Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter’s been in a couple of Avenger battles since they saved the world.

He was in the one to save the world, to get rid of Thanos for good. Peter was there with all of them, the lost and the ones who searched for them, who had to live without them, who were that much more motivated now that they were back. He was in that battle, though he can barely remember it, because his heart rang in his ears and his eyes were trained on Tony. Peter worried, during that battle, that something was going to happen, that Tony would find a way to sacrifice himself to end the threat, and that fear snuck under his skin and settled there, tainting every move he made. He already felt weird, displaced, but he came back from the dead just moments before, so he didn’t blame himself for that. But he only settled down and started on the long road to recovery when the battle was won, and Tony was still alive. He was only able to rest when he got home and May was there, when he was able to text Ned and MJ, when he counted their losses and they were only broken bones and temporary pain.

They were okay. Peter was back. His family was safe.

There were a few more battles after that, when he was ready to get back into them—the drone things in the Bronx, those weapons dealers in Ohio, of all places, and that weird Octopus guy that tried to blow up the Daily Bugle.

And now this one—a group of about twenty terrorists trying to steal some of Tony’s tech. Peter’s felt pretty on his game since he arrived here and started webbing them up, and he always feels really, really cool when he’s fighting alongside Iron Man, Black Widow and Captain America.

Somehow, he’s wound up one-on-one with who they assumed is the leader of this gang. Peter is used to the bad guys wearing masks, but this one is different. His face is completely covered with some kind of black shroud, he’s got a hood on, and he’s steeped in darkness no matter where he moves. Peter doesn’t know how he can see, dressed up like that, but despite Peter’s own quickness and alertness, this guy has been able to land almost every punch on him. Which doesn’t negate the blows Peter has landed, but it sorta…makes them less impressive.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” Peter asks, trying to dodge around him, but he still somehow manages to get clocked across the face. The guy doesn’t respond and usually the dudes Peter faces off with have something to say, and with this silence, he can feel a weird sort of seriousness settling in his bones.

“Peter,” Karen says. “You have multiple lacerations, the suit is taking a good deal of damage—”

“It’s okay, I’ll heal up,” Peter says. “C’mon, Karen. Don’t go full Tony on me.”

“Tony Stark did program me, Peter.”

“Yeah, like I could forget,” Peter says.

The lights in the warehouse flicker and fade, and the bad guy backs up into the newfound darkness, disappearing completely. Peter thinks he hears the beginning of laughter, something tight and reigned in, like it could be loud and booming, cutting and harsh to anybody it was directed at. It scares him a little bit, but he refuses to show it.

Peter turns on his night vision and keeps his guard up. He can’t see him despite having a clear layout of the room, the steel walls and tall ceilings, the random boxes knocked around from their fight. He should be in here. The exit is behind Peter, and he definitely thinks he would have noticed if he rushed past him to leave.

He reaches up and touches his com, announcing something he probably should have a couple minutes ago. “Tony, I think I’m fighting the leader of these dudes.”

“Kid, where are you?”

“Uh,” Peter says, remembering the map they laid out on the kitchen bar, remembering the wet glass ring he accidentally put on the paper. Karen pulls it up on his screens and circles his location, and he silently thanks her. “Back quadrant, eighty-four.”

“Got it,” Tony says. “Hold on, coming to you.”

Peter breathes hard and keeps scanning the room. “Karen,” he whispers. “Is he still here?”

“Yes,” she says. “I am detecting signs of human life in the room other than you, but I can’t place his exact location.”

“Great,” Peter mutters. He puffs out his chest a little more, trying not to sound like a kid even though he knows he always sounds like a kid. “Hey, buddy! You should have known better, trying to steal shit from Tony Stark! Nobody steals shit from Tony Stark!”

Before he even knows it, a figure is rushing towards him. Peter quickly dodges away, proud of himself, and he turns just in time to knock the dude in the stomach. He grins, internally celebrating, because this has got to be some kind of trained ninja or something, but then the guy disappears again into the darkness. Peter spins around himself, huffing. He shoots a couple webs but they don’t catch anything. He shoots a taser web just in case. Nothing.

“Why the hell can’t I see him with the night vision, Karen?” Peter says, trying not to be too loud about his current disadvantage, even though he’s pretty sure the guy already knows.

“I’m not sure,” Karen says. “He must have some kind of technology—”

“Tony’s tech?” Peter exclaims, keeping his eyes peeled.

“No, Peter, they were not able to pull off their heist before the Avengers arrived. And remember, that includes you.”

Peter smiles to himself. And right then, something hits him so hard on the back of his head that he immediately collapses, blacking out.

~

“Peter. Hey, Spidey. Hey.”

Peter groans, reaching up and covering his eyes. He feels like shit, like someone is holding his whole body underwater. His head is throbbing and he can barely remember what the hell he was doing before this, until he drags his hand down his face and opens his eyes to see Tony hovering over him. He’s still suited up but he doesn’t have his helmet on anymore, and he’s looking at Peter with concern in his eyes.

“Where’s my mask?” Peter asks, realizing he’s not wearing it.

“I got it,” Tony says. “You alright?”

Images of the fight flash in Peter’s mind and he gasps, sitting up. “Wait, where’s—where’s—”

“Slow your roll, bud,” Tony says, bracing his metal hand on Peter’s shoulder.

Peter feels dizzy but he can’t focus on that. He turns wild eyes on Tony and he knows he looks insane, but he needs answers. “Where’s the guy?” he gasps. “Where’d he go?”

Tony shakes his head. “He got away.”

Peter closes his eyes, wilting. It feels like another punch to the gut, especially since he was facing him alone. He should have been able to goddamn handle it. “Great,” he says, defeated.

“Hey, no, no—no taking the blame,” Tony says, shaking his head. “We got everybody else purely because you webbed ‘em up for us to find. You did great, Pete.”

“The leader’s gone,” Peter says, meeting his gaze again. “And that guy, Tony—he was something else, he knew how to fight, he had something going on. He wasn’t like any of the lower level dudes, I think he had some kind of tech already. Or some kinda something, I don’t know. And I let him go.” He rolls his eyes at himself. Too busy patting himself on the back for being an Avenger. He should lose his job as an Avenger for doing that.

“Stop,” Tony says. “How’s your head?”

“Bad,” Peter says, petulantly.

“You’ve got a couple bumps and bruises,” Tony says, touching Peter’s arm. “Suit took some damage.”

“It’s fine, I’ll heal up,” Peter says, with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, let’s get you to the compound anyhow, c’mon,” Tony says. He hauls Peter to his feet easily. “Up, up. Jesus, you’re solid as a rock. Too tense, Petey.”

Peter sighs, righting himself and leaning into Tony a little bit. He takes his mask when Tony hands it to him. “Everyone else okay?” he asks.

“Yup, all good,” Tony says, leading him towards the exit.

Peter clams up as they walk out, even though he knows Tony can sense his irritation, see it all over his face.

He wishes he could have caught that guy. It would have been a really good win for him, especially in front of the rest of them. But, of course, this was the way it had to go.

~

Peter is hanging upside down in the living room of the compound, and he isn’t sure if that’s why he feels like shit or if it’s because of everything that went down earlier. Bruce checked him and said he wasn’t even concussed, which was lucky, but something has been simmering in Peter’s blood since he got back, leaving him with a storm in his head and dizziness behind his eyes.

His anger feels big enough to hold in his hands.

“That never bothers you, kid?” Steve asks, from next to Tony on the couch and behind a computer screen. “I know you hang upside down a lot, but—”

“He’s constantly doing that,” Tony says. “Could do it in his sleep if he wanted to. Scared the devil outta me last week, just—hanging in the hallway like a lunatic.”

Peter snorts, remembering Tony’s face. He hops down, taking a deep breath and collapsing down on the couch on Tony’s other side. He grabs the nearest blanket and covers himself with it completely, staring through the material into the warm light from the lamp by the wall. “Any luck with anything?” he asks.

“We’ve got all the notes on the guys they locked up tonight,” Steve says. “Some real bad guys, for sure.”

“But what’s strange is that there’s no evidence of them working as a group,” Tony says, and Peter can hear him typing.

“We’re tracking their movements up through tonight,” Steve says. “And the police are gonna keep us in the loop.”

“Hopefully,” Tony says.

“Hopefully,” Steve says.

“But, you know. That won’t stop me,” Tony says. “We’re keeping tabs on everything, we’re gonna find this guy, which I know is what you’re moping about. On ceilings and under blankets.”

Peter sighs, pulling the blanket down away from his face. He sees they’re both looking at him, and he doesn’t want to think it’s pity in their eyes. He couldn’t deal with that.

“You really did good, Peter, honestly,” Steve says. “I think we only would have taken in half of those guys if it wasn’t for you.”

“Less than half,” Tony says, adjusting his laptop on his knees.

“Hey,” Pepper’s voice says, as she appears behind the couch. She cranes her arm around Tony’s head, and Peter sees that she’s holding a mug. He already knows what it is, and he sits up, taking it. “I put in extra marshmallows this time,” she says.

“Thanks,” Peter says, smiling back at her. She gave him the thrift store Hulk mug, which she knows is his favorite.

“Of course,” she says, ruffling his hair.

“Uh, where’s mine?” Tony asks, twisting around to look at her. “I’ve heard legends about your hot chocolate, spoken in hushed tones around the world—”

“I’m making you and Steve coffee right now,” Pepper says, walking away.

“Ugh, no fun,” Tony says.

Peter takes a sip of his hot chocolate, letting the marshmallows dissolve in his mouth. He sinks back into the couch cushions, enjoying the warmth.

“You call May to say goodnight yet, Peter?” Pepper asks.

“I will right before I go to bed,” Peter says.

“Which you should do as soon as you finish that,” Tony says, nodding towards the mug. “Don’t want May calling me neglectful. Keeping you up late. Bringing you into fights with murderous rogues.”

“Tony,” Steve says, rolling his eyes.

Peter taps his thumbs on the mug, his mind racing. “But you are, uh—gonna keep me updated on all this stuff, right?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Of course, kid,” Tony says, looking at him like he’s insane. “Plus, I can tell this is gonna be a nagging situation. As in you nagging me about it every five seconds.”

“Wow,” Peter says, smiling at him. “You know me so well.”

~

“So yeah,” Peter says, the phone pressed to his ear. “I totally blew it, looked like an idiot in front of Tony and the other Avengers, and I hate everything right now.”

“Hmmm, yeah,” May says. “I feel like that version of the story is a little biased, don’t you think?”

Peter’s in his bathroom staring at himself in the mirror. He feels like shit. He pulls at his cheek with his free hand and sticks his tongue out, dragging his fingers down his face. He knows they told him he’s not concussed, but he feels concussed. He feels like he did the first time he flew in Tony’s private plane and his ears wouldn’t pop after takeoff. He feels like his anger and annoyance is consuming him, clouding his head. He doesn’t get sick, he can’t get sick, not really, not anymore. So it can’t be that.

He feels like his heart took a beating. Which is the stupidest thing he’s thought with his own brain. He shakes his head, flips off the light and heads back into the bedroom.

“I don’t know, it just—it sucked,” Peter says, climbing into bed.

“I saw the news coverage, I saw Steve talking—”

“Well, you can’t believe—”

“Uh, Peter, that is one of the most honest men I’ve ever met,” May says. “That’s literally part of his charm. And he said Spiderman was essential to the amount of arrests that were made. So.”

Peter sighs, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“It’s still so strange,” May says. “To watch all this superhero stuff on TV and know that you’re—well, you’re in the core group that they’re all talking about. All the time.”

Peter stares at the ceiling, at the way the light splinters there. “I don’t feel like a superhero,” he says.

“Stop being so down on yourself,” May says. “Tony texted me earlier that you were being this way but I didn’t think that it’d be this bad.”

“Ugh, traitor,” Peter says, rolling onto his side, bunching the blankets up between his legs.

“No, he’s not, he cares and he worries and we’re protecting you from all sides,” May says, stern.

Peter sighs again, heavily, and it rattles into the receiver.

“Listen, I worry all the time too, but I know you’re doing your best, so does Tony, so do all of the others. You just need to realize that. You always do your best, because that’s how you are. In everything that you do.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, feeling listless.

“Go to bed, baby,” May says. “Relax. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Peter says. “Night. Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

They hang up. Peter wishes he could have talked to her more, but he can’t stop feeling sorry for himself, can’t get off that subject, so he figures he’s not the best conversation partner right now anyway. He plugs in his phone, puts it on the bedside table and turns off the light. He rubs at his eyes—he feels tired, down to his bones, but his mind won’t stop running over the fight, everything he could have done differently. He stares at the ceiling, different now that the strips of lights aren’t laid across it, and then he hears a soft knock at his door.

“Pete?” Tony’s voice says. “You asleep?”

Peter sits up on his elbows. “No,” he says. He’s feeling weirdly clingy because of everything that happened, or didn’t happen, and even though he’s not really ready to forgive himself, he’s eager for whatever final words Tony clearly intends to impart. Even if he probably won’t believe them. “Come in.”

Peter reaches over to turn on the light just as Tony walks inside. Tony pushes the door a little bit, but it doesn’t shut all the way, and he walks over and stands at the end of Peter’s bed. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Everything good?” he asks. “You good?”

“I’m okay,” Peter says, sitting up the rest of the way and leaning against the headboard. “I just. You know. Feel stupid.”

“I don’t want you to feel stupid,” Tony says, shaking his head and sounding offended by the very idea. “You’re nagging at me without even nagging at me. Hear it in my damn ears, had to come check on you—I was hoping you’d snapped out of it, but—”

“You know I dropped the ball,” Peter says. “You know I did.”

“I cannot even count for you the amount of times I’ve, quote on quote, dropped the ball,” Tony says, walking over and sitting at the end of the bed. He always gestures wildly when he tries to make a point, and his hands fly through the air. “I’ve gotten knocked out, kidnapped, tricked, every damn thing in the book. Shit, you know the whole Ultron thing. The Mandarin thing. The initial not killing Thanos thing. The other little things—the dead drones, that gray-haired asshole with all the guns—you of all people know what I did there—”

Peter snorts. “Yeah.”

“Yeah. But everybody—including you—came to me and told me half that shit wasn’t my fault, that I was being too hard on myself, because that’s what I do and apparently that’s what you do, too. Sucks for me, finally on the other side of it, but for real—all those things, I went back and figured out. Solved, took care of. I know I said it earlier, but apparently it didn’t get through all that self-pity you’re coating yourself in—”

“We’re gonna get him,” Peter says, nodding and looking down at the ground. “I know.”

“No, you will,” Tony says. “Spiderman knows what he’s doing. Spiderman’s on top of shit. I know Peter Parker likes to think he’s not special and he’s not reliable, but uh—Tony Stark—you know what, I know that Peter Parker is Spiderman, and you’re capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for. You see things through. You’re not gonna let this guy run forever. You’re a hero, kid, sorry to say, it’s in your blood.”

Peter smiles a little bit, nodding at him.

“So stop, uh—sending me all these sad psychic feelings when I’m trying to fix up your damn suit, huh?”

“I didn’t know I could do that,” Peter says.

“Yeah, you do it all the time,” Tony says. “Remember that lit test? I could sense your panic.”

“I think everybody sensed my panic,” Peter says, grinning.

Tony laughs. “So you’re good, right? You’re gonna be able to sleep tonight without dreams of beating yourself up?”

Peter wouldn’t say he’s good. He still feels weirdly dizzy, weirdly fuzzy, and all in all off his game, exactly the opposite of how he felt going into the fight today. He knows it’s probably just tiredness, the replay of his mistakes on loop in his head. But he doesn’t feel very good.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m good. Thanks, Tony.”

“Alright,” Tony says, patting Peter’s ankle as he gets up and heads for the door. “Sleep well, kid.”

“You too,” Peter says.

He watches him go, closing the door quietly, and then he turns the light off again, resuming the action of staring at the ceiling. He feels a little better, in his heart, with both May and Tony’s words in his ears. But he hasn’t really felt like this after a fight since…maybe ever. His vision goes a little blurry and he blinks, trying to clear it up. He turns onto his side and sighs, a weird wave of shakiness running through him.

He’ll probably feel better in the morning.

Chapter Text

Before the bite, before Peter’s life changed, he had to wear glasses. These awful, thick black frames that he hated, that were the first things to go when he got his powers and his world cleared up around him. He can always remember what it was like to wake up in the mornings, everything fuzzy and out of focus, nearly knocking everything off his bedside table to get to his glasses.

When he opens his eyes, he’s shot back in time to those moments, because he can’t see. He rubs and rubs at his eyes, ignoring the pounding in his head and the aches in his body, because he can’t see. He reaches over, finds the fuzzy outline of the lamp and turns it on. It’s brighter in here but he still can’t focus, and it makes his heart start beating faster in a fit of panic.

“Peter,” FRIDAY’s voice says, from above him. “It seems like you’re in distress. Do you need me to call Mr. Stark?”

“No, no,” Peter says, still bent over on the side of the bed, trying to get all the sleep out of his eyes, trying to get them to work again. “No, I’m okay. Thanks, Fri.”

“Mr. Stark told me to inform him if you were in any distress—”

“I’m not,” Peter says, finally getting a little bit of clarity as he stares down at the carpet. “I’m not, I’m—I’m good. I’m fine.”

He sighs, blinking a couple times and swallowing hard. He felt bad last night, but that doesn’t compare in the slightest to how he feels now. His equilibrium is off, he feels a little dizzy, and strangely weak. He rubs the back of his head and feels like the headache of the century has him in its grip, and he looks at his arm, peeling back the bandages—the wounds from yesterday, which would normally be healed by now, still look fresh and disgusting. They hurt, too, throbbing when he so much as moves an inch, and they look like they might fester if this goes on too long.

He quickly covers them again, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He feels like there’s a heavy weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe, and he closes his eyes, trying to center himself. He rubs the back of his head—it still hurts, where that asshole hit him, and he tries to search his mind for times when this kinda shit happened before. When he didn’t heal right, when he could still feel the repercussions of a fight the next day this intensely. He’s only gotten stronger as time has passed and usually, his powers make all of this shit…take care of itself. He can’t think of a moment like this, not since the bite, and a wave of panic flares through him.

It’s probably just a fluke. He worked himself up so bad, he probably made his healing process slow down or something. There hasn’t really been another example of whatever happened to him when he got his powers, nothing he can go off of or compare to. It’s all new, and anything can happen. Even if it hasn’t happened before.

He doesn’t wanna tell Tony. He knows they’re busy with everything, searching for this weird dickhead on the run, and that’s on Peter. He knows he’s already on thin ice for letting the guy go even if they say otherwise, and he doesn’t want anyone to overreact to whatever’s happening here, especially since it’ll probably resolve itself by the end of the day if he chills out about it.

He clears his throat, rubbing his eyes again, and grabs his phone, shooting a text to Ned.

Tody is not gonna be A GOod day. Thiink I got sick or somethng. Somehow :/

He gets up, going into the bathroom to make sure he doesn’t have a black eye or anything to alert the others to what’s going on. He looks fine, just tired, and he cleans out the wounds on his arm and redresses the bandages, going with a long-sleeved shirt for today. He does not feel good, there’s no arguing that, but he thinks he can hide it from Happy by saying he’s tired and slumping against the back door. Happy never really asks too many questions.

He splashes some water on his face and hears his phone buzz in the bedroom. He walks back out, and opens the message from Ned.

YOU are sick? Uh oh. Doesn’t sound good.

~

“Hey bud,” Tony says, as Peter walks into the kitchen. “Got your suit all patched up.”

“Oh, awesome,” Peter says, as Tony grabs it from hanging off one of the bar chairs and tosses it to him. “Thanks, Tony.”

“No sweat, didn’t take long,” Tony says, turning back to face the stove, where bacon is simmering, scrambled eggs in the frying pan beside it. He looks over his shoulder as Peter sits down, putting the suit into his backpack and putting it on the chair beside him. “Hey, I’m gonna drive you to school.”

Peter looks up at him so fast that he makes himself dizzier than he already was. “What? Why?”

Tony narrows his eyes at him, smiling a little bit. “Wow, thanks. Feeling the love.”

“I mean,” Peter says, shaking his head. “I mean, like—of course, that’s great, I mean, I don’t wanna like, make you go out of your way or anything—”

“Lord,” Tony says, turning back around towards the food.

“But, uh,” Peter stammers, “what’s wrong with Happy?”

“Nothing’s wrong with him, I just wanted to take you,” Tony says, as the bacon starts to sizzle. “You want him to? I could probably—”

“No, no,” Peter says. The last thing he wants to do is make Tony feel bad for anything, especially wanting to go out of his way to drive Peter all the way back to school. “No, it’s—thanks, thanks, but you know you guys never really—have to do this, you know, I can take the trains.”

“The subways are one of our great state’s biggest issues, that I’m trying to do something about, but we’ll see how that goes,” Tony says. “Anyways, there were three stabbings last night alone on the goddamn subway, and even though you’re an enhanced superhero with a heart of gold, I don’t really like serving you up on a platter to these guys.”

Peter smiles a little bit, shaking his head. Which he immediately regrets, because everything is booming. It’s awful. He doesn’t know how the hell he’s gonna hide this shit. He clears his throat. “It’s…the morning, Tony. I doubt there are a bunch of murderous knife-wielding villains hanging out on the subway at seven am.”

“You never know,” Tony says, ominously. He holds out a plate and ladles the eggs onto it, and Peter sees that he added the shredded cheese like Peter likes. He puts the bacon on too and slides the plate over in front of Peter. “Eat up,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. “You want orange juice?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Peter says.

His guilt complex is way too big. Like, as big as all the pain he’s enduring right now.

~

Peter always sits in the back when Happy drives, but with Tony he’s in the front, squeezing his backpack between his feet. He thinks he feels better, he should feel better so he thinks he does. He sucks in a breath and tries not to be too obvious about it. He stares at the street, at the red lights, trying not to concentrate on how weird his arm feels. How he keeps losing his focus.

He considers telling Tony. He hates keeping shit from him, and it’s really, really difficult to do so, but he doesn’t want to jeopardize any future Avengers battles with these dramatics. He’s fine. He’s gonna be fine, there’s nothing to tell. Tony already worries about him enough, he doesn’t need to worry more. Peter knows he’s probably just having a reaction to a particularly bad fight.

“Hey, you spacing out?” Tony’s voice says, cutting into his thoughts. “What’s wrong?”

Peter jumps a little, and Tony looks at him weird.

“You okay, Pete?”

“Good. Nothing. Fine.” Peter shakes his head, smiling awkwardly.

“Hmmm. Doesn’t sound like good nothing fine to me,” Tony says.

Peter was thinking too much and not concentrating on hiding. Which makes him realize that yes, he’s hiding something. Ugh. Whatever, it’s fine, it’s gonna be fine. Nothing’s wrong. It’s Cool. It’s Fine. “I’m just worried about this Spanish quiz today,” he says.

“God, you and your quizzes,” Tony says. He stops at the red light and looks up at Peter. “I’m Italian, you know, I could probably help you out.”

Peter is so goddamn bad at thinking on his feet on a normal day, especially when he’s not in the suit, but right now he just laughs, shaking his head. “Aw, thanks, but I—you know me, I just hate—I mean, I’ll figure it out.”

“You sure you got enough sleep last night?” Tony asks.

“Yeah!” Peter says, too fast. “Man, I should have taken Italian. I considered it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Sign language too.”

“Now that’s one I don’t know. Could probably learn, though.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, nodding. “It’d be fun. And useful.”

“Pop that one on the list,” Tony says, and Peter’s sure FRIDAY is actually putting it down on some kind of list somewhere. “Hey, you sure you don’t need help with the quiz? Could go through some virtual flashcards. Conjugations. The works.”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Peter says, sucking in a breath. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, of course you will,” Tony says. “You’re one of the smartest people I know, and I know Bruce Banner.”

Peter shudders a little bit because that hits him so hard, how much Tony cares, how much Tony genuinely admires and trusts him. His mind wars back and forth—something’s happening, tell him, he cares, he’ll help you—and don’t tell him, he’s busy, he cares, so he’ll bench you for longer than you need to be benched.

Before he can say anything, Tony breaks in talking about something else. “So, uh—there’s this street fair going along Third next week, kinda like a harvest festival type thing, games, good food, that Christmas-themed food truck you like is gonna be there—”

Peter grins over at him, still amazed that he remembers those kinds of things.

“And, uh—they said it would be good family fun, so…I thought you’d be interested,” Tony says.

“Who else would be coming? Everybody?”

“I was thinking just me and you,” Tony says. “Pep’s never up for those kinda things. Only under very specific circumstances.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, forgetting about everything else for a moment. “Yeah, that would—that’d be awesome.”

~

Tony rolls up right in front of the school, scares the shit out of Flash, and makes sure to ask Peter to say hi to Ned and MJ for him. He watches to make sure he goes inside, and as soon as Peter is out of Tony’s line of sight his shoulders sink. He doesn’t have to put on a show for everybody here, and he feels like shit. He feels like shit he feels like shit he feels like shit, and he’s sure all of them will be able to tell soon as they set eyes on him. But they don’t matter like Tony matters.

He has his head down as he’s waiting for class to start, and Ned taps the table close to his ear.

“It feels like this is a thing you shouldn’t be hiding from Tony Stark,” Ned says. “Like…a thing you should be sharing with him.”

“It’s gonna blow over,” Peter says, his hot breath puffing back at him against the desk. “I stressed myself out too much and like…blew my powers up or something.” He whispers, just in case someone is listening. Which they probably aren’t, but he can never be too careful.

“Is that even real? Is that something you do?”

Peter groans.

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” Ned says, tapping the desk again, and Peter can tell he’s worrying. “How long has it been—”

“Last night,” Peter says.

“After the—”

“Yes,” Peter says. It feels like Ned’s worry is transferring over to him and making his own worry bigger. It’s weird, because he rethinks the word ‘sick’ in regards to this situation. He doesn’t feel ‘sick’. He can’t put his finger on it. He doesn’t feel good. He feels abnormal. His eyes keep going fuzzy and he feels...weird. Weak and off.

It’s probably because he’s still beating himself up for how much he sucked in the fight. Probably because in the back of his mind he knows they’re gonna kick him out of the Avengers because he’s a liability and can’t handle himself, despite Tony’s pep talks. He’s still ‘the kid’. The youngest of the group. He doesn’t have their experience, and it shows.

“I bet they’re gonna kick me off the team because—”

“No,” Ned says, and instead of a tap on the desk, it’s a heavy fist fall this time. “Stop being so dramatic. You know Tony loves you.”

Peter sighs. “Doesn’t matter. Might even work against me.”

“God,” Ned says. “I mean—I definitely think this is something you should tell him, and the others.”

“If it gets worse I will,” Peter says. He hears the bell ring, knows Mrs. Hoffman is gonna be here any minute. He really doesn’t wanna concentrate on anything today. He still doesn’t pick up his head, trying to savor these last few moments of peace.

Ned leans in close to Peter’s ear. “Maybe you’ve got a superhero bug. Like a sick bug, but like…for superheroes.”

Peter turns his head to the side, peeking out at his best friend’s face. He feels a wave of fondness for him, for his steadfast concern and solidarity. “I know what you meant,” Peter says, softly.

“Well, you got bit by an actual bug.”

Peter smiles a little bit. “A spider.”

Ned scoffs. “As if I, of all people, don’t know that.”

~

Nothing gets better throughout the day. His eyesight is fuzzy one minute, clearer the next, and he makes his massive headache worse squinting at everything. He doesn’t feel like concentrating, he just wants this to end, he needs it to be over, he needs things to be right again. He tries to forgive himself for the fight, for letting the leader go, because Tony’s told him before that negative feelings can bring you down, mess you up, and maybe that is what’s happening here. He needs to let it go, let himself relax, let things go back to normal. Things happen. He’ll improve. He’ll do better next time. He’ll tell himself anything to start feeling like himself again.

He catches MJ in the hallway between third and fourth, can’t hide from her that something’s wrong, and she regards him with something like wary concern and he, of course, asserts that he’s fine, because if he keeps saying it, maybe it’ll come true. He gets a pick-me-up text from Cap that makes him feel stronger, if only for a moment.

He zones out in the hallway, thinking and worrying and panicking and clutching at his arm where the hurt blooms, and before he even knows it he’s late for class. His heart lurches when he realizes the hallways are empty and he rushes for the stairwell.

There’s no one around and he’s in a goddamn hurry, so he takes the fast route and jumps over the entire set of stairs.

Except. It’s the exact opposite of what it should be. He doesn’t set down nicely on the landing like he usually would, he hits the wall and stumbles, collapsing down on his ass like he doesn’t leap from building to building every night. The dizziness is so overwhelming that he nearly passes the hell out, and the throbbing in his head is ten times worse.

“What the hell was that…” Peter breathes, wincing.

“Nice, Penis Parker!” Flash’s voice calls, from above him. “Wow, that was…I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like that before!”

Peter boils with anger and embarrassment. He looks over his shoulder, sees Flash standing up there with one of the big wooden bathroom passes, laughing his ass off. Peter wishes that idiot wasn’t always around when he doesn’t need to be. Peter creaks to his feet, feeling like he’s gonna drop back down again, and takes the rest of the stairs slowly and surely, more like a normal person would and not Spiderman.

Tears spring to his eyes as he goes down the next flight, and he knows something is wrong now. Really wrong. More than negativity, more than a superhero bug. He’s messed up, and he doesn’t know what the hell to do about it, how to approach it.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he takes it out, his hand shaking. It’s a message from Tony.

Saw that stupid episode of Spongebob you love where they’re trapped in Sandy’s place and she gets all big and weird. Yes I’m alone and watching Spongebob. Having a good day? :)

Peter swallows hard, his vision going fuzzy again as he tries to rush and make it to class.

~

Peter can feel May’s eyes on him. He eats another spoonful of potatoes and doesn’t know what he’s doing to alert her, so he changes the way he’s chewing, tries to clear his throat a little less, tries to—stop being weird. Which he doesn’t know how to do, considering. He needs to tell somebody. Something’s wrong. But he doesn’t wanna worry them, he wants to work it out on his own. Maybe it’ll still pass. Maybe it’s not as serious as he thinks it is.

“You okay?” she asks, taking a long sip of her wine.

“Yes,” he says, fast, and he hates himself.

“Still beating yourself up?” she asks.

“No,” Peter says, half a lie.

“Good,” she says. “Because I know for a fact that Tony and the others have dealt with similar situations before, probably recently, and they’ve been doing this forever. You gotta cut yourself some slack.”

“I know,” Peter says. “I’m gonna.”

“You put too much pressure on yourself,” she says. “You didn’t ask for this, this whole—superhero gig, but look how amazing you are. You inspire people, honey, I know there’s not one single person who holds anything about last night against you.”

Peter nods, wondering how much the general public knows about what he did and didn’t do in that fight. Usually, he likes watching the Spiderman coverage. But he’s avoided it for this one.

“You’ve seen that little girl downstairs, in 2B,” May says. “With all her Spiderman merch.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, smiling. She’s probably like five years old, lives with her mom, and she’s got just about every single piece of Spiderman merchandise known to man. He never sees her in anything else but her Spiderman shirts, her light-up Spiderman shoes. For Halloween, she and her mom were both Spiderman, which Peter knows was due to the little girl’s insistence. He tries not to cry about it as much as he wants to cry about it.

“You see how happy you make that kid,” May says. “Just by being who you are. There are tons of other kids out there just like her.”

Peter nods, pushing his peas around with his spoon.

“So, for real, give yourself a break. You’re not perfect, but you’re pretty damn close. You’re good at what you do. I know it, Tony knows it, everybody knows it. Captain America knows it and he’s Captain America.”

Peter blows out a sigh and nods at her.

“Okay?” she asks.

“Okay.”

She gives him one of her scrutinizing looks. He smiles back, takes another bite of his hot dog.

“This is really good,” he says. “Like, gourmet.”

May snorts. “Okay, now I know something’s wrong with you.”

“Nope, just…appreciating your cooking.”

“Yeah, well, thank the Food Bazaar for their good selection of hot dogs.”

~

Before bed that night, he checks on the wounds on his arm. They look weird, like they’re trying to heal but not succeeding, and he wonders if the guy that got away did something to him. If he poisoned him or something. It has to be something like that. Because otherwise, what the hell is happening? Why is it happening now? Why does he feel like this?

He sighs, covering them back up, and realizes that his vision is only getting worse. He swallows his pride and walks over to his bedside table, pulling out his old set of glasses he had to wear before he got his powers. He puts them on, and instantly everything is clear. It’s like whiplash and it sends him reeling, because it’s so reminiscent of times past, how things used to be, and it makes him sick.

His life. His other life. The life he left behind, because he’s not that guy anymore, he’s not, he hasn’t been for a long time.

But what the hell is happening?

He takes the glasses off, fast, putting them away and climbing into bed. He’s boiling with fear and worry again, because something’s going on.

He doesn’t feel abnormal—he feels normal. Like anybody else who doesn’t have super powers. He’s retreating back, falling into what he had before—that previous ‘normal’ he had to live with before he became something, before he found Spiderman, found the life he’s leading now. His calling, what he was meant to do.

It’s being wrenched away from him.

He closes his eyes tight and decides, there and then. When he sees Tony tomorrow, he’s gotta get some help. He’s gotta tell him.

He’s losing his goddamn powers.

Chapter Text

If Peter loses his powers, he’s out. He’s done. One—he’s lost the life he made for himself. The way he feels from day to day, like he’s capable of something. Like he can help people, like he can help himself. No more asthma, no more glasses. The life he always wanted when he didn’t have it. All of that would be gone. Two—no more Avengers. It wouldn’t even be a question. Without his powers, he’s not anything. He’s just a scrawny teen from Queens. Not even close to being a superhero. He would be nothing.

He gets out of bed the next morning and checks on the wounds again—they look a little better, but they don’t look anything like they would if he was healing properly. They’d be gone if his superhealing was working, so it obviously isn’t. They still sting slightly, and when he stretches his wrist he winces in pain at the way the broken skin pulls. It isn’t good. It really isn’t good. And his vision is getting worse and worse. He can’t wear his glasses because he knows that would tip May off in an instant, but he puts them on when he sends Ned a message confirming lunch later, and when he’s analyzing the mess on his arm.

He has to quickly whip them off and shove them in his drawer when he hears May knock on the door. He clears his throat, grabbing his laptop and setting it open in front of him to make like he was busy with something. “Come in,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant.

She opens the door slowly, her eyes narrowed. She’s already dressed, not huddling around in pajamas like he is. “You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice high and kinda breathless. “Why?”

“Working on something?” she asks, opening the door wider and gesturing to his laptop with her chin.

“Yup,” he says, looking down at the blank screen and hoping she doesn’t come to see. “Thought I’d get a jump on that essay.”

She nods at him, and he knows it always makes her happy when he works on homework early on the weekends. “Well, I made breakfast and I gotta head in for that overtime,” she says, hand on her hip. “You’re going to Tony’s later for dinner, right?”

“Yeah, should be,” Peter says.

“Alright, I’ll text him to see what the plans wind up being, if I get off early enough I’ll come over there,” she says.

“Okay,” he says. “Good.” He tries not to squint at her when he can’t focus, and just hopes she doesn’t think anything serious is going on. Because it’s totally gonna be fine and he doesn’t need to say anything. Not yet. Tony’ll help him figure it out and he’ll be right as rain before he even has to explain anything to her.

May looks at Peter for a couple long moments, scrutinizing again. “You sure everything’s good?” she asks. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, smiling at her and hating the taste of the lie. “I’m fine. I’m good.”

“Alrighty,” she says, blowing him a kiss. He catches it and smacks it against his cheek. “Love you!”

“Love you too,” he says.

He waits for her to leave—waits an extra ten minutes after that—to conduct his experiments. He sneaks out into the living room, makes sure she’s actually gone, and then he puts his glasses on. He’s so goddamn annoyed when they clear up his vision completely, and he tries to focus on the task at hand.

When he first got the powers, he ran around testing them, and eventually he started picking up heavier and heavier things to test out how much weight he could carry. He found out he could pick up a goddamn bus, so when he squares up now in front of the TV, he hopes even in a diminished state that he can still lift it. He’s seen people smaller than him carrying them out of department stores, so he knows it’ll be a hit to his psyche if he can’t do it.

They have a sixty-inch that Tony bought for them last Christmas, and Peter peers over the back of it before he makes a move to pick it up, making sure he won’t disturb any wires. He takes it on either side and bends his knees, and although he can feel its weight pressing down against his hands when he lifts it, he can still pick it up fairly easily. He can’t lift it over his head because of the wires, but he can lift it to about mid-chest if he strains a little bit.

He puts it down a moment later, breathing hard, and he can’t kid himself—any other day, picking up that TV would be like picking up a book or an empty box or some shit. He tries next with the couch—he kneels down in the middle of it and can lift it off the floor a little bit, maybe a few inches, before he has to let it back down. He tries from the side and is able to hover the whole thing a bit higher off the ground before he drops it, and he feels like if he pushed it any farther he would have pulled something.

He readjusts the couch back against the wall where it originally was. He leans on the arm of it and hangs his head, trying to put his annoyance on the back burner. He looks around—he can see the ghost of his past self walking around this apartment, glasses-clad and bound to his inhaler, with no real purpose.

He sucks in a breath. He can’t be that guy again.

He stuffs his keys in his pocket and goes downstairs, stealing into the back alleyway where that abandoned car is still sitting. It doesn’t have its wheels on it anymore but it’s still a goddamn car, it’s still pretty damn heavy with or without wheels, so he knows it’ll do. When Peter gets down there he hovers around for a couple minutes, listening to the honking and hollering and sounds of New York, and when he’s sure nobody is coming he quickly positions himself at the front of the car and tries to lift it up.

He’s straining, he’s gritting his teeth, the wounds on his arm are pulling and stretching and he has to put it down before he even gets a good grip on it. He raises it to just below his knees before he stumbles backwards and lands on his ass.

His powers are just getting weaker and weaker. The other day he could pick up a bus, stop it at full speed with his bare hands. Now he can’t even lift the front end of a broken-down car with no wheels.

He pushes his glasses up on top of his head and wipes at his eyes. He feels that pressure on his chest again and he tries to focus on his breathing. His goddamn asthma—it’s probably coming back too. He doesn’t wanna cry—he’s been way too close to crying too many times since this happened—he’s still Spiderman, he’s gotta keep telling himself that. He’s still Spiderman.

For now.

~

Ned watches him from across the table. They’re at Milkflower, because Ned has been into his fancy pizzas lately, and he’s currently multitasking by digging into his Stunn Dunn and worrying about Peter at the same time.

“You really think you’re losing them?” Ned asks, when he’s done chewing. “Your—powers?” he whispers. “The glasses are like a weird blast from the past.”

Peter adjusts them over his nose. He’s still not used to having them on. “Powers are definitely weakening,” Peter says, leaning on the table and shaking his head. He nudges his backpack with his foot in a nervous gesture, knowing there’s a suit in there that could potentially be taken away from him soon. If he tells Tony. Well—when he tells Tony. “I don’t know, maybe that guy—maybe he had some kind of poison or something? Maybe he did magic?”

“Could have dropped some kinda potion into your blood where you’re cut, yeah,” Ned says, looking at Peter’s arm where the long sleeve is covering the bandages. “But from a scientific standpoint—well, I don’t know, you shouldn’t be able to actually lose your powers. Your DNA changed when you got them, so whatever this potion is…it’s doing something else. If it even is the effects of a potion.”

“You think?” Peter asks, a glimmer of hope shining in Ned’s eyes. “That this could be—I mean, that I’m not really losing them? That this could be reversible?”

“That’s what I think,” Ned says, taking a drink from his water bottle. “It’s probably something like a sickness, for someone like you. But who knows what happened, how strong it is, how fast it’s working, and if it’s magic, God knows what it can actually do, if you let it keep working…so you, like…really need to tell Tony. Like now. Like yesterday.”

“I’m gonna,” Peter says.

“You should do it right now.”

Peter scoffs at him. “I wanna do it in person.”

“He’s not gonna care about that. He’s just gonna be mad you waited so long.”

Peter sighs.

“All of them are weak?” Ned asks. “Like, I know your eyesight is getting worse, but what about your other senses? Oh man, what about your asthma?”

Peter thinks he’s gonna make a career out of deep heavy sighs, so he stops himself before he does it again. “Asthma…might be making a resurgence. Sometimes I feel that pressure like I used to, but I haven’t had an attack yet. And my other senses…”

His hearing was almost as intense as his new strength when he got his powers, and he closes his eyes, trying to concentrate. Like the rest of his powers, he can tell something is off—he can still hear things beyond the restaurant, but it kinda sounds like he’s in a tunnel, or underwater.

He can hear a man talking to a cab driver. He can hear two teenagers calling for their dog named…Jelly? Jerry? He isn’t sure, they sound distant, and they fade. He tries to listen further, like he usually can, and it makes his head hurt a little bit. He hears honking. A Frisbee whipping through the air. Someone sneezing. Someone…yelling, but he can’t make out the words. They don’t sound good, and he listens harder.

“Uh, Peter,” Ned says.

“Shh, I’m trying…” He trails off. He tries to focus in on the sound. A woman—it’s a woman yelling. He can hear her struggling with something…goddamnit, usually he’d be able to hear every detail of every little thing, he’d know exactly where she was, what the sound of her shoes would sound like against the ground, what her hair sounds like in the wind, but now he can barely make out her voice. He puts his hands over his ears, tries to block out everything else.

“Peter, you okay?” Ned asks, muffled. “Not a good look.”

Help! Someone help me!

Peter gasps and slides back in his chair, jumping to his feet before he really thinks about it. His blood is pumping, he feels a little dizzy, and he locks eyes with Ned.

“What?” Ned asks. “No. Did you hear something? No.”

“Yeah, I gotta…” Peter looks over his shoulder to see where the bathroom is, so he can put his suit on. He’s gotta be fast. “Ned, I gotta—”

“No, no, you don’t gotta,” Ned says, shaking his head. “Please don’t.”

“Just get my backpack out of the bathroom when I leave, okay? As soon as you see me leave.”

“I can just call the police!” Ned whispers, harshly.

“They won’t know where to go,” Peter says, hoping he’ll be able to find his own way. “I gotta go.”

“Peter. Peter!”

Peter turns around and rushes for the bathroom, already unzipping his backpack and grabbing for his suit.

~

It takes him a minute to find her because his superhearing keeps going in and out, honing in on things it shouldn’t, muffling out her voice, but finally he turns on 33rd and finds her in an alleyway between buildings.

She looks like a business woman, and there’s a guy all in black holding a knife to her neck. Peter can tell right off he’s not a professional at this because of the way he’s carrying himself, how he’s holding her, how he’s trying to yank her purse away. Peter also imagines that whatever’s in there is pretty important, because the woman is clearly intent on keeping hold of it.

Peter is having a hard time seeing without his glasses, which doesn’t surprise him but doesn’t exactly give him confidence for how this confrontation is gonna go. Karen is working hard to compensate for his new, worse eyesight, but she can’t make it the way it was before his powers started weakening. He clears his throat, trying to work around the fuzziness.

“Hey, man,” he says, extending his arm, readying to shoot a web. “This doesn’t seem like the best choice, huh?”

Right at that moment the woman elbows the guy in the stomach, causing the both of them to double over. Peter takes his opportunity and shoots a web, catching the guy’s arm. He jumps and runs along the wall, with a lot less grace than he normally would, but it’s good enough to get around behind the guy and pull him backwards, away from the lady.

“I’ve got this, ma’am!” Peter calls out, tugging the guy back until he stumbles down and lands on his ass. “Make a break for it!”

“Thank you!” she yells, as the guy gets back up. Peter knocks him right back down as the woman disappears around the corner.

“Listen, buddy,” Peter says, pushing the guy backwards. “There are lots of job openings around this part of the city, you don’t gotta do this—”

Before he can shoot a web the guy charges at him, tackling him against the brick wall behind him. He hits it so hard he sees stars, and it’s like the hit jarred the momentary clarity in his eyes out of place, and everything is fuzzy again. The guy pulls back and punches him across the face, and Peter can feel that pressure in his chest building, his heart pounding.

He pushes the guy and kicks him away, and he can only see the fuzzy outline of him as the suit tries to fix things again, make it so he can see clearly.

“Peter,” Karen says. “Considering your current condition, my best advice is to leave this confrontation, the woman is well away—”

She adjusts the clarity again and Peter shoots web after web, just planning on webbing the robber up and leaving him behind for the cops, but he’s way off his game, nothing is hitting, he’s shaking too much, and the guy comes back at him. Peter only sees a bright flash before he feels the sharp pain in his side.

It’s like everything stops and he can barely breathe, he can’t breathe—he looks down, sees that the guy has his knife stuck in Peter’s side. Black splotches spread across his already failing vision and he blinks, lets out a heavy groan when the guy pulls the knife back out. His whole face is covered but his eyes, and they betray his shock that he was able to get the upper hand on Spiderman so easily.

Peter’s been stabbed before and usually it doesn’t stop him, doesn’t paralyze him mid-fight like it’s done here and now, and he tries to pump himself back up to keep moving, to web him up like he was planning to because he’s clearly a goddamn danger to society, and as soon as he takes one wavering step forward, the guy surges towards him, stabbing him again. Quick and savage, in and out.

The pain is fierce and Peter feels like he’s gonna throw up—he’s so dizzy and he sways on his feet, dropping down onto his knees. He holds his hands up, barely has the strength to do that.

“Why was that so goddamn easy?” the guy whispers, still brandishing the knife and standing over him.

Peter can feel his own blood gushing, out of the new cuts in the suit, and he sucks in a gasping breath, tasting metal.

“Wonder who’s under there…” the guy says, turning his head.

Peter can barely see, and his shame and disappointment is making his whole body burn. He thinks he should fight, he knows he should fight, and he stumbles trying to get to his feet.

He hears something, vaguely, in the distance. It feels like everything slows down again and the sound gets closer and closer, like it’s rushing to get to him.

“Peter,” Karen says. “Get down.”

Peter nods just as the guy is reaching for him, like he’s planning on taking off his mask, and Peter drops down, crying out in pain when he lands on his stomach. Then the guy flies backwards in a flash of blue light, hits the back fencing and collapses in a heap. Another blue flash lights up the wet ground, and Peter winces, swaying. He tries to gasp through the throbbing pain, hoping the new arrival is somebody that likes him.

“Hey, hey,” a mechanical, but familiar, voice says. Gentle hands turn Peter over and he almost sobs, the wounds pulling when he moves. His eyes are too fuzzy, he can’t fixate on anything, the suit can’t even compensate for it anymore. He feels like he’s fading out. He’s better than this, he’s better than this. He’s Spiderman.

Whoever it is holds him close, and Peter can feel the concern radiating off of him. Peter isn’t sure who it is, can’t think, can’t see, but he feels like he can trust him.

“Jesus Christ, your buddy calls me, I think you two are pulling some sort of prank—then I check your suit and your vitals are all over the place—once we get to the compound, you’ve got a lot of explaining—kid? Hey, you with me?”

Peter can’t breathe and the black splotches are back, eating away at his vision and his consciousness. There’s a brief silence, a sharp intake of breath. Peter can’t think straight. He closes his eyes.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” the gentle voice says. “Hey.” Peter feels something cold on the wounds and he grimaces a little bit, but he’s still fading. “Jesus,” the voice says, but it sounds far away. “Kid, I’ve got you—stay with me.”

Peter can’t keep up with anything anymore, can’t focus on anything but the pain and what feels like his whole body failing, his hearing going in and out, and he keeps his eyes closed because trying to see through the fuzziness is giving him a terrible headache. He feels himself lift up off the ground and he dips his head forward onto cold metal.

“Bruce?” the voice says, mechanical again now. “Need you at the compound now, I’m coming with the kid. Something’s up with him, and he just got stabbed by some mugger. It’s not like normal. He’s messed up.”

Peter feels the air rushing past him and he’s so dizzy, clinging to consciousness now, barely hanging on. “Don’t tell Tony,” he mutters.

“Huh? Kid?”

“Don’t tell Tony,” Peter says again.

“Jesus,” the voice says. He feels the grip on him tighten. “I’ve got you, Pete. Just hold on.”

Peter wants to. He really does. But everything goes dark anyway.

Chapter Text

Peter wakes up to white noise, static, a weight in his head that makes him feel like he'll never stand up straight again. His whole body is a wreck and every breath he takes is full of nails and pain. He can barely move. He can tell he’s not wearing his suit anymore, and it feels like he’s wearing pajamas. He can’t pick his head up to look and make sure. He doesn’t even wanna move his hands.

Tony's face is the first thing to come into focus. If the blurry outline of him can be called focus. There’s a faint beeping in the background, and the bright white of the room hurts Peter’s already failing eyes. Tony looks around, reaches up somewhere over Peter’s head, and the brightness darkens a little bit. He must be in the med bay. Shit.

Tony scoots closer to him so Peter can see him better. Peter’s seen this look before—that mixture of fear, worry, anger and concern at war on his face. The expression that usually accompanies the phrase you’re gonna send me to an early grave, Parker. The ‘dad instincts’, as Ned calls them. Shit, Ned. Peter’s head hurts.

Tony sighs. "Tell me before May gets in here," he says, gravely serious. He rests his hand gently on Peter's shoulder. "I'm giving you that chance. What's going on?"

Peter knows he can't hide it anymore. There’s no point after what happened, it’s gone too far. He needs help. He wants to sigh, but it hurts too much. Everything hurts too much. It shouldn't hurt this much.

"I think I'm losing my powers,” he says, his voice raspy.

He tells Tony everything, all of it, all the details from the night of the fight to the confrontation with the mugger. Tears gather in his eyes and the panic crushes his chest again, but he tries to keep his cool, tries to focus on the hand Tony keeps on his shoulder. He can tell Tony is staying calm for him, is keeping the gasket blowing for later when things are okay again. That’s a point Peter tries to hone in on, shoot for—the later on, future scenario where he’s back to superhero speed again and Tony’s yelling at him. Anything but this scary, serious calm.

“So I don’t know. It was probably—the guy probably did something to me. That’s the only thing I can think. That was the only thing that was out of the ordinary that could…result in something like this. Probably got me after he knocked me out.”

Peter stops talking, exhausted, and Tony is quiet for a second. Peter stares at him, wonders how long he’s gonna be like that, and then the door behind them opens.

“Hey,” Pepper’s voice says, and Peter slowly turns to look at her. He still feels like he’s stuck in cement or something. “Oh, he’s awake.”

“Yeah, uh—was just about to call you guys,” Tony says, clearing his throat. He squeezes Peter’s shoulder. “May still in there with Bruce?”

“Yeah,” Pepper says. “Want me to get her?”

“Please,” Tony says, nodding.

“One sec,” Pepper says. She takes a brief look at Peter, worry in her eyes too, and she shifts her mouth to the side before disappearing out the door again.

Tony pulls his hand away from Peter’s shoulder and sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Uh…well, you shouldn’t be able to lose your powers,” Tony says, and he’s decidedly not looking at him now, staring at some point on the far wall. “Your DNA changed when you got bitten by that spider, so what I’m thinking is whatever was done to you is probably having an overlay effect. Like a virus on a computer, it’s making your powers dormant.” He clears his throat again, and keeps his gaze averted. “Guy missed your internal organs when he stabbed you, some fucking how, thank God. We stitched you up. You lost a lot of blood, so we dealt with that. Some broken ribs. Bruce is running tests with the other thing, so…we’re gonna figure it out. We’re treating the wounds on your arm again that you were, apparently, gonna let fester.”

“I was trying to treat them,” Peter says, getting that you’re in trouble vibe from the way Tony won’t look at him.

“Uh huh,” Tony says, clenching his jaw. He looks at him then, and Peter almost wishes he wasn’t when he sees the new anger flashing there. “When I found you, you were bleeding and so goddamn out of it that you were muttering ‘don’t tell Tony’ when I picked you up to fly you here.”

Peter closes his eyes, cheeks burning red. “Tony—” he starts, but then he hears voices down the hall.

“Lemme go intercept,” Tony says, getting out of his chair. “Explain this to her so she doesn’t have to hear it from you.”

Peter sighs, closing his eyes as Tony walks out of the room without another word. He doesn’t know how she’s gonna react, doesn’t know how he wants her to find out, but he figures it’s probably better out of his hands. Tony isn’t happy right now, but Tony is always on his side, so hopefully he makes him sound better than he looks in this situation.

Peter lies there in silence and pain, listening to muffled talking outside the door. His heart is struck with fear over how everything’s gonna go from here on out, and he tries to breathe steadily.

Tony and May come back in a moment later.

“Baby,” May says, immediately, and Peter turns slowly to see her, but before he actually sees her she’s leaning over him in a flash, cupping his face in her hands. She’s so close that he can focus in on her features and he sighs, hoping for love and kisses and sympathy after the anger Tony was sending his way before she got here.

He should have known better.

“You are out of your mind, Peter Parker,” she says, her brows furrowing as she leans back, still hovering over him but no longer cupping his face. “You shouldn’t have been out as Spiderman to begin with if you knew what was going on. If you even suspected.”

“I know,” he rasps. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot.”

May sighs, standing back again, but she doesn’t disagree.

“We’re gonna figure it out,” Tony says, back in his seat.

“God, Peter,” May says, covering her eyes, her other hand on her hip. “You’re smarter than this. You’re a lot smarter than this, you have people that care about you, that look out for you. I cannot even believe you would behave this way.”

“I know,” Peter says, swallowing hard.

“I can’t even imagine what could have…” she shakes her head, trailing off.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, wincing.

“I thought you would know better than this,” May says.

Peter feels horrible. Physically, emotionally, goddamn horrible. He doesn’t even know if he’s relieved that they know. He just feels shitty, all around. Weak and stupid and wrong.

“You’re just lucky it wasn’t worse,” May says. “Out there gallivanting as Spiderman while you know your powers are weakening.”

Peter knows he deserves this, but that doesn’t make it feel any better. He reaches up with his uninjured arm and rubs his eyes.

“You need your glasses?” May asks, voice harsh but somehow soft at the same time.

“Yeah,” Peter says, sadly. He hates the idea of having to wear them here. He’s only been Spiderman here. The Peter Parker that’s Spiderman. Not the Peter Parker that wears glasses and isn’t strong and doesn’t have superpowers.

“I’ll go get them,” May says.

“Ned has them,” Peter says. “My…original pair, I put them in my backpack.”

“I should still have your backup at home,” May says. “Always kept them in my room. Don’t wanna bother poor Ned, involve him more than he already is.”

Peter hopes Ned isn’t mad too.

“Happy can drive you,” Tony says. “So you have company.”

“Alright,” May says. Peter thinks she’s gonna leave in a huff but instead she leans down and kisses him all over his face, for about a minute straight, until she wrings a little laugh out of him. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” she whispers, kissing him again. “You relax. Tony’s gonna take care of it.”

“Okay,” Peter says, close to tears again. “You’re not…you’re not mad?” he whispers.

“Oh, I’m mad,” she says. “But I love you anyway.”

Peter nods. He can deal with that. “Love you too.”

She kisses him one last time on his forehead, taking a lingering look before she walks back out the door.

Peter looks at Tony. “Listen—”

“Clint and Natasha are tracking the guy from the other night,” Tony says, not looking at him again. “They’re master spies, they’ll sniff this guy out, then we’ll see what the hell he has up his sleeve. And Bruce is working ‘round the clock, so.”

“Don’t be mad at me,” Peter says, hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s discounting everything Tony just said.

Tony meets his eyes. Instead of flaring up, his anger fades a little bit, but, horrifyingly enough, it’s replaced with an air of disappointment. “Why would you hide this from me?” he asks, quietly. “I thought we were past that, Pete, you know, if something’s going on, you tell me. No more bullshit with you going off trying to handle things alone that you don’t need to handle alone. You know I can help you, especially with things like this. That’s literally what I’m here for.”

Peter breathes in a little too sharply and tears spring to his eyes again. Jesus, everything hurts. He’s so stupid. He’s so stupid, he’s such an idiot. “I was just…I thought I could, like. Wait it out. That it would get better. But I was gonna tell you, tonight, I was planning on it, you and then May—”

“Uh huh—”

“No, I really was,” Peter says, almost pleading. He twists the sheet in his fist, breathing hard.

“Why were you keeping it in the first place, Peter?” Tony says, a little louder, leaning forward. “You should have—”

“I know I should have—”

“Well then why didn’t—”

“Because I was worried that you’d just be done with me!” Peter almost yells. He sighs, rubbing his eyes when Tony goes silent. “You, all of you, Avengers, super powered people—I’m losing my powers, I knew I wouldn’t be important anymore—”

“No, stop,” Tony says, holding out his hands. “You are not this dumb.”

“You wouldn’t need me if I’m not Spiderman,” Peter says, his voice breaking. “The powers, that’s—that’s what’s important about me. Without my powers, I’m not…I’m not…”

“Peter,” Tony sighs, looking at him incredulously. He scoots forward again and Jesus Christ, Peter does not want to be crying right now. He’s already laid up busted to hell in the medbay. It can’t get much worse. Tony braces his hand on Peter’s shoulder again and shakes his head at him. “Do I have powers? Do I?”

Peter’s brows furrow. “You have your suits. All your tech, your…your brain—”

“You’re smart,” Tony says. “You’re smart as hell.”

Peter shakes his head. “Not like you.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “You’re smarter.”

Peter scoffs. “Yeah right,” he says. He chews on the inside of his lip and tries not to focus on everything that’s wrong right now.

“Sorry, it’s true,” Tony says. “Present situation withstanding, you know it was dumb as shit to act like you had this one covered, but…I know I’ve acted in a…similar fashion, in the past,” Tony says, clearing his throat.

“Feel like Rhodey’s told me that story,” Peter says.

“Of course he has,” Tony says. He sighs, smiling a little bit. “Anyway, your powers are not what’s important about you. You are important. You are. Kid, you’re family. No matter what, alright? You’re not losing your powers, but even if you did? It wouldn’t matter. You should know that. You have a place here, you will always have a place here.”

“You sure?” Peter asks, stupidly.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “So I repeat. Do not. Keep this kind of thing from me, or May. Please. Please, for the love of God. If you stub your toe, I will fucking teleport to your location, but you gotta tell me.”

Peter snorts, nodding.

“Okay? Okay?” Tony shakes him a little bit, but not enough to jar anything loose save for a few broken and worried thoughts.

“Okay.”

The air shifts a little bit then and Peter gets to appreciate, despite the weakness in his limbs and in his heart, the fact that his secret isn’t a secret anymore. And sure, Tony and May are both mad, but the world didn’t end. And Tony will figure it out—if anybody can figure it out, it’s Tony.

“I still don’t trust you,” Tony says, narrowing his eyes.

“I don’t blame you.”

“The ‘don’t tell Tony’ shit doesn’t fly well with me. Shit, the way that sounded…couldn’t believe it, kid. You were telling me not to tell me.”

“Ugh.” Peter wishes he hadn’t betrayed himself so badly. “Yeah, that’s…that’s a bad one.”

“You think?” Tony asks. He sighs, his shoulders sagging. “I swear, Parker, you’re gonna send me to an early grave.”

“Sorry,” Peter says. “But you’re not allowed to die.”

Tony shakes his head and pats Peter’s cheek, ruffling his hair. “Would you feel better in your own room?” he asks. “I know it’s pretty bright in here, even with the low lights on.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, anxious to get into more comfortable surroundings that don’t remind him of how majorly he fucked up. “Yeah, that would—that would be good.”

“Alright,” Tony says, squeezing his shoulder before he gets up. “I’m going to push you in a wheelchair and you’re not allowed to utter one word of complaint.”

“Fine,” Peter says, not a big fan of the idea. But he knows he’s gotta heal, get better like normal people do. At least until Bruce and the others figure out what the hell is going on.

~

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for Tony to come back with the heart monitor and other shit he was hooked up to in the med bay. Peter curls his right leg up a little closer, bunching up the comforter, and he doesn’t really like the idea of making this room look like a hospital room, but he figures he doesn’t have much choice.

He still feels dizzy and he leans forward, dipping his head into his hand. It hurts when he breathes and it’s getting more difficult with every passing second. He swallows hard, thinking about what an idiot he is. Going out as Spiderman when he was essentially just another guy off the street. He did save the lady, though. He got stabbed twice, but he did save her.

He definitely could have died.

Peter digs his fingers into his eyes, seeing stars. He’s just gonna be some kid. He’ll still want to help—he doesn’t think he’ll ever lose those instincts even if he isn’t physically capable of helping anymore, and he doesn’t know how he’s gonna stop himself. He doesn’t want to think this way—Tony’ll figure it out, Bruce will…they can call in Helen if they need to…but if the worst happens…if the worst happens…

He tries to remember what Tony said. That he’ll always have a place here. But he keeps picturing himself alone, no powers, useless, and the rest of them slowly phasing him out. The world wondering what happened to Spiderman.

He’s thinking about everything he has to lose, all the goddamn pain he’s in and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, the asthma, he’s finally, it’s finally…it’s like there’s a fifty pound brick on his chest and he tries to suck in a giant breath but he can’t goddamn breathe—

It feels like someone’s holding a pillow over his face, like he’s struggling underwater, and he grips his chest, trying to get in some air, anything, anything—

“Peter?” Tony’s voice calls, panicked, and Peter squeezes his eyes shut tight, his chest heaving. He hears Tony rush into the room, hears him curse under his breath, and when Peter opens his eyes again Tony is tapping his watch, his eyes wide.

“Bruce, get up to the kid’s room with some oxygen, he’s having an asthma attack—”

“Shit, okay—this is why—”

“I know, okay?” Tony says, and he taps something else, Peter doesn’t know what, because he’s closing his eyes again, wheezing, struggling. He feels like he’s sinking deeper and deeper, like someone’s ripped one of his lungs from his body. The bed dips behind him and Tony presses a firm hand to Peter’s chest. Peter collapses back against him, fear racing through his veins. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he’s gonna fucking suffocate.

“Pete, just relax,” Tony says, close to his ear. “The air’s gonna come, it’s gonna come. Relax, breathe with me, c’mon. Feel the way I’m breathing?”

Peter tries to focus through the pain, can feel Tony’s chest against his back, rising and falling.

“Try and breathe like me,” Tony says, holding onto him. “I know it sucks, bud, but the air is gonna come—it’s gonna come, and Bruce is racing up here right now, just try and hold on.”

Peter tilts his head back onto Tony’s shoulder. Tony’s breathing normal. Breathe like Tony. Breathe like Tony. Breathe. Breathe. You’re Spiderman. Breathing is normal. Spiderman can do normal things and then some. C’mon, Spiderman, c’mon, c’mon.

“It’s okay,” Tony says, softly, keeping his breathing sure and steady. “Breathe with me, kid, we’ve got this. I’ve got you.”

Bruce nearly faceplants into the room in that moment, holding one of the oxygen masks and containers from the medbay. He rushes towards them.

“Okay, okay, Peter, here we go,” Bruce says, stretching out the strap and putting the mask over Peter’s nose and mouth. “Oxygen is flowing, sorry it took me so long—”

It takes a few drawn-out seconds of tight coarseness, but then the air breaks through and he’s able to suck in a gasping breath. He sucks in another one, closing his eyes as the weight slowly lifts off his chest.

Okay, he’s breathing. He’s breathing.

“There we go,” Tony says, patting Peter’s chest. “That’s it, see?”

Peter’s eyes pop back open. Despite the blurriness, he can still read the room. Bruce is standing over him, staring at him. And he’s literally collapsed against Tony. He’s in a room with two of the foremost minds of the world and he’s acting like a gigantic fucking embarrassment.

He leans forward, slowly, the wounds pulling a bit when he moves, and he tries to keep breathing, slowly and surely. He covers his eyes with his hands, and he feels Tony grip his shoulder.

“Don’t go getting embarrassed, now,” Tony says. “Bruce doesn’t care—”

“I definitely don’t care, Peter—”

“—and you know I don’t care,” Tony says. “It’s asthma, who cares? Nobody. It’s normal, and once you get your powers back, it’ll be gone again. Easy peasy!”

“Peter,” Bruce says. “If you’re embarrassed about an asthma attack, Jesus—you should have seen Tony when he got the flu.”

Tony’s hand tightens a little on Peter’s shoulder. “Uh—”

“It was disgusting,” Bruce says. “I never expected to see a grown man, a grown man that I call a friend and colleague, uh—dealing with such, uh—bodily fluid situations right in front of me. And I’m a doctor, I’ve seen some shit. But not—shit like—”

“Dr. Banner, thank you, that’s—that’s great, that’s plenty of detail.”

Peter snorts, can’t help it, and he shakes his head. He can finally get air in and out pretty easily, and he takes deep breaths.

“I’ll go get the rest of the stuff,” Bruce says. “Finish setting him up.”

“Yeah, I left the heart monitor in the hallway,” Tony says.

“Saw that.”

Peter hears him walk back out and he sighs, rubbing his temples.

“Come on, kid, it’s fine, you’re fine, we’re good.”

Peter takes a couple of big breaths until he feels level again, and then he pulls the oxygen mask off and lets it hang around his neck. Tony looks like he wants to say something about it, but he just looks at him.

“You see why I think you’re not gonna want me around?” Peter asks, looking over his shoulder. “You can’t have a random teenager flailing around here with fucking asthma—”

“Language,” Tony says, and then he sighs. “Listen—listen, I’m gonna call Happy, I’ll put in a script for an inhaler—just for the interim. Just for the in-between time while we’re working out this problem, okay? And just so you know, you’re anything but a random teenager. The exact opposite of random.”

Peter doesn’t want to say he’s sure he’s gonna have to hang onto the inhaler, because he doesn’t think he’s gonna get his powers back. They’re just gonna get worse and worse, weaker and weaker, until they’re gone for good.

“What did I tell you?” Tony says, rattling Peter’s shoulder a little bit. “I can read your mind, kid, you’re sending me all kinds of mind vibes right now. I know what you’re thinking.”

“It’s fine,” Peter says, in a rush of breath.

“Put that thing back on,” Tony says, getting up. “I’m gonna go put the script in and call Happy, I’m sure May wants to rush back so I have to catch them before they get here. Bruce’ll be back in and out…and I’ll be right back.”

Peter doesn’t answer him, feeling himself sinking deeper into this black hole.

“Also, you need to text Ned,” Tony says, standing in front of him. “I talked to him earlier when you were out of the woods, but you gotta. He’s your best friend.”

“Okay,” Peter says, knowing he’s right on that one.

Tony looks at him with a strange sense of worry and fondness before he leaves the room, and Peter reluctantly puts the oxygen mask back on. He does feel a lot better while he’s wearing it, but he doesn’t like the way it puts his whole situation in stark relief. He’s losing his powers, his asthma is coming back, he can’t see and he went out and almost fatally injured himself acting like an idiot.

He sucks in a deep breath and grabs his phone from the rumple of sheets, composing a message to Ned.

So. Uh. Not dead.

~

May and Tony both sit on one side of his bed, and Peter can see them better now that he’s wearing his stupid glasses. He can’t tell what’s going through their heads. They’ve been on this weird wavelength since they made their super-secret blood oath co-parenting pact, and sometimes he actually thinks they can hear each other’s thoughts. He’s glad May has someone to commiserate with about him, because he knows he does some dumb shit and he does it often, but right about now he avoids their mutual gaze and squeezes the new inhaler in his hand. If he had his super strength, it would already be broken.

He’s a little annoyed, and he already knows it’s misplaced, because it’s landing directly on May and Tony. “So are you guys, uh—trying to stare me back to normal?” he asks, before he can stop himself.

“We’re just worried about you,” May says, exchanging a look with Tony. “And we wanna make sure you don’t go out looking for trouble again.”

“Why would I do that?” Peter asks, shaking his head.

“Why do you do anything?” May asks, a little forcefully.

Peter sighs, looking at the far wall again.

“Kid, you know how you are,” Tony says. “Your superhearing could flare up, because I know it’s not completely gone. You could hear some innocent whoever getting hurt out there, and even now, when you’re laid up and out of commission, I know what your instincts would be.” He sits forward a little in his chair, clasping his hands together. “So maybe if we…watch you…you could at least send another nearby superhero to do your dirty work.”

Peter cracks his jaw. “I can’t go back to being how I was before,” he says, not looking at them. The tiredness is eating at him, but he fights against it.

“There was nothing wrong with how you were,” May says.

“There’s a lot wrong,” Peter says, his chest going tight again. “I just can’t go back after being on the other side of it. I can’t.”

“Don’t work yourself up again,” Tony says. “Remember, we got this. May already told me I can’t come over for tikka masala night if I don’t fix you up, so.”

May laughs a little bit, knocking Tony on the arm, and before Peter can say that May’s tikka masala is her best dish and Tony should be worried, Bruce knocks on the still-open door.

“Uh, Tony, can I show you a couple things?” he asks.

“Secret things?” Peter asks, narrowing his eyes.

“DNA things,” Bruce says. “If we can come up with some real answers I’ll come right back and share.”

“Fine,” Peter sighs.

“Right back, kiddo,” Tony says, patting Peter’s knee. He follows Bruce out of the room and Peter sinks a little further into the sheets, closing his eyes.

“I know you trust Tony,” May says. “But you’re not showing it right now.”

“I’m just frustrated,” Peter says. His whole middle hurts, and exhaustion is trying to drag him down. His glasses make it easier to see, but he absolutely hates wearing them, and hates that everyone is seeing him wearing them. That’s driving him crazy too.

“I know, baby,” May says. “But you really do need to relax and just let them take care of it. Things would have been a lot easier if you had just, I don’t know…shared this information before. You know, before you went and got yourself stabbed. Twice.”

“I know,” Peter groans. He’s so goddamn tired, and pain is flaring up everywhere, both dull and sharp, on the surface and deep-seated. “I’m sorry, I know, it’s…I mean, I’m totally dealing with the consequences of my actions.” He has the inclination to turn onto his side, but he can’t do that because of the new wound and stitches there, and he stares up at the ceiling. “Can you get me some water? And, like…a snack?”

May laughs a little bit. “Of course. What do you want?”

“Tony keeps cheeseballs for me in the corner cabinet in the kitchen. They’re literally labeled Peter’s cheeseballs.”

“Cheeseballs for a cheeseball,” May says, getting up and kissing him on the forehead. “Got it.”

“Thank you,” Peter calls after her, receiving a little wave in return.

He’s lying there feeling sorry for himself for a full minute before there’s another knock on his door. He cranes his neck up to see and finds Steve Rogers standing there, leaning against the door frame. Peter figures Tony filled everybody else in on what’s happening to him, but that doesn’t stop the embarrassment that blooms in his cheeks.

“Can I come in?” Steve asks.

“Uh, uh, yeah,” Peter says, struggling to sit up a little bit.

He’s cultivated a pretty good relationship with Steve since the whole Thanos thing was resolved and the world was set right again. It was weird in the beginning, because he was definitely struck with a nasty case of hero worship, but when he found out about what happened between Steve and Tony after he got benched during their weird fight, well—his feelings were more conflicting after that. But everyone came back together later on, and Peter’s been on a couple of good missions with Cap that brought the hero worship back to the forefront. He’s always been pretty damn inspiring, and lately, a lot more domestic than Peter ever really pictured him being. Now, he knows that Steve’s favorite cereal is Frosted Flakes. He knows that Steve likes to watch Animal Planet. And that if you place him in front of a computer with The Sims playing, he’ll rebuild the whole damn neighborhood.

Peter never thought he’d ever get to speak to any of the Avengers, but his friendship with Steve almost surprises him the most.

Steve catches him in his difficult fight to sit up and walks over, helping him prop himself back up against the pillows. Peter nods at him and Steve nods back, taking a seat where May was sitting a couple moments before. “How are you?” Steve asks, looking at him with that honest expression that always makes Peter want to spill his guts.

“Bad,” Peter says. “Terrible.”

Steve nods, glancing at the ground. “I remember what it was like,” he says. “It was so long ago, but I remember being that little guy like it was yesterday. It feels strange to look at it from the other side, knowing what it’s like to be the exact opposite of what I was like then.” His gaze falls to Peter’s inhaler, still clutched in his hand, and he gestures towards it. “Asthma coming back full force?” he asks.

Peter chews on the inside of his lip. “Not full force yet,” he says. “I guess when I get super stressed out, right now…but all kinds of stuff used to set me off. Pollen. Dust. English tests.”

Steve laughs a little bit, nodding. “Mine would nearly knock me out,” he says. “One time these guys stole my asthma cigarettes outside the movie theater, and I had an attack, and Bucky had to literally carry me to the hospital. Sprinting all the way there.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “Asthma cigarettes?” he asks.

Steve shakes his head. “Medicine was…so, so bad back then.”

Peter snorts. “Sounds like it,” he says. He’s seen pictures of Steve from before he became how he is now, but it’s still hard to imagine.

“There were so many things wrong with me that it was hard to keep up with them all,” Steve says. “So I understand what you’re going through right now. Even at my weakest, uh—I would have made the same decision you made today, with the woman.” He smiles a little bit. “Don’t tell Tony I said that. He’ll accuse me of encouraging reckless behavior.”

Peter can’t help but smile back. “I won’t tell him.”

“He just wants to protect you,” Steve says. “But you’re…and he knows this, he’s said as much... you’re a hero, with or without your powers. It’s gonna be impossible to get rid of those instincts. And yeah, it sucks when your body works against you like it is now, like it did before…and the power feels good after not having it for so long. I know how it must feel, to imagine…losing it. But I was told long ago that being a good man was more important than being a strong man.”

Peter sighs, but he gets what he’s saying.

“You’re a good man at your core, Peter,” Steve says. “No matter what, alright?”

“Thanks,” Peter says, his voice breaking a little bit.

“Are we having a nice little heart to heart in here?” Tony asks, from the doorway. “I thought that was our thing.” Peter starts to respond when Tony claps his hands, loudly. “Alright, clear out, Petey, I need to tell Steve about my current insecurities.”

“God,” Steve says, trying not to smile, as Tony dissolves into laughter.

“That was such a dad joke,” Peter says.

“Yeah, I guess you bring that out in me,” Tony says, walking back in and sitting down in the other chair.

Peter shakes his head, trying to stave off a yawn.

Steve gets up, patting Tony on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go status with Nat and Clint, see what they’ve got.”

“Let us know,” Tony says, calling after him.

“Hey, Steve!” Peter says, watching him turn around. “Uh…thanks. Thank you.”

“No problem, kid,” Steve says, nodding at him. “Want me to pick you up a pack of those smokes I mentioned?”

“Huh?” Tony asks, enunciating the word like a weapon.

“Inside joke,” Steve says, winking, and Peter laughs.

Tony huffs as he leaves, turning to look at Peter with a sour expression on his face. He scoots a little closer, and Peter yawns, wiping his eyes. “Am I boring you? Already? I just got back. I know I’m not Captain America, who’s buying you cigarettes, apparently—”

“No,” Peter says, smiling. “You’re not boring. Everything good with Bruce? You keeping secrets?”

“No secrets,” Tony says, looking off towards the door as May walks back in. “You getting May to raid the kitchen?”

“You know very well that those are mine,” Peter says, reaching out when May hands him the cheeseball container, which is as big as his own torso. She puts the water down on the bedside table and flops back down next to Tony.

“Everything good?” May asks, looking at him.

“Yeah,” Tony says, as Peter fishes a cheeseball out of the container and pops it into his mouth. He sinks down a little bit into the bed.

“Saw Steve in the hallway.”

“Yeah, he was doing his inspo work with Peter,” Tony says. “And then as soon as I walk back in, the kid starts falling asleep.”

“I’m not falling asleep,” Peter says, trying not to yawn and struggling to chew.

“That definitely looks like your falling asleep face,” Tony says.

Peter sighs. He looks at the digital clock, realizes it’s eight at night. This day was cut really fucking strangely, considering he almost died, had surgery, had a couple mental breakdowns. “It’s too early,” he sighs, yawning again.

“Peter, you’re exhausted,” May says.

“It’s fine, kiddo,” Tony says. “You can use the cheeseballs like a teddy bear. I’ve seen you do it before.”

Peter snorts. He feels weirdly vulnerable for a second, which he doesn’t like, but he figures he might have to get used to it, in the worst-case scenario. But he remembers what May said. Trust Tony. And he remembers what Steve said too, despite how much he wants his powers back. But no matter how he chooses to comfort himself in the confines of his own head, something keeps echoing around in there. I don’t want you two to leave.

They’re staring at him again, riding on that weird wavelength.

“Take a nap, Pete,” Tony says. “You’ll probably be keeping some weird hours the next couple days, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Peter nods at them, putting the cheeseball container down by his knees. He pulls the comforter up a little higher, letting out a sigh. “Okay.”

~

His dreams are thick with pain, with foggy panic, stress surging in his blood. He can see the dark shadow of that guy from the other night racing around him, laughing, stabbing him and laughing. Torturing him and laughing. Killing him, drowning him, making it so he can’t breathe. He can hear Tony’s voice and he sounds far away, sounds like he’s hurt, and when Peter stumbles in that direction he doesn’t see anything. He can’t hear Tony anymore.

He wakes up to too many voices, loud and then strangely muffled. The memories come flooding back to him before he can even open his eyes, and he moves a little too sharply, sucking in a pinched breath.

“Honey, you alright?” May’s voice asks, and he can feel her hand on his forehead.

“Moved wrong,” Peter says, his voice rough. He slowly opens his eyes and is a little startled by the fuzziness, until May slips his glasses onto his face.

She doesn’t look happy. She’s got that furrow in her brow, worry in her eyes, and when she sits back down she looks off towards the door, where Peter still hears muffled conversation.

She’s alone. The other chair is empty.

Peter’s heart dips a little bit. “Where’s Tony?” he asks.

May swallows hard and looks down at her hands in her lap.

That wakes Peter up more and he presses against the mattress, trying to straighten up. His heart is hammering against the wall of his chest. “May, where’s…where’s Tony?”

“Uh,” May says, looking at the door again. Peter hears all kinds of voices that he recognizes, Steve’s and Natasha’s among them. But not Tony’s. “Uh, he…well, Clint and Natasha were able to track the guy down. The one they thought did this to you, the one you fought the other night—”

“Yeah?”

“And, uh. Well, Tony went after him, went to the place where they thought he’d be. He went alone, wanted to go alone and take him in, bring him back here, force him to…make some kind of antidote, for what he did to you. Natasha wanted to go as backup, she was preparing to go but he left before anyone was ready, and it seems…well…it seems…”

“What?” Peter asks, and he feels dizzy, he feels like he’s gonna pass out.

May gets out of the chair and sits on the side of the bed. “He’s gonna be fine, honey. He’s a survivor, you know him—”

“The guy got him?” Peter asks, his mouth dry. “He got him?”

May nods, sadly, and Peter feels like he’s been fucking stabbed again. The whole world twists on its axis, and he feels that pressure on his chest again. Panic. “Steve got a message about an hour ago,” May says. “You’ve been asleep for almost ten hours.”

“Do they know where he is?” Peter asks, tears springing up in his eyes. “Is he still in the same place as where they found him at? Can they track Tony? Can they track the message? Is he alright, did the guy say Tony was alright?” His head hurts, he can’t think straight.

“They haven’t really told me all the details,” May says. “I think I heard that this guy has multiple safe houses, but I’m not sure. But Peter…he’s got the Avengers on his tail. And Tony’s Tony. It’ll be alright.”

Peter faced this guy. He knows how intense he is, how powerful he is, and clearly, he’s capable of sucking a superhero’s power right out of them. And Tony doesn’t have powers. All he has is his suit. How the hell did this guy get him if he was in his suit? What the hell is he doing with him?

Peter feels sick. He covers his face, pushing the glasses up onto his forehead. He remembers the eeriness of his dream, can hear Tony’s screams in the distance. Too far away.

He’s in danger now. Tony’s in danger because of him.

“Oh God,” Peter gasps, sucking in a breath.

Chapter Text

Peter moves to get out of bed, pushing himself up and around May. He knocks the cheeseball container aside, nearly getting caught up in the sheets before he plants his feet on the ground. He disconnects himself from all the shit that’s monitoring him, and he can barely see—he’s wearing his glasses, he’s just crying too goddamn much.

He nearly collapses but May catches him, grabbing his arm before he falls, and he wipes his nose and straightens up, swallowing hard.

“Peter,” May says, tugging him close, touching him gently when she wraps her arm around his waist. He winces anyway, because his whole fucking body hurts, but he grits his teeth and starts forward. “Peter,” she says again. “What are you doing, huh?”

Peter’s mind is racing and he can’t think straight, he just knows he’s gotta get some information, now, now. “Just…” he breathes, trying to push away from her, “just…just let me…”

“Let you what, honey? Peter, you can’t—”

“One sec,” Peter whispers, because he can’t find his voice, failing somewhere in his throat. He’s drowning in panic, in pain, in worry, in fear. The dream nips at his heels, taunts him. He will be taken away from you.

Peter walks up to the door, which isn’t closed all the way, and grips the edge of it, leaning against the wood. He doesn’t know what the hell he wants to do, but he can still hear them all talking, a little ways down the hallway. He closes his eyes and tries to focus—he’s off his game, severely off his game, but his superhearing seems like it’s clinging to him, holding on for dear life—because he still needs it. He needs it more than anything.

“…as soon as Clint gets back, we’ll head out.” Natasha’s voice.

“He’s got the trackers?” Steve now.

“Yeah, should be able to sniff the guy out even if he’s hiding. We’ve got the trace.”

“And Tony should still be at that location?” Bruce now.

“After that note, I wouldn’t doubt it. And the heat signatures are right. He’s alive.”

Peter drops forward a little bit in relief, and idiotically, manages to move the door. The voices stop talking and there’s silence, and Peter opens his eyes. He turns and looks at May, his eyes still blurry from the tears, and she shakes her head at him, trying to pull him back further into the room.

The door opens slowly, and Peter doesn’t turn around. He already knows who it is.

“Sorry, Steve,” May says, wrapping her arm around Peter’s middle again and leading him over to the bed. “Peter just woke up and, uh—”

“Didn’t take the news too well,” Steve says. “I don’t blame him.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to him,” Peter says, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring down at the ground. He can feel another asthma attack on the horizon but he tries to level out his breathing. He doesn’t need that right now. He doesn’t need to be any weaker than he already is.

“I know,” Steve says. “Tony’s a cunning guy—for all we know, he could be escaping right now.”

“Why aren’t you guys going?” Peter asks, looking up at him. “Why are you still here? If it was you, he’d already be gone, he would have gone immediately—”

“We need Clint for the job to work,” Steve says. “He’s on his way with the materials, then we’re on our way. Rhodey’s coming too. I promise, we’re gonna do this. We need to make sure we can get him back, and this guy is dangerous. We have to anticipate the moves he’s gonna make so we can stay ahead of him.”

Peter rolls his eyes, swallowing hard. May rubs his shoulder, and he can feel her nervousness.

“Peter,” Steve says, sitting next to him. “I know how much Tony means to you, and I know—this is exactly what we talked about earlier. I know your instincts, I know you want to be involved in this, but it’s—it’s too dangerous. You gotta stay safe. That’s what Tony would want.” He sounds desperate.

Peter is desperate too. “If I was in normal shape—”

“Then I’m sure you’d already be gone,” Steve says, cutting him off. “I know it’s hard to think straight in this situation, but I need you to try, alright? Trust me. I know what’s going on in your head.”

Peter wipes at his eyes again, trying to take deep breaths. “We need to bring him back,” he says.

“I know,” Steve says. “We will.” He reaches out and grips Peter’s shoulder, and when Peter meets his eyes, Steve is giving him a funny look. Like he doesn’t quite trust him, like he isn’t sure if he’s getting through to him. Peter doesn’t say anything else, and Steve nods at him, a strange look of resignation in his eyes, thoughts racing there. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asks, softly.

Peter looks away, back down at the ground again. He doesn’t know what that means. But he knows it means something.

“We’ll keep you guys updated, alright?” Steve says, like he didn’t say the other thing at all.

“Of course,” May says, stepping in. “Thank you.”

Peter sees him nod out of the corner of his eye, and Steve lets go of him, getting up and heading out of the room again.

Peter feels like he’s spiraling. This is his fault. This is all his fault. It’s his fault on a multitude of levels, ranging back to his original mistake that night in letting the guy go. Letting the guy get the drop on him, knock him out, mess him up in the first place. Then all the hiding, the secrets. It’s all led up to this. Tony being taken, Tony in danger, and it’s Peter’s fault.

He’s known for a while that he can’t lose him. He remembers the way things evolved, when he stopped looking at Tony as some celebrity who was helping him cope with newfound powers and more as a mentor, a friend, a father figure. Tony has stuck with him through his lowest points, has supported him through his highest, and he can’t lose him. The world can’t lose him, so many people need him, as much as he may downplay how important he is.

He’s the father Peter’s needed since Ben died. He doesn’t ever say it out loud, but it’s true, and it hurts his heart to think it right now. He closes his eyes tight, wrapping his arms around his middle.

It’s his fault it’s his fault he can’t lose him he can’t lose him—

“Honey,” May says, rubbing his shoulder. “Baby, just breathe. Breathe, Peter.”

He makes up his mind before he even realizes he’s done it. He opens his eyes, squints, makes sure that it is actually his suit folded in the chair in the corner. It is—he can see that through the tears and the clarity of his glasses. He does a quick mental check—stitches are bad, they hurt like fuck, but he can deal with it. He can walk straight if he focuses, if he’s not distracted, and sure, if he does this, he’ll be distracted. But he’ll have something to focus on, something very important to focus on. His suit can help with the eyesight thing, can keep that up if he stays out of harm’s way. Which he intends to. His superhearing is faring better than everything else, and he knows that’ll come in handy here. When he does what he needs to do.

“May,” Peter says, trying to will his body to gain back some of his strength, just for now, just for this.

“What is it, sweetheart?” she asks, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

Think fast. Think fast. “This is stupid,” he breathes.

“It’s not,” she says. “What is it, you need something?”

He hates tricking her. If he thinks she was mad earlier, he can’t even begin to imagine what she’s gonna say later. But he’s gotta do this. He knows who he is, he knows it’s stupid, he knows it’s dangerous. But he knows who he is.

He’s gotta go get Tony.

“There’s—there’s this blanket I have here—”

“The red one we got you?” she asks. “You want me to get it?”

He nods at her. “It was in the med bay,” he says. At least he’s not lying about that. It was definitely in there at some point. He’s just not sure if it’s in there right now. Which’ll probably keep her gone longer. He tries not to lose focus. He’s gotta do this.

She nods, kissing him on the side of the head. “Okay,” she says, rubbing his back as she gets up. “Alrighty, I’ll be right back. Just relax.” She quickly moves across the room and out the door, and he knows that when she’s on a mission she moves faster, so he’s gotta be even faster than that.

He gets up, his legs creaking and his stomach pounding with pain, and moves as swiftly as he can to gently close the door. He doesn’t know how the fuck he’s gonna execute this half-baked plan of his, but he tells himself he’s got to, and he won’t be looking for a fight. It’ll be rescue and escape only.

He clutches his middle as he walks over to the chair where his suit is sitting, and he grabs it, hoping the next and most crucial part of his plan works out.

“Friday?” he asks, not too loud, just in case someone is around. “You listening?”

“Yes, Mr. Parker.”

Peter sucks in a breath. “Can you tell me the last known coordinates of Tony’s suit?”

There’s a pause. A loaded silence.

His heart beats a little faster. “Friday?”

“Do you think you should be looking for this information, Mr. Parker?”

“I need it,” he says, fast. “And I also need…to make sure that those coordinates are the same as the ones that Steve has. You know, from the message they got from the bad guy. I need to know. And I…I also need. Uh…” He clears his throat. Shit, the stab wounds hurt. His arm hurts, everything hurts, he’s out of his mind and he knows it. His suit is a wreck, it’s in no shape to do this, just like him. But he’s gotta get Tony, he’s gotta, he can’t just sit here. “I need a quinjet. I’d prefer that silver one that Tony, Steve and I worked on a couple weeks ago, that’s—that’s my favorite.” He swallows hard, looking up and around, getting horrible visions of Friday broadcasting this whole conversation to May and the others. Everyone in the compound.

“Are you planning on wearing your Spiderman suit?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says, fast. He presses his hand over the wound on his right side, like maybe putting pressure on it might do something. Help a little. He needs to be stronger than this.

Another long, agonizing pause.

“I will upload the necessary information to your AI, Karen, and get the jet prepared for you with the coordinates applied,” she says.

He nearly jumps for joy. “Thank you, Friday! Thank you, thank you!”

“I know you have Boss’s best interests in mind,” she says. “Despite the danger. And your current condition.”

“I do,” Peter says, taking off his glasses, wincing as he pulls off his shirt. “I do, I do. I’m gonna go get him.”

It’s his responsibility. It’s up to him.

~

He slips out of his room as soon as he’s got the suit on, and every step is like pinpricks but he keeps himself going for Tony’s sake. Karen tells him when to move left, when to stop, when to hide behind a curtain, and the stealth mode Tony implemented into his suit last week comes in handy, when Peter actually remembers to use it. He slides along the wall in the main atrium, half invisible, half reflective, and he’s terrified someone is gonna notice, but no one does. He’s waiting for alarms and his face flashing on screens like a criminal, but that doesn’t happen either. He’s also expecting to hear May’s piercing screams any second now, but the silence remains, and he only has to contend with his own ill-conceived plan and the tremors in his bones. Karen is doing pretty good with his goggles, and the fuzziness only clings to the corners of his vision. He hopes it stays that way. Hearing and vision are what he’s counting on most, here. And Karen’s info, of course.

Tony’s in some random abandoned warehouse in the Bronx. It matches up with the info Steve got, but the suit is offline, which makes Peter worry. He worries that he’s been moved, but he tries to snuff that thought right out.

He steals down into the hub and sees that his favorite jet is three from the front, the lights on and main door open.

“Friday has prepared the jet for you, Peter,” Karen says. “Autopilot is ready to take you to the coordinates of Tony’s last known location.”

“Thanks, Karen,” Peter says, groaning as he speeds up, rushing for the jet. It makes him feel a little weepy, looking at it, because they spent three whole days putting in upgrades on this thing, and between snack breaks it would hit Peter—he was sitting there with Iron Man and Captain America. Working on one of their quinjets. It was normal, it was fun, it was something he always imagined but knew he’d never get. But he was there, getting it anyway. It reminded him of the times he used to work on the car with Ben.

He tries not to get too emotional walking up the ramp, still clutching his middle and hoping he doesn’t rip his stitches in his pursuit. He hears the door slowly close behind him, and he swallows hard. Even on autopilot, he’s never been on one of these things by himself. He tries to keep breathing.

“Hello, Mr. Parker,” Friday’s voice says. “You may find something of use to you by the control panel.”

“Of use to me?” Peter asks, turning the corner as the jet comes to life and light around him. “I mean, I’m on—” He doesn’t finish his stupid snappy quip because he sees it. Him. It. His heart stops and he nearly has an asthma attack right there and then from the goddamn shock, because it’s—an Iron Man suit. Just standing there. And he knows it’s not staring at him, but it totally looks like it’s staring at him.

“Is…is this a test?” he asks Friday, Karen, both of them, whoever’s listening. “Is that…is that Tony? Was this whole thing a test? To see what I would do? Am I in trouble?”

The suit opens up then, revealing it’s empty.

Peter stares.

“Is it—is it here to be my bodyguard?” Peter asks, looking it up at down. He falls back a little bit when the jet takes off—they’re already in the air. He maneuvers around the suit, sitting down, wincing again when his stitches pull. If they didn’t know he was leaving, they definitely know now.

The suit closes again and steps back a couple paces, still staring at him. Or not staring at him. Whatever it’s doing.

“It’s for your protection, Peter,” Karen says.

“You are coded to all Boss’s tech, Mr. Parker,” Friday says, as Peter continues to gape at the suit. “You are only slightly shorter than him, but the suit can raise you up so you fit properly. Boss is always lamenting that you’ll be taller than him one day. Maybe this is that day.”

Peter blinks at the suit. His heart is beating wildly, and it sorta feels like it’s gonna rip itself out of his chest. The suit is blue and silver, a little bulkier than Tony’s more recent suits that aren’t made out of nanotech. “Uh—you guys—you guys want me to wear the suit?” Peter stutters, scoffing.

“It will keep you safer than just your suit,” Karen says.

“This suit can take substantial damage,” Friday says. “And both Karen and I can help you simultaneously.”

“Wow,” Peter laughs, wincing again. “Did you guys, like—collaborate on this?”

“Something like that,” Friday says.

Peter jolts as the suit opens again, holding its arms out. Half the time, it’s nerve wracking to wear his own damn suit because Tony made it, because he put so much into it and it costs so much and he’s never had something so important in his life? Ever? But this is a goddamn Iron Man suit. It reminds him of when he was at the expo, all those years ago. Wearing that mask. When he first met Tony.

He swallows hard. Turns around, looks anxiously over his shoulder as he backs into the suit, stepping up and ignoring the pain in his body. The suit closes around him and for a moment it’s completely dark, but then the screen comes to life with familiar sounds that Peter has always associated with Tony. He tries not to move too much, it’s all so damn heavy. A red flash scans over his face and then a green light pulses fast, and a ton of information starts streaming down the side of the screen—coordinates, news headlines, tweets, radio waves, so much that Peter can’t keep up with it.

“Stark Industries ID confirmed. Parker, Peter. Hello, Mr. Parker.” Friday’s voice.

“Uh—uh, hey. Hey. I’m out here. In here.”

“You are,” Friday says.

He swings his right arm. He’s in full control of the suit and its weight, and the more he moves, the lighter it feels. It’s such a strange feeling, like nothing he’s ever felt before.

“Karen?” he asks, eyes darting around. He takes one tentative step forward, wobbling, and he cannot believe this. He’s Iron Man right now. He’s totally Iron Man. “Karen?” he asks again. “Can you still hear me?”

“Yes, Peter,” she says.

This is so weird. He’s Iron Man and Spiderman at the same time. He can tell Karen is still trying to keep his goggles clear, but the screen in the Iron Man suit is really clear on its own, and he can see everything perfectly. He can see his own vitals at the top of the screen, and a little map on the bottom left that shows the journey from the compound to the warehouse in the Bronx.

He leans on the pilot chair and looks down at the metal fingers. “I’m probably gonna give Tony a heart attack,” he says. “Rolling up in this thing.”

“Boss has considered on multiple occasions making you a suit of your own.”

Peter gapes, staring at the cloudy sky. He squeezes the back of the chair so tight that he bends it, and he quickly backs up. But he’s not used to how long these legs are or the new weight he’s carrying, and he misses his step and lands hard on his ass. He nearly blacks out at the harsh movement, sucking in a breath, and it’s like he’s getting a douse of oxygen all of a sudden, the suit anticipating what he needs. The clang against the floor is loud and stupid and he sighs, hoping there’s no security footage in here that they can watch later and make fun of him for.

“He thought that you would have a similar reaction to the one you just had,” Friday says.

“Oh my God,” Peter says, pressing his hand on the ground, struggling to get back to his feet. “Well, that’s…that’s crazy.” He feels so so weird in this thing. “Uh—do we have any new stats, uh—you know—anything new about where his suit is?”

“Still offline,” Friday says.

Peter sighs. “Okay,” he says, watching the news continue to flash across the screen. “Well. Uh, let’s go stealth so as not to freak people out. And I’ll just…” He shifts his weight, gritting his teeth. Has he ever seen Tony sitting in the suit before? Can he sit? He just leans on the pilot chair, staring out the windshield. “I’ll just…prepare. Right here.”

“Don’t worry, Peter,” Karen says. “The journey won’t be very long. We’ll get him back.”

Peter thinks, for a moment, about the differences between Friday and Karen, the differences between the AI Tony made for himself and the AI he made for Peter. Friday is all business, but Karen is loving, supportive, encouraging. Because Tony knows that’s what Peter needed.

Peter clears his throat again, and almost punches himself in the face trying to wipe at his eyes. He can’t wipe at his eyes. He’s in a Spiderman suit within an Iron Man suit. He watches his heartbeat on the screen start to rise, and he sees an outline of his body, certain parts pulsing red.

He hopes he’s up to this. Strong enough to bring Tony home. Hopefully, him doing this lit a fire under Steve’s ass and made him get the others in gear. Peter hopes they’re not too far behind.

~

“Mr. Parker,” Friday says. “We are approaching. I am detecting signs that Boss is still in the building.”

Peter gasps, nearly fucking topples over again. “Good. Good, awesome.” He takes two heavy steps past the pilot chair, which he’s been hovering around the entire journey instead of trying to sit in it, and he sees the warehouse coming into view as they drop out of the cloud and fog.

“Friday, stay stealth,” Peter says, trying to get over how his voice sounds. “Let’s keep hovering right here, I’ll, uh—use the repulsors to get down. Karen, uh—keep me updated on like…if I’m getting critically injured or something.”

“I will keep up on it, Peter.”

“Okay,” Peter breathes. He stares down at the building as they hover above it. “Okay, okay.”

“I’ve scanned the warehouse for all the entrances and exits,” Friday says. “The most logical choice would be this one, on the right side.” She brings up a map that’s projected on the windshield, the whole building outlined and highlighted. There’s an opening flashing in the right corner, and there’s an energy pulsing inside, a little ways away from it.

“Friday,” Peter says, his heart hammering. “Is that, uh—that red spot a little behind the door you chose—is that Tony?”

“I believe so, Mr. Parker,” Friday says. Then another energy lights up on the opposite side of the building, this one flashing green.

“Uh—” Peter says, swallowing hard, images of the other night—his goddamn defeat—presenting themselves in his mind. “Uh, is that green light, uh—the other guy—the—the bad guy?”

“Yes, Mr. Parker,” Friday says.

Peter nods to himself. “Alright, alright, I’ve got this,” he mutters. “Okay, uh—I gotta—I gotta go, I gotta go get him.”

“I will continue to monitor the location of the other individual, Peter,” Karen says. “Friday and I are working hand in hand.”

“I love you guys,” Peter says. “Okay, uh—I just divert the energy to use the repulsors, right? The suit knows what I want, right? It knows, it, uh—reads my brainwaves, right?”

“Or you could just inform me of your intentions and I’ll take it from there,” Friday says.

“Right,” Peter says. “Perfect.” He walks over to the release door, which opens before he can say anything, which kind of proves the brainwaves theory. The quinjet is probably like three hundred feet above the warehouse, but that doesn’t bother him, considering he’s jumped off the Empire State Building more than one time. What he is worried about is not flying properly and slamming through the top of the building and making a big damn scene.

The wind whips around and Peter stares down. “Friday, you…you got me, right? Like, I’m not gonna—”

“You will not crash, Peter,” Friday says. “Boss would never forgive me.”

“Okay,” Peter breathes. He doesn’t wanna waste another minute, and he jumps out of the jet just like he would if he wasn’t wearing the Iron Man suit.

He’s in a metal can careening through the air.

“Oh God,” he yells, swinging his arms and legs back and forth. “Oh God, hey! Hey, Friday, hey—whoa!”

All four repulsors go off at the same time and Peter still hurls his arms and legs around before he finally rights himself, hovering like Tony usually does with his palms facing down.

“Oh my God,” Peter says, looking down. “Oh my God, this is so cool. Okay. Okay, lemme….” What looks like a lighted path appears on the screen, and Peter nods. “Okay, okay, got it. Got it, I’m on my way.”

He aims the repulsors backwards, goes horizontal, flails like he’s swimming for a few seconds before he finally gets all his limbs facing the right direction, and then he follows the way Friday laid out for him. He tries to ignore the way his goddamn body hurts, because he can’t focus on that right now. It’s really dark, all the streetlights are out over here, and there aren’t any lights on the outside of the building.

“Friday, any way we can get some night vis—”

She turns it on before he can even finish his sentence.

“Thanks!” he says. He can see the door perfectly now, and he focuses on it, tries to keep his posture, listening to the roar of the repulsors and hoping they’re not as loud inside as they are out here.

“I’ll make sure you land silently, Mr. Parker,” Friday says.

“Thanks,” Peter says. “I definitely…had some concerns about that.”

He touches down about a minute later, landing on his feet with only a little bit of shakiness, the repulsors going off just in time. He breathes hard, facing the door, and he decides to break it instead of blasting it, trying to stick with the ‘less noise’ route. He grabs the handle and twists it between the metal of his hands, yanking it forward in one swift motion that makes him see stars because of how he moves his arm. But the handle comes off easy, and he tosses it aside as the door opens under his hands.

Peter steps inside, trying to stay quiet, even though he feels so big and loud. He hopes he’s not as loud as he sounds.

The room he walks into is dark, and the night vision lights up sharply. The ceiling is tall and he feels like it would echo if he made any sudden movements. It’s drippy and damp, and the walls almost look like they’re moving, with the stains draped all over them. There are a few strange looking machines piled up in the corner, not anything Peter really recognizes, maybe something he might have seen at a construction site somewhere. There are moldy-looking boxes folding in on themselves, a few broken desks, but for the most part, this place is empty. He wonders what it used to be used for, or if it’s been an evil lair for longer than it was anything else.

“There’s been no movement by the perpetrator,” Friday says. “And Boss is still in the same location, just follow this path.”

She lays out another stream of lights, and he can see them cascade from his current location and around the corner, a hallway stemming out about ten feet away. He checks the map that’s still on the screen and sees that he’s only one hallway away from where Tony is. Tony’s on the other side of the wall to his right. One hallway away. One hallway. He can get him, get the hell out of here.

“Peter, try to take a breath. Your heartrate is rising,” Karen says.

Peter starts breathing deeper, can tell that Friday is feeding him oxygen. He follows the lights, moves out into the hallway. The ceiling is a lot lower here, low enough that he nearly hits it in this suit. It’s not as dark, but he winces against the buzzing overhead lights, flashing and flickering on and off. It feels like a goddamn horror movie, and he speeds up, sure that his every step is clanging against the hollow ground. He watches the lights, watches them sweep into an upcoming door on his right side, and he turns into it quick as he can.

This room is small, the ceiling a little higher than it was in the hall, and there’s a cell in the corner whose bars reach from the ground to the roof like they were made to contain something massive. But the only thing in there is Tony. He’s sitting against the wall, wearing the same thing he had on when Peter last saw him, and he narrows his eyes when Peter rushes into the room.

“Wow, nice, alright. Cool welcoming brigade,” Tony says, getting up. “Hm, suit’s moving a little wacky. Fri, can you hear me? Think you might need to recalibrate this one. Who’s coming?”

“Tony, it’s me,” Peter breathes, nearly collapsing into the bars.

Tony stares at him. Approaches slowly. “Tell me that’s a fucking phone connection. Tell me Peter’s not actually in this suit.”

“I’m in the suit,” Peter says. “Uh, uh—Friday, can you like—open the facemask? How do we do that?” With that the facemask almost immediately pops open, and Peter gasps, grinning when he can see Tony with his own eyes.

“Holy shit,” Tony says, almost deadpan. “I cannot. I can’t—I can’t even think. I can’t even believe this. There’s a baby wearing my suit. An incredibly injured Spiderbaby wearing my goddamn suit.”

“I’m fine,” Peter says. Tony’s right in front of him. He’s here, he’s alive, he’s right here. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“I’m not happy to see you.”

“That’s mean,” Peter says, though he knows he should have expected Tony’s indignation. He grabs onto the bars, meeting Tony’s eyes. “We’ve gotta get you outta here.”

“Kid, not that I don’t appreciate—no, you know what? This is insane. I can’t even goddamn believe this. You’re out of commission, we’ve got Captain America on retainer and you decide to take this shit into your own hands. This is dangerous, this is—”

“I couldn’t just sit there,” Peter says, his heart beating faster again.

“Yes you could have,” Tony says, his knuckles going white where he grips the bars. Peter looks at him, sees that he has a new bruise around his right eye, a split in his lip. “Pete, this guy took me down because he was able to disable my goddamn nanotech. We do have to get the hell out of here, because as soon as he sees this old prototype he’s gonna send you to the fucking—” He looks up, eyes wild. “Kid, move, get out!”

The facemask slams down and Peter whirls around, but something blasts into him before he can do anything about it. The suit seems to absorb the blow and he twists down, all the repulsors firing as he lifts into the air. His body is pulsing with pain at the shock and sudden movements, and he shoots beams at the figure, which doesn’t remain a fixed point for him to aim at. He isn’t even sure if he hits him, but Peter hovers in the air and can see the shadow whipping around the room. Can hear that manic laughter.

“He’s fast, kid! Get the hell out of here, I’m serious!” Tony yells, yanking at the bars.

Peter tries not to listen to him, the desperation in his voice. He watches the shadowy figure race around the room, and he throws something at Peter that looks like it’s on fire. Peter dodges, shoots another beam, but then he’s hit with the next fiery blast and one repulsor goes out, causing him to flail around in the air and hover with only one foot working. He shoots a beam, manages to hit him, but he keeps running, disappearing out of sight. Peter shoots again, another, another, another, rocking the whole building, shaking the whole room. But the guy is too fast.

“Goddamnit!” Tony yells.

“Friday!” Peter yells, shooting one, two, three beams, all over the damn place, trying to aim everywhere but in Tony’s direction. He hears the walls rocking with his hits, the ceiling cracking. He thinks he’s hitting just about everything but the goddamn guy. “Can you lock onto him?”

“I’m trying! There’s something—happening—”

“Don’t shoot Tony! Don’t let me shoot Tony!”

He watches the screen, watches the night vision strip away everything else but the signs of human life, and for a moment it’s like everything slows down. Peter sees him. He lines up.

“Unibeam!” he yells, hoping the goddamn bad guy can’t hear him. “Divert all energy to—”

The unibeam shoots out of his chest and hits the guy head-on, and he collapses back against the wall. But Peter’s excitement is short lived, because the guy hits something on his own arm, and shoots right at him.

The suit goes dead, and Peter drops to the ground in a crumpled heap.

“Friday?” Peter asks, panic starting to surge through him. He thinks he can hear yelling outside of here, but it’s muted and he isn’t sure. The screen is dark and when he moves his arms it feels like he’s being zapped. His wounds are aching, his whole side feels strangely wet and painful.

“You’ve ripped your stitches, Peter,” Karen says, matter o’factly.

“Nice,” Peter groans. “I’m definitely gonna rip something else if I don’t get out—”

With that, the suit opens, unceremoniously depositing him on the ground.

“Run, Pe—Spidey! Run, run!” Tony’s voice yells, ragged and desperate, and Peter wonders if he said some kind of cue or something to get the dead suit to open and let him out of there.

He’s vulnerable now. His suit is still ripped to hell from the mugger, and it’s nothing like being encased in metal. But he can’t leave Tony here.

He gets up, knocks the suit away best as he can, and dodges, hoping the bad guy isn’t anywhere near him. But he doesn’t get hit, and he turns and shoots three webs that fly out into the darkness, surely hitting the opposite wall and not his target.

He hears that laugh. That manic, insane laughter, and it echoes all around the room.

“Karen, can you see him?” Peter asks, whipping his head around.

The night vision in his goggles is stripping down layers, searching for human life that isn’t him or Tony. “Working on it,” she says.

“Go!” Tony yells, banging on the bars to get Peter’s attention. “Please go, kid. Please, please get out of here.”

Then there’s another voice.

“You think I needed Stark tech?” it asks, moving and shaping itself through the air like some kind of smokescreen monster. “I’ve got my own tech. As you can see. These little metal suits are no match for me.”

“Uh, are you trying to rhyme, man?” Peter asks, shooting taser webs out, trying to get him. But Peter sees them light up in the dark, and then nothing.

Another round of manic laughter. It unnerves Peter, makes him feel sicker than he already does.

“The whole thing was a ruse,” the voice says. “To see if I could depower the Spiderman.”

That sends chills down Peter’s spine, and he exchanges a look with Tony, who’s clearly just as horrified by it. Then, without another minute to think, the guy surges forward out of the darkness, a flash of darkness himself, and knocks Peter across the face.

He stumbles back but quickly returns, hoping his own hit will land and can manage to have some kind of force behind it. He’s weak, and he feels it, but his fist manages to connect with the guy’s face, a sharp, jutting chin that Peter can’t see underneath his dark hood. The guy laughs, keeps charging at him and laughing, and Peter takes hit after hit after hit, only managing to retaliate when he steps backwards, blocking the barrage of blows and opening up for his own.

But then he gets bogged down. Knocked off his feet, kicked and kicked and kicked again, his head hitting the concrete floor over and over again. He hears Tony screaming, his voice going out he’s yelling so hard, and then the guy hits Peter on the ear and all he hears is a loud, high pitched noise. He’s getting beaten, knocked to hell by a person whose face he can’t even see, a person who’s robbed him of his powers, the powers that made him who he really is.

“No, no, no!” Tony’s voice screams, somewhere in the distance. He sounds so far away.

Laughter. Muffled laughter.

“Karen,” Peter mutters. He hopes she knows what he’s thinking, and he gets hit in the head again and can hardly remember himself.

“Taser webs,” she says.

“Flurry,” Peter says. He rolls backwards quick as he can, away from the manic shadow, and holds out both hands and shoots. He manages to hit him with all but two webs, the electricity lighting up around the dickhead’s body.

Peter rushes away to the farthest corner away from Tony, and collapses amongst some of the rubble they’ve made, his plan forming in his head. He knows the taser webs won’t hold the guy off for long.

His hearing is the last thing that’s been holding on, despite his strength and everything else he gained with the spider bite leaving him. He can hear Tony’s voice, his distress and panic in every word he screams.

He can hear the notes of disdain in the manic laughter, approaching, stalking him. But he can also hear the walls crumbling, the broken pieces of the roof ready to fall.

He plays dead, and tracks the guy’s footsteps.

“Karen…”

“I’ve got it, Peter. I’ll tell you when he’s in position.”

Peter tries not to shake, tries not to move at all, tries not to let the way Tony sounds deter him. Tony sounds like he thinks Peter’s dead. Peter thinks he probably looks dead. Which means his plan is working.

“You know,” the unfamiliar voice says, getting closer. “I knew Spiderman would be an easy target. I already have the tech to take out the little toys like Iron Man. But you freaks are much more fun to beat. Now, after I kill you and Stark—I’ll work on Captain America. That’ll be an entertaining game. I can’t wait to hear him scream.”

Peter’s blood is boiling. He’s full of anger and fear, and Tony is yelling, banging, trying to distract, trying to do anything to keep the guy away from Peter.

“Steps away.”

“Hey, dickhead!” Tony yells. “Hey! I’ve got your fun little toy right over here, buddy! Leave him alone! Leave him the fuck alone, you goddamn lunatic!”

Peter can hear the roof crack. Crumbling. Breaking away.

“Peter. Now.”

Peter moves as swiftly as he can, bracing himself on one elbow and aiming with his injured arm, shooting four webs in a row and hitting the shadow head on. He drops to one knee, looks as if he might pull himself out of it, but then the roof comes tumbling down in a heavy heap, crushing him underneath it.

Peter coughs, dropping his arms from in front of his face, the dust swarming around him.

“Kid!” Tony yells. “Hey, hey!”

Peter get up, takes two steps, then collapses back down again. He doesn’t know if his body is finally giving up on him, all the strain he’s put it through in its weakened state taking its toll, or if something from the roof cave-in knocked him in the head. He blinks, dizzy, trying to get up again. He closes his eyes, swaying, trying to listen out for movement under the rubble, signs that the asshole bad guy is gonna get one over on them again. Instead, he hears rustling further away—straining, hears metal dragging, then a clang and a blast, and rapid footsteps.

“Bud,” Tony’s voice says, close to him. He grips Peter’s shoulders, pulls him gently into a sitting position, and Peter leans against him. “Breathe better without the mask on? Doubt anybody else is rolling up in here but a swarm of superheroes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter says, and he narrows his eyes as Tony pulls it off. “Hey. Wait. How’d you get out?”

Tony scoffs, his arm settled around Peter’s shoulder. He seems okay. He’s safe. He’s good, they’re here. They’re alive. Peter’s head is pounding, and every goddamn hit he took is pulsing all over him, reverberating through his bones. “Your stolen suit,” Tony says, and he gestures off towards the cell. “Or should I say borrowed? Unsure.” Peter sees the suit he was wearing, closer to the bars than he remembers it being. It looks a little more twisted, the right repulsor still powering down.

“C’mon. I’m me,” Tony says. “Give your old man some credit. I would have figured this shit out, which is why I’m so pissed at you—”

Peter groans, and decides to just keep his eyes closed. “It was dead. Suit was totally dead. How did you…you have a…screwdriver stowed in there or something?”

“Or something.”

“Mmm.”

“Hey, don’t fall asleep. Don’t conk out on me.”

The air feels thick around them and Peter’s tired. He’s really tired. Tony’s safe, the bad guy—the bad guy is probably dead, he probably just killed a dude, but, to be fair, he was really shitty and he was gonna try to kill him and Tony and Steve and none of that is okay at all. So it’s fine. He’ll deal with all the feelings about that later. Right now he’s tired. He’s really tired. He slumps against Tony, not daring to move much more than that, because right above the tired is all the terrible, horrifying hurt.

“Used to bring a screwdriver to school,” Peter mumbles. “But Flash saw it. Then they…said it was…considered a weapon…”

“What a dumbass school.”

“Mmm.”

“Buddy,” Tony says, and Peter vaguely feels him squeeze his shoulder. “Peter.”

“What.”

“I said don’t conk out on me.”

“You’re rescued—”

Tony scoffs.

“—quinjet is…hovering above us—”

“You stole one of my quinjets? You stole one of my quinjets.”

“Borrowed. I’m coded.”

“You won’t be for much longer.”

Peter groans. He feels like he hears something in the distance, and Tony holds him a little tighter. His head is spinning and he’s definitely bleeding under the suit, in a few places. More ribs are broken. Broken ribs are rebroken. There’s definitely more. And now the guy’s dead. So they can’t interrogate him to get Peter’s powers back. It’s all over. It’s over. He’s done.

A tear slips down his cheek and another one quickly follows it, and Tony sighs, ruffling his hair.

“It’ll be okay,” he says. “They’re coming. I know they followed you. I’d carry you the hell out but I don’t wanna mess you up more than you already messed yourself up. Goddamnit, kid.”

“It’s okay,” Peter says, and he definitely feels like he’s fading. He can’t think about his powers right now. He’s so dizzy he feels like he’s falling through the air, stuck on a rollercoaster or something. “Hey, Tony.”

“What? You okay?”

“I want…my own Iron Man suit,” Peter says, and promptly passes out.

~

He wakes up, but he doesn’t open his eyes. The change is immediate, despite the fact that he’s obviously laid up in a hospital bed again. He’s different. He’s back. He’s back and he knows it just by the way he’s breathing, by the way he can move his fingers, by that resilient, healing pulse running through him. He doesn’t know what happened and he doesn’t know if he’s dreaming. He doesn’t think so, it’s rare he dreams about hospitals and laying down, but God knows what his mind would concoct in this situation. But he feels it. Like puzzle pieces stuck back where they were meant to be. That familiar strength. A stable feeling in the core of his chest.

He keeps his eyes closed and listens to the two voices in the room.

“He’s insane, the kid’s out of his mind.”

“I could kill him. After everything he did before. All of that. Everything we said just went in one ear and out the other.”

Peter does all he can not to wince and give himself away. Tony and May do not sound happy.

“How does it feel knowing your nephew is a hero?” Tony asks. “The hero, more likely. He’s more selfless than Steve and that’s saying something. People would be shocked. I’m pretty sure he’s a literal saint.”

Peter wants to laugh. Happiness is swarming through him, even though he knows they’re mad.

“No,” May says. “Saints don’t put their aunts through this kind of hell.”

“True,” Tony says.

“And anyways, this was just—this was because he loves you, Tony. He wasn’t thinking straight. No logic, just emotion. He just couldn’t sit still when he knew you were in danger.”

“Nah,” Tony says. “He just knows I’m gonna write him a spectacular rec letter to MiT and I can’t kick it until he gets in.”

Peter blows out a scoff, and then his blood runs cold.

“Yeah, there’s the oops face,” Tony says. Peter hears them walking closer, and he sighs, opening his eyes.

His suspicions are confirmed when all he sees is bright clarity, full high definition vision, like he’s opening his eyes for the first time the day after the spider bite. He almost cries and he knows he’s in trouble, he knows he’s in so much trouble, but he can’t stop the cheek-splitting smile from spreading across his face. He lifts up his arm, and sees the festering wound is festering no more. In fact, it’s fading fast. Nearly gone.

“Before you start with the questions,” May says, pointing at him. “You’re grounded. For a month. I don’t care if you’re Spiderman. No fun allowed. I should bar you from coming to the compound, but I wouldn’t do that to Tony.”

“Fair,” Peter breathes. And he breathes and breathes. Clear and true.

“If you ever—ever—trick me like that again,” May says, her eyes getting wide. Then she stops, almost looks like she’s holding her breath. Tony is standing stalwart behind her, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s sporting a pretty nasty-looking black eye. May just shakes her head. “I don’t even know what I’ll do, Peter. But it will not be good. You will not like it.”

“I believe you,” Peter says, nodding. He presses his palms into the mattress and sits up. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, May.”

She glares at him. He tries his best puppy dog eyes face.

“Oh, he’s pulling out the big guns,” Tony says.

May tsks. She leans in, cupping Peter’s face, and kisses his forehead. “You’re the worst,” she says, kissing him again. “You are completely out of your mind.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

May shakes her head, leaning back. She looks at Tony. “I’m gonna go talk to Mr. Rogers,” she says.

“Uh, don’t kill Cap, he’s an important member of the team,” Tony says.

“Uh huh,” she says. “I’ll be right back.” She walks out of the room and Peter looks at Tony quizzically.

“Why would she kill Steve?” he asks. “Because he took so long to get there? Because…yeah, why did he take so long? Did he ever even arrive?”

“I’ll get to that,” Tony says, walking around and sitting on the bed by Peter’s left side.

“How’d you fix me?” Peter asks, excitedly. “What happened to the guy? Did I kill him?”

“Slow your roll, underoos,” Tony says, narrowing his eyes at him. “He’s alive. That fucking lunatic back there calls himself the Green Goblin. Something’s wrong with him, he’s—he’s got some kind of weird vendetta, he’s got a son about your age that you should definitely avoid, and I went in there—okay,” he says, holding his hands up. “I went in there, guns a blazin’, completely unprepared and running on emotion. Fair. I’m a terrible example. I understand I’m a terrible example to you.”

“No, you’re—”

“I am,” Tony says, shaking his head. “Not up for debate. But before I started the goddamn fight with that dickhead, I found his lab. I figured out what he was doing. So, yeah, after you gave me the fucking shock of my life rolling up in there playing dress-up, which Steve was complicit in, by the way—”

“Wait—complicit? How?”

“Friday and Karen are complicit because they helped you get there. My own AI’s, nearly getting my goddamn—getting you killed. And Steve. Steve left that suit on the jet. Your favorite jet. He knew you’d take that one, so he put the suit there.”

Peter’s face falls. “What—really?”

“Yeah, what did you think? It walked in there itself?” Tony asks.

Peter blows out a breath, thinking back to the conversation he had with Steve before he decided to go after Tony.

Tony shakes his head, looks off towards the door. “Once you passed the hell out, the others arrived like, four or five minutes later, Bruce took everything from the lab, Rhodey and Nat fished the guy out from under the rubble. Clint swept everything else out while Steve and I loaded you up and paced around like we were in a goddamn hospital. But, uh—took Bruce about an hour to synthesize a cure, took you about two hours after that to get back to normal.”

“Thank God,” Peter breathes, shaking his head.

Tony meets his eyes. “Listen. Listen. Thank you, thanks for, uh—coming for me, doing what you did, but Pete—Jesus Christ, I wouldn’t have wanted you to come there at the height of your powers, but coming there when you were hurt like that? Losing your powers? Shit, kid—so reckless, so, so dangerous, Peter—”

“I didn’t think,” Peter says, shaking his head. “I just—I heard you were gone, he had you and I just—I couldn’t lose you. I just—I know, it was…dumb, looking at it now, I know it was…I mean…I just…I couldn’t just sit here.”

Tony swallows hard, shaking his head, and then he scoots forward and wraps Peter up in a hug. Tears immediately sting in Peter’s eyes and he doesn’t hesitate to hug him back, burying his face in Tony’s shoulder. He’s so glad he’s here. He’s so, so glad he’s here.

“I can’t lose you either, bud,” Tony says, cupping the back of Peter’s head, holding him tight. “So I guess we’re…at a really shitty standstill, here. Knowing how we both are, but I just…please, you gotta—”

“Be careful,” Peter says. “I know.”

“You reading my mind now?” Tony asks, laughing a little bit.

“Yeah,” Peter says. “I can do that.”

Tony laughs again, pulling back but holding onto Peter’s shoulders. He goes serious. “I’m glad you’re back to normal, but only because it means you’re healthy and healing, and because it’s what you wanted. But I need you to know, I need you to actually hear me when I say this….with or without powers, you’re important, kid. Especially to me.”

Peter nods at him, trying to believe it.

“You hear me? That super hearing dialed up to eleven?”

“Yeah,” Peter laughs.

“Still listening? This next part is important.”

“Yes.”

“You looked so, so goofy in that suit,” Tony says.

“Nope,” Peter says. “You still gotta make me one of my own. I’m not forgetting that’s a thing you want to do.”

Tony lets his hands slide to his lap, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Friday.”

“I mean,” Steve’s voice says, from the doorway. “I thought that particular suit was perfect for you, Peter.”

“You—” Tony says, pointing at him.

“Listen,” Steve says, holding up his hands, looking wary as May walks back into the room behind him. “I knew this kid was going no matter what. I know that no matter what roadblocks I put up in front of him, he was gonna get around them, somehow. I just…I know how it is when you need to go after someone you care about, whether you should or not. I guess I…figured if I didn’t help, or if I tried to stop him, he’d just get hurt more. The suit is at least a safety net.”

Peter presses his lips together. “Thank you,” he says, looking at Steve. “Yeah, I…I wouldn’t have stopped, even if I didn’t have the suit.”

Tony nods. “Yeah, you should have seen him. Iron baby giraffe.”

“All three of you are dumb,” May says, leaning against the wall. “All three of you with your sacrificial bullshit. Always, always the dumb way, plowing through the situation, doing things you shouldn’t, nearly getting yourselves killed. Out of your minds, all of you. Natasha and Pepper are the only ones with any sense around here.”

“You’re definitely right, on that one,” Tony says.

“Uh, May,” Peter says, tentatively. “Does my grounding include…Spiderman?”

May clicks her tongue. She looks at Steve, looks at Tony. They both look away like they want her to make the decision, and for a moment, Peter gets worried.

“Once you’re completely back to normal,” May says. “Then and only then can you go patrolling again. Or whatever the hell else Spiderman does.”

Peter remembers what it felt like. That dwindling, faltering feeling in the days before, when he knew what was at stake, when he knew what he was losing. He could see all the possible futures he had ahead of him, all the things Tony was telling him were true and all the things he feared could happen. But he doesn’t have to worry about any of it anymore. He clears his throat, looks around at them. “Uh, do I still have clothes in the bathroom closet? I’m tired of the hospital blues.”

“You are wearing your favorite pair of sweat pants,” Tony says, pointing at him.

“I am wearing my favorite pair of sweat pants underneath a polka dotted dress,” Peter says.

“I think it’s a good look,” Steve says.

“Aw, don’t lie to the kid,” Tony says.

Peter sighs, looks at May. She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I just put some new clothes in there earlier,” she says.

Peter swings his legs over the side of the bed, and they all almost leap to stop him. He scoffs, getting down a little easier than he thinks he needs to. “I’m fine. I feel good.” They’re all narrowing their eyes at him as he makes for the bathroom, and he laughs, walking in there and closing the door behind him.

They start talking but he can barely hear the specifics through the walls, because Tony recently made every bathroom almost soundproof for reasons he considers obvious (even for people like Spiderman), and Peter snorts, shaking his head. He walks over to the closet and pulls out one of the MiT shirts Tony got for him, tossing off the med bay gown and pulling the shirt on.

He catches sight of himself in the mirror. He smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt and pads over to the sink, bracing his hands on the porcelain, listening to his feet try not to stick to the tile.

He looks at the residual damage on his face, his neck, how it’s slowly taking care of itself. He knows they’re all mad at him, but the surge of pride he feels for what he did kind of overrules that for a second, when he really thinks about it. He was powerless but he kicked ass, he saved Tony, and now he’s himself again. And that’s when he realizes.

He had been thinking about himself without powers as normal Peter, but he knows Peter with powers is normal now. He’s not the guy he was before, he’s powerful, he’s strong, he’s him, and he feels right like this. And that’s all that matters. That’s something Tony’s taught him, that’s something this situation made clear and apparent. When he feels right…that’s who he is. That’s who he really is. Just because he’s changed doesn’t mean who he was originally is who he always needs to be. Change is good. Change is right. And he is Spiderman. He always will be.

He grins at himself in the mirror. He feels good right now. He drums his fingers together, then drums them against the wall. And then he gets an idea.

When he’s positioned properly, he slowly opens the door, peeling it back with a little bit of difficulty from this angle, but not much.

“Listen, just—we can make him wear a very stupid Christmas sweater. One of the really embarrassing ones, one that lights up.”

“Tony—he’d still be having fun. He loves going to street fairs with you. He’d have a blast, and that’s the opposite of grounding.”

“C’mon, Cap, back me up here—”

“Uh, no, I’m gonna be on May’s side for the foreseeable—oh my God.”

Peter snorts as May and Tony whip around, following Steve’s line of sight. They look at the door first, and then their eyes find him where he’s sticking to the ceiling. He climbs forward a little bit, grinning.

“Jesus Christ, kid, you wanna give me a heart attack?” Tony asks. “Nearly leapt for the giant Raid can.”

“Peter,” May says, deadpan, but Peter can tell her demeanor is close to changing. “We’ve discussed this.”

“I just feel so good, May!” Peter says, and he jumps, sticking to the wall beside Steve. “I feel like…I feel like me.”

May smiles, Tony does too, and Steve shakes his head, looking down at the ground.

“Looks like Spiderman’s back,” Steve says.

“Nah,” Tony says. “He never left.”

Peter beams, feeling happier than he has in a long time.