Tony still didn't remember him, that much he made clear after they parted and Peter was able to get a hold of himself once more. But for some reason that didn't bother him, at least not right now. Right now all that he cared about was shoving the feelings and emotions back down into his chest, and continuing on until they reached the tower. They had Avengers to save, after all.
They walked the next hour mostly in silence, neither knowing what to say after all that had already been said. Peter felt undeniably embarrassed over the whole thing; he had spent the last two years shoving all his anger and resentment down into a box and burying it deep within him, intending never to take it out, intending to fully get over it and move on with his life. But now he may as well have taken that box, torn it apart, and thrown everything inside it into the sky. And he had no idea how to go about cleaning it all back up.
So he would, in this moment at least, have bliss in his ignorance.
The snow was still falling heavily, the streetlights nothing more than orange flames dancing in the cold air around them. Peter's feet were long-since filled with snow, his socks soaked and his toes starting to freeze, and he absently wished he had some newspaper to fill them with. He had a feeling, though, that Tony would not somehow appreciate that.
It was shortly after that hour of blissful silence that Tony started to speak.
"Hey, so… I was thinking that, in order to, well… jog my memory, or whatever the case may be – I thought that maybe you might tell me a bit about yourself. And me. About yourself and me, together. As in, how we met, what we… what we did together. How you became an Avenger. I'm assuming you were an Avenger – or, are, I guess is the proper verb. But then, that might just be Rogers trying to mess with me."
He continued on, not leaving any room for Peter to answer. "He can be a bully, you know. He's not all roses and sunshine like you see in those ridiculous PSAs. Only his preferred method of bullying is far more… discreet. Plus, he has the backing of being Captain America, so it's not like anyone believes me anyway when I tell them he can be a right old bastard. They all say, 'no, Tony, you're wrong – he's Captain America. And Captain America is the nicest person in the entire world, he's the nicest person in all of history. He can't possibly be mean. The only person that can be mean is you, so it must be your fault. Everything always has to be your fault'. Pssh."
He was rambling again, which meant of course that he was nervous. He never liked to show it, he liked to keep his face a mask as strong and unyielding as his one of iron, but Peter had known him long enough now to know what was going on beneath the facade.
Peter wasn't in the mood to talk, and his instinct urged him to ignore the question entirely, but after all that had happened, he could no longer ignore the reality that was staring him square in the face – and the consequences that went with it. Even if the consequences meant talking far more than he would like.
"Well?" Tony pressed.
"You found me when I was running around New York as Spider-Man. I got on your radar, I guess. I think you saw me on YouTube videos."
"You had your own costume already? I thought someone said that I had made it for you or… or something."
"Well, yeah, sort of. I drew the design, but you're the one that actually made it. The good suit, that is. The first one… well, the first one was kind of… basic." He pushed the images of what essentially had been sweatpants and a sweatshirt for a costume out of his mind, unable to stop the cringe that followed. He'd always known what he wanted the suit to be like, but the materials required for such an idea had sort of been out of the reach of a fourteen-year-old's budget.
They were nearing a busier district of the city, which tended not to sleep or stop, even when they were buried feet-deep in snow. They were passing more pedestrians, and even a few taxis were braving their way across the slippery roads.
"Anyway, you needed some help with a… a mission… and so you asked that I come along. So I came and I helped, and I went back home."
There was a pause, and he could hear Tony's feet stop behind him for a moment before resuming once more. "Seriously? I just saw you on YouTube and decided to whisk you away on some random adventure? And you agreed, just like that?"
"You said you needed help, and I was barely fifteen and had the Tony Stark asking me for it, so it wasn't like I was going to say no."
"Still, that sounds… that sounds…."
"Exactly like you?"
Tony was silent.
"And let me guess," Tony said after a few moments. "This grand adventure I whisked you away on… was to Germany to fight Steve and his minions?"
Peter briefly wondered how Tony knew that, then remembered that he said he'd had dreams of him being there. It was still hard to believe that Tony's memories hadn't been completely wiped away, that some of them had still hung on somewhere deep in his subconscience. He still didn't know what to make of it.
So he wouldn't make anything, for now.
"And so – what? Did I just make you an Avenger, right then and there? Because I have to say, there's a lot of things I would do, and I mean a lot, but I have to admit that sounds a bit irresponsible, even for me."
Peter fought the smile from his face, his eyes glancing up along the Stark Industries tower as it disappeared into the clouds. They would be there shortly. And about time, too. He could handle his fair share of outdoor adventures, but his fingers and toes were ready to be warmed up. He was sure that Tony felt the same.
"You offered the position to me a few months later," Peter replied, pressing his fingers tighter underneath his arms. "But I turned it down. I wanted… I wanted to stay a teenager for a little bit longer, I guess."
Not that that lasted long, anyways.
"But you accepted at one point, right? That's what Steve said. That you were an Avenger, not just someone who turned it down."
He was pressing, pushing for memories that Peter didn't want to relive, and Peter wished he could just stop this whole conversation all together.
"You made me an Avenger during Thanos," Peter said, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground in front of him. Just a few more blocks, and they'd be at the tower. "I had –."
"You had snuck onto the ship, as we were leaving," Tony finished for him. Peter could practically feel his incredulous glare behind him. "You mean that was real?! You really snuck on board a ship that was already departing, that was heading into space, when I –."
Peter finally stopped and turned, giving Tony a very hard, and very unimpressed stare. "No offense Mister Stark, but I think we should focus on getting to the tower. We're nearly there. And I'm sorry, but I'm not really in the mood to have you reprimand me about that." He turned back round, resuming his walk while whispering under his breath. "Again."
To his credit – and Peter's relief – Tony said no more on the subject, and they made the rest of the way in silence.
Finally, after what felt like an age, they arrived at the base of the tower.
Peter's gaze made its way up the tower, glancing along the numerous lit and darkened windows until they reached the bottom of the clouds, just making out the glowing letters of "ST" beyond.
"Well it's about time," Tony said loudly as he made his way past Peter, all but running up the steps until he reached the door. "I swear, I am going to get a coffee the size of a ship. Or a coffee that could sink a ship. Whichever one will do, I just need to have it now. I'm cold and I'm wet and I just walked a thousand miles, and I have to say that if I had to choose between walking on the flaming hot sand of Afghanistan or the frozen wastelands of New York, I would pick –."
He pulled on the doors, and for a brief, insane moment, Peter actually expected them to open. But when they didn't, and Tony was left pulling on them in angry confusion, Peter suddenly remembered that it was well past one in the morning. So of course the tower would be closed. Of course they wouldn't be able to get inside. Of course. Because this was typical, oh so typical Parker luck.
"I can't believe I actually let them lock the doors on these things," Tony growled, pulling the handle once more as though this time it would magically open. "What the hell's the point of having a suit stored in case of emergencies, when you can't even get inside the damn building?"
Peter looked through the glass doors where the empty welcome desk sat, the lights on but not a soul to be found. He bit back a sigh and rubbed his arms as a shiver rattled down his spine. Well he supposed there would be no hot coffee of his own in the near future. Not that he had ever really drank it before, he'd always found it too bitter, but he'd drink anything hot right now in order to get warm.
With a frustrated grunt, Tony stepped away from the door. "Well I guess the only solution then is to break it down. It's my door anyways, I'll just have it replaced."
He swung his arm back, as though he were actually going to punch his hand through the glass, and Peter's eyes widened and he immediately jumped forward, grabbing Tony's arm.
"Mister Stark! What – you can't, you can't do that!" He knew from experience how painful it was to break glass with your hand. He could only imagine how much worse it would be for a human like Tony.
He pulled Tony back and met his eyes with a glare. "And besides, we can't draw attention to ourselves. The cops are still looking for a guy that looks like Tony Stark and another guy that looks like me. Even if you could convince them we're not thieves, it would take a long time – and do you really want to deal with that kind of crap right now?"
Tony held Peter's gaze for a moment longer, before sloughing off his grip and giving him a hard stare in return. "Well how do you propose we get in then, huh? We need to get to the fiftieth floor, and it's not like we can just fly to the top, and –."
Seeing Peter's raised brow and realising what he'd just said, Tony's eyes widened and he immediately began to backtrack.
"No. No, that's not what I meant. That was meant to be a hypothetical question, meant for people who can't actually fly or climb up walls or whatever it is kids do these days. You want to talk about inconspicuous? Because that – that right there is the exact opposite of inconspicuous. Climbing up the side of a building in the middle of the night with the snow trying to bury you and the cold trying to freeze you to death, that's what will draw people's attention. You'll be front page news, you'll be on YouTube again, and we'll all be fu –."
"Mister Stark," Peter interrupted, trying to keep the edges of his lips from turning upwards, "I can do it. I'll make sure to climb only where the windows are dark. And don't worry, you don't have to come with me, you can stay on the ground."
Tony gave him a look and Peter's stomach made a painful twist, for the look was one that he had seen many – no, countless – times before. It was a look that clearly stated exactly what Tony thought of his little plan, while at the same time unable to come up with a better one of his own. It was a look of appalled annoyance, and begrudging resignation. It was a look only Tony could give, and Peter was suddenly reminded of exactly all that he had lost the last two years.
"All right," Tony said after a moment. "Fine. But I know you can hear me with your – super-hearing, or whatever – so if I tell you to abort the mission and come the hell down, you'll come the hell down right then and there – understand?"
"Absolutely," Peter lied.
"All right. Okay. Okay fine."
Tony took Peter round the side of the building, where a large tree hung over the sidewalk, giving a small bit of shadow where they could hide from the streetlights. He pointed towards an area three-quarters of thew way up.
"I have a penthouse on the forty-seventh floor. The suit's in a locked room inside, and I have FRIDAY connected to the room, so you can only access it if you have the right voice – namely, if you're me – or if you have the right voice command."
"And what's the right voice command?"
There was a pause.
Peter blinked.
There was another pause, then Peter frowned.
"Wait, you don't know the voice command?"
Tony gave him a glare. "Hey, I'm working on it!"
Peter's eyes widened in disbelief. "Mister Stark! How the heck do you not know the voice command? You can't – you can't just forget something like that –."
"Shut up, shut up! I'm trying to think, here!"
Peter resisted the urge to pull his hair out – because this was so, so not the time for further delays – and instead took a few steps away, pacing and rubbing his arms as he tried to both warm up and cool down.
Finally after a few minutes, Tony snapped his fingers.
"Got it," he said, and Peter quickly made his way back to him. "The voice command is 'even dead, I'm the hero'."
Peter frowned and squirreled his face. "What the heck's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what it says on the tin, underoos! Now hurry up and start climbing – I've already frozen one buttocks, I'd like to try and keep the other. You know, for sitting purposes and all that."
Peter huffed, trying to keep back a growl, before he grabbed his black mask and pulled it over his face. "You have the biggest ego, you know that?" he said as he walked towards the side of the building.
"So I've been told. Now get going. It's the fifth window from the left, got it?"
"Got it," Peter said, placing his hands on the side of the building.
"All right. Now make sure to keep only to the windows where the lights are off, and don't –."
But Peter was already gone.
"… fall."
Tony let out a heavy sigh, and with a small glare went back to the shadows.
Damn kids.
Peter scaled the building quickly, crawling up and back, this way and that, as he made sure to only climb across the windows that were dark. He knew he had to be quick, because even though it was the middle of the night and the building was closed, that didn't mean there wasn't someone, somewhere that was watching the tower. He hadn't been on YouTube in years, and he would very much like to keep it that way.
Being so high on the building, held only by his hands and feet, was like a breath of fresh air – a feeling that Peter hadn't realised he'd forgotten, that he hadn't realised he'd missed. There was a lot, it turned out, that he'd forgotten he missed.
After a couple minutes Peter finally made it to the penthouse windows. Slipping his fingers along the edge of one of the panes, Peter tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. He frowned. He didn't really want to break it, he had a feeling there were more than one measure of security, ready to scream and yell once he smashed his way inside. And he really didn't want to draw attention to himself, even if the owner of the building and penthouse was right below him.
So he would have to force the window open.
Breaking the locks on the window from the outside would be impossible for any other person, but for Peter it could certainly be done – he just doubted his fingers would come away scott-free.
But it needed to be done. So, without wasting any more time, Peter pressed his fingers against the minuscule ledge of the pane, and pushed.
The locks on the window all popped simultaneously, and the pane flew open. Ignoring his cut and now-bleeding fingers, Peter immediately ripped through the screen and slipped inside.
At first, Peter thought everything was running smoothly. He'd made his way inside, he was in the right room – if the shiny, expensive-looking penthouse was any indication – and now all he needed to do was find the door that led to Tony's suit, say the password, and get inside.
But things are never so simple.
No sooner than he had taken his first step, did a small red light suddenly land on his chest.
"Identify yourself," came FRIDAY's voice. "Or you will be shot."
What the hell?! Peter thought, freezing where he stood. Tony had said absolutely nothing about this.
"Identify yourself," FRIDAY repeated. "Or you will be shot."
"I'm – I'm Peter Parker," Peter said quickly, not moving an inch.
"Peter Parker not recognized. Identify yourself, or you will be shot."
Fuck.
"I'm Peter Parker! I'm – I'm Spider-Man, I –."
"Peter Parker and Spider-Man not recognized. Prepare to be shot in three, two, one –."
Peter jumped to the side just as a dart went flying through the air, barely missing the side of his neck. He immediately rolled, dodging as more darts came after him. Through the chaos he was able to make out the small shooters from where the darts were being fired, and with a quick snap of his wrists, he fired his webs across them. The machines spluttered once, then died.
Peter took a brief moment to both breathe and glare, before he stood to his feet.
"Lock-down procedures commencing," FRIDAY said, and Peter jerked as bars began descending across all the exits all around him.
Hell no.
"FRIDAY, FRIDAY no!" Peter shouted. "FRIDAY – FRIDAY, implement – implement the EDITH protocol!"
Nothing happened and the bars continued to slide into place, and Peter growled to himself before shouting, "implement protocol: 'Even dead, I'm the hero!"
The bars came to a halt just before they were about to close, and a moment later they began to reverse and the lights turned on.
"EDITH protocol accepted," FRIDAY said calmly, as though she hadn't just tried to kill and imprison Peter. "Welcome back, boss."
Peter let out a heavy sigh, taking a second to wonder what exactly he had done to deserve this.
After a few moments he raised his head and stood back up, looking round the penthouse for the door that Tony said kept the suit, and he quickly realised just how badly planned this so-called 'idea' really was.
The penthouse was massive, and there were many doors that could lead to numerous safes and workshops. Tony had said that the suit was kept behind 'the door', but which door was it?
Peter promptly walked over to the window and peered outside. He knew Tony had said he preferred to stay on the ground, but Peter wasn't willing to go another round with FRIDAY in order to let him have his peace.
So, without waiting any longer, Peter pressed his fingers to his wrist, listened as the web snapped against the glass and pulled taut, and jumped out of the window.
He landed on the ground gracefully, ignoring Tony's wide-eyed confusion and questioning stare. Without stopping to argue, he grabbed Tony beneath the arms and swung them both back up.
Once they were both inside the penthouse, Tony immediately began to yell.
"What – what the hell was that?! I don't – I didn't – I don't have my suit! I could have – you could've dropped –."
A painful headache was now pounding behind Peter's eyes, and he tried to keep his voice calm. "I wouldn't have dropped you, Mister Stark, you were perfectly saf –"
"Are you fucking kidding me?! I wasn't – that was the most unsafe thing I've ever done, and I've done a ton of unsafe shit in my day, kid! You couldn't – I thought we agreed I'd stay on the fucking ground –."
"Yeah, well, I would've let you, too, except your stupid AI was trying to kill me!" Peter shot back. "And the fact that you didn't even tell me which fucking door your suit is in!" Peter was shouting – he hadn't meant to start shouting.
"I told you, it's the one in the bedroom!"
"No, you didn't!" Peter yelled.
"Yes I did!"
"No, you didn –."
Peter blinked. Then blinked again. Memory of Tony's words, stating exactly which door in the bedroom the suit was in, slowly trickled through his mind, and the back of his neck began to grow hot.
He was right. Tony was right. He had told Peter where the suit was; he hadn't just sent him out with no plan whatsoever. He had told him exactly where he needed to go and what he needed to do.
The headache pushed harder behind his eyes and Peter pressed the heels of his palms against them, digging them into the sockets.
He had forgotten. He'd been told what to do, they'd discussed the plan, and… and he'd completely forgotten. As though he'd never been paying attention in the first place.
Peter listened as Tony stayed a moment longer, before his footsteps began, then faded away. He could hear the sounds of buttons being clicked and Tony's low voice issuing commands to the AI as he retrieved the suit and latched it to his arm. A few moments later he returned, but the silence remained.
Peter didn't know when he had sat down, but at one point he'd managed to make it to a chair, and his head fell into his arms on the table. The headache was now hammering against his skull, and he felt as though he were going to puke.
It was all catching up with him. The past few months, getting involved again with the Avengers, seeing Seftis. It was overwhelming him. Because really, what the hell was going on? Here he was, sitting in the penthouse of Tony Stark in the middle of New York, fifty floors above the ground, helping the billionaire retrieve his suit so that they could go and find the missing Avengers and – and this – this was –
This was ridiculous.
He shouldn't be here. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be back in his attic, back on the streets, trying to make and find enough money so that he could leave New York and start a life somewhere else. He was eighteen now. He was legal. He could get a job and do whatever he wanted without any authority looking over his shoulder or breathing down his neck. He could save enough money to eventually rent his own apartment, or even buy his own house, and then he could find a girl and get married and have kids and maybe some dogs and some cats and forget about the Avengers and having ever been Spider-Man and – and have that whole old suburban dream because it was sure as hell more inviting and better than this nightmare that he had fallen into, and – and –
Peter sucked in a breath, curling in on himself as his thoughts ran wild.
He wasn't meant to ever see Tony again, he wasn't meant to ever see the Avengers again. That was a life that had been taken away from him, that he had only just been able to finally let go of, and now it had all come back again except that wasn't the plan. All of this – dealing with Seftis and Ascar and now Tony and all the others – it wasn't supposed to happen, it wasn't supposed to happen it wasn't the plan, so why – why the hell was he here, and – and –
"Whoa, whoa kid – kid – you have to calm down. Do you hear me? You need to calm down, you need to take a breath. Take a breath, kid – you need to take a breath. Peter!"
Hands were on his shoulders, shaking him, and Peter lifted his head, managing to suck in a huge breath as he did.
His vision was blurry as his eyes met Tony's, and he was barely able to see the wary concern and poorly hidden fear that was hiding behind them.
"Kid," Tony said slowly, "you with me? You got – you gotta tell me what's wrong. What's wrong, Pete?"
"Mister Stark," Peter choked out. He fumbled, his hand grabbing Tony's arm and his fingers twisting in his jacket. "Mister Stark, I can't – I can't do this. I'm not – I'm not supposed to be here, I'm not – I'm not supposed to be doing any of this. I can't – I c-can't…."
He could feel Tony's hand on his arm, squeezing it gently, and pain of another kind twisted in Peter's gut, and he never wished more than now that the last two years had never happened.
"Kid – Peter – what are you talking about? What are you not supposed to be doing? I don't understand."
Peter shook his head, trying to get a hold of himself while at the same time explain exactly what he meant. Because Tony needed to know. He needed to know that Peter was a fake, that he was fraud. He needed to know just how weak he really was. How useless he really was.
"I can't – I forgot, Mister Stark. I forgot what you said. I forgot what you said about the suit, I – I totally messed up. I haven't done anything like this in two years, and the first time I do, I –." Peter sucked in a shuddering breath.
"I'm not a hero, Mister Stark. I'm not a hero anymore. I'm not Spider-Man anymore. And I can't – I can't pretend that I am. I can't help you save the others, I can't get the others back, because – because I'm not strong enough. I'm not good enough. Even when I was Spider-Man, I was never good enough. I – I got into so much trouble, and you had to bail me out so many times and – and – I couldn't defeat Seftis before and now we're here, and Steve and the others have been taken, and – and I –."
Peter was choking on his own words and he tried to suck in another breath, but his voice now wouldn't stop shaking, no matter how much he tried to calm himself down.
God, he was having a breakdown in front of TonyStark. He was having a breakdown in front of Iron Man.
He was having a breakdown in front of the man he used to think of as a father.
He wanted to run. He wanted to run like he always ran. Running had become second nature to him, it had become – it had become his way out. It had become his only way of escaping the shit hand he had been dealt, and now –
Suddenly, before Peter even knew what was happening, warm arms were wrapping around him and his chin was being pressed against a shoulder.
Not just a shoulder. Tony's shoulder.
Nothing was said. Tony didn't speak, and neither did Peter. They just sat there, together, neither saying a word as warm tears ran down Peter's face. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.
After a while Tony leaned back, and Peter turned away, not wanting the older man to see his face.
"Look, kid," Tony said quietly. "I know you've been going through a… lot, lately. And I may not remember who you were, who… who Spider-Man was. But I can tell you one thing: if I was the one that recruited you, and you helped us defeat Thanos, then… well… all I can say is, that you're more than just some guy with a few special gifts. It takes a hell of a lot more than that to be someone that would show up on my radar. It takes a hell of a lot more than that to become an Avenger."
Peter said nothing, and after a moment Tony continued, letting out a heavy sigh.
"Kid, I can't get the others back on my own. I need your help. So don't… don't bail out on me now, okay? Don't leave me hanging. Whoever this guy is, we can stop him. I mean, we stopped Thanos. If we could stop him, then we can stop anyone – right?"
Peter wanted to say yes. He wanted to smile and agree and assure Tony that he would have his back no matter what, that he was Spider-Man, that he was strong, that Tony could trust him to find the rest of the Avengers and rescue them. He wanted to do everything he would have once done. He wanted everything to be the same as it was Before.
But it wasn't. Two years had gone by, and no matter how much he wished nothing had changed, the reality was that it had. Everything had changed.
He had changed.
But Tony was right. For now, at least, Peter had to pull up his bootstraps. He had to take a deep breath and finish the fight, no matter how much he wanted to run. Because the others needed someone to save them, and for whatever reason, he and Tony were the only ones left. Them and Bruce.
Peter blinked, then quickly drew back, turning to look at Tony.
But Tony was already ahead of him.
"FRIDAY, call Bruce," he said.
A few moments later Bruce's voice was echoing through the apartment.
"Tony!"
"Hey, Banner."
The two proceeded to talk, Bruce making sure Tony was all right and Tony assuring him that he was just fine and dandy, if not a little frozen. Soon after Pepper's voice came through, panicked and worried, but eventually Tony managed to calm her down as well.
Peter tried to pay attention as everyone discussed what was happening and what they should do next, but the headache that had been assaulting him before had returned in full force, and the events of the past twenty-four hours had finally caught up with him, as exhaustion fell over his body like a heavy blanket. It was everything he could do to keep his eyes open and head off the table.
…
"...eter…. Peter!"
Peter jumped, his eyes snapping back open as he looked up and met Tony's gaze. There was silence in the room, which likely meant the call with Bruce was over. Which meant Peter had fallen asleep. Whoops.
But instead of a reprimand or sarcastic comment, which Peter had half-expected, there was instead only tight lips and a look that Peter couldn't quite make out.
"Come on," the man said, motioning for Peter to stand up. "Let's get you to bed."
"But Mister Stark," Peter objected, "we have to find Mister Rogers and the others, and –."
"It's two-thirty in the morning, kid, and we have no clue where they are. Steve will take care of them. Besides, neither of us can do anything if we're dead on our feet. And I don't know about you, but my feet are still un-thawing and I don't really want to go back out there right now, iron suit or not."
Peter wanted to argue, wanted to keep going, wanted to make sure the others were safe; but with each passing second his eyelids seemed to fall further and further down, and the blanket of exhaustion that had fallen over him had now turned into a dense fog.
So begrudgingly, Peter stood up and followed Tony into one of the bedrooms, where he was all but pushed onto the bed.
"Go to sleep, kid," Tony said. "We'll figure out where to go from here in the morning."
Peter nodded, and watched as Tony gave him a brief smile before exiting the room.
Alone in the dark, Peter was barely able to push his shoes off before he was falling back onto the bed, fast asleep.
When Peter woke up and saw the time, he nearly had a heart-attack.
Ten twenty-five in the morning. It was ten twenty-five and he was still in bed, the Avengers were still captured, he was in Tony Stark's New York penthouse fifty-floors above the ground and – and –
Peter stumbled onto the ground, all but running through the door and into the kitchen.
"Mister Stark! Mister Stark, I'm so sorry, I –."
His eyes landed on Tony, who was sitting at the table in front of a hologram, his folded hands resting above his mouth as he stared at map of Manhattan, looking more tired than Peter had seen in a while. Upon Peter's outburst he looked up, raising a quizzical brow.
Peter stood for a moment, catching his breath, staring at Tony incredulously while wondering why the heck he was still sitting down.
"Parker," Tony said lightly, still looking at him warily, as though he wasn't sure whether the younger man was going to jump on the ceiling or not. "Good morning."
Peter's brows furrowed and he shook his had. "Mister Stark, we need to get going! We need to find the others, and –."
"Hey now, slow down there buckaroo – we're not going anywhere yet. Have you looked outside?"
Frowning, Peter finally looked up and out the window.
It was completely white.
If he had thought last night was a heavy snowfall, then this was a full-on blizzard. All he could see were snowflakes; he couldn't even see the skyscraper that should have been directly across the street in front of him. Walking over and peering out the window, it quickly became clear that while darkness had been replaced with light, the visibility was now near zero.
"There's no way you'd be able to see anything out there," Tony remarked, having gone back to his holo-table. "And even with my suit, I'd probably end up flying into a building or hitting a lamppost or something. And besides, I'd rather keep a low profile at the moment. Surprise is probably the only thing we have on our side, at the moment."
Peter continued to stare out in the white abyss, shaking his head. It was ridiculous. After all this time, after saving Tony and making it to the tower – here they now were, stuck because of a stupid storm. Why was he always getting screwed over by the damn weather?
"Come on, kid," Tony said. "Come get something to eat. I never come here much anymore, so I'm afraid the only thing I have that's edible is cheerios. Bowls are in the cupboard."
Peter felt like doing anything other than sitting down and eating breakfast, but since it was clear that there was nothing they could do at the moment, he reluctantly grabbed a bowl and poured himself some cereal, sitting down at the table.
They sat in silence for a few moments while Peter ate and while Tony stared at the holo-map, as though glaring at it would somehow make it make sense.
Peter struggled between staying silent and asking Tony what he was thinking; he didn't want to interfere, but at the same time he wanted to know what was going on, so that maybe he could help. Finally, the latter won out.
"What are you looking for?" he asked.
"Bruce sent this over. Figures this is where that Seftis guy took the others. It's the last known area where Steve's emergency tracker was traced, before it went dark. I'm having my satellites scan the areas for any signatures of where they may be."
Peter didn't know Steve had hit his emergency button. And that it suddenly had been turned off could only mean that… that….
Peter swallowed and turned his attention back to eating, trying to ignore the guilt that stabbed his chest, trying to ignore the voice that shouted loudly in the back of his mind of how this was all his fault, how if only he'd stayed away like he was supposed to, none of this would have happened, and everyone would still be safe.
They sat in silence for another twenty minutes, Tony's lack of comments testament to how serious the situation was, as well as how little sleep he probably got last night. Again, Peter wished that Tony had woken him up, rather than let him sleep in.
"Hey, Pete?"
Peter blinked, not realising he'd zoned out, and turned back to Tony. "Y-yeah?"
"I was thinking… if you wanted, you could draw me a picture of the suit you used to wear. As Spider-Man, or whatever. In my honest opinion, I think Spider-boy is the better name. Or Spider-ling. Anyway. I have a workshop in the back here, with enough tech that I could make you a suit. Like the one you used to have. If you wanted. Then you could go into the fight with at least some protection."
Peter blinked. Then blinked again.
When Peter didn't immediately answer, Tony quickly continued. "Or I can give you an iron-suit. Whichever you want. Doesn't really matter."
Peter stared at Tony for a long moment, before finally looking away.
He didn't know what to think of the offer. Or what to say. On the one hand, this was an opportunity he thought he would never have again in his life. He never thought he would see the Spider-Man suit again, or have anything to even do with his old persona. Spider-Man was what had gotten him into the whole mess to begin with, and he had long since buried the hatchet and moved on with his life when it came to the superhero.
He had always said that had he still had the suit when he first woke up on the streets all that time ago, that he would have burned it himself. Because he was over it. Because he didn't want it. Because he didn't need it. And the fact that he would never be able to have the suit again made the acceptance all the more easier.
But now, to have the opportunity to see the suit again, to hold it, to wear it, he… well, he….
… he didn't want it.
The more Peter thought about it, the more the idea of putting on that old suit felt like placing his hand in a fire. He immediately recoiled from the idea, and he wanted nothing more to do with it.
"Thank you, Mister Stark, but I… I'm okay. I don't… I don't need it." I don't want it. Please, not yet. I don't want it yet.
If Tony was surprised, he didn't show it. "All right, kid, that's totally fine. Will you take an iron-suit, then?"
Peter thought about it for a second, then shook his head. "No. I… I'm really strong, Mister Stark. And I can stick to walls and shoot webs from my wrists. I'll be fine."
Tony didn't seem half as much accepting of this answer as the first, but he didn't argue. "Fine then, whatever you say. And hey, I've been meaning to ask – what's with all this 'Mister Stark' stuff? I thought we knew each other. I'd think having been my padawan and all, you'd start calling me by my first name."
Peter blinked, taken aback by the sudden switch in the conversation's direction.
"Uh – um, I mean – I just… I just always called you Mister Stark. That's just… that's just what I always did." He fell silent for a moment, as the rest of Tony's words caught up with him, and a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time fell over him, as he realised that Tony had just made a Star Wars reference.
"And… and I was never your padawan," he said quietly, looking away. "If I was, I definitely wouldn't be calling you by your first name, I'd be calling you Master, instead."
"Well hey now, then we can't argue with semantics. If master is what you have to call me, then so be it! I won't argue with you."
Peter quickly realised what he had said, and he spun back round, his eyes wide. "No! No, that's not what I meant! I was just meaning that if we were in Star Wars, that that's what I'd call you. Except – except I'm not your padawan! I'm not – gah – I'm not your apprentice, I was never your apprentice, I was just some stupid kid trying to be important, and –."
Peter stopped as he saw the grin on Tony's face, and he quickly fell silent, his face falling in annoyance.
Tony's own grin faded, and he turned back to the holo-map, pressing his fingers against his temples.
Peter frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you okay?"
"It's nothing, just a headache. Nothing out of the ordinary."
Peter opened his mouth, about to inquire further, but Tony deftly changed the subject.
"Well this is going to take a while," he said, leaning back in his chair, "so why don't we have a chat? See if I can't jog some of my old memory. So, Pete – where are you from? Where'd you grow up? What were you doing before all… this?"
Peter swallowed back a sigh, but since he had nothing better to do, decided to acquiesce to Tony's questions.
"I grew up in Queens. Went to Midtown High."
Tony whistled. "Midtown High, that's not an easy school to get into. You gotta be smart to jump through their hoops."
Peter grimaced. "Yeah, well, I can count to ten, if that's what you're asking."
"And family? Mom? Dad? Grandpas, grandmas?"
"Mom and Dad died when I was eight. Pretty sure my grandparents are all dead, too. Lived with my aunt and uncle. My uncle died when I was fourteen. And my aunt… well. She's around."
"But she doesn't remember who you are."
Peter's silence was answer enough.
Tony turned back to the holo-map, pushing his chair back on its legs. He proceeded to ask a few more questions – what missions he'd been on with the Avengers, how is aunt had handled his gallivanting around the city fighting criminals, what his old friends were like and who his favourite teachers once were. Peter did his best to answer them as quickly and vaguely as he could, because while he knew that Tony was looking for a distraction, he didn't exactly care to remember every detail as he strolled – or ran – down memory lane.
Finally, an hour later, Bruce called.
"Hey, Tony," he said in a halfhearted greeting, and Peter could tell that the research on his end wasn't going great, either.
"Hey Banner," Tony replied. "Have anything new?"
"I hate to say it, but no – I've got nothing. Pepper's going through all her contacts to try and find Osborn, but she's coming up empty."
"Hmm."
"You know, Tony… I hate to say it, but we may have to draw him out. I know it's not the ideal plan, but right now I don't see any other option. You'll have to just get in your suit and fly around, and… I don't know… make a scene? Call him out?"
Tony didn't reply, now biting on the ends of his fingers, eyes practically boring a hole through the map, but Peter knew he wasn't really looking at it.
"Tony?"
Tony continued to not respond, and Peter knew he was trying to find any way out that he could think of. And he was right to be worried – because right now their secrecy was the only thing they had on their side; if they gave that up, they would no longer have the high ground – however small it was.
And the truth was that there was no guaranteeing that Tony going out as Iron Man would do what they hoped. Osborn may not even show himself at all, they may not be able to even see him with all the snow, and they would still have no clue where he was – but he would definitely now know where they were.
And in the end, with Seftis out there too, it was just far too dangerous.
But right now, it seemed like there was no other option.
"Tony, we're running out of time. We need to find Steve and the others, and we need to find them now. The longer they're out there on their own, the more likely this Seftis-guy is going to –."
"Fine," Tony said, falling forwards on his chair, the legs hitting the floor with a clunk. "I'll go out this afternoon. The snow's supposed to ease up then, so someone should be able to see me. We'll just have to hope it's Osborn."
Peter frowned, and his heart slowly began to race.
No. No, this wasn't right. He knew there was no other way, but it still wasn't right. He couldn't let Tony go out there on his own, against both the Goblin and Seftis. If they both chose to attack him, there'd be no way Peter could find them and help him. Against the Goblin he'd be able to win, sure – but Seftis?
"I'm sorry Tony, but this is the fastest way."
"Don't worry Banner, I'll be fine. Just not looking forward to freezing my butt off, again."
No. No, he wouldn't be fine. There had to be another way, there had to be another option –
"Make sure to pack you're long underwear, this time."
Peter's heart was now rushing in his ears and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down, even though the reality was that he had just got him back – he had just got Tony back, even though he wasn't really here, not like he once was, but he was smiling and laughing and throwing sarcastic comments and he was here, they were together, and – and –
"Tony, Pepper's on the line."
"Miss Potts."
"Tony! You can't go out there! Just wait a little longer, I can find someone –."
Think. Think. There had to be something else, there had to be another option, there had –
"Pep, don't worry, it'll be fine –."
"No, Tony, you have no one else –."
Surely there had to be something, and –
Peter's eyes snapped open.
"I know where we should go."
Everyone's voices came to a halt, and Tony looked over at Peter with a raised, but wary brow.
There was silence, as Peter ran the plan through his head, before he finally continued: "Right now we just need to find Norman Osborn, right? That's our best bet to finding the others."
Tony looked at him curiously. "Right…."
"But we don't want to let him know we're still trying to find him, right?"
Tony squinted his eyes. "Right."
"Well, if social-media and satellites can't find him, then there's only one thing left that can!"
Tony shook his head. "I'm not following, kid."
Peter leaned forward. "What's the most annoying person in the entire world for a billionaire celebrity, Mister Stark?"
Tony's brows furrowed, as though he were actually thinking, but before he could even open his mouth, Peter answered for him.
"A tabloid journalist."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "A tabloid journalist?" he repeated.
"Yeah," Peter insisted. He grinned. "And I think I know just where to go."