sensation in his chest, and in his mind, he seemed to hear Peter's voice.

"It's almost over. It's nearly time. Just one more fight."

Tony nodded in response, feeling strengthened and calmer.

He could do this. For Peter, he would do whatever it took.

Steve held his breath as the roar of the low-flying plane approached. He could feel Tony's tension from his place beside him, and Steve tried and failed not to imagine Peter clinging to the side of that plane.

The wing clipped a ride and plummeted towards the beach. With a rumbling roar, an explosion of flame and smoke, it crashed. Steve locked his feet in place and forced himself to just watch as Peter appeared.

The man in the wingsuit—Toomes Tony said he was called—approached Peter as he tugged off his mask, his body wracking with coughs from the smoke. The claws of the suit lifted Peter into the air and dropped him again. Steve flinched and then fisted his hands as it happened again. Peter was lifted and dropped. It looked like Toomes was trying to break his spine.

He wouldn't, they were sure, as Mind would have known. Time would have warned him; he'd seen this part of Peter's path clearly. Still, it was horrific to watch Peter being thrown around like a rag doll.

Tony was poised on the balls of his feet, ready to rush forward when it was time, and Steve touched his arm, a comfort and reassurance for himself.

The wings of the suit were sparking, and Steve thought they were about to blow. Toomes landed, leaving Peter limp on the sand, and prised open one of the boxes.

"Look at my kid," Tony said, his voice a mixture of pain and pride. "He's going to save him."

They saw Peter struggle to his feet and gesture wildly. Toomes shoved him away; Peter landed on the sand again, inches from a piece of burning wreckage. The sparks from the wings were increasing.

Peter tried to stop him, shooting a web at the crate Toomes was opening, and a tug of war ensued. Peter was thrown back again, and he said something Steve couldn't hear over the crackle of flames.

Then with no more warning than one more, larger spark, the wingsuit exploded. Peter struggled forward, his movements uncoordinated, and Steve lost sight of what he was doing for a moment, hidden by smoke.

When he appeared again, he was carrying the limp form of Toomes. He dropped him onto the sand and collapsed beside him.

"Now?" Tony asked hopefully. "Can we go now?"

Steve wanted to say yes, he wanted to go to Peter, but he thought they had to wait a moment longer. Tony said Happy had found Toomes webbed to a crate, and they needed to let that happen.

With his heart racing and breaths coming quick as he fought to stand still, watching Peter as he staggered forwards and began to shoot webs at Toomes, both restraining him and making it impossible for anyone to steal whatever was in the large crate.

"Now," he said, as Peter began to stumble away, veering from side to side with a hand held to his head.

Tony sprinted forward before Steve had even started moving, but Steve quickly fell into step at his side. Peter didn't seem to notice them coming, lost in a daze, but when Tony called his name, he looked up, and his lips parted with shock.

"It's okay, Queens," Steve called.

Before they were more than six feet from him, Peter's legs gave way, and he dropped to his knees, reeling from side to side like he was on a rolling ship.

"Call the tower," Tony said. "I want a med team here."

"No," Peter said, raising a shaking hand. "I'm fine."

"You're really not, kid," Tony said.

Peter fell forwards, and Tony caught him. He turned him and held him against his chest, one hand on Peter's hair, fingers tangling in his dusty and sandy strands, and the other pulling up the front of Peter's sweatshirt and exposing his chest and stomach.

There were deep gouges, which Steve guessed were left by the claws that had lifted him into the air, and black bruises forming.

"Call the tower, Steve!" Tony said roughly.

"We'd be better getting him to them than waiting for them to get to us," he replied. "We'll drive him."

"I want to go home," Peter said weakly.

"Soon, Queens," Steve promised. "We've got to get you fixed up first. Tony, can you carry him?"

Tony nodded, eased his arms under Peter, and got to his feet.

Tony carried Peter and Steve took the lead back to the car. When they reached the place they'd left it, he opened the door and helped Tony guide Peter onto the backseat. Tony slid in beside him and moved Peter, so he was leaning against his side.

Steve rushed to the driver's door, got in, and started the engine.

"You're okay, Pete," Tony said softly in the back. "You're going to be fine."

"I want to go home," Peter said in a small voice.

"Soon," Tony soothed. "We'll get you checked out first. Pete? Peter!"

"What's wrong?" Steve barked, glancing into the rearview mirror, and seeing Tony holding Peter upright and patting his cheek.

"He passed out," Tony said roughly, "Drive faster, Steve."

Steve slammed his foot down onto the gas and steered them through the traffic, heading to the tower.

Peter awoke as Tony and Steve eased him out of the back of the car, and Tony carried him into the elevator. He heard Friday's voice greeting them and announcing the med team was waiting and that Happy had reached Coney Island with the cleanup crew.

Peter flinched, which seemed to draw Tony's attention to the fact he was conscious again. His voice was soft as he said, "I've got you, Pete. We're getting you to help now."

Peter gave no response. He was confused, scared, and in pain. He didn't understand how Tony could be so gentle with him when he had to be furious at what Peter had done. Not only had he gone out as Spider-Man again, against Tony's wishes, he'd also crashed his plane.

It had all happened so fast, Peter had been trying to help, again, but he could have killed someone on the beach. He might still have. He'd not checked, and he was too cowardly to ask now.

They rode up, and then Tony carried him through a sliding glass door into a room with bright white lights, which made Peter's eyes burn. He squeezed them shut, and Tony made a soft, soothing sound.

A voice he'd heard before, the woman that had fixed his hand when he'd cut it open making dinner with Tony, said, "Okay, what have we got here?

"It's Peter Parker—Spider-Man, which absolutely comes under your NDA," Tony said, voice rough. "Our regular drugs aren't going to work. Use Steve's."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "That compound is very strong."

"He needs painkillers!" Tony snapped. "Look at him!"

"Easy, Tony," Steve said.

Peter felt the cot he was on moving, and he opened his eyes again to see the ceiling whipping past him. They passed through a door, and the bed came to a stop. There were at least four people around the bed, one of whom was Tony at his side, and their voices spoke over each other.

"Mr. Stark, you need to give us space," a man said.

Tony cursed under his breath and then placed his hand on Peter's chest, and he leaned close. "I won't be far away, Peter," he said, his tone a promise. "I'll be here, but they've got to help you."

Peter nodded, still confused by this gentle version of his former mentor after what he'd done to his property. He wondered if he was more hurt than he realized. Maybe he was dying, so Tony was going to write-off what he'd done.

He felt a chill of fear at the thought, but before he could ask if that was what was happening, Tony moved back and was replaced with the woman he recognized as being called Sophia.

"We're going to need to cut the suit off," she said.

"No," Peter moaned. "I need it."

"We've got no choice, Peter," she said gently.

Peter turned his face away and closed his eyes. A tear crept down the side of his face.

"Get an IV line in," someone said, and Peter felt someone pick up his hand and then a pinch as the needle went in. He stayed still with his eyes closed, resisting them when they asked him to open them. He wanted to be unconscious again. At least then, he was out of pain and away from the horror and fear of what he'd done.

He felt his suit being cut away and heard voices discussing the wounds he could feel but not see. He'd felt each of them as they were being made by Toomes' claws sinking into his flesh.

"Okay, Peter, we're going to give you something for the pain now."

Peter nodded, eyes still closed. There was a strange pressure in the back of his hand, and then a warmth replaced it, spreading up his arm. Whatever they'd given him was powerful, and he felt it cushioning him from the world, but it didn't knock him out. He felt like he was in a daze, half-asleep but feeling what was happening to him, hearing the voices speaking urgently. He tried to ignore it, pretending he was home in his bed on a lazy Sunday morning, but he wasn't successful.

He wished the drugs were stronger.

Peter was still being treated, Tony exiled to waiting outside, when May Parker walked into the med bay. She looked harried, her hair falling out of its barrette and eyes roving around.

They fell on Tony, and a storm of anger filled her face. Before Tony could do more than say, "He's going to be okay. They're taking—" she had marched towards him and slammed a fist into his jaw.

She hit a lot harder than he'd expected, and he reeled back, his hand coming to cradle the spot. He tested his jaw, tentatively opening and closing his mouth, and found it painful but not broken.

"You bastard!" she shouted. "You— I can't— Where's Peter?"

Tony pointed to the door, and she strode through it. He heard her say, "Peter, honey, I'm here," before it slid closed again behind her.

He noted that no one made May leave, though perhaps they could see that they had no chance in persuading her to leave her nephew.

Tony leaned back against the wall and groaned. He was alone for a moment, as Pepper was dealing with the officials regarding what had happened on Coney Island, and Steve had gone to get them coffee.

He was glad to be alone, to feel freely for a while. He was overwrought and exhausted. What scared him was that he didn't know if Peter had been this hurt before, when he'd been alone with his injuries, or if this time it was somehow worse. He hated the thought that Peter could have struggled home like this, bleeding and in pain, without anyone to help.

He massaged his temples where a headache was building to join the pain in his jaw, dropping his hands when Steve reappeared, holding two thermos mugs of coffee.

"What happened?" he asked.

"May arrived," Tony said. "She punched me."

Steve's eyes widened. "Did you expect that? I never got the feeling she was violent from what you and Peter told me about her."

"No, but she didn't know the whole story last time."

"You want some ice for it?"

Tony shook his head. "I can handle it. This doesn't hurt nearly as much as a punch from you."

Steve winced.

"Have you heard from anyone back at the compound?" he asked.

"Bucky called. I filled him in on what's going on. He's just about losing his mind, but he promised to stay locked down there."

"Good," Tony said. "The last thing we need is him arriving and being seen by everyone."

"He knows that. I promised I'd call again as soon as we know anything new."

The door opened behind them, and Sophia came out. She looked solemn, but her first words were reassuring. "He's okay. Sleeping now. We'll move him to a room soon."

"How badly hurt is he?" Steve asked.

"He's got broken ribs, the gouge marks from whatever was used on him, which we've closed with strips instead of stitches since he's already healing. Otherwise, I think it's just shock and trauma wearing him down." She frowned. "He didn't want us to cut off his suit."

Tony flinched. "Probably thinks it's the only one he's got now. It's not."

Sophia frowned. "Okay." The door opened again, and Peter's bed was wheeled out by a man in scrubs, May walking close behind. Peter was sleeping, his chest rising in shallow breaths, which Tony guessed was his body's automatic defense from the pain of his broken ribs. He was pale, his lip was split, and there was a cut over his eye, but he looked a lot better now the blood and grime from the warehouse had been cleaned away.

The bed was wheeled past him, turning right towards the patient rooms, but May stopped, said, "I'll be with you soon, honey," then turned to Tony, her eyes blazing.

"You can punch me again if you like," he said.

"I probably should, since I obviously didn't do it hard enough last time as you're still here."

"I'm—"

Tony's apology was cut off as she raised her hand. "One question first: was anyone else hurt?"

"Only the person Peter stopped from stealing the cargo. No civilians were hurt at all."

May breathed a sigh of relief, her eyes closing a moment, then they opened and fixed him in her glare. "You took his suit away."

"I did."

"You left him unprotected."

"I did."

"You broke his heart."

Tony flinched. "I did."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "At least you're not denying it." She sighed. "I know why you felt you had to do it; I probably would have done the same, but…" She shook her head. "You should have told me my underage nephew was running around as some kind of superhero, putting himself in danger."

"I thought it was up to Peter to tell you," he replied.

That was true both times he'd lived through these days, though he'd given it less thought last time. Peter had told her sooner in the time than before; he'd chosen to be honest rather than being caught unawares in the suit.

"It wasn't," she said stiffly. "Look, I want to get back to my kid, but I need to know now, before I get him out of this place and never allow him to come back, what are you going to do next?"

Tony frowned. "Do you mean immediately or…"

"I mean for Peter. Are you going to support him the way you did before, help him do his Spider-Man thing, or is you being here just guilt because he almost died saving your crap?"

"No!" Tony said quickly. "I'm here because I'm worried about him and want to help. I will help him in the future, I promise. I will never cut him off again. From now on, I'm going to be there for him one-hundred percent."

She frowned. "You seem pretty certain."

Tony opened his mouth to answer and then snapped it closed again. He wanted to tell her the truth, he thought it was the only way to make her understand, but he wasn't sure he should. To tell her was to risk her knowing she was doomed to die in five years.

"We are all certain. Mrs. Parker," Steve said. "We care about Peter."

"Then where were you two weeks ago when he—" she jabbed a thumb at Tony, "was breaking his heart."

Steve grimaced. "We all messed up, but it was out of concern for Peter—for love."

Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn't speak.

"With what happened at the school, we realized Peter was in danger," Steve went on. "We thought the only way to keep him safe was to remove Spider-Man from the equation. We had no idea what would happen tonight."

He didn't even flinch at the lie; it was perfectly delivered. Tony could tell May was believing him, and he was relieved. He couldn't bear for her to take Peter out of his life.

Tony cleared his throat. "We were wrong. We will be at his side from here on out whenever he needs or wants us. I will help him develop as Spider-Man, and Steve and others will teach him to protect himself from the threats he faces. We—the Avengers—want to help Peter."

May narrowed her eyes. "Do you want to make him one of you?"

Tony considered his answer carefully. He hadn't decided that yet, but he thought now was the time. "I'd like to make the offer," he said. "If I have your support, of course. I think Peter can be an asset to us, and he'll have more protection if he's working with us as a team."

May's mouth pressed into a thin line, her eyes contemplative. "I think…" she said haltingly, "you should ask, but not now. He needs time. When he's ready, though, I think he needs to be given the choice, to see you value him as a hero like you."

Tony stared into her eyes, wishing he could tell her that he knew exactly what she meant, what she felt, as he felt the exact same way. Peter was his son now, in 2016, and in the future, though only then did he know. Now, he was still just Tony's intern, and even that had been taken away.

But he would fix it. From now on, he was going to be there for Peter every step of the way—never holding himself at a distance for the sake of the future.

The man that had taken Peter into his room came back and said, "He's waking up."

Tony fixed a pleading look on May and said, "Can I talk to him?"

She stared for a moment then said, "No. Not yet. I want to see him first. He needs comfort right now, not stress. When I think he's ready, you can talk to him."

Without another word, she spun on her heel and marched away to Peter's room, leaving Tony staring after her and wishing he could follow.

Soon, though. When she thought Peter was ready, he would be able to go to his son and make things right.

So… That's done. We're over Homecoming events. It's not all going to be perfect from here on out—of course, Nemesis has not struck yet—but it's going to get better soon.

Until next time…

Jadey xxx