Peter wakes to a burning pain in his leg, like someone is chewing on his flesh. "Argh!" he shouts, keeping his eyes clenched shut for just a moment as he contemplates the terrifying possibility that his apartment has rats.
"Woah. Easy kid. It's all right."
He flails back as his eyes fly open and Tony Stark—Tony Stark—reaches out and grabs his arm to steady him.
Peter squeezes his eyes shut, as hard as he can, but when he opens them Tony's still there, his metal hand still cold against Peter's arm. Peter starts shivering and cannot stop.
"Damn it, Karen," he mutters.
"It's a good thing I apparently programed your AI not to listen to you, and my AI not to give up easily, cause things were not looking good when I found you, kid."
"I heal fast," he says, wrapping his arms around himself, because apparently is the damning word here. The one that means Tony's only here because of FRIDAY, not because he wants to be.
He's looking right at Peter, but he doesn't see him.
"Not from massive blood loss, I don't think."
But that was okay. He had no one to say goodbye to. The moment the post came out and the bleeding started he knew he couldn't make it stop, and he'd been okay with that.
He'd told Karen Mister Stark wouldn't come. Believed that.
But here he was.
Staring at Peter like he was some unhinged stranger.
Was this better?
He doesn't know.
It's just like going to see Ned and MJ, which he only allows himself to do once a month. Having them look at him without any recognition is like burning off his own skin, a constant, unending agony, because he needs someone to remember him. He needs it. If no one knows him, if no one cares at all, is he even alive? It doesn't feel like it. But he loves them still, not for knowing him but for who they are, so there is something about just being in their presence that he craves. It isn't enough, never enough, but it is something.
He doesn't have anything else.
So, Mister Stark. Looking at him at all. Saving his life. Kind of nice, all things considered.
His standard for nice has a really low bar.
"Probably not from an infection, either, and that pole looks pretty crusty, so if you could let me finish cleaning out that hole in your leg that would probably be advisable."
So that's what woke him up. Peter looks down and sees that Tony has cut away the leg of his suit—which means he's going to have to find the money to buy fabric and the time to sew another one, thanks man. The hole already looks smaller than it did, but Peter thinks about germs and filth multiplying inside him and he nods, so sharp that his whole battered body jerks and he hisses on his exhale. "Yeah. That would—that would be good."
Tony's looking at him weird. With—sympathy? Pity? Veiled disgust? Peter doesn't know. His leg hurts, and the Rhino had gotten in a few goods hits before the fall, and his head's still kind of fuzzy and bleeding out is seeming more and more like the preferable option here.
"Least since you're up I can give you some painkillers."
"They won't work on me," Peter says, and it's a major fallback of his powers. Aspirin might as well be candy for all its medicinal value, and it sucks, especially now that he's on his own and there's no one to sooth the emotional pain either. Broken ribs didn't hurt so bad when he was curled into May's side, or when he talked to MJ on the phone, making her smile with his latest escapades as he downplays the serious parts.
He could synthesize something that would work, but that seems like a bad idea. Just getting the components he needed would be shady. And relief was something he could get hooked on. He's not strong like he used to be.
Relief isn't something he deserves either.
Tony holds up a bottle—a familiar one, without any branding. "FRI says these will. Spider-Kid approved. Got 'em from the cabinet over there."
He wants to cry. But he doesn't let the tears fall. "Well. Yeah. Those—those should work."
Tony shucks off his gloves and taps two pills into his palm. But instead of handing them to Peter he shifts closer and presses a hand to his back to help him sit up. And Peter absolutely freezes, because the gesture is so soft, so kind, and no one has touched him like that since before the spell.
Before there had always been hugs from May and forehead kisses and handshakes with Ned and then real kisses with MJ, and he'd taken all that touch for granted, never realizing it was more sustaining than food, than oxygen.
He misses so many things in the after but this is one of the hardest. And now Tony is here and it's not even a hug but just one touch on his back and this time the tears fall and he can't stop them. Crying comes like a wave, all heat behind his eyes and misery.
Or is it relief?
It seems really bad that he can't tell them apart.
Tony practically has to lift him into a sitting position because Peter is no help at all, and then he hands him the pills and a bottle of water. Peter downs them quickly and then covers his eyes with the back of his hand because he doesn't want to see what Tony makes of his breakdown.
"Thanks," he whispers.
Tony's heart is beating fast, erratic, and his breathing is a little loud, a little labored.
With his eyes closed Peter can also hear a whooshing sound, quiet but constant. He looks that way when he opens his eyes and sees the tubing running from his arm all the way across his bedside and into Tony, blood rushing between them like a river.
"You're giving me your blood?" he says, stupefied.
Tony's lips twist upwards, wry. "Well I'm certainly not taking yours." His hand has slid up Peter's back and now rests between his shoulder blades. "Who knows what would happen. Iron Spider?"
Peter means to laugh but it comes out as a sob, and Tony looks like Peter punched him in the chest. "That was a joke. I'm not going to take your blood."
"You don't know who I am." He knows this, but he has to say it. He's letting himself wonder, pretend, and he needs to face reality.
"You're Peter Parker."
"But you don't remember me," he chokes out.
Tony shakes his head. Tears fall down Peter's cheeks like a rainstorm he can't stop, but he doesn't make a sound.
He knew Tony didn't remember.
But then Tony's hand is brushing the tears away—his human hand, calloused but so warm, and so gentle it breaks Peter into a million pieces and then puts him together just as quickly.
Dusting.
Undusting.
Crazy that half the world understands that metaphor.
"Thing is kid, I know you. Moment I saw you, I knew I had to save you. Forget the blood. I'd give you my other arm if I could get you to stop crying. Care to explain why I feel all that when I don't have a single damn memory of ever seeing you before?"
"Not really." The drugs are hitting hard—they always work fast, between their strength and his metabolism. Everything is getting warm, and hazy, and numb. His eyes drift shut, but he can still feel Tony's hand brushing away the tears that continue to fall. He didn't know Tony cared about him that much even before. The fact that those feelings are still here now—he can't process it. He's gotten too used to expecting disappointment and this is the opposite. This is the type of hope that could break him.
Or maybe put him back together?
Does he even want that anymore?
God yes.
"All right, kiddo. Get some sleep. I'll clean out that leg of yours. But when you wake up I need some answers."
He doesn't answer, he can't. He feels pressure on his forehead and then falls into oblivion.
No more keepin' score now
I just keep you warm (keep you warm)
No more tug of war now
I just know there's more (know there's more)
-Taylor Swift, Long Story Short
The moment the kid passes out again Tony loses his shit.
"What was that, FRIDAY? Oh my god, what was that?"
He feels like he just went ten rounds with Thanos. Like he'd lost, and something worse was about to happen. But also like the moment they were ready to lose again, in the repeat, and then Strange brought all those reinforcements and there was one particular moment of absolute jubilation but he can't quite remember why he felt that way.
"I really advise you finish cleaning Peter's leg. The wound is beginning to heal."
Tony is clearly unfit to be a nurse. His bedside manor is an absolute disaster, and he'd lose all his patients on the table if FRIDAY wasn't so naggy today.
But he puts on a new pair of gloves and manages a few minutes of focus, trying his best to be gentle but so glad the kid isn't whimpering at his ministrations. Hoping the drugs will give him a few hours of comfort at least.
He cleans and bandages Peter's leg and a few minor scrapes FRIDAY points him to, and then when she tells him enough blood has been exchanged he undoes the link between them. When he pulls the needle from his arm he feels like he's lost more than his blood.
He wheels to his feet. The dizziness seems more profound than just blood loss too.
"Is there anything else he needs, Fri?" he asks, but it's an unanswerable question. The kid needs a bath, a hug, a pony for his birthday.
"Peter does not currently require any more medical attention. With his advanced healing he should be out of danger by the time he wakes."
"And when will that be?"
"Those painkillers typically last a few hours."
So Tony paces a bit and spins on his heels and runs his hand through his hair, because he feels like his whole body has rebelled against him. This is how he felt when Morgan had tonsilitis and just wouldn't stop crying and he had to watch the doctors wheel her away into surgery and there wasn't anything he could do.
Pepper had called him a drama queen, after.
Which, fair.
Morgan had been perfectly fine.
Peter isn't fine though.
Except for a few particularly rough patches in his own life, Tony has never seen another soul who seemed less fine.
There are granola bars in the pantry, side by side with M&M's and Doritos, and the fridge is stocked with bottled water, Gatorade, and Mountain Dew, as if the place is ready for both a medical emergency and a sleepover. Tony can't fathom any of this. But his blood sugar's been halved with his blood so he grabs a soda and a candy bar and sits back down at Peter's bedside. He pops the tab and takes a long drink before he says, "So he's my son, right?"
The timing lines up. He knows why there are gaps in his memory so far back. And maybe all the partying and the sleeping around and all the time spent blackout drunk was worth it for this one result. The best mistake he ever made.
Tony stares down at the messy curls, wild with sweat. The shape of his nose, the curve of his cheek. Remembers his brown eyes, absolutely swimming with pain. There's not a resemblance, exactly, but there's not-not a resemblance. And he doesn't know who the kid's mother is, so …
He can see it.
"According to the half dozen paternity test results in my data banks, Peter is not your biological child."
He's not expecting the way that stings. "Why did you run the test six times?"
"Because you kept requesting I do so, Boss. Sometimes at the behest of others. Colonel Rhodes in particular seemed unable to accept that Peter was not your son."
It feels like a loss, almost as strong as the memories. Tony eats half the candy bar in one obnoxiously large bite, and then he reaches out for Peter's hand, trying to rub some warmth back into his skin. "FRI, can you turn up the heat in here? The kid's frozen."
"Peter's core temperature is at an acceptable level," she tells him, but he hears the heat whir on anyway.
Tony wishes he was wearing more than a t-shirt so he had an extra layer he could loan Peter. Instead he has to scavenge through the room. He finds a blanket in the closet, thick and soft and warm, and tucks it around Peter, just like he tucks in Morgan.
He misses being able to hold the kid's hand, even if he's clearly warmer this way.
He really thought this was his son.
"All right, Fri. We got time now. Show me what you've got on Peter."
It starts with a youtube video, of a guy in a sweatsuit stopping a bus with his bare hands. The bus is speeding, and if this was a horror film—or reality—the guy would be instantly flattened. But the guy puts his hand out and when the bus hits him it just stops.
Tony had fallen down the rabbit hole pretty quickly, more videos and then possible illegal research that all led to that first photograph FRIDAY had showed him, of a bright eyed, awkward kid.
Then the kid's on camera, recording some sort of video diary, and Happy is there being his usual Happy self, and Tony thinks the timestamp looks familiar but it isn't until Spider-Man steals Captain America's shield right out from under him that Tony realizes that he brought a twelve year old halfway across the world to help him fight against his super-powered friends.
"Peter was fourteen at the time," FRIDAY interjects over his rambling.
"And that's better?" he snaps.
It's really not.
And then there's an awful moment when the kid goes in for a hug and Tony goes full out Howard, sliding out of his grasp with a quip. He wishes he could go back in time and give the kid the hug he deserved.
Because the Peter in that video is a puppy.
The Peter lying right beside him is a dog who's grown up on the streets, watched all his littermates starve and now expects every person to kick him in the face.
And it hurts, like someone pulling every bone from his body one by one. His cells are absolutely exploding. Something has gone wrong with the universe, because Peter was supposed to be that puppy child forever.
Soon as the kid wakes up he's giving him that hug.
He understands why he asked FRIDAY to run so many damn paternity tests.
He kind of wants to ask her to run one right now.
Clearly this is his fault though.
Clearly.
The kid needed affection and Tony was aloof and then something broke Peter into a million pieces.
Or someone.
If Tony did this he will never forgive himself.
Is this why he can't remember? Did he block it out, because he'd traumatized himself with his failure?
FRIDAY keeps playing video clips and audio files. There are rough patches—times he does sound too much like Howard, a tough love incident that almost leaves the kid dead in his sweatsuit but somehow results in him saving Tony's ass by single-handedly bringing down a plane, and then rescuing the guy who'd been trying to kill him for the past half hour.
"It was crazy, Mister Stark," Peter says some time later, where they're working in his lab together. "I showed up at Liz's door and her dad was the Vulture. Worst first date ever! Can you beat that?"
The kid is a genius. Tony prefers to work alone. Only Brucie has ever been able to keep up with him, but they have different specialties, and that one time they collaborated was an unmitigated disaster. But Peter is sharp, and their interests align, and Tony watches himself let the kid more and more into his life. The internship becomes more than just a cover for Peter's crime-fighting. Tony's lab stops being the place he goes to hide and spiral and becomes a place for banter and eye-rolling and laughter and genuine discovery—and a few far smaller-scale disasters.
But then Peter's in his penthouse too, talking through movies and eating abominable toppings on pizzas like it isn't weird for a grown man to be hanging out with an un-related teenager like he's known him all his life.
It isn't weird.
Tony watches himself fall in love with the kid, letting his defenses fall brick by brick. He feels each emotion ten-fold, but he still has no recollection of their time together beyond what FRIDAY has shown him. No matter how he squints and stares and listens, he doesn't know what happens next.
"M'er Stark."
Tony jerks and shifts his focus, because Peter is awake and blinking at him sleepily, and Tony has long decided what he needed to do when this moment arrived. He tells Friday to pause. Then he surges forward and pulls Peter into his arms.
He thinks of how Morgan likes to be held, with a constant pressure and a soothing hand carding through her hair. Peter's practically grown, and the blanket's in the way, but Tony is persistent, and he wraps himself around the kid the best he can, remembering how he'd gone to pieces at just one touch to his back. All of Tony's dad synapses are firing "Protect, protect, protect" and so he tries and tries and tries.
The kid goes absolutely boneless in his arms. Tony pulls him even closer, his metal hand running up and down his back and the other stroking through his hair, rubbing what he hopes are soothing circles across his scalp.
"I got you, Pete. You're all right," he promises over and over, even though he still doesn't know what is wrong.
But the kid's every breath is a sob. "I'm sorry, sir," he chokes. "I messed up. I messed up so bad. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please."
And Tony's not there anymore. He's left Queens behind. Left Earth. The sky is red. The air is thick with dust. And Peter is in his arms—in an Iron Spider suit—even paler than he is right now. "I don't know what's happening." God, Tony can relate. "I don't wanna go. I don't wanna go. Sir, please, I don't wanna go," he begs and then he's fading, crumbling, and the last words on his lips before they drift away are, "I'm sorry."
And nothing is the same after that. Nothing is ever the same again until he invents time travel just to bring this kid back, because the world isn't right without Peter Benjamin Parker.
Then the memories all slot back into place, a golden flood of laughter and mistakes and love. And Tony feels the tears on his own cheeks, back in Queens again, and he turns his head and presses a kiss to the kid's temple. "Don't apologize to me, kid. Don't. You know my heart can't handle that."
The kid tenses. Pulls back. Tony doesn't want to let him out of his grasp, but he's too strong, even now.
"Yeah," he stammers, breathing deep to clear his throat. "Yeah, I know that. How do you know that?"
And Tony smiles, the first smile he's meant in weeks, and tips forward so his forehead presses against Peter's. "Cause every memory of you just crashed into me like a freight train."
"You remember me?" He can hear the hope in Peter's voice and that's what Tony needs. What Peter needs. This child used to be a creature of such boundless hope.
"I remember you. I remember you, Underoos. Come here a sec. Oh god, come here."
It's frankly an embarrassing amount of hugging and crying, but Tony does not give a damn. He feels whole again, and everything will be fine. His family. His marriage. His sobriety. Even this poor, wounded, trembling child.
Especially this poor, wounded, trembling child.
He still doesn't really know what the hell is going on.
But they'll figure it out. They always do.
They're a damn good team.