Peter figured it was normal for him to take a sudden interest in his syllabus. After all, senior year was starting in less than a month, Reversal or no, and it's been a long while since he'd done any school work. He had SATs and college applications to worry about; he had to hit the ground running.

… at least that's what he told May. That's what he told himself. That was the excuse he'd grabbed onto when he holed himself up in the compound library that day with an entire pot of the blackest, most disgusting coffee he'd ever tasted. It gave him palpitations and made him all jittery, and he had the urge to wash his tongue after each gulp, but it did its job—it kept him awake.

He decided to start with the lessons he'd missed; the ones that happened after the Dusting. Spanish. English Lit. Chemistry. Ned had let him borrow notes. He flipped through his friend's sometimes chaotic scribbles, chuckling when he saw the small doodles on the margins. Then he stopped.

In front of him was an entire page filled with blotched drawings of the Spider-Man logo. Ned must have drawn the same thing twenty, thirty, fifty times, then redrawn it and erased, redrawn and erased, until even the untouched spots of the page was a dull uniform gray. Some pencil-marks had torn through the paper.

Peter sat very still, and in the desk next to his he saw Ned, sitting alone at the lab bench—at their lab bench—sketching out the logo again and again until he got it right, until he didn't feel like he was about to cry anymore, and it was Peter's fault, Peter who left, Peter who'd told him to distract the whole bus…

Peter slammed the notebook shut, his breathing fast and loud and ragged in the empty space. The table shook under his strength, and he was glad Mr. Stark had built everything with superhuman users in mind.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

When he felt himself calm down enough, he put the notebook back with the dozen others. He would return them all later. He groped at the sea of textbooks and grabbed the first one he could reach.

Chemistry? Good. He liked chemistry.

He liked chemistry because he liked working in a world where he was the master, where he knew how things were supposed to be. A reaction was always guaranteed given the correct reagents, catalysts, and conditions. There were no surprises, no hollow pit lurking behind the mundane. He found the last chapter he remembered learning about, and dove head first into the work.

He liked chemistry, because his hand shook less when he wrote out the equilibriums.

He managed to finish most of the oxidation-reduction study questions by the time noon rolled around, and decided to give himself a break. He gulped down another cup of the now-cold coffee and walked over to the window. The sky was set thick with grey clouds, billowing and churning with the hot, saturated air of a summer thunderstorm. Peter thought the weather fitted him; restless and anxious without reason, boiling without a true breaking point, like something waiting to happen. He sat down on the nearest couch and stared, mesmerized.

It didn't take long for the rain to come. Low rumbles of thunder echoed through the air, audible even through the state-of-the-art sound insulation walls. He listened for a while to the pitter patter of the rain on the windows, observing each droplet of water as they slid down the glass, before closing his eyes and wishing he could breathe the air outside, something to tell him his world was real.

He hated how he was trembling. He hated how clear his thoughts were, now that he wasn't under the strange haze which clouded his mind over the past ten days. He hated the way he now found new meaning in May's hugs, in his friends' looks—he had broken them, god, he had been dead and for a whole year and when he came back he didn't even stop to think how much that had affected them and only wanted his stupid memories back like a selfish asshole—

He hopped onto the ceiling to stop himself from punching anything. He walked the tiles, touched the lights with his feet to feel their heat. The storm geared up to full force outside, and he plastered himself to the glass, still upside-down, staring as if he could lose himself in the heart of chaos.

"Take it back," he said, his breath misting up the glass. "I don't want to remember. I don't want to remember."

Only the pitter-patter answered him. Always the pitter-patter, and the thunder, and the deafening guilt.

Mrs. Stark and Happy joined them for dinner that night, and Peter wished they hadn't. They gave him hugs and asked about his recovery. Peter smiled and told them he was getting stronger, and they talked about the crazy weather, and going back to school, and the meal.

Peter wondered how he hadn't noticed it earlier—they were all talking like they were navigating a landmine. Mentions about the wedding got glossed over. Any specifics about the prior year was a big no-no. More than once he tried to ask Happy about the Dusting, and what he'd felt, but each time that conversation got shut down before Peter could even blink.

For a brief moment the anger was enough to overpower the great hollow pit. Peter even considered calling them out for it.

Stop that, he would say, slamming the table. They would all fall silent and look at him. Don't you see? he would continue, almost seething. I remember. I remember feeling my fingers turning into dust. I remember being scared, being terrified, and it doesn't help that I don't know what happened to me, so maybe we should just fucking talk about it so I don't have to be scared anymore—

"Seconds, Peter?" May asked, heaping on another slice of pork chop before he could answer. Peter stared at the piece of meat on his plate, before mumbling a thank-you.

Happy commented on how her cooking was better than he'd remembered, and May smiled so warmly that Peter wanted to cry. He dug his nails in his palm, hard enough that he was sure he drew blood. The fork bent in his grip.

I'm never going to tell them, he thought, suddenly exhausted. He looked around, at May, at Mrs. Stark, at Happy. They were laughing about some anecdote. He made himself laugh too, which was easier than he'd expected.

Because in that moment, in a room filled with people who loved him… he felt utterly alone.

And that was kind of funny.

He hadn't planned on sleeping, but he'd ran out of coffee, and it'd started raining again. The chorus of raindrops was like some sort of lullaby tugging at his eyelids. Freshly showered, he found himself more relaxed than he meant to be as he laid in darkness on his bed.

Before he knew it, he was on the dust planet. He watched in abject horror, unable to stop anything, shivering even in his dreams. He was fighting, again; smashed down, again; thrown off, again. He was losing, again; weak, again; worthless, again.

In pain, again. Hopeless, again. Trying to say sorry, again.

He was disappearing.

Again.

He couldn't escape. He knew this was a dream, he had to escape, but he couldn't, and it was sucking him in, down, away. He saw May, sobbing and sobbing over his picture. He saw Ned drawing Spider-Man logos in his notes. He saw MJ tearing out another page in her sketchbook. He watched Mr. Stark's face disappear, again, again, again.

They all reached for him, grabbing at him with their hands. How could you leave us? they shouted at him. It's your fault, your fault—

Peter tried to reach back. No, he tried to say. No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I tried. His fingers brushed May's. He tried to catch her but she dissolved into dust, and then Ned dissolved, and then MJ dissolved, and he was grasping at the void—

Someone yanked on his arms. It was Mr. Stark.

"You're alright," he said.

No, Peter thought. No, no, I'll hurt you too, sir. No, stay away, sir, stay away—

Mr. Stark grabbed his hand, but Peter could feel himself disappearing again, and Mr. Stark was disappearing too. He begged, he didn't want to go, he wanted to stay here, stay alive—

He screamed into the cool conditioned air of his room, thrashing and struggling. Something was holding him, tight and close, but it was terrifying and he didn't want to go—

"Pete, Pete, listen to me, you're okay," a voice said, urgently. "Kid. No, you're okay, I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere—"

"I don't want to go, please, Mr. Stark—"

"I know, I know," the voice said, calm but with an undercurrent that threatened to break, "I'm right here, you're not going anywhere, you hear me? You're not going anywhere."

Slowly Peter's vision kicked in. He was in his bed, trembling, shivering. His cheeks were wet. He smelled the soft scent of flowers and daisies, he'd always thought it was an unexpected smell for such a brilliant energetic man—

"Mr. Stark?" he whispered.

"I'm here," the man replied. "I'm here, Pete, you're okay."

"Mr. Stark," Peter said, and this time his voice broke, and he hugged the warm body in front of him with all his might. Mr. Stark's hand rubbed circles on his back, gentle and soothing, just like how Uncle Ben used to when Peter came home bullied.

"It's me, kid. I'm here. You're here. You're okay."

It was still raining, and Peter was glad because the sound and the darkness afforded him some dignity. Mr. Stark was saying into his ear to breathe in, breathe out, and Peter heard the man doing so with him. Peter trembled as he focused on the task, one at a time. In, out. In, out. Finally his heartbeat returned to a more or less normal pace.

He felt Mr. Stark letting go, and panic welled up in him again.

"Easy, kid," the man said softly. "Easy. I'm not leaving ya. Just gonna take off the armor." He chuckled. "You'd have crushed me to pulp if I didn't wear it."

Peter panted and made some incomprehensible sounds before letting go slowly. There was a sort of scuttling noise, and then Peter felt Mr. Stark's skin soften as the armor retreated to his chest piece. No longer pressed against each other, the arc reactor cast everything in a comforting blue.

"You gotta promise me you're not gonna squash me, Pete," the man said softly, ruffling Peter's hair.

Peter didn't respond, just nodded and hugged back, gentler this time. Mr. Stark kept a hand in his hair, running in soothing circles. Peter laid his head on his mentor's shoulder. There was still a lump in his throat, though as the minutes passed he felt it dissolving little by little.

"I'm sorry," he whispered when he thought he could trust his voice.

Mr. Stark froze. His hand stopped, his muscles went rigid. Peter heard the man's breath quicken, and his arms wrapped a bit tighter around him. It took a minute before Mr. Stark relaxed again, more or less.

"Don't say that," he said, with such gravity Peter was almost sure he was angry. "I don't—I can't hear you say that. Not right now, probably not in the next few years."

"But—"

"Just… don't, kid. Okay?"

Peter nodded. "Okay."

They were silent for some more minutes, listening to the rain, before Mr. Stark took a breath.

"When did you remember?"

Peter bit his lips. "Last—no, two nights ago. It was… it was in a dream, and I always remembered parts of it, but that time I felt—I saw myself—"

"Shh. Neither of us needs that right now." Peter felt Mr. Stark shake his head. "Why didn't you tell someone? Tell May? Tell me?"

There was a tiny spark of indignation when Peter answered. "I hardly ever see you," he pointed out. "You haven't—I think this is the first time you even talked to me, since…" he trailed off, unable to hide the hurt in his voice.

The man winced. "I know," he said. "I was trying to keep you safe."

Peter didn't immediately understand. "Keep me safe—what? By ignoring me?"

"From your memories, Pete," Mr. Stark said quietly. "From dreams. From this. I thought—I thought if you saw me, you might remember again."

"But you don't know that! I mean I asked Happy and he said he doesn't remember anything, so I don't get why you thought I would remember—"

"Because I saw it with my own fucking eyes!" Mr. Stark snapped, his voice suddenly high and close to shattering.

Peter was silent, too stunned by the tone to respond. Mr. Stark was panting.

"I saw it, Pete," he said, hoarse. "And yours… yours was different than everyone else's. I don't know—I can't explain it. But you knew what was going to happen. You felt it, you lasted longer, you were in pain. And I knew, I knew when you came back you would remember it, and I just didn't want you to feel that… ever, ever again."

Peter felt the trembles in the man's frame. "I just—I failed to protect you the first time. And I tried to, this time, but now… I just failed again."

Then Mr. Stark let out a sort of guttural, breathy sound, and moments later Peter realized it was a sob.

"Oh," he said stupidly, not knowing where to place his hands. "Mr. Stark, no, it's not your fault, I didn't—I'm sor—er, I mean—"

He could only gape as the man broke down in front of him, and then it was Mr. Stark who clung to him, Mr. Stark who grasped at the his back, desperate for the warmth, the tangible there-ness… not ash, not ash, never again ash.

Peter wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but finally the man gave a low chuckle, and loosened his embrace around the boy.

"It's alright, kid," he said. "I'm alright." He shook his head. "Come on, you should go back to bed."

Peter wasn't sure if he could, and the thought of being left alone when Mr. Stark left was more terrifying than he cared to admit. But then the man must have sensed something, because he chuckled.

"Oh, who am I kidding?" he said, ruffling Peter's hair. "I've had attacks too, kid, and if yours are anything like mine, you're not getting another wink of sleep tonight." Even in the darkness, Peter could make out his grin. "What do you say? Let's watch a movie? Your pick."

Twenty minutes later, as the two of them munched on microwaved popcorn in the compound's home theatre, Beetlejuice playing on the screen, Peter felt safe enough to smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Stark," he said.

"No, kid," the man replied, somehow hearing him above the noise of the movie. "Thank you."

Author's Notes

I originally planned for more chapters, but this seemed like a good place to end. However, while moving this to FFnet I found some WIPs that I think are pretty good, and I'll try to adapt them to this story. Expect an update soon!

I also have a crossover with exclusively MCU characters, set in the world of Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire. Check it out under my profile if that interests you!