I

by Lazydaily

I

5. Chapter 5

For the first couple days Peter mostly sleeps. The guest room at the lake house is warm and comfortable and quiet, and Peter finds all these things both foreign and amazing. For months all he's had is a mattress that feels like wooden slats and one thin sheet that he had to sacrifice to save his own life. A broken heater he doesn't have the money to fix. Noisy neighbors on all sides who like to argue and have sex and blare the TV at all hours of the day and night so that he's constantly listening to someone else's life.

This bed has so many pillows and blankets that it's like sleeping inside a cloud. The temperature is warm, just the way he likes it. And even though he should hear Morgan's squealing and chatter he can't distinguish any sounds from outside when the door is closed. It makes him wonder why Tony would bother soundproofing a guestroom, unless that's just how rich people live. Peter's used to thin walls that even normal people can hear through.

When he does emerge there is so much food, warm and homemade and nourishing, pushed his way by both Mister and Mrs. Stark, like he's a piglet that needs fattening before the slaughter. Except they always look at him so kindly when he comes out of his room. He doesn't know what Tony's told Pepper—couldn't hear through the walls even though he should have—but she is all smiles and soft reassurances. Sometimes she rests her hand on his shoulder for just a few seconds when he sits down at the kitchen table, or absently brushes a curl away from his forehead. Never overdoing it. Just always present. Kind.

Morgan on the other hand is the Princess of Overdoing It, a trait she surely gets from her father. The first time Peter ventures into the living room Morgan spots him immediately. She abandons her spray of crayons and barrels into his legs. "Petey, you're awake!" she whisper-screams, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt until he gets the hint and picks her up.

He'd met Morgan twice before. Once at Tony's funeral, which he'd thought had been real because no one had told him about the coma yet. Once when he'd come to visit after Tony woke up. Both times the girl had been subdued, clutching one of her parents' hands. Peter knew how confusing grief was at a young age. Not that it got much easier once you were older. But now that her dad had been back for months, Peter can see why Happy called her a monster on the phone.

Peter has a weird moment where he wonders if he's missing memories too, because Morgan acts like she's known him all her life. And Peter has no experience with kids, except occasionally finding their lost pets or taking selfies with them in the park when he's in a suit. But he rests her against his hip like they have done this before, and when she starts bossing him around he just goes with it. He's not even annoyed taking orders from a six-year-old. There is something so Tony about her that is fascinating. But there's also quite a bit of Pepper. Peter likes watching her closely and trying to trace her behavior to her parents, to figure out which parts come from who. She seems way too smart for her age and she's going to be an absolute force when she's older, but she still likes unicorns and dinosaurs and Disney princesses and Paw Patrol.

She seems to genuinely like him too, even though she doesn't know him, and maybe it's a little pathetic but Peter likes the attention. He hasn't really let anyone see him since the spell, not wanting to go through the effort of trying to forge new bonds when it'll only end in disaster for his new friends. But Morgan doesn't give him a choice, and when he sleeps too long she breaks into his bedroom and jumps on his bed until he wakes up and pulls her into a tickle fight, so he just kind of goes with it because he doesn't know how to resist.

Truth be told, he's always wanted a younger sibling. So he watches Youtube videos to teach himself how to braid hair and paint nails and he plays the princess at her tea parties when she wants to be the dragonslayer and he lets her clamber into his lap and snuggle against his chest whenever she wants to watch a movie.

Because she's six, that movie is usually Frozen II, because she's in love with Olaf and Elsa and the reindeer. Peter had watched the first Frozen with May what feels like ages ago. Frozen II had come out during the Blip, so he's never seen it. It all starts harmless enough, and Olaf is funny, and Morgan keeps throwing popcorn in his face and giggling like a fiend whenever he gets too engrossed.

And then Anna and Elsa find their parents' ship, and something cracks in Peter like ice, because he thinks of a plane crash and that terrible, futile hope he sees in those sisters that maybe it was a mistake, maybe his parents were still alive and stranded somewhere and they'd come back someday, when he most needed it, to save the day and love him again. He keeps the tears at bay because he's had so many months of practice, but he feels ice swirling in his chest, stinging in his eyes like a blizzard, freezing him from the inside out.

And then Elsa dies. And Peter loses it.

Anna starts singing a song that absolutely throbs with grief, and Peter can't stop the sobs that tear from his throat. He knows exactly how she feels.

But then Tony is saying, "Hon, we need to turn this off," and Morgan squeals in protest and Peter didn't even realize Tony was in the room. The screen freezes and goes dark, and Morgan wails, and it isn't any better not to know what happens next, the story ended in that moment of absolute despair. That's not supposed to be where the story ends.

"It's okay," he says. "We can finish."

Tony looks at him too long, with a look that must be pity. "Are you absolutely sure?" he asks.

"Yeah," Peter says, swiping at his eyes. "I wanna see what happens."

Tony restarts the movie. But he also sits down right next to Peter, stretching his legs out on the ottoman and putting a pillow in his lap and then easing Peter down until he's cradled and comfortable. One hand stays on his head, running almost absently through his hair. Peter ought to protest that Mister Stark is treating him like a housecat but all the tension drains from his body and most of the pain leeches out of his heart so he keeps quiet. It's the sort of thing May would have done when he was upset.

Sometime, in all those years Peter was blipped, Mister Stark had become such a dad.

And he's not Peter's dad and Peter knows that but it's still kinda nice to pretend. This is just temporary, a transition period, and Peter knows that full well. Soon enough reality will come calling. Maybe that's why he sleeps so much and spends most of his waking hours with a six-year-old who doesn't yet know how cruel life can be. He has so many responsibilities and he's going to have to face them soon but in this moment he just doesn't have to and it's nice.

He's letting May down, but he kind of thinks he needs this. So that he can eventually pick himself back up and be the kind of person she told him to be.

And the damn song—well. Isn't it the story of his life? Maybe it would have helped to have heard it before today, because Anna's doing exactly what's he's tried for all these endless lonely months.

You are lost, hope is gone

But you must go on

And do the next right thing

The world still needs Spider-Man, even if they don't need Peter Parker. There are people he can help and save and if he does that then May will live on. All she stood for will continue. He understands what Happy was saying, that desperate fear that no one matters after they're gone, but he won't let that be true.

I won't look too far ahead

It's too much for me to take

But break it down to this next breath, this next step

This next choice is one that I can make

He'll just keep choosing to wake up every morning. Pick himself up after every fight. Not bleed out in a construction zone one night, no matter how much it hurts after.

He can do this. He fought aliens. He pushed a building off himself once.

In at least two other multiverses there are versions of him who lost a lot, and managed to keep going.

If they can do it so can he.

Elsa's alive. Because of course she is. This is Disney. And Peter can't help being slightly jealous of Anna, because it turns out she hasn't lost anything new, and by the end of the movie she has a sister and a fiancé and a kingdom to boot. And Peter is still alone.

But he hates himself for that. He's never been bitter. Never been one to wish misery on others, even fictional characters, just to make himself feel better. May wouldn't like this side of him.

Morgan starts dancing as the credits roll, and asks Tony to play it again.

"Actually Morguna, could you go help Mom in the kitchen? I need to talk to your brother for a sec."

Morgan wheels on her father and says, "Fine, Dad" with such abundant sass that Peter can't help but chuckle, even though his brain short-circuited on the word brother, which is surely something he imagined and not what Tony actually said. He pulls himself up from Tony's lap and situates a respectable distance away at the end of the couch.

Tony rolls his eyes as soon as Morgan skips out the door, exhaling a chuckle of his own. "That girl is going to turn me completely grey before she's a teenager, I'm sure of it."

"She's a handful all right. But she's wonderful."

Tony's grin softens. There's a certain way he looks at Morgan, or looks when he even talks about Morgan, like he's just absolutely delighted at her very existence. What Peter can't quite figure out is how the look changes when Tony sees Peter and Morgan together. It seems even softer, more fond, but that can't be right, and Peter doesn't understand. But Morgan is gone, and Tony is looking at Peter now with that same look. "It's really good to see the two of you get along."

Peter just kind of blushes and doesn't say anything.

"I am sorry about that damned movie though. I shouldn't have let her put it on, but she's like a bull in a china shop. I've seen it five hundred times. And you are not the first one in this household to cry when things gets dark, so there's no shame in that. That movie wrecked me when I was missing you."

"It's okay," Peter says.

But Tony's face falls, and so does Peter's stomach. "Is it really?" Tony breathes heavily, and it's like he exhales every bit of happiness Peter has managed to store up in the past week. This is it. The moment he's been dreading. "I think we need to talk. I've been putting it off, letting you level out a bit, but I'm the adult so I guess I should start the conversation."

The truth is Peter and Tony have barely talked since the Medbay. There had been lighthearted dinner conversations and exchanges about what to watch on Netflix, but nothing substantial. Nothing beyond what one would say to a houseguest. Peter figures that Tony's embarrassed about all the hugging and crying that night he got his memories back. Peter's certainly embarrassed about all the hugging and crying.

He had been an absolute wreck that night, and when Tony had saved him and touched him and then remembered he'd barely been able to do a thing besides clutch on to him and blubber like a child. Looking back he can try to blame hunger or blood loss or shock, but the truth is it was the damn loneliness. He probably would have come undone if anyone knew his name. But to have Tony – and Happy – back for one night, holding him kindly and pretending that they cared. It was like a fairy godmother had granted him a wish and he had been so relieved he had just absolutely lost it.

It's mortifying now though, because neither Tony nor Happy are exactly tactile people. And Peter knows Tony's let him stay so long out of pity. Clearly he's thinking that this child who couldn't look at him without bawling wasn't capable of living alone. And Peter is capable—he was capable—this was all just a little—setback.

A warm, comfortable, wonderful setback that he will cherish the memory of for the rest of his sad friendless life.

But Peter knows it's time to go. He feels like his batteries have been recharged, metaphorically speaking. He's gained a couple of pounds, and he's watched Pepper in the kitchen enough to pick up a few tricks to make his food less tasteless, even if he can't afford fancy ingredients.

And even once he leaves there will be two people in the world who know more than just his name. He bets Tony will let him text him every once in a while, as long as he doesn't overdo it. Maybe they can even talk on the phone. Just once a month. Or every other month. Just so he can hear a friendly voice. And maybe he and Happy can go to dinner once in a while.

"It's time for me to go back, right? It's for the best anyway. My rent's due and I have to get back to studying and people are probably missing Spider-Man."

"Pete, I love you, but that's the dumbest thing I have ever heard you say."

There's a lot in that sentence to unpack, but Peter's brain gets stuck on those first four words. "You love me?" he echoes, waiting for Tony to correct him, or retract the words, or laugh it off as some joke Peter doesn't understand, or scold him for his mind's outrageous lie.

He does not expect Tony to say, "Damn right I do," and reach out to still the hand that he's running repeatedly around the edge of the couch cushion.

"Oh," Peter squeaks. And then sometime later, "Huh."

And Tony's still looking at him weird, all soft and fond. "I never told you that, huh?"

"No." Peter shakes his head like the hinge in his neck is broken. Shakes and shakes and cannot stop. "Why would you?"

"Because it's true. And apparently you needed to hear it a long time ago."

Peter has lost the entire thread of this conversation. He feels more confused that when Tony showed up to save his life. Did he fall off the couch when he was watching the movie and knock himself in the head?

Did he die from that wound in his leg after all, and this is just what comes after?

He doesn't deserve an afterlife this kind.

Tony sighs, and Peter doesn't like that he is sad, but he has no comforting or coherent words to offer.

"I'm sorry. When I saw you on that battlefield, alive again and right in front of me—suddenly I had all these plans. I was going to introduce you to Morgan and be a proper mentor figure and apologize for not realizing how important you were to me until you were gone. I was going to be better for you, because I'd spent five years agonizing over how I hadn't been enough when you were alive. But then I woke up from that coma and you were back to your own life and I just started to think that I had propped this all up in my head, cause I have the tendency to do that and the Blip was a real dark time for most of us. I figured you meant more to me than I meant to you. Which, fair. Back when you knew me I was pretty much a walking disaster, and you were this big-hearted super powered genius that surprisingly seemed to have all his shit together. I got comfortable and complacent and I wasn't there when you needed me. Your whole damn life fell apart and it was largely my fault. And that blame—it doesn't change anything. It doesn't make it better. But I should have been there for you. I should have told you I was there. I can't fix that but I'm here, now."

Peter just stares. His neurons aren't firing right. He can't possibly have heard what he thinks he just heard.

"Think you can say something, bud? Cause I'm not usually one for big sappy speeches and I'm feeling a little vulnerable here."

"I can take care of myself." And Peter wants to smack himself in the face, because why oh why were those the first words out of his mouth? Why is he running in the other direction when everything Tony just said is exactly what he wants to hear?

Expect disappointment and you'll never be disappointed.

But that has never been his philosophy.

"I'm not saying that you can't." Tony sounds a little agonized, but also determined. He grabs Peter's other hand and slides a little closer. "I'm saying you shouldn't have to. Doesn't matter if you're seventeen. Eighteen. Thirty-five. Everyone's supposed to have people to look out for them. And you do have people now. Me. That's what I'm saying. I want to help you. Let me help you. Please."

There's something in Peter that says he should refuse, but he's not quite sure why, and the voice is weaker than the warmth that's blossoming in his chest, an all-encompassing relief that's stealing over him at the thought of having someone to lean on again. Someone who cares.

"So you're not kicking me out?" he warbles.

Tony barks out a laugh. "We can start with that, yeah. I am definitely not kicking you out. But maybe you could pay your first month rent with a hug? Cause it's killing me watching you shake like that."

Peter hadn't even realized he was shaking. But it's true. His whole body's trembling. And it's odd, for Mister Stark to ask for a hug when before the Blip that had been a rare occurrence, and always something Peter initiated.

But a hug sounds really good right about now. So Peter slides the rest of the way towards Tony and lets him wrap his arms around him. There's no crying tonight. No catharsis. Back in that medical room it had felt like Tony's arms were the only thing holding him together. But this is comfortable like a brand-new hoodie, still all fuzzy inside, warm and comforting. Peter isn't breaking apart.

Maybe he's knitting back together?

It doesn't last forever. Tony pulls away, and he's got that lab-look, where he's about to ramble off half a dozen things they need to do together. Peter's always found that exciting. He's never quite gotten over the rush of Iron Man including him in his plans.

"So, I've been thinking. You can take all the time that you need here, but you're missing class and you'll probably want to get back to the city. I've still got the Penthouse, so we can stay there. Morgan's got about six weeks left of school, and then she and Pep can join us and we'll spend the summer in the city before you go off to MIT."

He should want to go back to the city, because Spider-Man. There's not exactly a lot of crime in the middle of nowhere. Maybe he could save a squirrel or a rabbit from their natural predators. But he doesn't understand the rush. The life Tony described vanished with everyone's memories.

"I don't want you to be separated from Morgan."

"We'll figure it out. She survived eight months of me being unconscious. I think she can handle a couple weeks of video calls and weekends in the city."

"I don't go to Midtown anymore. And I'm not going to MIT."

He tries to hide it, but Peter sees Tony's disappointment. His protégé, the prince of wasted potential. "Why not?"

"The spell wiped out all of my records. Birth certificate. Social Security number. Scholarship account. Midtown forget I'd been enrolled. I didn't have what I needed to re-apply, and I couldn't pay for it anyway. Same with MIT."

"God, Pete."

"It's okay." Peter shrugs. It's not, but he's told himself this so often the words are instinctive. "I've been studying to take the GED. I figured I'd take a gap year and then see where I can get a scholarship."

"I can fix this. Pepper can get to work on all the records, but I'm sure I can throw enough money at Midtown to get you enrolled, stat, no questions asked. And I've got some favors I can call in to MIT. And that's not even cheating. You would have gotten in on your own merits if Beck hadn't ruined it."

That's too—easy. Peter had dug and dug and researched and cried over the fact that not only was his memory erased but his very existence, and Tony is waving it off like it isn't a problem.

Would it have been better, if he'd been able to go back to Midtown, to walk invisible among all the people who days earlier had be absolutely fascinated by his existence? Every day might have felt like dying, but maybe he could have truly started again.

Would he and Ned have been friends again, even without the memories?

Would he and MJ have been more?

"You can't just do that."

"I know, I know. It really isn't fair. Capitalism's flawed. Believe me, I have a new appreciation for poverty in NYC. But I have the resources to help you out, and you damn well better believe I'm going to do it.

"But you can't call anyone at MIT. You're supposed to be dead."

"Ah." Tony pulls back a bit, looking sheepish. "About that." He runs a hand through his hair. Peter imagines, if they were in public, that now was the moment he'd slip on a pair of sunglasses. "I've been talking to Pep, and we agreed that it's time we tell the public about my miraculous recovery. It started out we just needed a little time without all the media attention. But it's gone on too long. I can't spend the rest of my life confined to this house. That's not the best way for me to be a father. To Morgan or to you."

"To me?" Peter stammers.

"Yeah. To you." Tony says it like a foregone conclusion. Like it's easy. He rests a hand on Peter's shoulder and then he moves on.

"So you'll go back to Midtown?"

But the prospect makes his stomach squirm. "What's the point? The year's almost over. I might as well just take the GED. We can talk about MIT, though."

"The point is this is your senior year. Prom. Graduation. These are important milestones that you'll want to look back on some day."

But he can't imagine going to prom now. What is he going to do, stand alone in a corner? Flash would have a field day with that.

"I'm not going to enjoy them anyway."

"You would if we got your friends' memories back."

Peter scrambles off the couch, crossing his arms, because joy rises up in him for just a second before he squashes it back down. "We can't do that!"

"We could," Tony says calmly. "We know all the memories are still in there, and apparently trauma's the trigger. That's kinda awkward, but presumably Ned and MJ have something sad you can bond over."

Peter lets himself imagine it, just for a second. Prom, with MJ on his arm, looking absolutely stunning, and Ned, dapper in a suit and his favorite hat. All of them acting too cool for this. And all of them grateful for this moment of normalcy. Probably it would be fine. Maybe some big bad would drop in and Peter would have to run off, but he'd kiss MJ and tell her he'd call her later.

He wants that. Wants it so bad.

It's because he wants it that he knows that he can't.

"They're better this way," Peter says. "They're safer. They have normal lives now. Ones that I can't ruin."

"I know you think you're being selfless here. But I'm going to tell you something, Pete. And this isn't a guilt trip. This is just the truth. Ned and MJ may be arguably 'safer'"—Tony throws up air quotes—"without you in their lives. But they aren't better off. They aren't happier."

"How can you know that?"

"Because I wasn't." There's something in Tony's voice that makes Peter just stop. "I didn't remember you. Not at all. But there was a Peter Parker sized hole in my life where those memories were supposed to be. All the feelings were still there, but I didn't know who they were supposed to be attached to. I was mourning the loss of someone I didn't know. I thought I was losing my mind. I asked Rhodey if I had been drinking. Christ, I asked Pep if she'd had a miscarriage, because I felt like I'd lost a child. I was not okay until I remembered you again. And if Ned and MJ care about you even half as much as I do then you aren't doing any favors staying away from them. They need you just as much as you need them."

"You mean all this time they've been missing me and not knowing why?" The thought is like a knife to his gut. MJ didn't like getting close to people on principle. The last thing she needed was some lingering melancholy, confirming every vein of pessimism. And Ned. Would he know that he was supposed to have a best friend by his side through all of adolescence, or would he think that he had always been alone?

"Hey, I said no guilt. Harry Potter apparently took no time to explain how the hell his magic worked. But you owe it to them to be honest. And if they think you're too dangerous to be around they should be allowed to make that choice for themselves."

Peter sinks back onto the couch so he doesn't sink to his knees. "Can it really be that easy?" he whispers. The thought of having them back—Ned and MJ and graduation and MIT—like the spell never happened—it's so much. He'd given up on these things so long ago. But if Tony's right. If they know something's missing. Well then he has to tell them. They aren't supposed to suffer on his account. That's the whole point.

"I don't know that I'd call any of this easy, kiddo. But we can make it happen. You deserve it."

"But I don't." And that was the rub. Maybe Ned and MJ deserved to know what they were missing, but he doesn't deserve them. Not when there is one thing even reversing the spell wouldn't fix. "Not after what happened to May."

"You gotta let that go, kid."

"Let that go! How am I supposed to let that go? She's dead because of me! Because I made a stupid, selfish request of Doctor Strange, and I messed up his spell, and then I trusted the Green Goblin. I deserve to be alone. I can't go back to Midtown, and I can't go to MIT. I just need to focus on Spider-Man and helping as many people as I can."

He can't even see Tony through his tears. It's the rage that surprises him. How had he forgotten that this was his fault? How had he ever contemplated moving on?

"Do you think this is what May would have wanted?" Tony's voice is quiet, like he didn't rise to the bait. It makes Peter pause, and the anger fades just a little.

"May wanted me to take responsibility for the messes I made. With great power comes great responsibility. That's what she said, right before she—" He breaks off, because even now he can't bring himself to say it. "I have these powers so I can help people. That's what I need to focus on. Spider-Man. Not Peter Parker. Not prom. Not friends. Not college. Not hiding away here. Just protecting the neighborhood. Making sure May's legacy lives on. Because I couldn't protect her. And that's all that's left."

"May Parker was a damn fine woman. Had to be, to raise you. You were giving me that responsibility spiel the first time I met you, and I was impressed even then. And I'm sorry you lost her. So sorry. But I think you're letting grief cloud your judgement here. Because May loved her nephew. Peter. Not Spider-Man. And as much as she wanted you to use your powers for good I know she didn't want you to give up your life to become a crime-fighting machine. She would want you to hold on to the people who loved you. She would want you to graduate. Go to college. Get married. Start a family someday. Live. Not stay stuck in the memory of her death, punishing yourself for the rest of your life. It doesn't matter what mistakes you did or didn't make. She'd want you to move past them."

"I don't know how to do that," he whispers. There is something enticing in Mister Stark's words. He cannot imagine May looking at his crappy apartment and being pleased with where he's ended up. She would have loved taking pictures of him and MJ right before prom. Holding up an embarrassing sign at graduation. Making a scene when she and Tony dropped him off at MIT. All those things she would have loved when she was alive, would she really have begrudged him after she was gone?

Of course not.

And yet.

He doesn't know how to balance Spider-Man and Peter Parker. Dr. Strange said that was his problem, and one dead aunt and one reality-altering memory spell seem to prove the sorcerer right. He knows how to be Spider-Man. He doesn't know how to be Peter Parker anymore.

But then Tony's hand lands on his shoulder, and he pulls him gently into his side.

Tony's voice rumbles through Peter's chest. "Grief—it's like a roadtrip no one wants to take. It goes on way too long and there's high points and low points. But it's always better when you've got someone to take the trip with you. To hold the map and remind you when you need to stop for gas. So let me be your co-pilot."

"You don't have to do that." And again he's pushing Tony away, when really he just wants to hold on. What is wrong with him?

"Did you know May asked me to take care of you if anything happened to her?"

"What?" Peter pulls away because he needs to look Mister Stark in the face to figure out how he feels about that bombshell.

But Mister Stark doesn't look freaked out.

Peter is so freaked out.

"It was years ago. Before the Blip. I was pretty sure May hated me, so it was the last thing I ever expected her to ask. But she said I was the only one she trusted to look after you, because I understood what you were going through, and all the obstacles you'd face. And I told her I'd make a terrible guardian and I thought that would be that. But you know what she told me?"

Peter shakes his head, hoping Tony won't notice the silent tears. "No."

"She said no one knows how to be a parent until they become a parent. And that's pretty good advice for most things, I think. I was terrified when she showed me that document. But years later, when I stumbled off that spaceship, still reeling from how I'd failed you, Pepper told me she was pregnant with Morgan. And I didn't lose it, like she expected me to. Because I thought about you, and how I'd fallen in love without ever meaning to, and even though sometimes I did mess up, and was like Howard, that didn't mean I had to repeat those mistakes. I could be better. You made me better. For Morgan. And it's time that I return the favor."

"What are you saying?"

"You're not alone. May never wanted you to be alone. And starting today, starting right now, you are part of this family. I dunno how long it's going to take to draw up the paperwork, since you don't exist and I'm legally dead, but none of that matters. This is what May wanted for you. And this is what I want." There's a hand rubbing up and down his back, so gentle Peter could cry. "Do you think you could want that too?"

It is everything he could possibly want, besides getting May back, but he can't force the words through his throat. Can't say anything at all. And the seconds tick by as this last chance at happiness slips away.

But Tony just keeps rubbing his back. "It's okay that you're not okay right now. All the hell you've been through. Healing's a process, and it's not very fun. Wish I wasn't speaking from experience, but I am."

"I do want this," Peter whispers. And some of the pressure in his chest lifts. He can breathe just a little deeper. "I need you."

Tony presses a kiss to his forehead. And Peter feels … like Morgan. Like a kid safe in his father's arms. "I've always worried that you're too much like me. Brilliant. Orphaned. Scared me off a bit in the beginning. That's where that self-righteous "I wanted you to be better' speech came from. But I have never been so terrified as when I found you passed out in your own blood. And the way you looked at me when you woke up." Tony pauses and pulls him just a little closer, and Peter feels him shudder. Hears his heartrate quicken. "I know what loneliness can do to a person, and I was never as alone as you've been these past months. I don't want you to make the mistakes that I did. I wasted a lot of years destroying myself. I won't let you do the same. I will do everything within my power to make this better. If there is anything you need, all you have to do is ask. A therapist. A tutor. A life coach. Anything. I am not going to let you drift, and I am not going to let you sink. You, Peter Parker, were made to soar."

It is so much, and he is still so tired, and he doesn't know how to process any of it. There is something about this that feels too easy. Part of him that still thinks he deserves to be back in that room, utterly alone.

But most of him knows that this is good. He thinks May would be proud of them both. He helped Tony. Now Tony would help him.

"I love you too," he whispers into Tony's neck. And finally, finally, he lets himself rest.