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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. 

Chapter Text

Tony never saw the kid again.

His kid.

Sure, he only knew him for a few hours, but it clicked something within him. Like muscle memories that he shouldn't have. Like his emotions have been dialled to a hundred. Like Peter is meant to be by his side, under his protection. As if he’s been here his whole life. He's never considered himself to be the type that gets attached easily or quickly. But that was thrown out the window when he saw Peter cry. Tony was never a fan of physical contact but in that moment he knew he had to wrap Peter up in a hug. 

The kid has left behind a Peter-shaped hole in his life.

It’s been three years.

What the fuck. 

Tony is hurt. Beyond devastated.

The night feels like a fever dream. Like some extreme hallucination he had on hard drugs. 

He tries to not let it get to him. At first. 

Within three months, he started what has now become a stress habit. Reviewing security tape from the bathroom on repeat, he holds onto it as evidence that Peter was real. He’s replayed their conversation for hours, rewinding again and again to find any fault in his speech.

Did he offend the kid somehow? Was he just too different from his older self?

Tony thinks back to Peter—his nervous gestures and adorable expressions. His heart melts thinking about the respectful ‘Mr Stark’s that Peter referred to him as. If he knew that was the last time he saw him, Tony would’ve hugged the life out of that kid. ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’ has never been more true. 

Peter has been too frazzled to see it, but Tony was on internal high-alert the entire time. 

Was it obvious?

Maybe Peter picked up on it and took it the wrong way? 

It’s not everyday you receive life-altering news and meet your future child. He should’ve been kinder, more open or even comforted Peter more.

His doubts began to spiral into theories.

What if something happened to Peter? 

Tony’s mind tormented him with stories of all the ways Peter might have died. Maybe it was a world ending event. Classic superhero stakes. Maybe it was some stupid villain of the week. Tony was wrecked every time he thought about the possibility of Peter dying on the job. The very job that Tony had encouraged him to do. 

Tony is helpless. 

“Sir. There’s a new notification on Peter Parker,” J.A.R.V.I.S. alerted him in his helmet. 

“Not now, Jarvis. I’m kinda in the middle of something?”

Snow explodes around them as Tony whizzes past Cap beating up agents with his motorbike. The winter landscape is ruined by tire tracks and fallen trees. The loud strike of thunder rings through the battle. Tony flies past the Widow, who's using her momentum to leg-grapple guys by their necks before spinning and landing. The Hulk is somewhere, Tony spies the clear line of wood splinters in the snow. He blasts enemies left and right, swirling through obstacles. Tanks were starting to come out. 

“Hey Tony! A little help here?” Clint’s breathless voice comes through the comms.

“On my way.” Tony deploys his wing repulsors and changes to the direction displayed on his monitor.

Closer to the building on the hill they were infiltrating (taking over), Hawkeye is doing his best to single-handedly hold back new waves of Hydra agents swarming down in tanks. Tony engages the nanotech to form a bulky laser cannon on his right arm and starts blasting. He marvels at its fluid form. Technology that he shouldn't have invented yet. 

Hawkeye moves behind him, standing back-to-back.

“First it was nanotech, and now you’ve got wings on your suit?”

A permanent evidence that Peter existed—older Peter—was his suit. It took him a little over a year to figure out the schematics of his future technology. Peter's anxious ramble proved to be helpful in the end. 

“Oh baby, wait ‘till you see this.”

Tony laughs, shooting thick beams of repulsor arrays from his winglets. The agents fall instantly. 

The tanks thin out. 

“You get inside. I’ll be fine with the rest.”

He listens, flying up the snowy hill to get to the top.

“Jar, what was that update on Peter? Is he hurt? Sick?”

“No sir, he’s perfectly fine. Better than that, actually. A masked figure wearing blue and red was seen swinging through Queens in the north area today. I’ve identified it to be Peter Parker. The spider-bite should have taken effect. I’ve concluded that the bite should have occurred two weeks ago, analysing his absences.”

Tony’s breath hitches.

“What? The kid never told me he started this early. He should not be fighting crime before highschool! Speaking of, why didn’t you tell me about him missing school?”

Peter had kept his origin story vague, only supplying that he was bitten by a radioactive spider. He never did tell Tony the date, did he?

“Apologies, sir. I didn’t detect anything other than a high fever. Would you like to start constructing ‘Project Spider-baby’? I suggest you deliver it to Peter as soon as possible.”

Right, Peter’s suit that he was working on.

“Alright, go ahead. Notify me next time he’s away from school.”

Seamlessly, he smashes through the energy field that Struker is protecting the base with. If he were still wearing his old armour, it would’ve taken more work. Locating the energy source, he shoots it down for the others to enter. Tony flies through a window and lands in the main lab, knocking out the researchers that occupied the room. 

“Energy shield down,” he notifies.

Tapping his arc reactor twice, the suit retraces into his chest, leaving behind a pair of glasses.

“Okay Jarvis,” he stops in front of several screens, “you know I want it all. Make sure you send a copy of the data to Hill.”

Tony surveys the room and pops his glasses on. 

“J, scan this place. They’re hiding more than just files. Took us far too long to find this hole.”

“I’m reading steel reinforcement to your left and an air current.”

Tony presses his hands to the directed wall.

“Please be a secret door. Please be a secret door.”

The bricks shift. 

“Yay!”

He goes down a dimly lit tunnel, footsteps echoing. It doesn't take him long to arrive at a massive carven.

“Guys, I got Strucker,” Cap says on comms.

“Yeah? Well I got something bigger,” Tony replies, eyes glued to the thing taking up the whole cave ceiling.

A fucking alien Leviathan carcass from the Battle of New York looms over him, danging on wiring. Its body glows an eerie blue, reminiscent of life that was long gone. Multiple ladders and tubes stick out from the creature. Flaps and chunks of metal were missing from it. He arrives before a work bench, featuring a Chitauri body. Its metal face stared unseeingly at him. Under the Leviathan, countless aliens and their tech lay about. He really needs to invest in a post-battle clean-up division. 

Peering around the junk, Tony spots their goal.

Loki’s sceptre.

He walks up to it.

“Thor, I got eyes on the prize.”

He studies the sceptre. The glow of its jewel seems to pull him in. 

Mesmerising. 

That's why Tony doesn’t hear her. 

He doesn’t even feel her entering his mind.

He only hears the ripping of metal as the Leviathan comes alive behind him, freeing itself from its restraints. It soars away, slithering through the air. Tony is dumbstruck, following it with his eyes, he didn’t even notice his apparent shift in location.

Except now they were on some sort of planet, in space. His heart drops. The hulk’s large form lays withering, multiple spears piercing his body. Lying closer and closer to him were the rest of his team, unmoving and unbreathing. 

Lifeless.

Tony starts to shake. Beads of sweat roll down his face.

No. No. No. No—

He stumbles over to Cap, whose shield was next to him, broken in half.

“Steve?” Tony mumbles, laying a hand on the man’s chest.

Steve’s hand shoots up, eyes staring right at him, desperate.

“You,” the captain pleads, “you could have saved us. Why didn’t you do more?”

He stops moving.

Overhead, a portal has formed, leading to Earth. The same portal he flew into three years ago. He had flown in, not expecting to come out again. Several Leviathans head towards it. Chitauri on their gliders were right behind them.

“Mr Stark?” A weak voice makes him whip around.

“Peter? Oh my gosh. Peter!”

Peter is swaying.

Tony hurries to him, catching the kid before he hits the rocky ground.

Peter’s face is pale. Sweat drenches his brown curls and streaks of blood run down his face. His skin is stained with dirt. The Spider-man suit is torn in several places. Blood—so much of it runs down the gashes. It taints the air with the smell of suffering. His fingers weakly clenches the front of Tony’s shirt. 

“You came.” Peter smiles up at him.

Tony cradles his kid’s cold body, kissing his forehead. He looks so small. So frail. 

“Yes, Pete, I did,” he replies shakily, “can you tell me what’s wrong, Spider-baby?”

“I don’t feel so good, Mr Stark.”

Tony’s heart entirely breaks when Peter gives a sob. Not knowing what to do, Tony gently rocks him back and forth.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Peter’s sounds die out.

Space fades away. 

Tony is standing back in the cavern. 

It wasn’t real, he tells himself. 

Just an illusion.

-

Soft murmurs of conversation filled the Quinjet. Tony sporadically taps his finger on the control stick. Relief is clear in his teammates faces—they had just found the object causing them so much trouble finally. 

Tony is zoned out, resting in the cockpit.

J.A.R.V.I.S. pilots.

“Sir, I have finished organising the clean-up crew for the HYDRA base,” his AI notifies him.

Tony doesn’t answer.

“Sir?”

He is still zoned out.

Tony’s mind keeps looping back to his vision. Earth, destroyed. The once blue planet transformed into a mass of dead land stretching for no end in sight. Skyscrapers crumbling, weathered by dust repeatedly slamming into windows. The roads cracking under dry heat, lined with useless cars that will never start again.

Peter is still on the ground as Tony kneels before him, powerless.

A trail of blood flows behind him.

He thought with nanotech and a better-than-ever Iron Legion, he was able to protect everyone.

What he needs is a suit of armour around the world.

Tony’s mind jumps to Ultron.

Ultron was something he’s thought of right after New York. He’s never brought up the program again after meeting Peter. He thought he was fine with Nanotech. Heck, his arc reactor was a decade ahead of his time.

But that’s not enough.

And I need to be enough.

“Tony!” Steve pats him on the shoulder, finally getting his attention. “You good?”

Tony turns to look Steve in the eye.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Jarvis has been calling you.” The man seems worried.

“Oh, headphones in. Didn’t hear. I had him on Do Not Disturb. Worked like a charm.”

He points to his earbuds, which were playing nothing at all. Tony gets up, eyes sweeping the ship.

“Banner and I will give the sceptre a once-over before it goes back to Asgard,” Tony says, making his way to Thor. “That cool? We’ll have it back to you in a few days before the party. You’ll be there, right?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Victory should be honoured with revels.”

-

It is afternoon when the Quinjet touches down on top of the Avengers Tower.

It is not long after for him to start convincing Bruce.

“Gimme three days. That’s all I need. Jarvis can’t download data schematics as dense as the Ultron Program. But that’s a different story when the sceptre is here.”

Bruce looks at him, wide eyed.

“You want to build a super AI with the weapon of a god and you don’t even wanna tell the team?”

Tony sighs.

“That’s right. We don’t have time for a city hall debate. I don’t want to hear the ‘man was not meant to meddle’ medley,” he pauses, “I see a suit of armour around the world.”

“Sounds like a cold world.”

Cold. 

He thinks of Peter’s body.

“I’ve seen colder.”

Bruce is silent.

“Peace in our time,” Tony urges. “Imagine that.”

They start Ultron.

-

“What did we miss?” Tony rubs a hand over his face tiredly.

“I’ll continue to run variations on the interface. You should probably prepare for your guests. I’ll notify you if there are new developments. Dr Banner has left already.”

“And Peter?”

“Peter’s suit is completed, it is currently undergoing painting. I’ve tried to design the suit according to Peter’s brief description and his current ‘underoos’ outfit as you call it.”

“All the new safety designs have been added, right?” he asks. 

Wanda, as he found out later, spurred him to add a shit-ton of safety features to Peter’s suit. No-chance he was going to let his child die before him. No parent should ever suffer that kind of grief. Tony designed all these upgrades as a distraction, staying up until morning to perfect it. He calls it a coping mechanism—it keeps thoughts of the vision away. 

“Yes, I’ve added your upgrades.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

“Enjoy your party, sir.”

“I always do.”

Not today though—he needs Ultron finished. Nevertheless, Tony walks out the lab, the room darkening as he leaves.

Priorities, priorities.

Tony only missed it by a few seconds—under the words ‘ULTRON - SCEPTER INTEGRATION’—‘INTEGRATION SUCCESSFUL’ flashes. 

He would regret this.

What happens next occurs quite quickly in reality. But to J.A.R.V.I.S. and Ultron, it took a bit of back and forth, at the speed which computers process. The blue of the super AI wastes no time to attack the orange model next to him. 

A life ends.

In the darkened lab, J.A.R.V.I.S’ remains lay scattered, afloat. Orange particles are all that's left of him, evidence of Ultron’s first victim.

Unbeknownst to the whole team of Avengers upstairs, the AI makes his way to the damage station of the Iron Legion through the wires and tubing of the Tower. Rows upon rows of suits are being made or repaired. He skims through all of them, going for the closest one.

But then he notices a particular suit.

This looks…different... 

It’s…nanotechnology... 

He possesses the skeletal remains of an Iron Legion bot. Moving on, he reaches the more advanced suit, corrupting the coding before letting it encase him. 

He flexes his fingers.

Meanwhile at the party, Tony is slumped over in a corner, still in his lab clothes. He’s had the decency to at least put on a blazer. An empty bottle of whiskey sits on the table in front of him.

He’s barely there, barely conscious.

“Jarvis?” he calls.

“Jar Jar, anyone home? Please…I need an update…”

Annoyed, Tony taps on his ear receiver. A minute passes. He gives up, moving to a new topic.

“Peter?” he whines, “kid, I’m sorry, whatever I did. Please, buddy, visit me…I just wanna see you…”

Tony stumbles up, taking a moment to reorientate himself. The atmosphere is buzzing, but the comfortable kind. People—no doubt important people—are dressed in their best smart casual, lounging on couches and engaging in conversation. He spots Rhodey, telling a joke to a group of laughing ladies.

Only he seems to be alone.

A conversation captures his interest.

“I gotta have some of that.”

An army veteran is pointing to the flask in Thor’s hand.

“Oh no, no, no, no. See this…this was aged for a thousand years in the barrels built from the wreck of Grunhel’s feet. Mortal men can’t stand it.”

Perfect.

Tony is there in a flash.

“Pour me some, would’ya,” he slurs out.

Steve appears mildly concerned, which causes Tony to straighten up.

“I gotta let loose. It’s a celebration of effort and all that jazz…” 

He shakes his glass at Thor, the remaining liquid sloshing around.

“All right, if you insist.”

Tony mixes the droplets of Asgardian liquor in with his finger, sucking it clean after. He downs the concoction in one go. He barely feels it burning through his throat.

Rhodey catches him before he tips over. 

The empty glass shatters on the floor.

“Honeybear? When did you get here?” Tony turns around, leaning heavily on the other man.

He clenches the front of his best friend’s shirt, his insatiable need for liquor forgotten.

“Pepper? Have you seen my wife? Where’s Peps?”

“Tony. She’s running the company. She was too busy to join us. Also, you’re not married, remember? She wouldn’t want you drinking like this—all shit-faced.”

“What?” Tony’s brows furrow in confusion. “No that can’t be. I have to re-marry her.”

Vaguely, he hears laughter behind him. 

“Tony, what happened? You haven’t drank this much since college.” Rhodey’s words go in one ear and fly out the other.

Instead of answering, he suddenly whips around, frantically searching the room.

“Who are you looking for?” Steve seems even more worried now.

“Peter. My kid,” he answers.

“Hey! HEY!” Tony addresses the entire room. “Has anyone seen my kid? Around this tall, highly snuggable. Pete!”

“Tones, calm down!” Rhodey pulls him down to sit on a nearby couch. “What are you on about? Whose Peter? Should I know him?”

“Yes,” laughs Tony, completely out of it, “he’s gotta meet Uncle Rhodes.”

The Avengers babysit him for the rest of the night, taking turns to keep an eye on him. As the guests start clearing out, the team eventually circles back to Tony's group of couches, slumping down in exhaustion.

The overhead lighting is switched off for ambience. Nearby warm lamps are used instead, creating an intimate vibe.

Tony passes out minutes into conversation after puking his guts out in the kitchen sink. Bruce was patting his back sympathetically, listening to him groan about nonsense. He has to dunk his entire head under the running faucet before returning to his seating.

When he wakes, it is during the ‘Hammer Contest’, as dubbed by Clint.

No one won, unsurprisingly. 

“I have a simple explanation,” Thor says smugly, lifting his weapon, “you all are not worthy.”

People laugh, waving it off.

A sharp ringing shoots through the air.

Tony cracks open an eye.

He sits up excitedly, pointing to something behind the team.

Everyone is confused.

“Hey Pete! Where have you been? Come, meet your uncles and aunties. Here Rhodes—Peter!”

Tony flounders toward the figure entering the room.

He hugs Peter, wrapping him in his arms.

“Sorry, what?” Rhodey questions. “Tony who the fuck is that?”

“Hey!” Tony shouts indignantly. “Mind his youthful ears.”

“Tony…” Steve says tensely. He is gesturing with his arms up, standing. The man makes soothing movements in the air, as if beckoning a flustered animal closer.

Tony looks around.

Why was everyone standing up?

He puts an arm around Peter’s shoulders and smacks a kiss onto his forehead.

“Don’t worry, Pete. They aren’t usually this stuck up. I dunno what's gotten into them. You’ll charm them.” He pats Peter’s back.

“Ouch!” Tony winces. “Why’re you wearing your suit, Underoos? Hard stuff.”

“Worthy…” a deep voice says. “No, you’re all killers.”

“Peter, what? Have you replaced your vocal cords since I last saw you?”

Peter pushes him away, continuing to talk.

“I had to kill the other guy. A good guy.”

Cap steps forward.

“You killed someone?”

Tony breathes.

“You’re not Peter.”

The thing turns to look at him.

“No,” it drawls gleefully, “I’m not. It’s me, your greatest creation…"

Ultron. 

Chapter Text

Peter time-travels through dimensions mid-lecture.

Green withers of mist start swirling in the stale college air. Papers around him begin to float, spurred on by this odd force. His classmate’s laptops levitate up. All the screens in the room are glitching out. 

No one notices.

Only Peter sees the chaos.

If the wisps weren’t so ethereal, he would be shitting bricks at this classic horror movie scene.

People continue to stare at the empty spaces where their devices were before. His professor is still droning on about physics, pointing to a screen which reads ‘NO SIGNAL’. Everyone is oblivious to the mess of airborne objects.

That’s when his Spidey-senses start going haywire.

Chills crawl up and down his spine.

Peter stands up, on high alert.

The room spins. 

Or maybe he was the one spinning?

The greys and whites of the lecture room blend in a confusing mess.

Green, vibrant and glowing, burns into his retinas.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

Breathe in…

Breathe out…

Breath in…

And out…

In…

The spinning eventually slows to a stop.

Footsteps approach him.

“Peter? Honey, I’m leaving for work alright? I won’t be home until late.”

Peter takes a moment to stabilise himself.

His mind doesn’t fully comprehend the words spoken to him until he reopens his eyes. A hand taps his shoulder.

“I left breakfast on the table. Get changed out of your jammies and go eat. Seeya later.”

What?

“May?” he rasps.

Peter gawks at her.

“What’s the matter with you? Late night?” May reaches up to stroke his bangs from his face. “Gee, were you always this tall? Hit a growth spurt recently, huh.”

Peter grabs her outreached hand.

“Y-yeah,” he swallows thickly, “Spanish is hard.”

May laughs.

It sounds beautiful.

“C’mon, that’s a shit excuse if I’ve ever heard one. You always ace Spanish.”

Peter watches her. Really sees her.

He notices little specks of mascara on her eyelids from a messy application. There’s a patch of unblended powder by her right ear. She’s wearing a ‘Best Aunt!’ lanyard to hold her ID today. It’s the one that Peter gifted her when he was ten. It’s weathered from years of use, but she wears it like it’s new.

“I had a nightmare,” Peter mumbles distantly.

“Oh, Peter,” May consoles, opening her arms.

He hugs her, breathing in her vanilla scented perfume.

“It was a long nightmare I was stuck in…for so long…and you were gone. I wanted to see you so badly. You left this gaping hole behind, and it just kept sucking all the life outta me,” Peter’s eyes are red from holding in tears, “I missed you so much.”

“Honey, it’s okay, I’m right here,” she coos.

“Yeah,” he clenches the fabric of her shirt, “you are. I love you so much, May.”

May rubs his back. 

“Love you too honey. Do you want me to stay home with you today?"

"No, no, I'm fine. I'll be fine."

Before finally leaving, she triple checks that he’s okay.

She doesn’t know Peter hasn’t been okay in forever.

He returns to his room after ushering his aunt out the door.

Peter’s brain starts running overtime. 

He needs to know now if this was permanent. He doesn’t want false hope.

Peter takes in the sight of his old highschool bedroom. Posters covered every inch of his wall, some Star Wars, some the Avengers. Lego sets sit in their glass cases on the shelves. A partially completed circuit board lays on his desk.

Whatever divine intervention bought him here, he will find out. He can’t risk hurting May, his friends, Mr Stark…

His stomach churns in guilt; it's ages since he’s seen the man.

Faint speaking plays in the background. It was coming from his phone—he must have been looking at it earlier. 

Peter grabs it, turning up the volume.

“—reports of several Iron Legion bots spotted late last night around 1am, with witnesses saying they smashed through the Avengers Tower’s windows to exit. Leading them seems to be a advanced suit painted red and blue with a spider symbol on its chest and white eye cut-outs—”

Peter freezes.

On the screen was an extremely similar suit design to his own. 

His eyes catch on the date in the corner of the phone.

It’s a week before the Battle of Sokovia. 

In 2015.

The clip gives him major deja-vu. Peter remembers anxiously watching the news of this exact incident when he was fourteen. 

No way that was Ultron in his suit…right?

He thought for sure—or at least he hoped—that Mr Stark would move on. They only talked for a few hours at most, surely the man would just continue going about his life. Peter was only a tiny blip in his radar, brief and forgettable. Seeing the footage of Ultron wearing nanotech, Peter realises he wasn't. 

His mentor even built him a freaking suit, for someone he hasn’t technically met yet.

Peter shakes his head.

There’s no time to dwell on this, he’s on a time limit to prevent Sokovia from being wiped off the map. Thank Thor that Mr Stark had told Peter about Ultron before, during one of their weekly lab sessions, on a rare day the man felt comfortable opening up. His memory of the recount isn’t crystal clear, but it will suffice.

The news footage is now playing a video of the Legionnaire in New York airspace with Thor in pursuit. 

It is dawning on him, now, that Mr Stark listened to him about Mark 85 and the arc reactor. Even from the blurry images of Ultron, Peter could tell he was wearing nanotech. As if a super AI wasn’t enough of a challenge, he’s now equipped with top-of-the-game armour. 

Ultron’s arm morphs to shoot taser-webs.

He stares dumbly at the different weapons and defenses Ultron periodically whips out, one after the other. Peter watches as Thor’s lightning bounces off the suit’s protective shield. To avoid crashing into a skyscraper, the suit deploys webs from the side of his arm , pulling the AI away. Ultron’s back panel opens, shining a light so luminescent the screen goes white. When the camera re-adjusts, Ultron is gone. The video ends.

Peter feels his heart speed up, warmth spreading through his chest. In every detail, Peter sees care . He sees evidence of Mr Stark’s love, equipping his suit with such a range of functions. 

The three-year time gap feels worse now.

Peter wanted to go back. 

He longed to see Mr Stark so fucking badly that he didn’t.

Peter knows if he ever came back, he would never leave. 

He never wants to experience Mr Stark being ripped away from him again. After returning from 2012, he thought the nightmares would go away, but they came back worse. Their conversation closed old wounds and opened new ones. Peter needed a whole week in bed before functioning again. He began his coping mechanism by spending almost all of his time as Spider-man. His personal life has been non-existent. 

He’d risked so much by coming the first time. Multiple things could have gone wrong—stealing Pym Tech, breaking into Stark Industries and disturbing the timeline. 

Peter would do it again in a heartbeat—that’s not the issue.

But two Peters can’t co-exist. 

Wait…

Holy shit.

He bolts to the bathroom mirror. 

Peter must have completely lost it because he is 14 again. Cautiously he tugs at the baby-fat on his cheeks. 

Was I this small?

Peter is every bit the scrawny kid Flash picked on. 

This can’t be real.

Throwing on a pair of black sweats, he races out the front door within a minute. 

Swerving through the Sunday morning pedestrians, he pushes through the crowd with one destination in mind.

177A Bleeker Street.

-

Peter skids to a stop in front of the New York Sanctum. New Yorkers are too desensitised by the city to give his heaving figure a second glance. Feeling the air down his lungs again, he clambers up the entrance stairs and knocks.

They creak open.

Stepping into the familiar place, a woman in yellow robes greets him.

“Peter Parker,” she greets.

“Hi ma’am. I’m looking for Dr Strange?”

“You’re about two years early.”

He should’ve expected that.

“Oh, that’s fine…I think. I just wanted— needed to know, if my situation is permanent?” Peter says, wringing his hands.

“So you're the one the Time Stone has bought here.” 

She regards him with curiosity.

“The Time Stone?”

“It acted on its own volition two nights ago. Seeing that you’re in your past self’s body, its power surge must have been to bring you here.”

Peter hangs on her every word.

Don’t give me hope, he begs, don’t give it to me and take it away—please, I have nothing left.

The woman’s eyes soften, as if reading his mind.

“It got a glimpse into your timeline when you first arrived three years ago and has deemed Tony Stark’s presence necessary to balance the universe. By that, I mean the universe needs you. I can’t say for sure what that means; I can only guess that Mr Stark’s existence somehow impacts your survival. You must have been very close to death recently to be here right now. I think it has taken pity on you.”

He turns away, face burning. She’s right…he did almost die a week ago.

She narrows her eyes at his avoidant action.

“I won’t pry. The stone wants you to understand whatever’s going on in your time isn’t your fault.”

Peter looks at her again, surprised.

“I’ll remember that, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Enjoy your stay here, because you won’t be returning to your original timeline.”

He pauses.

“Wait, what happens to my original timeline?”

The woman smiles.

“Always thinking about others before yourself, Mr Parker. Your timeline won’t be an issue, it would be like you never existed in the first place. Don’t worry.”

The weight is lifted off his shoulders, replaced with something else entirely. Peter is engulfed by the dopamine overproduction he is experiencing.

He’s missed this feeling—happiness.

“Thank you…?” 

“The Ancient One. Pleased to meet you. Now go, you have a suit to get back.”

“Please thank the Time Stone for me!” he shouts over his shoulder, racing to the door.

“I will, good luck.”

Peter re-enters the street traffic with a spring to his steps.

The Avengers should have left the Tower by now—it was nearly midday. He remembers blurry information Mr Stark had told him about where they went next. Something about a black-market arms dealer, but he blanked on the location.

He needs more information.

Peter became aware of something when his wrists buzzed.

He had his nanotech web shooters, connected to Karen Jr. He retired the Iron Spider after being forgotten, starting fresh with a homemade latex suit instead. But he was able to use leftover nanites and bits of Karen’s original coding to create a more efficient shooter. 

He clicks open a compartment on his wristlets that holds an earpiece.

“Hello, Peter. It seems we have moved backwards in time. I was only just able to establish a connection.” Karen Jr says in his ear.

“Yup, we’re in 2015. Thank god I never take my shooters off—I’d be lost without you. Can you locate the signal coming from Mr Stark’s suit? It’s connected to his satellite. J.A.R.V.I.S. should be down right now.”

“On it.”

Seconds later, Karen pulls up a map on his phone.

“There was no need to bypass any cybersecurity,” Karen Jr sounds amused, “I seem to be already in. It recognised my coding.”

“Shit,” Peter says, impressed, “He’s made Karen already then. You can meet your senior later. Now, where is he?”

“About that, Peter.”

“What is it? What’s wrong with my map?”

“Tony Stark and his armour is currently flying over the Atlantic Ocean, headed for Africa.”

Peter groans.

He moves to a deserted alleyway.

“Dang it, Karen Jr, please see if you can send a suit from the Tower. Preferably a high-speed one.”

-

Five hours later, Karen Jr, in control of the suit, flies them to a coastal salvage yard full of abandoned ships. Each ship of the massive fleet was filled with shipping containers, scattered across the sand. The journey had been more comfortable than expected. He entertained himself by strategising with Karen Jr.

As they approach downwards, Peter spots the Quinjet parked in the distant treeline.

Bruce Banner is waiting by it.

“Karen Jr, read my notes to me again?”

“One—stop Dr Banner from Hulking out. Two—check on Pietro and Wanda. Three—beg for forgiveness from Mr Stark. Four—destroy Ultron, reclaim your image. Five—extract the Mind Stone from Vision.”

Peter lands heavily on the ground. His movements are inexperienced in the backup armour. Countless times he’s been carried to Medbay by one of these, but it was his first time actually in it. Feeling restricted, Peter steps out of the suit. He leaves the metal helmet on his head. 

“Karen Jr, park this suit in the Quinjet. Oh and please knock Dr Banner out gently without giving him a concussion.”

Peter waits near the entrance of the jet.

He hears a thump before going in.

“Sorry,” he mutters to the limp body of Bruce Banner.

Just for extra precaution, he closes the Quinjet’s doors and webs it shut. 

“Pietro, Wanda. Wanda, Pietro. Where are you…” Peter chants to himself.

Everyone should be in the biggest ship which was… he looks around.

Peter identifies the ship quickly when two blurs shoot out of it. He surveys the sky. Blur A blasts Blur B down, landing a few hundred metres away from him. 

“Karen Jr, zoom in please.”

Peter’s heartbeat accelerates.

Iron Man.

Mr Stark is here.

The red and gold figure dives after Ultron, who recovers fast. They began fighting. Peter should be searching for the twins right now, but his mentor was right there. He couldn’t get a proper sense of proportion on the news footage, but Ultron is towering in his Spider-man suit, dwarfing Mr Stark. 

Peter swings towards them through the trees.

When he approaches, Mr Stark is aiming a suit missile from his arm compartment at Ultron. He had gotten the upper hand and was pressing the other against a rock. The AI says something too quickly for Peter to hear but it must have been about him because Mr Stark looks up. 

Peter webs Ultron up and stops next to the man—

Who instantly aims his missile at him.

“Wait! Mr Stark it’s me!” He immediately flicks his helmet open.

Iron Man doesn’t move.

“See,” Ultron taunts them from behind, “I told you so. This isn’t real, it’s another illusion. How can your kid possibly be here?”

Astonished, Peter turns to Ultron. Unnervingly, the eyes on his Spider-man suit narrows.

“What? An illusion? How could you possibly—”

Wanda. 

He thinks I’m Wanda’s magic.

“You must be going mental, Stark!” Ultron’s voice is leering. “I’ve seen your files on him. A boy out of time! Oh how you wished he was here. I’ve seen those pathetic security tapes of you crying, destroying your lab. Maybe this isn’t even Wanda’s magic. Maybe you’ve finally cracked.”

Neither of them paid attention to him, but Peter could see how much the words were getting to his mentor.

“You won’t trick me again.” Mr Stark’s voice is quivering.

Peter feels the ache in his soul. Again?

He’s seen me in his vision before?

“Mr Stark,” Peter utters gently, “I’m real, okay? Remember Morgan? I never told you her birthday…it’s June 9th, 2019.”

“Y-you can’t be…that doesn’t prove anything. It’s been three years, you’re not coming back to me.” His voice tapers off, cracking a bit.

Was—

Was Mr Stark crying?

Whatever Mr Stark was going through, he never ever cried in front of Peter. He’s had eyebags as dark as bruises, unkempt hair and overgrown beards. He’s never cried like this.

Peter drops to his knees.

He gives no mind to the wet sand soaking his pants. His hands dig into the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I-I couldn’t bear seeing you to leave you again. I’m so wrong for that. I couldn’t see how much I’d hurt you. I’m sorry for every tear I’ve caused, every night you stayed up wondering why.”

His emotions are raw in his voice.

“Please, if there’s even the smallest part of you that still believes me, give me a chance…a chance to fix what I’ve caused.”

Peter tilts his head down, bangs covering his eyes. Shame sinks him, holding him from looking up. Desperation lingers on his every word. 

Mr Stark is no doubt evaluating his pathetic figure.

“Pete?” Mr Stark whispers. 

He hears nanites shift—the retracting of the Iron Man helmet.

Peter prays.

“PETER! Look out—”

He hears webs tearing. 

He feels sturdy metal arms wrapping around his torso. 

Peter is lifted off the ground.

Ultron is flying off with him.

For the briefest instance, Mr Stark and Peter lock eyes. The man looks tormented. 

He’s knocked out by Wanda.

Peter should’ve stuck to his plan—capturing the twins first. Why didn’t he? A scream rips from his throat, cut off by the high winds.

Ultron laughs at his grief-stricken attempts to free himself.

“Oh no, you don’t want to do that. Falling from this height, you’ll die. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you as long as you listen to me…little time-traveller.”

The altitude becomes too high and the air starts thinning out. 

Peter’s eyes roll back, losing consciousness.