Chapter Text
It had been two weeks since the Avengers first pulled him out of hell, and Peter still felt like shit.
Bandages were starting to be removed, whispers were starting to die down, and everyone seemed to take a deep breath and step back, allowing themselves to be strung along once again into normalcy. Which was great, it was wonderful to see the team fall back into at least a semblance of what they used to be. It was only when he laid awake at night, listening to echoing silence of peaceful sleep bellow through the four walls of what he’d like to call home, that he couldn’t help but feel left behind—and it sat in his stomach like a stone.
And the change was welcomed, in some ways. He was glad to feel less like a burden, and he was happy to feel the weight of his presence in a room lessen over time. It was refreshing and seeing them look more alive in their skin with each passing day made him feel light in a way that he hadn’t felt in some time.
However, there remained a selfish part of him that had grown bitter and managed to feel abandoned with every innocent gesture that distanced the world from him.
He envied the way they could forget. He longed for the way they could only imagine what had been done to him instead of how he had to remember, and he loathed the ache in his bones that wouldn’t let him pretend it all was just a nightmare. He was so desperately jealous of their ability to move on.
He was still, and watching everything around him pass him by roused an anger within him that he just didn’t have the room for.
“What’s on your mind, young buck?”
Tony sat across from him in a reclining chair, feet shifting from toe to heel as he rocked back and forth absentmindedly. Peter had taken residence on the common room couch, and there was some sort of unspoken rule among the team that Peter never be left alone. He was grateful for it, as much as he pretended to resent their hovering.
“I’m fine, Mr. Stark.”
He was lying, and they both knew it. Neither acknowledged it.
It was silent for a few moments; Tony broke it with a heavy sigh.
“Ned and Michelle have been asking about you,” he said, leaning his chin into his hand. “They’re worried, of course. They miss you, too. I think Ned might actually go insane if he doesn’t get his Lego partner back soon.”
He smiled, but it was terse. Peter didn’t smile back; he didn’t have the energy.
The mention of his best friends brought nothing but more conflict within him. Ned’s laugh bounced through his head in bright sparks of nostalgia, and he could feel MJ’s smile imprinted on the back of his skull. Their absence left him feeling empty, another missing part to prove how broken he was.
But he couldn’t see them. Not yet, not like this.
“I can’t move my fingers, Mr. Stark. How the hell would I be of any use to Ned right now?” He had tried for a joking tone, and he nearly recoiled at the bite in his own voice. He turned his face away, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to see the world blur. Frustration and guilt swirled bitterly in his gut. “Sorry.”
He resented how weak he’d become.
“It’s okay, kiddo,” The softness in the man’s voice only brought more tears to Peter’s eyes. “I know, I know, buddy.”
Peter took a deep, stuttering breath, and swallowed everything down.
“I’m fine,” he breathed, “It’s fine, Mr. Stark. Sorry.”
Despite the parts of him that wanted to hold on to the pain he felt so deeply, that wanted to make the world and everything around him hurt the way he did, the thought of acknowledging the truth of what had happened to him made his throat sink with nausea. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want anything; he didn’t know what he wanted. Perhaps it didn’t matter.
And once again, in the same way he wished he could make it all explode and burn, he resisted the urge to curl his hands over his ears and let his eyes slip shut. He didn’t know it was possible to be so very overwhelmed by quite literally nothing at all.
“You’re not,” Tony replied, ever so gently. His words had been especially careful lately. “But we’ll get there, yeah? We’ll get there.”
Peter had to pretend not to hold onto the words the way he did.
The moment broke like rain through hot, muggy air, and once again Peter shook himself off and tried to remember how to be human. He thought that perhaps if he tried hard enough, no one would notice how he counted his breaths and blinked in a steady rhythm, the way his movements were rehearsed and any time he looked someone in the eye, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end. The only thing he had left to take pride in was the way he learned to hide.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” Tony asked, breaking the silence with a gentle clap. Peter didn’t miss the way he hesitated. “Whatever you want, buddy. We could watch some movies, if you want. Maybe see if we can get some soup in you, huh? Bucky’s made your favorite. How’s that sound?”
The thought of eating anything made his stomach sink with nausea, but Peter smiled, the feeling of his lips against his teeth wrong and foreign.
“Sounds good, Mr. Stark.” He replied softly. His voice didn’t sound like his own anymore, and he wondered if anyone else could tell.
----------------
He could see it in his eyes.
What he was looking at, he didn’t quite know—but it was new, and very, very wrong. It didn’t belong on the face of his child, and he itched to wipe it away.
God, how selfish it was of him to wish he didn’t have to look the boy in the eye. He would block it out and forget it all if he could, and god did he wish he could. He wished he could take the fog from Peter’s expression, even if it meant taking it on himself—he didn’t long for the hurt to go away; didn’t even mind it, not anymore. Pain held his body like an old friend, and he had learned to dance around the sharp edges of it years ago, how to live with it and breathe with it and sit down to dinner with it. He was nothing but swollen joints and trembling digits, but he could wear it just as well as any designer suit.
The weakness he carried was something he had accepted for himself long ago, but seeing the writhing scars and look of torment staining such young skin twisted the heart in his chest in ways the arc reactor never could. It was never supposed to happen this way.
He could see it dig its nails into Peter every time he took a breath. Tony was broken, tattered remnants of a human being, and suffering was destined for him like wind through the boards of a condemned building—Peter was like a broken China doll. The cracks looked so foreign upon his innocent features.
And Peter would never admit it, he’d take every opportunity to hide that he could, but there was nowhere for him to run to that could spare him from himself. Every time Tony looked at him, it was as if he could see the bricks as Peter laid them.
He blinked, sun peeking through the curtains and onto his face, lighting up the curled-up silhouette of Peter on the couch. Tony brought his hand up to shield his eyes, bringing the boy into focus.
He was settled into the corner of the sofa, laying on his side with his head on the armrest. His knees were pulled up as much as the healing ligaments would allow, his hands turned in and held close to his chest. His face was slack, and with one look at him, Tony could see that he was gone. His eyes were glazed over and staring straight ahead, and it was if he wasn’t in the room at all. Tony’s heart sank a little, especially upon seeing the way his thin and fragile fingers shook in what Tony recognized as pain.
“Hey, Pete,” He called out gently, running a careful hand over the boy’s ankle. “Wake up, buddy. Come on back to me.”
Peter stirred slowly, but awareness seemed to come hit him all at once, his eyes widening with a small gasp. He’d hardly gained anything since coming home, and Tony felt ill at the sight of his muscles tensing up under his thin skin.
“Hey, you’re alright, sweet boy. Nice and easy now.” Tony soothed, hand moving to carefully brush the bangs out of the boy’s eyes. Peter blinked, eyes darting to Tony. The man’s only solace came in the way Peter’s face softened when he recognized him.
“Hi, hello. Hi Mr. Stark.” Peter breathed, clearly not all there yet. “Sorry, um- I was asleep? I didn’t mean to fall asleep. What time is it? Sorry, I-” He rubbed his hand over his eyes, cutting himself off with a hiss that he looked surprised to hear leave his mouth, his teeth clicking shut as soon as he realized his noise of pain. He held his sore wrist in a loose grip, looking away. Tony could see the way he retreated into himself again.
“It’s okay, Pete. It’s okay,” he drew small circles with his fingertips through the boy’s hair, a desperate attempt to keep him grounded. “Sleeping is good for you right now,” He didn’t bother to correct the lie, even though they could both recognize it for what it was. “Bruce said you should get as much as you can. I just wanted to know if you want meds, kiddo. You hurting?”
Peter inhaled shakily, blinking rapidly to clear the glaze over his eyes.
“I-um, I’m okay, it’s okay. I’m okay.” He stuttered out, gently rubbing his sore wrists with alternating hands. “It’s okay, Mr. Stark. Please, I’m okay. I’m fine.” His voice crackled towards the end, his words like fumes from an empty gas tank. He didn’t dare look Tony in the eye, even when the man shifted to be in his line of vision, calloused hand bracing the side of his face. Tony refused to say that he didn’t recognize him, refused to admit the fear that he had never really found Peter, simply his living corpse.
It wasn’t true, and he would never let it be true.
“Yeah, you’re alright, bambi,” Tony tried to keep the pain from his voice, but he wasn’t nearly as strong as he once was. “But we’re gonna go get some meds anyway, yeah? C’mon, buddy.” His body creaked like failing support beams as he stood, but he made sure to hide the discomfort on his face. Peter didn’t say anything in response, simply letting his arms fall defeatedly around Tony’s neck as the man slid his hands under him. “Just a quick visit to Brucie, Peter Pan, no worries.”
They walked for a few minutes before Tony heard a peep out of the kid, and his heart torqued violently upon hearing the small sniffles of suppressed tears.
“Oh, Pete...” He croaked, pausing in his steps to hold him closer, hand trailing up and down every rib in his back. “You’re breaking my heart, kiddo. What’s the matter, hm? We’re okay, buddy.”
Peter only cried harder at that, a sob fighting its way through him and into the crook of Tony’s neck. He’d never felt heartbreak so clearly.
“Sorry, ‘m sorry, s-sorry, sorry,” Peter cried, every muscle in him was pulled taut, and he trembled with the strain. God, he was still so, so weak.
“No, no—don’t be sorry, c’mon, Petie. I know, God, I know, buddy.” He had to press his eyes shut as tightly as he could to keep his own tears from falling. It wasn’t his turn to break.
Peter let out what could only be described as a growl, his eyes screwed shut and teeth grinding against each other. Strings of muscle were pulled taut over his thin frame, his whole body trembling incessantly in Tony’s arms.
“I d-don't want to do this anymore,” He ground out, chest heaving. “This is- this is so stupid. I’m so stupid.”
Tony held him as tight as he dared, gentle but grounding pressure over brittle bones and healing wounds. For a few moments, he said nothing at all, just tucked the head of curls under his chin and let the both of them hurt.
“I’m sorry, Pete. I’m so sorry,” He didn’t bother to try and steady his voice. “Don’t cry, mi amor. It’s all gonna be okay, I promise. I promise I’ll make it okay for you.”
Peter shook his head against his chest, guttural sobs crashing over him. It was the most emotion he had seen from the kid in some time, and he hated himself for almost welcoming it.
It was like hearing the wails from a baby born quiet, like witnessing a devastating car wreck and when the impact shocks the world into silence, hearing calls for help escape the mess of metal and glass. It was frustration, it was rage, it was unspeakable anguish; it was a broken battle cry that begged and crawled its way up his spine and screamed ‘I’m still here.’
And God, did it hurt to hear him cry, but God did it feel good to hear him fight.
Tony breathed deeply, letting it out before doing it once more. He could feel Peter trying to reign himself in, shaking and holding his breath, sucking it tiny gasps of repressed sobs. The frustration radiated out of him in waves, suffocating and overwhelming.
“I know it’s not okay right now,” Tony croaked, and saying it felt like admitting defeat. “It's not okay, none of this is okay, especially you.”
Peter stilled at the admission, pulling his lips between his teeth and turning his head away from the man's gaze. He held his breath and positively quaked in the embrace.
Tony took a breath, weighing his words and praying he wasn’t making a big mistake.
“and, to be quite honest with you, I’m not okay either,” As he said it out loud, the tears that had been desperately keeping at bay for so long came crashing down without his permission. “I’m not okay at all, Petey. How can I be okay when my boy is in so much pain?” He smiled down at him sadly, brushing his hair back over his head and out of his eyes.
“Well, I guess that I–I just, I don’t know. I'm so out of my league here it's not even funny…” He cleared his throat. “Half of me wants to be strong for you, to put on a brave face and hold it all in because you shouldn’t have to see me cry like this—I’m a grown man for God’s sake,” He chuckled, the sound flat and empty. “but on the other hand, it feels so dismissive. I feel like such a dick acting like the sun's shining out of my ass when you've just been through something unimaginable, I mean—Jesus.”
Tony scrubbed his hand over his face, letting out a breath through his teeth. Peter sniffled and looked up at him, face pinched in sad bewilderment.
“I don’t want to make you feel like you shouldn't be feeling the way you do, I don’t want to tell you not to be sad or hurt or angry, I just wish you didn’t have to be. I wish I could take all the hurt away from you.” He took a deep breath, wiping his face and blinking his eyes to clear them. “At this point, I think all the pretending is stupid. I don’t want to act like it never happened, because no matter how much I wish it didn’t, it did—and I can’t change that. We can only move forward now, buddy. Me and you, we've gotta keep going. Don't let what happened keep you from living your life, because then, you let the bad guys win.”
He pulled the boy away from his chest, cupping his hand under his jaw and tilting it up gently until they were eye-to-eye.
“You won the fight, spiderling—It's time we start treating this as a victory instead of a loss. Together. One step at a time.”
Fresh tears fell from Peter's eyes, but the sob he let out was not one of defeat—it was a cry of triumph. A vow to continue.
“We’re gonna make it, buddy. If I can promise you anything, I can promise you that. I won’t have it any other way.”
They held each other in the silence for much longer than either one of them would be willing to admit, and it was like the tranquility that follows a storm. The atmosphere was lighter than it had been in ages, and the ceiling and walls seemed to expand around them.
It was new, curious and strange territory—but it was serene, and it felt a little something like healing.