"Where is he?!" Tony said for the hundredth time. He'd been pacing back and forth for so long, he was probably wearing a trail into the floor. "Damn Cat turning off his phone. Where is he?"
"I still can't get ahold of Strange," Bruce piped up, setting his phone down.
"Fucking asshat always disappearing when we need him."
"That's not really fair, Tony. He's been working hard to find a cur-"
"I know!" Tony bit, then just as quickly felt bad. He didn't usually give a rat's ass when he snipped at people, but he couldn't stand seeing that damn sad look Bruce always got. "Sorry. I know. I know. I just- I need to know the kid is ok and the only way I can find him is with Strange's stupid magical stupid portal."
"I still can't believe Peter knows the Blackcat."
"Yeah, he knows her alright."
"Wha- what does that mean?"
"Nothing."
"It means they're sleeping together," Rhodey clarified, arms crossed.
The man had shown up nearing the end of the fight - not that it had lasted that long anyway. With Peter taking that vial and then disappearing, the mutants had taken off pretty quick. No one was injured too badly on either side. Tony had gotten in a few good hits, but he'd also taken a few - especially from that damn Magneto character. How the hell was he even supposed to fight that guy? Tony's whole gimmick was a metal suit.
"They-?! Oh."
Tony's phone dinged and the man all but tackled the device, nearly crushing it. Rhodey raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything.
It was a text from Peter's number.
"Come find me." Attached to the message was an emoji of a black cat and a pin for his location.
"Fucking hell." Tony grumbled and called his suit to construct, flying right through a window and ignoring the cries of surprise behind him.
Peter was close, only a few buildings away. Tony landed at the foot of the building the text said Peter was at. He wasn't in the alleys around it, or on a bench outside, and he wasn't in the lobby or surrounding shops. So where the fuck…?
"Perhaps she took him to the roof?"
"Maybe." Taking his AI's suggestion, he flew up to the top. It was a tall building, if the kid was up there, he was probably freaking out.
The roof was sloped and didn't have access from inside or through a fire-escape. It wasn't looking too promising. Something caught his eyes: a plushy of a black cat with purple eyes glinting in the sunlight. Tony frowned and scanned it. It wasn't a bomb. He approached it. Much to his surprise, the roof fell off into a lower section, about 7 feet down that had been hidden by the slopes on either side of it. Tony flew down. It was a medium-sized landing with walls on two sides of it and a curved ledge taking up the rest. In total, it probably had a square footage of about 33 feet give or take. Against the inner wall, there was an awning under which there was some furniture.
More importantly, there was a boy passed out on the couch. He was on his stomach and had one arm slung over the side, dangling. His face was directed outwards and pressed into a pillow leaning against the arm of the couch. He was snoring.
"PETER!"
The kid jerked awake with a start. He shot up, blinking wildly as his head swivelled in alarm. After a moment, he spotted Tony and the panic vanished. He relaxed back into the couch. "Oh hey, Mr. Stark, how's it going?" His eyes drifted shut.
"You're alright, oh thanks god! Are you hurt?!" Tony hurriedly knelt by his side, suit retracting so he could inspect him. "Sit up and lemme look at you."
Peter groaned in protest but did as he was told. He murmured something about sleep with half shut eyes. "I'm alright. I'm fine…" His eyes snapped wide open. "WAIT! Where-?! Oh. Right. Felicia- wait OH GOD MR. STARK IS EVERYONE OK?!"
"Everyone's fine, it's fine." He sat back, rubbing his forehead. "Please tell me you have the vial."
"Right! Yes-" he dug a hand into his pocket. Then he dug a hand into his other pocket. Then he stood up and checked his back pockets. "Uh…"
Tony had to bite his tongue hard enough to taste blood as mad-panic flared in his stomach. They were going to have to start from scratch. It wouldn't be possible to make a cure in time. Peter - he was…
"OH THANK GOD!" Peter's hands held a vial. He had a brown paper bag in his other hand which had a sticky note on it saying 'for my love~'. "Here."
He gave it to Tony, who immediately put it into a protective cooling container. The man hadn't noticed his chest had been tightening until he was suddenly able to take a breath.
Leaning forward, Peter grabbed his glasses and dug further into the bag, pulling out a burger. "Score! Aww and she got me one without onions, too!" Peeling off the rapper, Peter took a big bite out of it.
Tony blinked. Here he was on the verge of a panic attack and Peter was just chowing down on a burger for breakfast without a care in the world. To be fair, he looked a little out of it; at this point, Tony had come to the conclusion that acute delirium was one of the symptoms of the Mutant Disease.
After a moment, his chewing paused and he frowned. "Hold on, how did you find me?"
Tony scrubbed at his face. "You sent me a text - rather your friend did."
Peter picked up his phone and peered at it. "Look at that, she did too. How did she get your number…?"
Tony's eye twitched. He hadn't given Peter his number yet? Oh god. He'd had the kid's number memorized since the beginning, but he'd never sent him a text or given him a call or anything that would've let the kid know his number.
Tony felt his chest start to tighten again.
Peter snickered and put his phone away.
Tony looked at him. "What?"
Peter's face shrank, eyes darting away. "Nothing."
"What?" Tony said again, more flat and demanding of answer.
Peter shrugged. "Just- she put your contact name as… uh, something."
Tony's face fell flat and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't want to know. "Why…" he breathed, "why weren't you in the safe room?"
"I wanted to help."
"You're sick! Christ, ki-"
"Hey, hey, ok, hey. If it wasn't for me, Magneto would have that vial right now and we'd all be hooped. Or I would be." He slowed his chewing, brows furrowing. "Did I just save myself? Huh. That's a new one."
Tony balked. "You almost died! That toad person was going to stab you."
The kid shrugged and took another big bite, voice muffled by food. "Bu 'e didn."
This kid was gonna be the fucking death of him one day.
To save Tony from descending into an all-out freak-out, a golden ring sparked to life and a familiar dumbass with a lame goatee came through. His eyes landed on Peter and he hurried over. "Oh for fuck's sake, are you alright?"
The kid's eyes widened as Strange patted him down, in search of wounds.
Peter just kept eating his burger, batting the man's hands away. "'M f'ne," he muffled through a mouthful.
Strange sat back and ran a hand down his face, clearly feeling the same as Tony. Speaking of which, the asshole turned his focus on Tony.
Tony glared back. "Where the fuck were you? I was trying to track him down for ages!"
Strange laughed mirthlessly. "You really are insufferable, aren't you? Is it just a habit to be an ass, or have you been practising your whole life?"
"I like to think of it as my special talent, besides not looking like a scarecrow."
Stephen bristled. "I was trying to track down the mutants, hoping they would lead me to their base."
"The kid's more important, jackass. You could've found him then taken off!"
"Oh I'm sorry for thinking you could do one fucking thing on your own!" Stephen snapped. "I should've known you aren't capable of even that much!"
"I'm the one who fucking found him!"
Stephen ignored the man, returning his focus to Peter. "Why were you in the lab?"
"I already asked him that. He said he wanted to help," Tony exasperated.
"You almost died."
"I told him that too."
"Didn't FRIDAY direct you to a safe-room or something?" He shot Tony a look over his shoulder. "The Tower does have a safe-room, right?"
"Of course it does! Fucking jackass."
"Then why wasn't he in it?!"
"I don't fucking know, why don't you ask him that."
"I'm trying to, but you keep interrupting like a petulant child."
"How's this for childish: you're not allowed to drink my coffee anymore. It's only for me and Bruce now!"
"It tastes like ash anyway, fucker."
"Oh please. It's imported from Italy, stuff costs, like, 200 bucks a bag. You know it's the best coffee you've ever had."
"You buy 200 dollar coffee?" Peter spoke up, staring at Tony like he was insane, which he clearly was if he was buying coffee for 200 freaking dollars. "That's so dumb."
Tony's mouth clicked shut, face skipping through a number of emotions and finally landing on hurt.
Oh no. He was sad. Peter had hurt his feelings. Peter knew how to make it up to him. "So I saw this dog 3 weeks ago-"
"Give me the vial." Stephen said. "Whichever one of you has it."
Tony grumbled something incoherent and grabbed the container. "Your highness."
Stephen glared and took the container. "Let's go already. We've got work to do."
Standing, he opened a portal, leading to the hall outside the lab, which was already undergoing repairs, although it still looked messy. He stepped through, Tony ready to follow suit.
But Peter hadn't finished his burger yet. Also he was very comfy where he was. The fresh air was nice, he was far enough away from the ledge to feel safe, the awning provided protection from the cool breeze, and the couch was comfy.
"Imma stay here."
"What?"
"What?"
Both men spoke at the same time, staring at Peter, dumbfounded.
"You can't stay here!" Tony balked, gesturing around. "We're on a roof with no way down!"
Peter shrugged and stuffed the remainder of his burger in his mouth. He was still hungry. He peered in the bag. "Fries!" He pulled them out, then remembered Tony had said something. "It's comfy here."
"The roof is- how are you going to get down?!"
He shrugged again. "Blackcat?"
"Black- ok get your butt over here. You're not staying here. You're gonna catch a cold."
"'M already sick."
"You can still catch a cold. I think. Get over here."
Peter flopped back, feeling like a petulant child who was being needlessly defiant because he was a big boy and no one got to tell him what to do. "But wwwhhhhyyyyy?"
He heard the man let out a noise halfway between and sigh and groan. "Because I said so. Don't make me count to three."
"That's not gonna work."
"One."
"I'm not listening."
"Two."
"Stop."
"Ttthhhrr-"
"Fine!" Peter hauled himself up. Tony smirked with pride at having won. Peter grumbled grumpily. "But I'm bringing my fries with me."
That'd show Tony.
. . .
Peter paced back and forth, all but running a trail into the ceramic tiles. His stomach felt like it was in knots, twisting and making him squirm. He'd been on edge pretty much all the time since he got diagnosed- scratch that, since May died- scratch that, since Ben- scratch that, since Skip- scratch that, since his parents- you know what? He'd been on edge pretty much his whole life.
And he felt like shit because of it.
He chewed his nails, other arm clutching his stomach like that was going to ease the queasiness. A ding made him turn; the hologram in the centre table finally paused, the big DNA strand coming to a halt. It turned red.
"Attempt unsuccessful," Friday said.
Everything whited out. The pressure in Peter's ears dropped, leaving a muffled ring, pushing everything else to the back. His eyes were stuck, staring in place at the test vial. The vial that not one minute ago, he'd hoped would be his saviour, but was now just useless liquid.
Attempt #19
A waste of time, a waste of materials, a waste of hope.
He was going to die.
There was no saving him.
He was a dead man.
His life was going to end right before it was supposed to even start. Not that he had too much hope for a future anyway; he probably would've died in a battle soon anyway. He doubted he'd ever really get to grow old. But at least he'd had the luxury of pretending.
But now, there was no hope. No way to pretend that that voice in the back of his mind was merely anxiety.
He was dying.
Just like mom. Just like dad. Just like Ben. Just like May. He probably had it coming, he was the reason for both Ben and May's deaths after-all. Maybe this was the world's form of karma, telling him that he wasn't going to get away with killing them.
A voice called for him from a distance, so muffled, Peter didn't even register it. The noise in his head, in his ears, in his blood, was too loud. It was all too loud. He didn't like it. He didn't want…
He didn't want to die.
He shouldn't've even cared. He'd never been strictly suicidal, but he would be lying if he'd said death hadn't seemed tempting at times. He'd never made a plan or anything, though, and he still actively tried to avoid getting hurt in his day-to-day life. But he'd never have said he wanted to live.
But now.
He did. He wanted to live. Life sucked right now, but he wanted it to get better. He wanted the chance to look back years later and say to himself 'wow, I'm glad I kept going.' But that wasn't going to happen. He was going to die right here, right now in the thick of the worst time of his life. A life that was bad enough that he cried himself to sleep every night, but not so bad that he was done with it.
Guess it was done with him.
"Peter!"
A firm hand shook his shoulder and the world slammed back into place just shy of painfully. Peter jumped and moved his eyes to look at the person standing beside him. Moving his eyes felt like trying to move a rusted cog, he'd been staring at the vial for who-knows-how-long. His eyes felt dry, like they had granules of sand in them.
All three men were looking at him. Tony's hand was on Peter's shoulder. Peter blinked several times. "Huh?"
All three men shared a round of looks. Stephen stepped forward. "We're getting close, kid. Just a little more time."
"I know this test not yielding the results we hoped for may seem like bad news, but actually, we-we've learned quite a lot from the results. We can determine what was rejected, so we can now try to…" Bruce's yammerings fell on deaf ears.
They were trying to make him feel better. They still believed he stood a chance. Or maybe they were just pretending 'cause they thought that would make Peter feel better.
It didn't.
He was dead. Game over. He was toast. He was food for worms. He was six feet under. He was hooped. Whatever analogy you wanted to use.
He was fucked.
That felt like the best one to him.
Completely and totally fucked.
"Peter." Tony's sympathetic yet firm tone brought Peter back to Earth again. The man was looking directly at him, making deliberate eye-contact. Using his hand still on Peter's shoulder, he pushed so the chair spun until Peter was facing him head-on. "You're going to be fine."
Peter didn't respond. There was nothing to say. Tony was wrong. He just- he was wrong.
"I need you to hear me, you are going to be fine. We are getting closer to a cure each day. We are going to get it on in-time. Ok?"
Peter felt his eyes sting, his vision becoming muddled and distorted.
"You can cry if you need to, that's ok. But don't get all doom-and-gloom on me. I am telling you, Peter, you are going to get better. This is not the end for you. I won't let it be."
"That's not for you to decide." Peter's voice came out as a whisper, throat tightening to the point where he could barely breathe much less speak.
He heard Tony inhale a long, deep breath. "It sure as shit is."
Peter excused himself from the lab. He just wanted to sleep.
He didn't get any sleep.
. . .
The next day, he felt like shit. He was tired from being sick, he was tired because each day he got more sick, and he was tired because he couldn't get any sleep. He'd been lying awake all night, bouncing back and forth between crying about dying and numbly imagining what his funeral would look like. Would anyone even plan a funeral for him? Would they even bother? Who would even come? MJ and Ned. Maybe Tony. Maybe Stephan and Bruce to be polite? Then he cried some more. Then he realized he didn't have a will. How were wills even supposed to be written? Did they have to be written a certain way with complicated wording or could they just be scribbled on a paper with his signature? He didn't even have a signature yet. He just wrote his name and tried to make it look fancy-ish under a sentence saying he'd be leaving most of his stuff to Ned. He cried some more over that. He gave himself a headache from all the crying and got himself a glass of water from the ensuite. He looked like shit, eyes all puffy and red with dark circles as sunken as tartarus from those Percy Jackson books. He wanted to read those again before dying. He didn't have enough time to do that. He still hadn't seen the Godfather trilogy. He heard it was good. He didn't have time to do that either. He cried some more. And then kept crying until he eventually passed out at around 3 am. He only got, like, 40 minutes before a nightmare woke him up. He bolted up, heart pounding and eyes scouring his hands for her blood. He'd been coated in it a second ago. But now, in the moonlight, he had clean hands. Not 30 seconds later, he had to throw up. He gave up on sleep after that.
He drowned his sorrows in Lucky Charms. He went through the entire box, picking out all the marshmallows. In hindsight, it was an asshole move, since there were a few others who came and went from the Tower and probably ate the cereal, but at the time, he was tired and sad and he didn't care about anyone else.
Somewhere around 4:30 am, Tony strolled into the kitchen, startling a little when he saw Peter. Peter gave a small wave.
Tony made himself some coffee and took a seat at the table beside Peter. He pushed a mug towards Peter, saying, "you look like you need it."
Peter didn't like coffee, but he accepted it anyway, pouring, like, four sugar packets in it and a bunch of creamer. It was bearable after that. When he looked at Tony again, he noticed the man had been watching him. He had an amused smile on his lips.
"Feeling any better today?"
Peter bit the inside of his cheek. No. "Did you guys make any progress?"
"I asked you a question first."
"Yeah well your answer is gonna affect mine."
Tony bobbed his head. "Fair enough. We don't have a cure yet, if that's what you're asking." A pause. "But that doesn't mean we didn't make any progress."
Peter sipped his coffee. "No, I don't feel any better."
Tony stayed quiet for a second. "I'm not bullshitting you, kid, I know we can find a cure-"
"Then you're delusional."
"I like to think of myself more as optimistic."
"Right, 'cause that suits your personality."
"Hey, I'm trying-"
"Well stop!" Peter bit, way sharper than he'd intended. But he also couldn't stop himself. "Stop trying to convince me that it's going to be ok! Because it's not! And you know it, you just don't wanna admit it!"
Tony's jaw clamped shut. Peter's eyes flicked to his, half expecting to see anger or annoyance (Peter tended to bring those feelings out in people), but he was met with an expression of determination. There was a hint of anger in there, but Peter was pretty sure it wasn't directed at him.
Tony leaned forward and pointed a finger at Peter. "I am going to prove your stubborn ass wrong when I save it."
"You'd have to be lucky for that to happen. And my luck doesn't work that way."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Peter shrugged then raised his hand, fingers going up as he spoke. "Mom, Dad, Ben, May. Almost you. And now-" he spread his arms, gesturing to himself "-me."
"Ok, so you lost a few people-"
"Everyone."
"-that doesn't mean you're doomed or some shi- er, thing."
Peter scrubbed a hand down his face. "Stop trying to make me feel better. You're bad at it."
"Ok give me a break, will ya? I'm new to this whole… emotional support jazz, 'kay?"
"Yeah, well feel free to stop trying anytime." He crossed his arms and cast his eyes out the window, met only by his reflection sitting in the darkness. "Why do you even care? You don't even like me."
Tony reeled back like he'd been slapped, brows furrowing deep. "What the hell- why would you think-"
"It's obvious. You're always avoiding me around the Tower and you only ever talk to me when you need something. Or to lecture me. And I know you're trying to be nicer now that I'm dying, but you don't have to pretend like you actually like me."
"Peter, I like-"
"You don't have to start denying it. I'm not fishing for you to lie to me. It's fine, I annoy you, I get it. I don't care." That was a lie. He cared. "Just leave me alone."
This was the part where he expected to hear Tony's chair move back and footsteps departing. When he heard nothing, Peter looked to where the man had been sitting. Tony was still there, looking at Peter with a flat 'you said something really stupid, but I'm not mad, cause you don't know any better' kinda look. Peter frowned.
"Peter." The man's voice reflected his expression. "I don't always have time to chat when we have meetings, but I do like you. Stop-" he held up a finger when Peter opened his mouth to respond. Peter backed down. "I'm sorry I neglected you, I'm sorry-" Something shifted in Tony's face that Peter couldn't quite place. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."
Peter startled, not expecting those words much less the… weight his tone carried. "...What?"
Tony cleared his throat. "When your aunt… I'm sorry, Peter. I wasn't there for you."
Peter blinked, the events of that night and the months afterwards searing through his mind. His eyes were burning in an instant and he had to squeeze them shut to stop the barrage of images, as clear as daylight, as sharp as a knife to the gut, as vibrant as neon. When he opened them, Tony's face had shadows clinging to it, looking sunken as he watched Peter.
Peter didn't know what to say. Was he supposed to say it was ok? He hadn't even expected the man to be there. Yeah, he'd hoped. Some part of him had been waiting for Tony to fly in and save the day, but he'd never actually expected him to.
Or maybe he had.
But that wasn't fair. Tony had still been recovering. He'd deserved rest.
So why… why did it hurt so badly to remember how alone Peter had felt in that moment? The Green Goblin's smile was seared into his mind like a jagged scar. The loneliness, the hopelessness, the isolation of those dreaded moments haunted him. He never wanted to feel that way again. He never wanted to have that sort of false, naive hope again.
Hope that Tony, or Stephen, or anyone would come to the rescue.
Because it would break him for the last time if he did.
Peter didn't want to deal with this.
So he didn't. Shoving away from the table, he got up and marched over to the stairwell and threw the door open. Before going in, he looked back, glare on face. "Word of advice: if you're gonna try to be 'emotionally supportive', maybe show up to people's funerals." He slammed the door closed behind him and started his trek downstairs.
After a single flight, he caved and peered over the railing. The stairwell kept going down and down and down and down and- ok he wasn't gonna walk all the way down, he just didn't wanna awkwardly stand up there waiting for the elevator (if FRI would've even called it for him, that was). He'd go down a few floors then take the elevator from there.
Stupid dumb Tony being dumb and stupid. Who the hell did he think he was? Getting to play that stupid, dumb 'I care about you' card like a dumb idiot. He didn't get to just not show up over and over and over again and then suddenly be all like 'I'm old and nice, please don't be mad at me, I'm so nice, blah, blah, blah'.
Idiot.
. . .
The taste of fake cherry washed over his tongue, the iciness of the drink making him shiver and pull his coat tighter around him. The diner was empty except for the waitress and another table of some older people on the other side of the restaurant. Peter himself was tucked into the corner booth against the window. The city was still quiet at this hour, especially with the longer nights in winter. He knew he shouldn't be out anyway, it was selfish and stupid and risky. But he'd really wanted a milkshake.
Just one more time before it was all over.
Picking up the maraschino cherry by the stem, he plopped it in his mouth. May always hated them, so he'd steal hers wherever they'd get milkshakes. He would get cherry or chocolate and she would always get classic vanilla.
It'd been about an hour since his talk with Tony. For months, he'd tried to ignore and repress the feelings he'd had in regards to the man's absence, but when he'd brought it up, it was like a can of worms had been opened and spilled all over.
Peter was angry and hurt. He'd been alone. MJ and Ned had been there, yes, but… but Happy had been distant, Stephen hadn't cared, and Tony wasn't there at all. Peter had gone through the single most painful experience of his life - his worst fear coming to life - and all these people who he'd, deep down, thought he could lean on, weren't there.
And it wasn't fair.
None of this was fair.
It wasn't like Peter was one for self-pity - stuff happened and he'd accepted that long ago, but… there was so. much. stuff. And it wasn't fair. Self-pity be damned, emotional maturity be damned. Peter was angry. He was angry that everything had been ripped from him. He was angry that he'd had to carry that weight since he was six. He was angry that it kept getting heavier. He was angry at all of it. Why him? Why did he have to go through all this shit?
And now here Tony was, apologizing.
Peter knew that he should be grateful and that the man apologizing was something good, but honestly, it just made him angrier. He was hurting, and an apology wasn't going to fix it. He was mad that he had to deal with the apology, that he was supposed to say something like 'it's ok,' and 'I accept your apology,' and 'I forgive you' when he didn't mean it.
Why was it always on him to move-on? That wasn't fair.
A shadow passed across his vision and the other side of the booth creaked. Peter didn't have to look up to know it was Tony.
"You weren't at her funeral."
A long silence. "I know."
"Why?"
"I… I don't know." The way he said it sounded like he knew why, but didn't want to say it.
"So you did know about it."
"Yes."
Peter didn't respond for a few minutes, using the excuse of sipping his drink as a reason for not speaking. "I would have been there for you if it was Pepper."
Tony exhaled. Peter's eyes flicked up to see the man's eyes were closed. He stayed that way for a while, a hand coming to wrap around his wrist as if to steady it. "I know."
Peter bit his lip. His voice was small when he spoke. "Please go to mine."
"Peter. You are not going to-"
"Just-" Peter cut the man off "-please." He let the anguish come through in his voice. "I don't-" Peter's voice broke. He started crying, eyes set on his drink and unable to meet Tony's "-I don't wanna be alone."
Tony stayed silent for a minute, listening to Peter sniff. "I promise, kid."
Peter nodded and scrubbed at his eyes, struggling to keep up with the tears.
"You aren't alone"
Peter shook his head. "Happy left because of me, didn't he?"
"Why would you say that?"
"Because he was different after May died. And now he's gone."
"He didn't leave because of you-"
"Then why?"
"He… he needed some space."
Peter laughed mirthlessly. "Just like you did?"
"I messed up-"
"You don't get to just say that and expect it to mean something!" Tony went quiet. "You don't get to apologize in some last ditch attempt to ease some fucking guilt for yourself 'cause all of the sudden you realize that when I die, you're going to be left with it. It's not my fucking job to make you feel better right now, ok?! I was so alone after May. Ned and MJ are the only reason I made it through that. Not you. Not anyone else, so don't you dare come crawling back and act like a couple words are going to erase that. You. Weren't. There. You made it perfectly clear what mattered to you that day, so just commit to your decision already! You don't care, so just fucking own up to that. Stop trying to use me to ease your fucking guilt or whatever the hell is gong on with you. I have enough shit to deal with, I don't need you crap too."
Tony was looking at him with an unreadable expression, although his face was tense and his eyes sad. Peter waited a few heartbeats, some part of him wanting Tony to convince him he was wrong.
He got nothing.
"Just let me die alone in peace."
Tossing a five alongside some coins onto the table, Peter left, door jingling on his way out. A hand caught his elbow and he turned to see Tony, the man's face was set with determination.
"I promise, kid, I promise, I'm going to protect you now. I will not make the same mistake twice."
Peter held his gaze. "You're too late."
