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Peter Parker doesn’t remember landing on Earth.
The last thing he remembered was laying across Tony Stark’s lap, the genius’s hands gently carding through his greasy curls. They were laid out on the hard metal of a ship, the engine no longer vibrating as it had long stopped. Space stretched out before them through the large, glass window, the stars not as pretty as they once had been. Not after what they had seen.
Peter’s eyes had grown heavier as Tony’s fingers scratched back and forth lethargically. Tony’s voice had been cracked but gentle as his words washed over Peter.
“I’m so sorry, Pete. So sorry.”
Peter doesn’t remember Tony holding him tightly, doesn’t remember seeing the bright glowing silhouette or the way it took their ship and carried them back to Earth. Doesn’t remember Nebula prying Peter from Tony’s lap before slinging him over her shoulder. Doesn’t remember Nebula getting Tony to his feet and propelling him out of the ship, Peter over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
Doesn’t remember Tony croaking, “The kid. Help my kid,” as Steve and Pepper raced towards them. Doesn’t remember being carried into the Compound and being whisked away to a bed.
When he does wake up, it’s in an unfamiliar room. The steel walls of the ship were gone and replaced by glass walls and sterile medical equipment. It smells clean and the sheets that he is wrapped up in are crisp and soft.
Peter shifted, feeling something tug in his hand. He looked down, seeing a needle pressed into his skin. A tube is attached, and Peter follows the line with his gaze until it reaches a bag that hanging on a metal pole by his bedside. It takes him a minute to decipher the words on the bag but realises that he is being fed nutrients.
Tearing his gaze from the drip, Peter blinked around the room. It was empty apart from himself. The only sounds came from the monitor on his bedside and the hum of the machinery. Focusing his hearing, Peter tried to hear beyond the glass walls but there was nothing. Swallowing, Peter sat up and kicked the sheets off his body. He swung them over the edge of the bed and carefully eased himself off bed. He gripped the drip pole, legs feeling a little shaky but stable enough.
When he felt like he was stable enough, Peter shuffled across the room with his drip pole, moving towards the door. There was nobody to stop him as the doors whooshed open for him and he stepped out of the medical bay. He recognised the halls of the Compound, and his heart gave a small skip of relief that he was back on Earth and somewhere familiar.
As Peter stepped out of the room, he casted his gaze around the other rooms. They were empty and Peter frowned as he stepped further into the hallway. Alone, Peter shuffled down a hallway, leaning on his drip pole as he did. The further he moved away from his room, the more his stomach started to twist. He peeked into every room that he passed but it was empty.
Peter stopped another room, and his heart dropped as he saw an illuminated screen. He legs shook as he stepped into the room, his breath hitching in his chest.
May Parker’s smiling face filled the screen, the words Deceased written above her head.
“Aunt May?” Peter choked out, eyes burning. He stumbled to the monitor, reaching out to touch the screen with a shaking hand.
Her face didn’t change, neither did the words that were above her. That couldn’t be possible. It couldn’t be true.
Peter’s lower lip trembled as he stared at her face, his heart breaking in his chest. Tears blurred his vision, and he blinked them away. They slid down his cheek as the weight of the words crashed down on him. Peter didn’t know how long he stood there, not until he caught loud voices in the hallway.
“-forgot my kid! You left him to wake up alone,” came Tony’s voice.
“I’m sorry,” Steve’s voice followed. “We didn’t mean to. We didn’t even know about him, Tony.”
“You still left him alone,” Tony snapped.
“I’ll find him, Tony. You shouldn’t be out of bed. You’re not strong enough,” Steve said.
“He’s my kid,” Tony said. “I’m not leaving him again.”
“Door on your left, Boss,” came Friday’s voice.
Peter didn’t turn as the door opened. Didn’t turn as he heard the squeak of wheels cross the floor or the soft steps that followed. He flinched slightly when a calloused hand took his, tugging on his it gently.
“Pete.” Tony’s voice was soft and his hand squeezed Peter’s.
Peter’s breath hitched as he stared at May’s picture. “Dad?”
“Oh kid,” Tony said, tugging Peter gently.
“It’s says,” Peter choked on a sob. “Why does it say that?”
“Look at me,” Tony urged. He tugged on Peter’s hand again, making Peter finally look at the man.
More tears fell as Peter took in Tony’s gaunt features. He looked so small and frail in a wheelchair, his own drip attached to wheelchair high above him. Peter choked on another sob, knees finally giving out.
Arms caught him, dragging him onto Tony’s lap. Another set of hand were there, settling him comfortably as Peter curled up against Tony, sobbing into his shoulder. Arms wrapped around him, rubbing up and down his back.
“I’ve got you, Underoos,” Tony soothed in his ear. “I’ve got you.”
They stayed there until Peter’s sobs tapered off and his eyes grew puffy and swollen. He struggled to keep them open, feeling himself starting to drift.
“Tony, you both need to be in bed,” Steve said softly. “Please, let me take you back.”
“Fine,” Tony said. “I’m not leaving him again, though.”
“I know,” Steve said.
Peter was jolted as Steve took control of the wheelchair and started rolling them out of the room. Tony’s hands never stopped rubbing up and down his back in a soothing manner. Peter shuddered under his touch, curling deeper into Tony’s neck.
“That woman,” Steve asked quietly.
“His Aunt,” Tony murmured back.
Peter whimpered and Tony clutched him tighter against him. They were wheeled through the halls and back to the room that Peter had woken up in.
“Back into bed, Bambino,” Tony urged.
Reluctantly, Peter crawled into bed and his breath hitched as Tony heaved himself out of the chair and crawled into bed beside him. When Tony was settled, Peter curled around him, burying his face into Tony’s chest.
“What do we do?” Peter asked, voice wet with tears, grief, and exhaustion.
“I don’t know,” Tony admitted quietly.
Peter tasted ash on his tongue as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. Tony held him close, his irregular heartbeat thumping in his ear.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.