Chapter Text
Peter knows this is a bad idea.
A year of severe loneliness can do a lot to someone.
He is at the end of his rope.
He’s tried walking up to MJ’s work about a hundred times. But when he enters the store, he feels like an outsider, an intruder in this perfect oasis of peace. Like he had just burst some invisible bubble protecting her from him.
Everytime he meets her eyes, he sees no recognition in her features nor a single change in her expression. Peter would scramble for any syllables to throw up. Only for his breath to catch when he sees her thumbing her broken dahlia necklace—he broke it, he broke it because he put her in danger.
He was suffocating in all the familiarity.
Peter has killed everyone in his life. It’s better they didn’t know him. What good had come to people around him?
He isn’t a hero, he is a curse.
All he has is a coffee cup and a Lego figure to remember his friendships by. Looking around his apartment, there isn’t even a slight hint of his social life in this run-down dump. He sleeps on a lumpy mattress and a tear-stained pillow every night.
Recurring nightmares haunt his mind. He sees MJ’s body fall, her scared face as her back hits the pavement below. He sees Ned, unassuming, moments before the Green Goblin hits him with an explosion.
And Mr Stark.
Except it was real.
It wasn’t a nightmare, it was a memory.
He remembers reaching out, scratching desperately at Mr Stark’s damaged armour. He remembers their eyes meeting, his look of pure love. He remembers Pepper’s shaking arms coaxing him away.
The dream would flash to the stench of war, the festering of blood seeping in soil. Ashes, so much dirt tainted the oxygen, going into his lungs. Everything ached. His suit felt suddenly uncomfortable in all the wrong places.
He would awaken, sweat-drenched and scared.
Months after the big battle, Peter became reclusive. Spider-man was on hiatus for weeks until snapped out of it.
Because it wouldn’t have been what Mr Stark would’ve wanted.
So he tried to move on from it all by burying himself in hero-ing. It worked. Until Fury gave him E.D.I.T.H., and it all came rushing back.
But he lost it didn’t he? He ruins everything good. Peter had given away the only memento that Mr Stark had left him. All in a moment of pitiful teenage insecurity.
Add that to the ever-growing list…
Top 100 of Peter Parker’s worst mistakes.
Shaking himself out of his own thoughts, Peter looks at the jumble of machinery in front of him. After weeks of committing thievery during his Spider-manning—going in and out of Stark Industry’s labs—he did it.
Made time-travel.
Re-made?
Perks of being a dead billionaire’s worst decision I guess.
It wasn’t an easy task. The incomplete blueprints for the time machine were encrypted and put behind firewalls more secure than national nuclear codes. He got through them no problem. Mr Stark had taught him after all. And may or may-not have left key details about the decryption process with E.D.I.T.H. It’d taken him weeks to shrink it down, engineering it to be small enough to fit his single bedroom apartment. Then came the problem of the Pym Particles. God, Peter did not want to think about that mess again.
He peers down at the red tubes in his hands ruefully.
Since Peter had decided to do this whole thing, it's been nearly a year after the battle at the Statue of Liberty.
Between juggling his academic work and building a literal dimension bending machine, he could finally now breathe.
The faint sounds of jolly, holiday jingles reach his ears.
This is the first Christmas Peter is spending alone.
Not alone, he tells himself, I’m going to see Mr Stark.
Peter is aware that he should’ve done some tests prior to absolutely winging it, but he is currently surviving on caffeine only. He slips on his Time-Space GPS and lets the Time Suit wrap around his blazer.
Let’s go crash a party.
He leaps into the quantum realm.
-
Quicker than he expects, he finds himself standing in an alleyway more than ten years into the past. Peter pats himself down, disabling the Time Suit, checking that his tie isn’t lost to another realm. Mustering every ounce of courage he smooths his white shirt and walks out of the shady place.
Right around the corner is his destination. A sleek, modern conventions centre. Nighttime made it easy to see faint figures moving behind frosted glass windows.
Two guards that look like they ingest super-soldier serum for breakfast every morning stand on either side of the building’s entrance. Classical music seeps from the rotating glass door.
Mr Stark is in there.
If this is exactly like the stories (complaints) he told Peter, the man should be bored out of his mind right now, stuck in conversation with random strangers.
Peter chuckles at that thought.
Out of nowhere, he stops walking. His foot seems to be glued to the footpath.
What in Thor’s name am I doing? This was such a bad idea.
Peter had only been thinking about how to get here. But he has no plans what to do once he actually arrives. All he’s been longing for the entire time was to see his mentor’s face again. As if seeing him would be a fix-all magical solution to his crippling isolation.
Surely by now, some wizard is going to beat his ass back across the Quantum Realm.
I’m already here, he tells himself, I’ll just look at him from a distance.
Expecting to be jumped every few seconds, he tramples some poor bushes and crawls his way up the wall, through an open window.
Peter arrives in the bathroom. Thankfully, there were urinals. One look at this place and he knew it probably cost more than his apartment.
They have a slope sink, for one. The lighting was harsh and white, offset by the black walls. The room is decorated with a fucking leather couch set in the corner. Peter makes his way through, his eye catching on the bottles neatly lining the length of the mirror.
Aesop soap? Who actually cares what they wash their hands with after wiping their ass?
A door hinges open.
Shit, there was someone in a stall.
Everything goes still. He can't stop himself, doesn’t want to stop himself from calling out—
“Mr Stark?”
“The one and only.”
The man casually strolls to a sink, putting his hands under a faucet. To his credit, he didn’t seem too alarmed by the greeting.
Peter stands there in shock.
Mr Stark is here. Mr Stark is here. Next to me. Within arms reach.
The man makes a move to leave after drying his hands and Peter’s arm shoots out, grabbing onto the other’s with stickiness and superstrength.
Peter stares at the older man, unable to say anything. It becomes awkward and tense before Mr Stark speaks up.
“Was there something else?”
“I-I’m a big fan of your work,” Peter laughs, trying to diffuse the situation. It comes out rather unnaturally.
“Loosen up a little, you’ve got a firm grip.”
“Right! Sorry.”
Frantically, he darts his eyes across the man’s face, looking past his sunglasses. He traces every detail with his eye, forcefully ingraining them into his memory. Peter sees every faint wrinkle and scar, berating himself for not noticing them before.
After countless nights of staring at the local mural for Mr Stark, he has only just realised how little resemblance it bore to the real person.
Mr Stark doesn’t seem to notice his internal struggle. Rather, he steps back and crosses his arms to examine him.
“Do hitmen start this young?”
Peter choked.
“Excuse me, what?”
“Look buddy, whatever they are paying you, I’ll quadruple it so you’ll leave me alone tonight.”
“No, no, no—I’m really just a fan. I just happened to meet you here, I swear.”
Peter moves his hands up so Mr Stark can see them.
“No chance. I had Jar lock the door. I didn’t hear you enter at all. I was gonna leave you to security ‘cus I didn’t want to deal with you.”
He fucked up.
“The window was open!”
The man’s face remains impassive. “So you snuck in to see me?”
“Yes?”
Peter wants to slap himself. He continues his alibi.
“I’ve been a massive Iron Man fan since the last Stark Expo! I happened to be passing by and thought…I’d pop in?”
“What’s your name?”
Wow, that hurts.
“Peter, sir. Peter Parker.”
“Hey Jarvis? Check him.”
A male voice rings out from his glasses.
“Peter Parker, born on August 10th 2001, he is currently 11 years old. I am confused, sir. He is who he says he is but my biometrics tell me he is 18 years old.”
Mr Stark raises an eyebrow at that.
“Wanna explain, kid?”
If it isn’t for Peter’s super-hearing, he wouldn’t have noticed the other subtly slipping on his gauntlet. There was a faint clink as the metal locked into place.
“I’m a time traveller!”
The whirring of repulsors fires up.
“Wait, wait, wait! I can prove it!”
“You have twenty seconds before I blast you through the wall.”
Peter begins rapid-spewing facts, going down random rabbit holes of conversations they’ve had and retelling Mr Stark stories he’s told.
The kicker was when he got to the last edition of the arc reactor. He had gotten the full blueprint for it from E.D.I.T.H.
Mr Stark raises a hand, repulsors deactivated, to stop him mid-rant as he moves on to complimenting his suit, Mark 85.
“—nano housing! I mean, can you believe—”
“Okay! Okay, I get it. Just, just give me a moment.” Mr Stark moves to sit on the couch.
The very couch Peter judged earlier but was now very grateful to have here.
“You're either very intelligent and I should hire you, or a time traveller,” he pauses, thinking. “Who are you to me? This can’t have been public knowledge.”
“Intern,” Peter says meekly.
“Funny. I gave my life’s greatest work to an intern?” Mr Stark deadpans. “Come on, kid, who are you? My secret child?”
Peter splutters.
“No!”
“Pepper’s secret child?”
“My last name isn’t even Potts.”
“I adopted you?”
“Mr Stark! I’m really your intern,” Peter pleads, now sitting before his mentor on the opposite seat.
“Yeah, you couldn’t waterboard out all the information you just told me, and I’ve been waterboarded. Try again.”
“I’m also Spider-man?”
They stare at each other.
“Right, and Spider-man is who? Your alter-ego?”
“I’m a superhero.”
Peter admits it with less pride than he used to.
“I put a kid in The Avengers?” Mr Stark narrows his eyes.
“It was a really dire situation! We were in space and I snuck on board even though you told me not to—which I’m really sorry Mr Stark I never got to apologise to you and—”
“Woah, slow down, we were in space? We? Me, you.” He points between them, disbelievingly.
“Why is that so unbelievable?” Peter is offended.
“Okay, if you claim to know me at all—first, I would never go back to that black hellhole. Second, I would never have taken an underaged backup.”
“I was stowaway!” Peter says ironically. “It was a desperate moment. And you felt guilty after.”
Mr Stark gives a sigh, crumpling against the back cushion. He takes off his glasses and rubs at his bridge.
“So…Spider-kid. Why are you here? Did we mess up? Here to save the world?”
“Spider-man, and no. I’m…here to see you.”
“Me? You had to go back in time to talk to me?”
Peter really hasn’t thought his story through. Then again, he didn’t ever account for actually talking to the man.
“Yes? You’re…missing. Yeah. And I wanted to find some clues about where you would be.”
“And you travelled more than a decade into the past?”
Peter can’t meet Mr Stark’s piercing gaze.
“Yeah…”
“Has no one ever taught you how to lie?” His tone is gentle, almost careful.
Mr Stark gets up to sit next to him. Peter feels the couch shifting and a hand squeezing his shoulder.
“I’m dead aren’t I? I fucked up?”
Peter’s lip begins to wobble, tears spilling out of his eyes.
“No,” he furiously swipes at his wet face, “you saved the world.”
“And left it behind, right? Saving the world does seem to be high stakes enough to go out with a bang.”
“No, you don’t understand .”
Peter digs his nails into his palm.
“I need you. When you died, the world just…kept moving on. Kept spinning and functioning. I was mad, beyond furious. I would pass by all these dumb tributes and murals of you, like they had already gotten over everything. But I-I stayed, y’know…I stayed in the same place, I couldn’t leave. So I stayed. But you never came for me because you were gone.” He lets out a broken sob. “I idolised you long before I met you, you were-you are so important to me. But we didn’t really get enough time together. It was so unfair, all these people—accepted your death so fucking easily. But they got the most time with you. More than me. To me, you were just—” Peter can’t breathe, “—gone before I knew it. Slipped through the cracks—”
Peter breaks off; throat too sore to talk.
His windpipe is convulsing, restricting air. He sobs, and it is filled with injustice and sorrow.
Mr Stark reaches his arm over for Peter who is curled into a ball. As if instinctual, Peter immediately unfurls himself and latches onto the hug.
The man holds him as he sheds the built-up resentment through his tears.
He holds together all of Peter’s pieces as he shatters .
Mr Stark doesn’t say anything, but his solid form feels like an immovable wall against Peter’s dam of emotions.
It is the first hug he’s gotten from anyone since the spell.
“You promised me that you’ll always be there.”
Peter’s voice is shaky as he speaks again. He begins to tell his mentor the abridged version of how badly he failed, everything from Quentin Beck to the spell that began his depression.
“Now I have no one, I’m a-all alone. I don’t even exist , Mr Stark. Patrolling makes me feel s-sick of myself, like it’s some kind of burden or c-chore but it’s not ‘cus I’m saving people. I kill everyone who’s around me like some sort of curse ,” he spits out the word, believing every bit of it. “You and Aunt May are dead because of me.”
Fuck , Peter thinks, I’ve done it. Scared him away with my stupid feelings.
But the other speaks up.
“Peter. It’s not your fault, you're not a curse.” Mr Stark’s voice is steady and sounds so sure that Peter believed him a little.
He continues to speak, holding Peter’s gaze.
“Being a superhero is a sacrifice; you aren’t meant to ride the highs all the time. It’s okay to have slumps here and there. Hell, my whole career feels like one huge slump I’m never going to get out of. You know how many people have died because of Stark Tech?”
Peter squeezes his hand in comfort. Mr Stark smiles at him.
“I could never save enough lives for the ones I took. I still feel guilty, I still feel shitty. But never let your mistakes define you. You’re a heck of a better hero than me—uh uh, don’t shake your head at me, I get to say that if you’re my intern. The point is, don’t let guilt trick you into thinking your failures are your fault. I can’t pretend to know you, but I can tell you’ve got heart. I would never, ever see you as a curse.”
Peter smooshes himself against Mr Stark.
“Thank you,” he mumbles into the man’s shoulder.
“Y’know, if anything, this all sounds like my fault.”
“No!” Peter pulls back.
“Beck as a direct result of my actions. The aftermath was also on me. I hire a teenage superhero and leave them to fend for the press alone? I should’ve ensured there was a way to safeguard you even after I die.”
Peter shakes his head.
Tony points a finger at him, making a cartoonish angry face.
“Don’t argue back! I’m your mentor, remember?”
Peter laughs and dries his face.
“That good, huh? Wow, I sound just like Cap. Pep would love me if this was how every press conference went. How is she, by the way? Taking my heroic sacrifice well?”
“She’s fine, she’s awesome so she’s okay. No one is really over it though, I think. Pepper still misses you. I haven’t seen her in a while.”
Peter frowns, reminding himself to check up on her. Well, stalk her slightly. They didn’t really still talk.
“Oh, Pete. When was the last time you saw her?”
Peter’s heart clenches at that familiar nickname.
“Well, last time she had to leave for a few hours, so I went over to babysit Morgan—”
Mr Stark’s eyes widen, and Peter slaps a hand over his mouth.
“I have a kid? With Pepper? We are still together right?”
Peter nods, he couldn’t worm his way out of this one.
“I’m so sorry, I ruined it. I should’ve asked—what if you didn’t want to know—”
“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. Tell me about them.”
Mr Stark’s voice seems unbelieving and self-conscious. He is fiddling with his watch, a nervous tick Peter noticed over the years.
Peter’s eyes soften.
“You’re an amazing father, you’re nothing like Howard,” he assures.
Mr Stark smiles.
“Her name’s Morgan. You called her Morgs. She definitely takes after you, a bundle of chaos. She loved watching me work on my suit and I always made her wear the Rescue helmet for safety and to make her feel included. Mo’s slowly taken over my room as her personal Lego room. I regret indoctrinating her into Lego. I step on more and more pieces every time I visit, it’s like a minefield! My Spidey-senses do not work on toys.”
Mr Stark chuckles fondly.
“She sounds perfect.”
“She is.”
“You have a room at our place?” he asks pointedly. “Still sure you’re just an intern?”
“It’s only a guest room.”
Mr Stark continues to stare.
“With like a few of my posters and stuff…and some of my closet.”
“Buddy, it sounds like I saw you as my son.”
Peter stiffens.
“Don’t…don’t say that, it’ll just make it worse for me.”
“He would’ve wanted you to hear it. For you to know how much you meant to him.”
“You really think so?”
Peter sounds so heartbreakingly hopeful.
“I know so.”
His guts twist as they fall into comfortable silence. He doesn’t know whether he should tell Mr Stark about Thanos. Peter knows it won’t change anything for him, that’s not how time-travel works—but just the thought that he saved some alternate-timeline version of Mr Stark…
But what if the Avengers here lose because of him? Dr Strange had explicitly said that there was only one possibility that they would win.
“Don’t say anything.”
“What?” Peter looks at him.
“You want to tell me how I die right? Don’t.”
His voice is firm.
“This is your death we’re talking about. Leaving everyone behind?”
“If I’m supposed to save the world, Pete, it really isn’t a bad way to go. I have to do…well, whatever I have to do.”
“You won’t even consider it?”
“No, not if it means saving the people I care about.”
Peter knows nothing he says can convince Mr Stark. He feels helpless, stuck as an observer of this world that isn’t his own. Peter can only hope, that in some miraculous turn of fate, that there will be another possibility of winning without losing anyone now that he has intervened.
“Thank you…for everything. I know how weird this probably all feels. I’ve probably broken fifty time-travel rules just by talking to you. I’ll…I’ll go.”
Peter shoved down the horrible urge to burst into tears again.
“Pete, from the moment I saw you, this…whatever you call it, mentoring, fathering, it felt so…natural. Like I wanted to stuff you into my suit and protect you from everything bad. I know I’m not him—your Tony Stark—but I want you to know…” he interrupts himself with a chuckle, “y’know my father never said this to me, and there was always some built up resentment…I would’ve liked to hear it, back in my day—”
“Mr Stark, you’re rambling.” Peter smiled fondly.
“Right. I am. Peter, I’m so, so proud of you. From everything you told me about Quintus Beck—hey don’t laugh, I'm serious—to that memory spell by that wizard, who I'm gonna murder when I meet, you’ve done a great job. Don’t let yourself tell you that you aren’t good enough. You are so much better than me and all the Avengers combined. Don’t ever forget that, okay?”
Mr Stark cupped Peter’s face, squishing it. The man laughed.
“Aw, you look so cute, Spider-baby.”
Peter threw his arms around his mentor one last time.
“You don’t know how much this means to me—how much you mean to me.”
Mr Stark stroked his back soothingly.
“You can come back, right? Visit me? Do whatever you did to visit me again?”
“Y-yeah, I will.”
Peter savoured the feeling of Mr Stark’s strong, shaking arms around him.
-
Moments after, Tony Stark finally exited the bathroom as if nothing had occurred.