Chapter 1: you’ve been fighting for it all your life
Chapter Text
***
“Mr. Stark!”
The relief that rushes over Tony is thick, dizzying in a way, as he turns around and lays eyes on one very alive Peter Parker. The kid’s eyes light up when Tony sees him (just like they used to, just like they always do ), and before he can even process it, they’ve both moved towards each other and he’s got an armful of spider-kid that is unequivocally better than the last time (and thank God it wasn’t the last time ).
“Peter, Peter, Peter,” Tony can hear his own voice echoing back at him, but it sounds distant, far too distant. He can feel the tears, flowing uncontrollably down his cheeks. He hasn’t cried, hasn’t cried for months, hasn’t cried at all. Not even in the dead of night when he sits and wonders why he can’t when he’s so earth-shatteringly devastated, when he feels like all of his insides have been scooped out and replaced with lead.
“I’m here, I’m right here, Mr. Stark,” Peter reassures him, flustered, arms tight around Tony’s middle. Tony retracts the nanotech so he can clutch the kid tighter, can feel the hug without the barrier of his suit (and this one’s a hug, Jesus Christ this one is a hug, fuck him for ever pretending for it to be anything but, even before he really knew the kid).
“Mr. Stark, Tony .” Peter’s hands - solid, warm, real, Peter’s alive , not crumbling to dust, never again - come up to Tony’s cheeks, his thumbs swiping away the tears. Their roles are reversed, and Peter forces Tony to make eye contact. His eyes are crinkling at the corners in the way they only do when Peter is really fucking happy, like “ Mr. Stark got us red carpet tickets to Jurassic World, Ned! ” level happy. “Tony, I’m okay. I’m okay.”
“Did – did you just –” Tony chokes on a laugh, fingers buried in Peter’s mess of curls, still wet with the sweat from their original fight with Thanos (the reverse snap brought a lot of things back, right down to the miniscule details). “Did you just call me Tony?”
Peter laughs with him, and maybe the kid isn’t as put together as he appears, because he buries his face in Tony’s shoulder. Tony feels like maybe he can feel wetness there, too. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
“Fucking finally. Only took three years. C’mon kid.” Tony’s lips graze Peter’s temple, and he thanks whatever entity exists out there that Peter Parker is back in the universe. “Let’s go home.”
***
The world is in chaos for the first week. Everybody pops back into existence right where they should be, but it isn’t like they’ve just returned back to the way things were. There are families to reunite, property to return, official statements to be made. Tony doesn’t think he’s ever had it this bad, in all his years in the court of public opinion – but he also doesn’t think he’s ever won as fully as they have right now. The Avengers come home, victorious – the red tape was cut before they ever left Earth to get the gauntlet, leaving Ross to crawl off somewhere with his tail between his legs – so there’s nothing stopping them from returning to the compound.
Tony knows eventually, they’ll have to talk about how everything went down. They didn’t talk about it when Tony stumbled off Nebula’s ship, half-crazed with loss, and they haven’t talked about it in the months leading up to their expedition to find Thanos and right his wrong – but they’ll have to, soon enough. Somehow, Tony feels calmer about it than he thinks he ever has before, and something tells him Steve and the others feel the same way. Maybe it’s because it pales in comparison to what they just faced, or maybe time does heal all wounds, and emotional maturity is within sight (the jury is still out on that one). Either way, Tony’s just happy to have them all there. Together. The way they should be.
The second week, some of them go home. Those with homes to go to, that is. Scott and Clint hitch a ride out west, the Guardians say their goodbyes, and Dr. Strange offers Peter and his Aunt a portal back to New York.
“Are you sure you’re okay if I go?” Peter asks for probably the billionth time, and it takes all the willpower Tony has not to roll his eyes. The kid has definitely been hovering, and while Tony doesn’t really mind it (it’s better than not being there at all ), he knows he shouldn’t be selfish enough to encourage it.
“I’ll be fine, Peter. Go home, build a Lego my Eggo with Fred, hang out with Aunt Hottie.” Tony waves Peter off as nonchalantly as he could manage, smile tugging the edges of his lips. “You can come back this weekend, if you want.”
“Okay, but only if you’re sure.” Peter can’t help but smile back. “It’s ‘Ned’.”
“I know .” Tony gives him a good-natured shove towards the portal, and is mildly pleased when Peter allows himself to be pushed. “Now get out, Pete. And take a breather! No patrols, for the love of God, you’ve earned a vacation day.”
That earns him a laugh, and Peter waves as he walks through to the other side. “I will!”
Things seem to be moving along well. Better than they have in a long time, honestly. The world is saved, and Tony can close his eyes and sleep for the first time in years .
He should have known it couldn’t last.
***
It’s been two weeks since the reverse, and Tony’s phone has finally stopped ringing off the damn hook. It’s still ringing more than usual, probably, but it’s not every second of every day, and that’s got to count for something.
Tony sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He’s tired. Bone-tired. Sleep for a thousand years tired. But it feels good, in a way. For the first time in a long time, he’s just…marveling at how little they lost. This time, it actually feels like a win and that’s…kind of mind-boggling.
He wants to sleep, wants to take the rest he knows he’s fucking earned, but Tony might as well embrace this feeling while he has it. He inhales, takes a second to compose himself, and says, “F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you tell Cap to meet me at the armory?”
He can do this. He can show Steve the shield prototype he’s been working on since…before he’s ready to admit he was working on it. They can start to build the team up, out of the ashes. This time, Tony won’t be hands-off. This time, Steve won’t be so blinded by the past. They’ll do it together; the way they always should have.
F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s answer comes reluctantly, a beat slower than Tony would have expected, and he frowns. “I might suggest waiting on that, Boss. I think I have something you’ll want to see.”
The image flickers to life on a holoscreen in front of him, and Tony sits upright, fully awake, faster than a blink.
SPIDERMAN: BACK IN ACTION!
The text rolls across the lower third as Spiderman twists and flips down the street. The reporters seem to be loving it – everybody’s in a pro-supers climate at the moment, thank God – but Tony thinks he’s finally beginning to understand the kind of rage that only comes from parental worry.
The kid is on his speed dial for this exact reason, and Tony pushes the call through without even waiting for a ring. “Kid, I thought I told you to take a goddamn chill pill .”
“What? Mister – Mr. Stark?” Peter sounds distracted, and Tony’s eyes narrow as he watches the live coverage of Spiderman swinging across the Queens bridge. “It’s kind of late, is everything okay?”
“ Is everything okay ? No, Peter, ignoring me and patrolling anyway is not okay .” Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes against the news footage. “Dammit, I know your Aunt told you the exact same thing I did – you need rest! We all do, hell, I was thinking of taking off to the Bahamas for a week with Pepper – can’t you listen to me for five minutes? Is that too much to ask, I mean honestly–”
“Woah, woah, Mr. Stark – Mr. Stark! I’m not patrolling, I haven’t been?” Peter’s voice has a note of confusion that sounds just a little too real, but Tony’s not buying it. How could he? The video evidence is right there.
“Nice try buddy, but I’m watching you right now. See that chopper to your left? Say hello to channel nine.” Spiderman’s head doesn’t turn, but Tony’s does. Specifically, because Peter…is facetiming him?
Tony accepts the video call and is surprised to see Peter, in his living room. The kid’s eyes are big, brown doe eyes, wide and full of confusion. “Tony, I’m watching a movie with May. You can even talk to her, if you want.” May’s leaning into the camera view now, brow furrowed over those funky glasses. She chomps on a piece of popcorn, tilting her head quizzically.
“Tony? Is everything okay?” His mind moves too fast, sometimes, and Tony knows he’s just made the dizzying leap, skipping straight over confusion and doubt into plain old dread. If Peter’s there, then who in the hell –
“Turn on channel nine.” Peter does so, fumbling with the remote, and Tony watches the bewilderment flicker over both Peter and May’s face when they see who’s swinging around Midtown. Tony doesn’t give either of them time to respond, pressing onwards with the last question he needs answered. “You’ve got your suit, right? It hasn’t been taken?”
“It’s right here,” The video wobbles as Peter turns the camera around, aiming it at an old recliner. The suit is laid out, head to toe. “May washed it for me earlier. Got sick of the laundry turning red and blue.”
Tony ends the call without any further preamble, already making a break for the yard. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., get me everything we have on whoever the hell that is. Lock down the suit Because I Said So protocol. I don’t want Peter getting involved.” Like that would stop him. At least it would slow him, if nothing else. After a moment, Tony says, “Forward it to the others, too.” He doesn’t know what this is, and maybe he’s overreacting (something tells him he isn’t), but if the other Avengers need to mobilize, he wants them to be prepped.
The nanotech flows out over him like a second skin, and Tony’s already engaging the boots without waiting for the rest of it. F.R.I.D.A.Y. has a live feed waiting on his helmet display, which shows Spiderman in Times Square, perched on the edge of a billboard.
“Boss, I’ve retraced the imposter’s steps,” Another video pops up on the display, as Tony adjusts his flight path. “Nobody goes into this alleyway for four hours, but he swings out of it.”
“Freeze on him and enhance detail,” Tony orders, watching as the grainy footage is cleaned to the best of F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s ability. The suit…doesn’t look right, which is good, he supposes, because it means it definitely isn’t the one he designed for Peter (or any of the other prototypes, which are locked away in the compound’s armory). Still, something about it makes him frown – it does look handmade, looks like spandex, which might even be worse than the sweats Tony found Peter in.
“He’s taking off for Queens again, Boss. Looks like he heard your approach.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. murmurs helpfully, plotting a new route for Tony to cut off Spidey’s escape. He locks his heels together, giving himself an extra burst of speed so he could come around the corner right at the last second, forcing the Spiderman imposter to stop in his tracks.
“Nice night for some swinging.” Tony raises one hand, repulsor aimed at the center Spiderman’s chest. There seemed to be a handmade spider symbol embossed on the chest – now that Tony was up close, actually, he could tell that the entire suit was handmade, and made of nothing more than plain old craft store spandex. And if that was the case…
“I think you’ve got something that doesn’t belong to you, webs.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. enhances his visuals, zooming in on the webshooters on the guy’s wrist. They didn’t look like the ones Peter had designed, nor the ones Tony had made improvements upon, but he had no doubt the tech within was one and the same. “Time to quit playing hero.”
“Mr. Tony Iron Stark Man Sir!” The fake Spiderman hangs from his fingertips against the wall, free hand coming up into a messy salute. Tony’s eyes narrow – his voice is dripping with sarcasm, and Tony does not appreciate that one damn bit. “I don’t know about being a hero, but I’m definitely not playing. Playing would involve a lot more Barbie dolls and maybe even a Polly Pocket or two.”
“Can it, kid. Jig’s up.” Tony beckons the imposter with his other hand, still keeping the repulsor trained on the center of the guy’s chest. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”
“Wow, did you get that off a cereal box?” Tony can feel his scowl growing underneath the faceplate, headache building in his temples. If the fake Spiderman is worried at all, he certainly isn’t showing it. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m not going anywhere with you. Stranger danger is a real problem – it’s not safe out here for an arachnid like me.”
“I’m not going to ask again. If you won’t come willingly, I’ll just have to make you.” The repulsor charges; Tony is already 3000% done with this bullshit, and that was before the fake started snickering.
“I’d love to see you try.”
Okay, Tony definitely wasn’t expecting the backflip off the building. Whoever or whatever he may be, the guy was definitely fast. Tony wheels around, shooting off a repulsor blast as the kid dashed around the corner, momentum from his webbing swinging him sharply. “Spiderman” lets out a whoop, and Iron Man barrels after him, another repulsor charged at the ready.
He’s only looking to stun, but jeez, this little fucker was fast. The fake twists and flips, avoiding his shots as though it was second nature. Something niggles at the back of Tony’s mind – how can he possibly be doing this? He knew how Peter did it, but the kid was unique – there was no one in the world who could do what he did.
…Right?
Tony banks left, trying to keep up with the fake’s wild swings. Whoever or whatever he is, he’d gotten disproportionately good with the webshooter tech. F.R.I.D.A.Y. attempts to analyze it, graphing the patterns and the motion of his webslinging as Tony chases him into Queens.
He shot off another blast of repulsor fire that the kid narrowly dodges, executing a move that would make any Olympic gymnast cry with envy. Tony could feel his eyebrows rising in incredulity – who the hell was that? He hated to admit it, but Tony wasn’t even sure Peter could pull off a move like that, so who –
Tony’s line of thought is interrupted as “Spiderman” makes a sharp right, trying to disappear down a narrow side alley. Tony flies overhead – going into the alley wasn’t going to be good for him, his suit wasn’t anywhere near as flexible as a superhuman (he had to be superhuman, right?) in spandex – tailing him and offering a couple more bouts of repulsor fire that were easily dodged.
“Alright, enough,” Tony mutters to himself, flattening his hands for extra jet power. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., engage thrusters. Let’s catch this idiot.”
F.R.I.D.A.Y. does just that, adding power to his thrusters and catapulting him ahead of the imposter. Tony twists, cutting off the kid too fast to be avoided. The fake Spiderman wheels, unable to change direction before – well, shit, Tony wasn’t expecting him to climb aboard .
“What the – “ The fake is sticking to his front, close enough that Tony can see the face lenses on the mask were made out of repurposed sunglasses and what appeared to be PVC. The kid quickly ducked under Tony’s arm, scrambling onto his back.
“You really want to do this?” Spiderman asks, sounding exasperated, like Tony is the one being ridiculous. He can feel Spiderman’s fingers searching across his back plate – but he doesn’t seem to be clinging on with any amount of effort, even as Tony twists upwards, higher into the sky, trying to dislodge him.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., alert.” Tony grits out, one arm reaching behind him to try and grab at the fake, who manages to duck out of the way, fingers still probing. “Get the hell off before you piss me off.”
“I’m not the one who won’t mind their damn business!” Now the fake has the gall to sound angry . What fucking twilight zone was Tony living in now? “What, you decide to start busting my chops after four years ? I expected this from S.H.I.E.L.D., or the police, but you ? Since when do you deign to deal with the peasants –”
“Where the fuck is that release?” The fake interrupts his own tirade, ducking under Tony’s arms as he makes to catch him in his grip, half-clinging to the side of the armor, half not. “I swear; I’ll just rip the damn thing apart if I have to.”
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., system flush,” Tony orders, and the AI obliged, deploying the fire suppression system with a hiss of pressurized steam. The fake Spiderman yelped, letting go of Tony with as much dignity as he could manage.
He grabs Tony’s boot as he falls, yanking him down with purposeful strength – which had to be considerable, with Tony’s repulsors still keeping him in the air. Tony wheels around, snapping his legs together to stop the sudden unsteadiness. He rights himself, about…probably six million percent done with the whole thing, but – the Spiderman was gone.
“Where is he? Fri?” Tony demands, already rising higher, trying to get an overhead view of the area. Little fucker couldn’t have just disappeared –
“He’s gone, Boss.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. sounds regretful, and Tony couldn’t help but be fucking confused .
“Well,” Tony mutters to himself, frowning as he looks North, South, East, West – yeah, the kid was gone. “Fuck.”
Chapter 2: you've been struggling to make things right
Chapter Text
Peter was having a great day, actually, right up until he wasn’t.
It was one of those rare days in the city, you know, where the wind doesn’t smell like garbage and it’s actually a decent temperature outside? Peter makes it to his train on time and, for once in his life, into his lecture hall without any spidey-related incidents. No runaway trucks, no high-speed robbery conveniently in his path to class, not even a little old lady getting her purse snatched.
So yeah, the day is off to a pretty awesome start, when he doesn’t get automatically docked more points on his final for wandering into Professor “Call-Me-Otto!” Octavius’ lab late.
From there, everything proceeds as normal – he gets a bagel at the library café, and this time they don’t burn it. He meets with his thesis advisor and doesn’t leave wanting to cry, so he’s going to count that one as a win, too. It’s the little things, really. Peter even manages to finish his paper for his Environmental Engineering class a little early, and he’s able to grab a slice of pizza before he heads out to patrol.
This is, of course, where things start to get hairy.
He’s not out patrolling for more than an hour – he stopped a couple muggings and some minor theft at a bodega, swinging his way through Manhattan – when the helicopter shows up. It’s a little weird – he’s not really doing anything, it’s not like they’re following him on a high-speed chase through the city – but it’s a news copter, not a police copter. His relationship with the police has been rocky at best, but getting better lately, so Peter ignores it and continues about his business.
Which , of course , is when Iron Man decides to show up.
Now Peter’s…never really met Iron Man. Anything that requires Iron Man’s presence…shit, Peter knows better than to throw himself in the middle of that. What are his webs going to do against an alien spaceship besides smear the paint job, if that? To be fair, the Avengers are usually out of the country, dealing with Nazis, or terrorists, or whatever the hell it is that they do. If anything, Peter crosses paths more often with the Fantastic Four, whenever Doom decides to send down a wave of bots for the hell of it.
Still, his ears prick at the distant sound of the repulsors and something unpleasant shivers down his spine. Naturally, Peter thinks it’s probably wisest to move along before they do cross paths, and he sets about doing just that.
Iron Man, it seems, has other plans.
Peter crawls up the side of a warehouse as he thinks the encounter over. Stark nearly had him, for a second there. It was a close call, and the guy had sounded almost genuinely pissed, but what for? What on God’s green Earth had Peter done to earn that kind of ire? He was small potatoes, what had gotten Iron Man on his tail?
It’s an anxiety inducing mystery that Peter doesn’t really want to think too hard about, as he slips in through the loose window at the very top of the warehouse. He’s got a few safe houses around the city for when he’s too injured to go home, stocked with meager first aid supplies and, in a couple instances, a mattress or something to that effect that he’d found dumpster diving.
It looks like someone found his cache and cleaned it up, though, because when he lands on the loft he’d turned into Casa De Spidey, it’s empty.
“Perfect,” Peter mutters to himself, shooting a few well-placed webs to make himself a hammock in the corner. He balances in it with superhuman flexibility, finally pulling off his mask and letting his hair go every which way.
At least he doesn’t need any of the missing medical supplies. Just a place to have a quiet bout of anxiety, thanks. This will do just fine.
Normally, when he feels jittery like this, he’d call May. He’d call May, and they’d talk about everything and nothing – she always knew just what to say, even when it didn’t seem like she was saying anything particularly specific at all. Sometimes, it was just the sound of her voice that helped.
She’s on a shift, though, so instead, Peter just pulls up the photos he has of her and flicks through them until he feels better. There they are, a selfie on her 70 th birthday; May, feeding the ducks at the park; a screenshot he’d taken during a FaceTime, where only her eyes in her bug-lens glasses were visible at the bottom of the screen. It makes the tightness in his chest ease, a bit, and his heartbeat levels out into something a little less frantic.
Peter remembers her toast, the go-to meal for when he wasn’t feeling well, physically or emotionally. It was simple as hell, but somehow always seemed to make things better. She would toast it just right, in their dinky little toaster oven, melting butter on it throughout the process. Then, she’d cut it into vertical strips, which Peter begrudgingly had to admit, made it taste better.
He tries to remember the last time he had it, wonders when the last time he and May had a genuine heart to heart even was . The last time he wasn’t hiding shit from her, when he could let her know just how down he was feeling. He shies away from the line of thought when he realizes he can’t pinpoint it the way he wants to - or, if he does, he knows it’s not going to be an answer he wants to hear.
Peter sniffs subtly and clicks his phone off, shoving it unceremoniously back into his pocket. He should go home. He shouldn’t be out here, dwelling on things he couldn’t change. He’d made his bed of lies, and he’d lay in it eventually, and that was that.
He leans back in the hammock, closing his eyes. A quick nap, maybe, and he’d feel better. He can’t change - whoever cleaned out the loft took his spare clothes, too - but a quick nap, and he’d swing back home. There wasn’t much crime going on tonight, anyway…
It doesn’t take him long to fall into a doze. It’s disjointed, hazy, unsettling - which is like most of his dreams, these days, if he’s being honest. It’s better than the guilt hallucinations - yeah, those weren’t fun. Waking yourself up with a panic attack: the Peter Parker method. He’s been doing better these days, waking up and sticking to his ceiling less and less, and he’s starting to think people might be onto something when they say time heals all wounds.
Well, scratch that, he doesn’t think it heals them, but it makes them easier to bear, and at this point that’s all he can ask for, really.
Peter
Gwen’s voice is weak in his memory, and Peter can feel himself bristle, the edge between sleep and reality sharpening, but not enough to wake him up. Distantly, he feels his spidey sense twinge, but that’s not unusual. Weaponized anxiety, thy name is Peter.
Peter, wake up
He doesn’t listen, clinging to the dream. For once, she’s not crying - she’s not screaming, his name the last thing from her lips while she falls down down down -
PETER WAKE UP
His spidey sense makes the decision for him, burning in intensity as his eyes snap open. Peter can’t help but react defensively, fist flying even as he ejects himself from the hammock in just enough time to be glad he did. The crackling of a repulsor whines in his ears as he ducks, just barely out of the way of the blast.
It smells like burnt hair - did the projectile catch him? - and Peter doesn’t even have enough time to think as he spins around and latches on to his attacker. He notes a flash of blue, but is too disoriented as he tries to drive his fist into whomever he’s caught - but the person grabs him bodily, and throws him into the opposing wall.
My mask , Peter thinks wildly, floundering in the rubble as he flopped to the ground, back aching from the impact. He gets to his knees, one hand outstretched to - what, do something, anything with his webshooters - but something comes flying from the right, latching on to his arm, hard. Peter reaches over to pry it off, the red and gold metal - red and gold metal? - but it continues creeping up his arm, up to his shoulder, and Peter rips at it in a panic.
“Not this time, asshole,” Peter looks up, spidey sense screaming , and sees Iron Man. God dammit - wait, was that Captain America?
The last thing Peter notes, as the creeping nano-metal covers his face, obscuring his view, and immobilizes him, is that neither of them looked particularly friendly.
***
They’ve had the kid for three hours, and they still don’t know who he is.
It’s infuriating , and Tony doesn’t do well with deliberately infuriating problems. Steve’s been in the tank with the kid on and off, trying to get him to talk, but it’s no dice. He’d been entirely tight-lipped, once Tony had the nanites peel back from the full-body iron (well, titanium-gold alloy) cast into leg and arm restraints, bolting the kid to the floor and the metal chair he was sitting on.
It became abundantly clear that they weren’t dealing with a regular citizen-turned-superhero-copycat when the kid had nearly succeeded in ripping the nanites off his body upon catching him. Tony’s glad he’d thought to bring the containment unit, despite FRIDAY informing him that the kid’s heartbeat had spiked dangerously three times on the way to the SHIELD facility. He’d feel worse about the almost-panic attacks if he wasn’t so pissed .
Steve shakes his head as he comes out of the room again to stand with Tony behind the one-way mirror. The copycat waits until the door is completely shut to start tugging at his restraints again. He’s testing them for weaknesses, of which , Tony thinks, trying not to feel vindictive, there are none .
“He won’t budge. I just don’t get it.” Steve sighs, resting his hands on his hips. That was his, I’m-really-stumped-now pose. The worst part about it is that Tony is equally as stumped, so he doesn’t have the grounds to fully enjoy it. “I honestly think he’d rather die than tell us anything.”
“He might,” Tony grumbles, watching the facial recognition scans run a million miles per second - still no match. They’d gone through half of New York, and still nothing. He’d tried to localize the search, but maybe he needed to broaden it the East Coast - the kid had to have a picture, somewhere .
“Bruce really won’t do the blood workup?” Steve asks, and this time it’s Tony’s turn to sigh. Bruce just had to be Mr. Ethical, didn’t he, right at the most inopportune moment? It’s no use arguing with him, either; Tony’s smart, he could do it himself, but he’s not going to waste his time in an area where Bruce is far superior. Besides, he doesn’t think he could deal with the disappointed-Banner-face right now anyway.
“He’s got a thing about unauthorized experimentation. I get it, I do, but the kid’s clearly got something going on. X-Gene or whatever, who knows. I’m hoping if we can crack his identity, figure out what he’s doing going around as an imposter, he’ll realize it’s a lost cause stonewalling us.” Tony didn’t need to look over at Steve to feel the way the man’s eyebrows flew up towards his hairline. Clearly, Tony was going to have to be the optimistic one out of the two of them.
“Right, well, let him sit.” Steve shook his head, looking back at the boy - and he really was just a kid, what, maybe twenty-one at the most? Twenty-two? Barely older than Peter. “I’ll be back to try again in an hour.”
“Maybe we should bring one of the bad cops down here. Where’s Nat?” Tony asks, and Steve offers him a half-shrug with those big, All-American shoulders.
“I’ll see if she’s around. Or...if she can be around.” And with that, Steve heads upstairs, leaving Tony alone.
He’s going to have to expand the search parameters, since his eye is twitching every time he looks at that big fat zero in front of possible matches . Tony grits his teeth, watching the kid through the window. He looks familiar, and it only serves to get under his skin all the more. Did they meet, sometime? Shake hands at some science fair? What the hell?
The boy tenses, rattling his restraints again, to no avail. It’s been three hours and he won’t accept that he’s well and truly trapped, what is that about ? They’re the Avengers , for chrissake, and what, he thinks he has a chance at escaping? Rude .
Tony drags a hand over his face, shaking off the irritation. Right. He should expand the search parameters, that was really all he could do -
“Boss, we have a possible match.”
The alert dinged , and Tony’s eyes flew open, hurriedly assessing the results. 83% possible match, but that was -
“FRIDAY,” Tony wants to be angry, wants to insist that it’s a mistake, but something that felt an awful lot like astounded disbelief was settling in his stomach. “What the hell?”
“I’ve run it three times, Boss. It’s correct.”
Up there, on the screen, the first potential match out of 9.734 million results, Peter Parker stared back at him.
***
This. Sucks.
Peter manfully resists the urge to bang his head against the table, just for something to do . He’s tested the restraints every time Captain America – Captain America! – leaves the room, but they won’t budge. He thinks if his legs were free, he’d be able to contort himself far enough to get decent leverage to rip the nanotech – nanotech, how fucking cool was that - apart with his super strength, but they must know how flexible he is, because they’ve bolted his feet to the floor, too.
He’s stuck. Erego, this sucks.
“What’s a guy gotta do for a Sudoku puzzle around here?” Peter complains aloud, not that he’s expecting an answer. The length between Captain Rogers’ visits has been getting longer and longer, the more steadfast Peter had remained about not cooperating with the interrogation. He had to admit, it’s nearly an effective tactic. There’s nothing for him to do, nowhere for him to go, he’s just stuck sitting there with his own mind.
The door opens with the faintest whirr (Peter knows he can only hear it because of his enhanced hearing, though it’s a thick metal that stops him from listening in on whatever conversation happens beyond the door, and he knows there must be some - he knows a one-way mirror when he sees one), and he’s expecting Cap to waltz back in with his I-am-an-American clenched jaw, but instead, it’s Tony Stark. Peter tries not to let the surprise show, but he smoothes it over a second later with a snarky, “Ah, the in-flight entertainment’s finally arrived.”
“Who are you?” Tony doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t stare at him in judgmental, do-the-right-thing-son silence the way Cap does. He takes the chair opposite Peter and lounges in it, like he’s smug about the fact that Peter can’t get more comfortable in his gold-titanium restraints. Peter snorts and tosses his head back to get his hair out of his face.
“Spiderman, chief.” He grins, all teeth, but what he isn’t expecting is for Tony to slam his hand down on the metal table, anger bright in his eyes, mouth twisted into a disgusted scowl.
“Don’t feed me that! You are not Spiderman, you delusional little asshole. Now stop jerking my chain, and tell me who the fuck you are.”
Peter blinks at the outburst, staring back at Tony, and he leans forward as far as he can. “Listen, I don’t know if you’re blind, or just fucking stupid, but I am Spiderman. Did the red and blue onesie not clue you in? The webs? The superhuman strength and speed?”
Tony curses and turns away, apparently not believing him, and Peter jeers at him. What? He doesn’t have to play nice when the Avengers are being dicks. Why are they even still here? Why haven’t they turned him over the SHIELD and washed their hands of him yet? More to the point, they have his face, so why is there all this trouble about his name? Still doesn’t mean Peter’s going to give in (he never did know when to quit). “My identity is a secret for a reason, dipshit.”
“You’re full of it, kid.” Tony jabs a finger at him, rising to stand. His interrogation technique isn’t as finessed as Steve’s; then again, Tony strikes him as the type of guy who opts for the fastest, most efficient route. Peter rolls his eyes and watches as Tony makes for the door.
But he doesn’t walk out of it, right away; he pauses, as the door slides open of its own accord to let him through. Peter can’t see his face, Tony’s back turned to him the way it is, but he can tell from the tension in his shoulders that he’s thinking a mile a minute.
“You could have made this a lot easier on everybody, Peter .”
Time seems to freeze, around that one little word - and the way Tony says it makes him think he knew it would have this kind of effect. Jig’s up. Suddenly, his mouth feels dry and it’s - well, he’s not Spiderman, anymore, he’s Peter Parker. His mask has been off for several hours now, but this is the first time he’s felt exposed.
Tony doesn’t do him the decency of staying, while Peter works through his fear and panic - he leaves, the door sliding shut behind him.
Yeah, this sucks .
***
Steve comes back forty-five minutes later bearing coffee, which he passes to Tony even though his eyes are on the kid, locked up in the tank. Tony had gone in there twenty minutes ago to test his off-the-wall theory and...well. He’s had FRIDAY replay the footage like thirty times. The kid definitely has a reaction to the name Peter .
He’s got his head on the table, now, facing away from the mirror, but Tony doesn’t think he’s asleep. He’s not monitoring the kid’s heart rate, but he can see his pulse jumping from here.
“This is going to sound crazy,” Tony starts without preamble, and Steve doesn’t react – his eyes still on their red and blue prisoner, like he was expecting Tony to engage. “But I think – I think that kid is Spiderman.”
“You’re right,” Steve says simply, and Tony has to turn to stare at him. Steve raises an eyebrow, looking amused, even though this entire situation is anything but incredulously funny. “That does sound crazy.”
Tony waves a hand and pulls up the facial search results. Steve’s mildly amused smile shifts into something more serious as he studies the two Peter’s side by side. 83% blinks impossibly in the lower third.
“I don’t understand.” Steve takes a step closer, frown deepening. “What is this?”
“Not a clue,” Tony blows out a hard breath, downing half his coffee in one go. “I mean, if we’re really entertaining this - It’s not time travel. That’s not Pete from the future it’s – he’s Peter, I think, but he’s not. He doesn’t know us, at least, not the way our Peter does. He’s confused, he didn’t come here intentionally.”
“I think you need to talk to Strange,” Steve says, sounding every ounce out of his depth as he is, and Tony raises the coffee in a here, here motion before he chugs the last of it.
“I like the way you think, Spangles. Just wanted to hear you say it, so I’m not the only crazy one in the room. Keep itsy bitsy 2.0 comfortable, would you?”
“Can do,” Steve says, gaze drawn back to the mop of brown hair laid out against the interrogation table. Tony can practically hear the gears in Steve’s brain working overtime trying to rationalize it, so he turns instead to the elevator, ready to head down to the garage. There’s a part of him that wants to get in the suit, wants to bolt over to the Sanctum as fast as possible, but he knows it would just garner unwanted attention.
He could call Strange to come here – and he considers it, as he swipes away the four missed calls from Peter Parker (he is not ready to deal with the headache of Peter’s enthusiasm when he realizes he has a doppelganger, Christ ) – but he thinks he’ll feel a little less crazy surrounded by all of Strange’s magic and mysticism. Besides, the last thing he wants is for Strange to need to do some research and have to pop back to the Sanctum anyway, leaving Tony to stress wondering.
No , he thinks, sliding behind the wheel of one of his more discrete vehicles (discrete still, of course, meaning a top-of-the-line, six-figure car). Paying Master-of-the-mystic-hoodoo a little visit is a way better idea.
And if it gets him away from that wide-eyed, brilliant, terrified gaze, maybe he can pretend like the kid’s eyes aren’t the exact same shade as his Peter’s are.
***
“You could have made this a lot easier on everybody, Peter .”
They knew his name. They knew his name, which meant they knew where he lived, which meant they knew about May, and they’d left him to stew over it. Peter’s not sure how long he’s been sitting here since Tony dropped the metaphorical mic, but he knows he’s staved off at least three panic attacks so far (if you don’t count the ones he’d nearly had on the way here, with his body immobilized completely).
All he can think about is his Aunt – the worried crease in her brow, the disappointment in her eyes, when he comes home looking half-dead. How he never got to tell her he was sorry, how this is going to be how she finally finds out, how he tried to protect her from all of this but he couldn’t, in the end, and didn’t it always catch up with him?
He wants to tell them that she didn’t know, she had nothing to do with it, please don’t make her an accessory I did it it’s my fault take me –
But they’ve left him painfully alone, with no one to beg.
Peter decides, abruptly, that he needs to see her. He needs to get out of here, he needs to tell her everything, or maybe send her away, where SHIELD can’t bother her. It’s an irrational plan, but he just – needs to see her.
The metal creaks around his fingers, and Peter feels the desperation unlock some deeper strength he didn’t know he had. It’s like he’s become hyper-aware of the weak points in the restraints – how if he torques his wrist just so and pulls…
It fucking hurts , as he rips his hand out of the nanites, wrenches it free, bloody, but he manages it. Peter immediately starts ripping at the other one, tearing the metal apart with his fingers. Both hands come away bloody, but he works quickly, smashing the ones on his feet with ease, once both arms are free.
He sets to work on the door as soon as he’s up and able. Peter can feel his knuckles knitting themselves back together, but he wails on the door with a yell, punching at the joints. The door creaks , the loud, deep groan of a door that’s not meant to be broken, but Peter feels the wild strength flowing through his limbs and he knows he can do it.
Distantly, he notes that there’s an alarm ringing, blaring, just beyond the door – he’s made enough of a dent that he can hear it, through the soundproofing – but he keeps going, pounding on the door, hard and fast. If he’s fast enough, they won’t be quick enough to stop him – and he can’t let them stop him.
May’s kind smile sits behind his eyelids when he closes them, teeth grit as his fist drives into the metal, over and over again. He needs to see her, needs to tell her before someone else does, because he’s fucked so many things up but he can’t bear one last disappointment, even if he’s about to spend the rest of his life in a metal box, just like this one –
The door crashes to the ground, and Peter’s out of the room in a flash, already making for the stairs – the elevator would only slow him down, if they didn’t stop it completely. His hands leave blood smeared against the door, the walls, but Peter doesn’t let it stop him. The words May, May, May echo in his head, drowning out everything else: his heartbeat, thumping out a fast, uneven rhythm; the alarm clanging around him, alerting the whole facility to his attempted escape.
They didn’t take his webshooters, Peter notes, a grim clench to his jaw, as he bounds up the steps to the next floor three at a time. Their mistake .
All he has to do is find a window.
Chapter 3: that's how a superhero learns to fly
Chapter Text
“And he just appeared? Out of nowhere?” Strange asks, for the third time, staring at Tony with those unnervingly blue eyes. Tony sighs and nods, running a hand through his hair, which he’s sure is starting to develop a massive cowlick. “That is…unprecedented.”
“But is it possible?” Tony asks insistently. Strange nods, making a complicated motion with his hands and sending strands of light up to illustrate his point.
“Very. Parallel dimensions are very real, and ever present, surrounding us.” One of the points of light glowed brighter, indicating their reality, and Strange waves his hand to swirl the other multi-colored lights around it. “Never touching, separated by impenetrable and inaccessible walls. There are pocket dimensions that sorcerers use, which is how we know this to be possible.”
“And this…other version of Peter, he’s from one of those other dimensions?” Strange nods, and the next wave of his hand sent an unsteady burst through the lights, scattering them and sending them careening into each other.
“Thanos’ snap sent a ripple through all of reality - every reality, actually. Reversing it did the same thing - though it was to put everything back into place. But things are still settling, we’re still living in a state of flux. The snap and subsequent reverse created millions of alternate dimensions that are now being erased.” The lights waver, and Tony frowns at them, watching them slowly settled back into their places, a few of them dissipating to illustrate those alternate dimensions disappearing. “We’ve been managing the side effects as best we can. I’d...hoped that nothing like this would happen.”
“So you knew something like this could happen.” It’s not really a question, as Tony stares Strange down. He licks his lips to wet them, feeling his mouth dry as he considers all the implications of that. “You knew this could happen and - what, failed to warn anybody that you were holding the fabric of reality together with safety pins and dauntless enthusiasm ?”
“This was always going to happen. It’s been happening.” Strange snorts, annoyingly unfazed. “You mess with reality, it messes back. Of all the things that could have slipped through an unstable wall in reality, another version of may-I-carry-your-groceries-for-you-ma’am, literal boyscout Peter is hardly the worst that could have happened, or even the most dangerous.”
Tony shakes his head, fully prepared to continue the bickering, when his watch begins trilling the emergency alarm. He pulls up the holographic display, nostrils flaring as he reads FRIDAY’s alert - a breach, in the only damn place there would be a reason for a breach right now. Of course. Why would he expect anything less?
Tony looks back up at Strange and glares. “That’s where you’re wrong, Doc. That kid is insanely dangerous. He’s fast, he’s strong - hell, he might be stronger than Cap - and he’s smart. He’ll be smarter than me, one day. We are lucky that he also happens to have the strongest conscionable morals on the planet, and virtues to rival Buddha.”
Tony waves the alert in Stranger’s direction. “Congratulations, we have a scared, panicking Peter Parker on our hands, and I don’t even know if he’ll listen to me since he doesn’t know me . Our default mode could have been, ‘red alert, but still with an air of hospitality’ if you had thought to keep us in the loop.”
“Well,” Strange makes another circle with his hands, oscillating between clockwise and counterclockwise. He raises an eyebrow dryly, thickening his runes in the air. “Let’s find him.”
***
Peter’s chest heaves for breath as he hides, tucked behind an air conditioner, as far as he could possibly contort himself. It’s too tight for anybody normal, and Peter had weaved a desperate, elaborate path through the buildings to reach the hiding place. It’s far enough behind the machine that Peter prays it will hide him from any heat signature scans. He isn’t sure how long he’s been hiding there - minutes? Hours? His heart is beating too wildly and his spidey sense is ringing too intensely to act as an accurate gauge.
Eventually, the sixth sense dulls into more of a full-body skin crawl (still...not great, but Peter would take what he could get), and he cautiously pokes his head out from the hiding spot (which...looked like a total murder scene, jeez, he’d really torn his hands up, hadn’t he?). The coast is clear, and Peter beats it like a bat out of hell, scrambling back down to street level. First things first - street clothes. Peter darts down the back alleys towards the homeless shelter he knows is on this block. May always makes donations there whenever they have something to donate (it usually isn’t much, unfortunately), and they always spend at least two Sundays a month volunteering there (it was more, around any of the major holidays).
Peter feels bad, as he raids the donation bin outside the shelter as quickly as he can, but he promises himself he’ll tell May to return the clothes, or donate others to replace them (he had a feeling he wasn’t going to get the chance to do it himself). He just - he has to see her, has to get to her before the Avengers and SHIELD do.
Peter begins the walk back to Queens, hoodie drawn tight, trigger finger poised on the edge of his webshooter under his sleeve. He doesn’t dare swing, or hop a train (since he didn’t have any money on him he’d have had to hop the barrier, seriously he should start carrying some in his suit), for fear of being caught. So, walk it is, though he turns every corner with a fresh burst of panic, expecting Captain America to catch him with a flying kick.
Shit, Captain America is after him! Does that make him a terrorist? Peter winces, the image of Steve’s face flashing behind his eyelids - as Peter drove his fist into the window he’d happened upon. The man and war hero had called for him to stop, he’s sure, but Peter hadn’t heard him over the blood rushing in his ears (like that would have stopped him anyway), and he’d punched the cracked glass out with a burst of adrenaline before launching himself out the window (thirtieth story, Peter discovered) and running for his life.
Peter twitches as he tries not to flinch in anticipation, rounding the next corner. He isn’t far from the townhome now, just a handful of blocks away, and his nerves kick into overdrive. Would they be waiting for him? Would they already have her, would they have already told her? Peter swallows hard, drawing the hoodie tighter around his face, and clenches his bloody hands (they are clotting, now, but still raw, still aching and zinging with little stabs of pain as he stretches the skin on his knuckles).
But there is no one, as he finally turns onto the little suburban street - no one as he walks past the bicycles in the yards, past Mrs. Murphy’s little herb garden, past the windchimes on the Plonka’s door jamb, where they’ve been nailed in for years. No one jumps out to arrest him, no one drops out of the sky, nothing.
It’s kind of unnerving, if he’s being honest.
Peter pauses, at the gate in front of the house. May should be home - she’s on night shift, again, and she should just be waking up, right about now. He opens the gate, listening intently for any sign of a trap -
“She’s not in there.”
Peter spins around, fingers already flexing on his webshooter trigger, but the webs hit some sort of invisible wall. There’s a man there, floating, with a cape that seems to move of its own accord, and a ripple runs through - well, everything. It looks like a prism, like an invisible cling-wrap barrier that makes itself known only because of the interference. Tony Stark stands next to the floating man, in the casual clothes Peter last saw him in, not the flashy red and gold prosthesis.
“Alright, you win that one.” Tony lets out a low whistle and looks around with a short nod. “That’s a handy trick, Doc.”
“Peter,” The caped man seems to be perfectly adept at totally and completely ignoring Tony, and he lowers his hands peaceably; Peter still takes an uncertain step back. “We’re not here to take you back.”
“Well don’t lie to the kid, Doc.” Tony sighs and offers Peter a shrug. “That’s exactly what we’re here to do. Just - not by force. I think we...got off on the wrong foot, kiddo.”
“Where’s May?” Peter’s fingers twitch, and he shifts again, gaze flickering between the two men. Tony watches him with a level of scrutiny that wasn’t there before, and Peter tries not to show how on edge it makes him. “Where is she? ”
“Peter - “ The floating man - Doc - starts, but Tony waves him off with an errant hand and a sharp look. Surprisingly, he backs down, and Tony starts instead.
“Pete,” His voice drops to something softer, a note in his tone that is as confusing as it is, well, kind. A far cry from the frustrated, accusing one he’d used earlier. Peter has no idea what could have possibly changed. “Pete this is gonna sound - really nuts. Take your usual level of nuts and multiply it by a billion.”
Tony looks like he wants to take a step forward, but thinks better of it, and Peter doesn’t bother to hide how on edge he is. Good. He’s in fight or flight and he doesn’t know what that weird prism thing was, but he knows he can’t hear the Plonka’s windchimes anymore (can’t hear anything , anymore, besides the three of them) and he has a gut feeling that tells him flight isn’t going to be possible.
“This isn’t your dimension. I’m not your Tony Stark.” Tony snorts and looks around, waving his hand at everything. “Well this isn’t really my dimension, it’s Doc’s pocket-sized travel one but - you get the point. There was an event in this reality that weakened the walls between worlds and I guess you - slipped through.”
He’s right - it does sound nuts. But it also sounds too ridiculous to be a viable ploy to recapture him. Tony looks up at the townhouse, with that same scrutiny from before - as if he’s trying to figure out just how Peter’s brain works. “She’s not in there, because she’s in an apartment with this dimension’s Peter Parker four blocks south of here.”
Tony sighs, spreading his hands. “I thought you were an imposter, obviously, because I already know Spiderman in this dimension. So for what it’s worth - I’m sorry, kid. We didn’t know - I shouldn’t have jumped the gun like that.”
“What if I don’t believe you?” Peter asks sharply, gaze shifting between the two men. Tony’s smile is - hell, Peter would almost call that fond , if he didn’t know any better.
“Then you’re about to really freak out whoever lives there.” Tony raises an eyebrow and Peter looks back towards the house, torn. It sounds nuts but...Tony’s got one thing right, he’s heard stranger. Tony nods towards the cape-man, who doesn’t move, and Tony turns to roll his eyes at him. “That’s your cue Doc, open the magic portal thing.”
The Doctor shakes his head in exasperation but does as Tony asks - Peter can see what looks like a living room, just beyond the golden sparks. “No more SHIELD detention center for you, kid. Promise. Come with me, and I can prove everything I just said to you.”
Peter only hesitates a second longer before he takes the steps forward to stop in front of the portal. As wary as he is, he can’t help but be fascinated by the - well, since he doesn’t have a better word to describe it, he’s just going to say magic - on display here. “Don’t call me that.”
“What?” Tony asks, brow furrowing, and Peter turns his head to look him in the eye.
“Kid. I’m not a child.” He ducks through the portal willingly, and Tony exchanges a look with Strange.
“Good job. That went well.” Strange says dryly, and Tony just barely resists the urge to flip him off ( barely ) before following Peter through the portal.
***
Peter refuses to answer any of Tony’s questions, which is a feat because Tony has a fuckton of them, and zero self control. The silence only adds to the awkwardness of the forty-five minute window it takes Happy to pick May up from her apartment.. Peter does allow Tony to bandage his knuckles, at least, albeit with a lot of suspicious glaring when Tony waves the first aid kit in his direction.
“Tore yourself up pretty good there,” Tony remarks, mostly to himself, since Peter just stares at him, silent. It seems unnatural, like there shouldn’t be a version of Peter Parker out there in the universe that’s not a total chatterbox - and the kid certainly wasn’t at a loss for words when they were fighting, and he was trying (and succeeding) in antagonizing the shit out of Tony.
Then again , Tony muses, carefully cleaning away dried blood from slowly healing scabs, I’ve never been outside the kid’s circle like this . Even when they’d only just met, Peter had never been closed off to Tony the way this alternate version was. Well, at least he’d never take the kid’s vulnerability for granted again.
Now that he’s looking for it, Tony thinks he can see it. The similarities, that is, between this one and his Peter; the things that tell him this really is Peter Parker , in the flesh. They both have the same unruly brown hair, the same deep, dark eyes. The same furrow in their brow when they’re thinking about something too hard (the one this Peter is wearing without any sign of wavering). This Peter is older, certainly, but Tony thinks maybe they could pass as brothers - or at least cousins, perhaps.
This Peter is harder than his, too; that much, Tony can see. Peter can’t be more than four or five years older than this universe’s, and yet, everything Tony said to Strange, about Peter being dangerous, if he wanted to be? He sees it, reflected in the young man sitting next to him. He sees it in his eyes, in the lines of his face (lines his face should be too young to have), in the clench of his jaw, unrelaxed, even now. Tony sees it, in the boy’s knuckles, as he hides them under clean bandages. This Peter would - and could - do a lot worse, without flinching.
“All done,” Tony says, and Peter draws his hands away, into his lap. Tony can see the boy’s knee bouncing - yet another thing both Peter’s have in common, the inability to sit still (at least this one seems to know how to sit in a chair properly).
“Thanks,” Peter says, after a beat of silence that stretches just a little too long. Tony just shrugs it off, snapping the first aid kit shut. He doesn’t blame the kid for being wary of him. He’s already kicking himself for being so aggressive upfront (but could you really blame him, either, after everything?) If it were anyone else, Tony might not be as bothered by it, but - it’s Peter . The thought of his Peter accidentally slipping through the veil and being attacked by some other version of him is...sobering.
“Boss, Mrs. Parker has arrived,” FRIDAY announces, just before the elevator opens. Tony sets the first aid kit down on the coffee table and stands; Peter is only a short distance behind him, nervous energy bubbling to the surface as he rocks up onto the balls of his feet. Strange, for his part, just continues floating in the corner with his eyes closed, undisturbed.
The doors open and May steps forward, eyes finding Tony first, swimming with confusion. Her gaze flickers to Peter next, curiosity distantly piqued. Peter steps out behind her, furrow in his brow mirroring his counterpart, one hand resting gently on her lower back - like he might need to pull her out of the way, but he’s not sure why.
Tony opens his mouth to start what will surely be a very bewildering explanation but, surprisingly, Peter - the Peter behind Tony - is the one to break the silence.
“May?” The boy steps past Tony, uncertain, and he sounds like he’s been punched in the stomach. May watches him, but doesn’t move forward, and her nephew tenses at her side, taking in his doppleganger’s appearance - the ripped, homemade suit; the way he teeters forward, like he wants to hug May, but isn’t sure if he should.
“Yes?” May eventually settles on, tilting her head at Peter. He shifts his weight, hands clenched at his sides, so tightly Tony just silently hopes he didn’t break the scabs open again. “Tony, what’s going on?”
“...I thought it best to - “ Tony starts, after another too-long pause, but Peter cuts him off, taking another step forward, so he’s directly in front of May. To her credit, she doesn’t back down, standing her ground as she looks up at him.
“You look just like the photos,” Peter continues, still staring at her in shock. The words spill out nervously, jittery, like he can’t control them, like if he just gets them out fast enough, everything will be okay (yet another thing the two Peter’s have in common, it seems). “From when - when you were young, I mean - in your wedding photos. With Ben.”
“Tony,” May starts again, though her eyes are still locked on Peter. “Who is this?”
“I think you know, May,” Tony replies quietly, and something in Peter’s face must crumble, he thinks, because May lifts her hand to rest on his cheek (she’s shaking, a little, as the realization dawns on her expression).
“Peter?”
He nods, and she gasps softly, pulling him into a hug. Peter wraps his arms around her waist and tucks his face into her neck silently, but Tony can see the tension finally easing out of Peter’s shoulders as he holds her. And over those shoulders, of course, this world’s Peter’s eyes are as wide as saucers.
“He’s like me,” His gaze flickers to Tony before landing back on the other Peter and Aunt May, who’s murmuring something no doubt a helluva lot more soothing than anything Tony has to offer. He sighs quietly, moving to rest a hand on Peter’s shoulder, watching as the other boy’s fingers twist in the back of May’s shirt. He looks like he’s ready to vibrate apart, but also as though he’s doing his best to be exceedingly gentle.
“He is you, Pete.”
Peter takes this in with rapt fascination, staring at his alternate self openly. Tony squeezes his shoulder once before shifting over towards Dr. Strange, who still hasn’t so much as twitched in his corner.
“Anything on your mystical bullshit radar?” Tony asks flippantly, still feeling as though he reserved the right to be pissed. Strange cracks his eyes open, looking supremely unimpressed, and doesn’t dignify him with a verbal response.
“I’m going to take that as a no,” Tony crosses his arms, watching as May started fussing, guiding the alternate Peter back over to the chairs so she could examine his bandages, their Peter hovering in the background.
“Doc, what you said about the other dimensions,” Tony lowers his voice, not that both of the Peter’s probably can’t still hear him, with their senses, but he trusts they’re too distracted to pay proper attention. Strange stares at him, recognizing the shift in attitude, the fact that Tony’s serious. “That some of them were created because of what that purple bastard did - “
Tony hesitates, watching the tired smile on alternate Peter’s face as May gently resecures his bandage. He doesn’t know, exactly, what’s happened to him, but he knows it’s probably a helluva lot more than what’s happened here (and isn’t that a trip, considering the shit show his Peter’s already been through). “Is he one of those dimensions? Created by the snap?”
“Impossible to say,” Strange answers after a beat, his gaze unwavering, blue eyes piercing. A frown touches the edges of his mouth, and Tony tries not to read too far into it. “But, likely, no. Hundreds of thousands of decisions determined his reality. It may have absolutely nothing to do with Thanos.”
“Right,” Tony says absently, gaze flickering back to the Parkers on the other side of the room. “Sure. Absolutely nothing.”
Frankly, he’s not sure if that’s better or worse.
***
May immediately takes charge in a way Tony hadn’t expected, but fully appreciates. She insists they get clothes to change Peter into, though one look at alternate Peter’s face has Tony pretty convinced the only reason he’s agreeing is because it’s May asking. The look on his face is equal parts relief, exhaustion, admiration, and awe. Tony thinks he’d probably react the same way, if he saw a younger version of his mother, in the flesh.
Their Peter runs around helpfully at May’s request, grabbing spare clothes and offering to show his alternate self where the shower is. Alternate Peter eyes him for a minute before he accepts, and May runs a soothing hand down the boy’s spine before she sends him off with her nephew.
Then, of course, she rounds on Tony and Strange, who is (as usual) decidedly unhelpful.
“What the fuck .” It’s not really a question, but at least May has the presence of mind to hiss at the pair of them, keeping her voice low so the spider-humans wouldn’t hear them.
“My sentiments exactly,” Tony snorts, turning to Strange, who May turns to scrutinize. As unperturbed as Strange is when dealing with Tony, for May, at least, his tone softens an iota or two.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Parker, but it’s an uncontrollable, unpredictable, and unfortunate side effect, due to recent events.” Strange’s jaw tightened, and for the briefest second, Tony almost felt sympathetic towards the guy. The Snap had been a nightmare for everyone, everywhere. “I’ll have him back home in a day or two, you have my word. The convergence is almost closed.”
May seems to accept that for whatever it’s worth, because her attention returns to Tony, and beneath the sharpness he can see the fear, the panic. “Something’s wrong with him. He’s - I’ve never seen my Peter like that.”
“He’s...different, May, and I’m sure he’s had a different life, in some ways. Besides he’s - older.” Even as he says it, the excuse sounds flat, and May shakes her head, adjusting her glasses.
“Not that much older.” She stares at him, and she doesn’t need to say anything else, because Tony hears it, crystal clear.
Not old enough to carry the kind of weight I can see sitting on his shoulders .
He sees it too. He just doesn’t know what to do about it. If he can do anything about it. But damn if he doesn’t wish he could.
***
Peter follows the younger, chippier version of himself down the hallway, towards the promised shower. He feels gross, definitely, and maybe like he needs a minute, after seeing his Aunt like thirty-five years younger, so a moment alone in some hot water sounds peachy.
Where Aunt May looks like a carbon copy of the sepia wedding photos Peter’s seen in old scrapbooks, this Peter doesn’t really look like him. Well, sort of. Peter can kind of see it, like maybe they could come off as related. Not twins, or anything. They are similar enough, though, that Peter can tell the other Peter is dying to talk to him (his poker face doesn’t improve in any universe, apparently).
“So,” Other Peter begins, as they reach the door he was headed for, which opens up into what looks like a gym area of some kind. “Are you an Avenger in your universe?”
And it looks like his ability to be subtle also hasn’t improved. Peter can’t help his snort of derision, an automatic response. Other Peter’s brow furrows in confusion, like he can’t fathom why Peter might find that funny.
“No. Not even close.” He brushes past his other self to head towards the shower, clothes that had been provided for him to change into still clutched against his chest. Peter pauses, though, and glances back at his other self. “...are you?”
“I mean, yeah, pretty much.” His other self looks less excited about the prospect, now that Peter’s made it clear he doesn’t find it that cool, which makes him feel a little bad but hey. “I’ve sort of been uh...like, auxiliary, I guess? For a while. But - Mr. Stark sort of promoted me during this emergency, recently.”
“Auxiliary?” Now it’s Peter’s turn to frown, pausing by the shower stalls. “Dude, what, he recruited you? How young?”
“I was fifteen. He figured out who I was, somehow, I don’t know.” Other Peter shrugs, surprisingly blas é about the whole thing. Peter can feel the tension in his body racketing up another few decibels, and his fingers tighten on the clothes in his hands. Other Peter’s eyes narrow infinitesimally - he noticed.
But fifteen . That’s even younger than he was when he started. Fuck, does this kid even remember Ben?
“Yeah well,” Peter hates how terse his words sound, but he can’t help it. His other self looks surprised, like he’s not expecting Peter to be so pissed off about it right out of the gate. That makes two of them ( ha ). “Bully for you, I guess.”
“Dude,” Other Peter’s voice is soft, gentle, and he hates it. His own kindness is infuriating, so Peter deals with it the best way he knows how - by dumping the clothes on the floor and opening the shower curtain, ignoring other him.
“I’m going to shower.” The feel free not to stick around is implicit, and Peter resolutely doesn’t think about it as he turns to strip off the suit and step under the spray.
But other Peter does stick around - Peter can hear his heartbeat, the fluttery, too-fast rhythm of the enhanced - hovering just outside the shower even as he pulls the curtain shut angrily.
“Does May know?”
It’s not what he was expecting to come out of the kid’s mouth, but then, Peter is well aware of how well he normally lives up to people’s expectations. He really shouldn’t be surprised, and yet. He stifles a sigh, letting the warm water wash over his head, focusing on the way it echoes in his ears and not the soft breathing outside the shower curtain.
“Well?”
This Peter is apparently more impatient than he is, and he snorts to himself, tipping his head up towards the water. “Of course she knows. We just don’t talk about it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter can’t see him, but he doesn’t need to. He can hear the frown in his voice.
“What do you think? I come home at two in the morning looking like I lost a fight with a lawnmower. It’s Aunt May , of course she knows. We just don’t talk about it .” Peter scrubs viciously at his arms, wiping away grime and sweat in a soapy froth.
“So who knows, then? If you’re not an Avenger, and you don’t talk to Aunt May?”
The kid just doesn’t know how to extrapolate context clues, and Peter’s secretly glad he doesn’t have to face him when he says, bluntly, “Everyone who knows is either dead or in prison. So. No one.”
It’s silent, after that. Peter washes the soap off his body and wonders, maybe, if the other Peter has left - but he can still hear his fluttering heartbeat outside the shower stall.
“Isn’t that kind of lonely?”
The question makes Peter laugh, in a way that doesn’t sound very funny at all. “You don’t say.”
This time, other Peter leaves.
***
Peter - Tony’s Peter, that is - returns about fifteen minutes later, looking troubled. The urge to exchange a look with May is incredibly strong, but Tony beats it off in favor of clapping a hand on Peter’s shoulder and suggesting they go rustle up something in the kitchen.
Grilled cheese is about the extent of his cooking capabilities, so Tony starts up the stove while Peter dutifully pulls out the bread and cheese. Tony coats the pan liberally with butter, watching Peter peel slices and slowly set up the sandwiches for toasting.
“Something on your mind, Pete?” Tony asks, and maybe he’d meant to be a little less direct, but he’s never been good at waiting, and holding in his curiosity and worry might Literally Kill Him. He’d like to say he doesn’t still wake up in a cold sweat, heart racing right out of his chest, before he remembers that Peter and everyone else really are back, that it wasn’t all a hazy dream, that they’d actually won . He’d like to say that, but it would most definitely be a lie.
“He - “ Peter hesitates, glancing up at Tony before his eyes dart back down to the sandwiches. “ - his May. She doesn’t know.”
“...okay? Maybe...he just hasn’t gotten around to it yet.” Tony takes one of the sandwiches and starts it on the pan, sufficiently warmed. “To be fair, you didn’t exactly come clean yourself.”
“I know but he - it’s - different.” Tony glances over and watches Peter bite his lip worriedly. “Am I going to be like that?”
“Like what?” Tony can’t help but ask (even though he thinks he probably doesn’t want to know), and Peter shifts his weight uncomfortably as he looks anywhere but Tony’s eyes.
“Angry. Alone.” Peter’s foot scuffs against the kitchen floor, and Tony flips the grilled cheese, acid souring his mouth.
“You’re not alone, and you’re never going to be.” Not like what happened on Titan, kid, never again, I will never let anything like that happen to you again . “Pete. Peter. Look at me.”
Peter peers up at him uncertainly, and Tony squares his shoulders seriously. “He’s one of an infinite set of circumstances, okay? Maybe he was dealt a shit hand, I don’t know, but that’s not you, kiddo. That’s not who you’re going to be.”
“Mr. Stark - “
“Didn’t we already do this? Tony , kid, call me Tony.”
“ Tony ,” Peter draws out the word, exasperated, though there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Your grilled cheese is burning.”
“What? Shit - “ Tony continues cursing under his breath as he slides the sandwich off the pan onto a plate. It’s a little, uh , crispy but what’s a bit of char? He shoves the plate at Peter, shooing him off with one hand. “Go, I know you’ll eat it. Hellion.”
That does finally get a full smile out of Peter, and he takes the plate and heads back out to May without further complaint. Tony sighs to himself as he starts toasting the next grilled cheese. He thought he’d had enough crazy shit to last a lifetime, but apparently not. He couldn’t help but let his heart go out to the displaced Peter Parker - seriously, how could he not? Despite what he said, it’s Peter . He can’t imagine a single universe where that kid isn’t the light of the world, the best of the next generation. And it’s like this one stepped out of a gritty Batman movie - he knew his Peter was a little shit, but he didn’t think he was the Adam West to Mr. Bale over there.
The next few hours pass with a low level of awkwardness that Tony has absolutely no idea how to breach. Alternate Peter returns from his shower looking positively dour, and Tony slaps a pile of grilled cheese sandwiches on the table and declares a late lunch. Strange passes, raising an eyebrow at him, but May takes one to nibble, and the Peter’s - both of them, mirrorverse Peter included - decimate the pile just like he knew they would.
Sulky Peter doesn’t seem to want to talk, after Strange assures him he’s working on a way to send him home, combing through the endless multitudes of the multiverse to figure out which one is Peter’s. May tries to talk to him, a little, soft words murmured into his ear, but eventually she just lets him be.
Tony doesn’t even try; he turns his attention to his Peter and starts talking suit upgrades. The kid lights up, just like he knew he would, taking Tony’s ideas and running away with them eagerly.
God, I missed you , Tony thinks, smiling and listening as Peter gesticulates widely, chattering on about pre-programmed webshooter combinations that switch between different modes without the manual toggle. It was hard to believe he’d ever had to live in a world without this kid, but damn if that almost-permanent-reality wouldn’t haunt him till his dying day.
The other Peter, however, seems to be getting more unhappy by the minute. Tony watches, out of the corner of his eye, as the kid’s face gets stormier and stormier, jaw tight. He seems to be listening to Peter just as intently as Tony is, though, and before Tony can wonder what the hell his problem is (it seems as though the kid might have many of them), the alarm on his watch starts blaring for the second time that day.
“Oh, give me a break, what now - “ Tony grumbles to himself, pulling up the holograph. Steve starts calling, and he accepts, putting it on speaker. “Talk to me, Cap.”
“ There’s a large man in Times Square yelling for Spiderman ,” The weariness is clear in his voice, punctuated by huffs of sharp breath. “ Widow and I approached and he bailed. We’re following him now, but he’s fast. ”
“ He’s wearing a fur vest and leopard print tights, ” Natasha cuts in on the com line, the faintest tinge of amusement in her voice. “ Know anything about that? ”
Tony glances up at Peter, who looks totally lost. He shrugs helplessly, and Tony gets it, really. It’s hard keeping track of all the costumed weirdos, especially in their line of work.
Alternate Peter, however, curses quietly to himself and pulls himself up out of his slump. “It’s Kraven. It has to be.”
“I’m sorry, Kraven ? Want to try that again?” Tony turns to him, raising an eyebrow. “What would he want with Peter?”
“Yes, Kraven . He calls himself Kraven the Hunter.” Peter stares at Tony, unamused. “Nothing. He wants me . I sent his shapeshifting nutcase of a brother to Ravencroft, he buried me alive, it’s a whole thing.”
“He buried you alive?” Peter pipes up, and May has to put a hand over her mouth in horror. Even Strange looks surprised, distracted from his mystical search. Peter shifts uncomfortably, glancing between them.
“Yeah? Look, May hit his brother with a baseball bat, so I guess we’re even, or whatever, doesn’t matter.”
“How do you know he’s looking for you? Couldn’t he belong to this universe?” Tony asks, pulling up the map of Times Square and the surrounding area.
“If he doesn’t know who Kraven is,” Alternate Peter jerks his head at his other self, bushy eyebrows rising. “Then he can’t have done anything to piss him off. He probably slipped through whatever interdimensional rip I did.”
“Right. Sure. Cap, you get all that?” Tony stands up, waiting for Steve’s affirmative. “I’ll be right there, don’t let the party start without me.”
He taps the watch’s display off, looking up at the two Peter’s. “You two, stay put. I don’t want to hear it, Pete, you’re still supposed to be on leave and you - I’m not going to be responsible for you, kiddo.”
“I told you not to call me that.” Alternate Peter’s tone is icy, eyes narrowed. “ Mr. Stark , can I have a word?”
Tony’s Peter squeaks, no doubt in reaction to his doppleganger’s blatant attitude. He says Mr. Stark like it’s a swear word, something Peter would never be bold enough to do - something Peter probably wouldn’t even think to do, if he’s being honest. Tony does his best to remain unphased, though, and nods graciously towards the hallway. The kid stands up and stalks out, leaving May, Peter, and even Strange staring after him.
Tony follows slowly, not sure what to expect, but Peter doesn’t round on him immediately, like he would have thought if he had to chance a guess. No, the kid walks a ways down the hallway before he turns - out of hearing range , Tony realizes, staring at the boy. He looks pissed, but it’s not a fiery, why-won’t-dad-let-me-play-an-extra-ten-minutes type of rage; it’s cold fury, the type that makes something sink in his gut instinctively.
“You’re not benching me.” Peter says simply, but firmly, and with far more self-assured authority than Tony knew he possessed. Still, not to be intimidated, Tony just raises a sardonic eyebrow.
“Is that so, kid?”
Peter takes a step forward, right into Tony’s personal space. Where his Peter stands an inch shorter than him, this Peter is an inch taller, and as much as Tony doesn’t want to admit it, he can feel that inch as Peter towers over him.
“How many times do I have to tell you? I am not a child and I won’t be treated like one .”
Tony opens his mouth to respond, but Peter presses forward, not to be interrupted. “I’m not trying to be a smartass, this isn’t bravado. I’m not looking for a pissing contest. You don’t know me . You don’t. You don’t know what I’ve done, and you don’t know what I can do.”
“You’re right,” Tony shakes his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I don’t know you. But this is my turf. My universe. This is not a discussion - “
“You’re right, it isn’t.” Peter interrupts boldly, leaning forward. Tony stands his ground, doing his best to remain impassive. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was dig in his heels. “I’m telling you, you’re not benching me.”
“If you want to be that way, sure,” Tony brushes it off breezily, pulling up the display on his watch again. “You think I can’t make you? Is that the game you want to play?”
“I think that’s a question you need to ask yourself.” Peter snaps, and Tony looks back up at him at the sharpness of his tone. He can tell, just by looking at the kid, that Peter’s finally reached his limit (funny, he wasn’t sure his Peter even had a limit). “I have been Spiderman for six years . On my own, getting punched and stabbed in back alleys, trying to make my patch of the world a little safer. I’ve been shot and tortured and suffocated - I’ve watched people I care about die, right in front of me, over and over again. You never came down from your gleaming tower to offer me shit , okay, and even if you did, I wouldn’t want it. I wouldn’t need it .”
“That kid , in there?” Peter jerks his head back towards the living room, without taking his eyes off Tony. “I’m not him. Maybe he started with your gold titanium-alloy spoon in his mouth, but I didn’t. So you’re not responsible for me , and I’m going to do my job regardless, because I really could give a rat’s ass about your opinion.”
“You want to stop me? Go ahead and try.” Peter’s eyes narrow, mouth curling into something bitter and challenging. “I’ve fought worse than you.”
There’s a sadness that hits Tony as the anger dissipates, because he can see that it’s no bluff and that - that’s just sad . Inexcusable. What is he doing in an alternate universe that’s more important than stopping things like that from happening? More important than preventing this ?
“Pete - “ Tony takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Peter looked like he was on a hair trigger, just waiting for him to say the wrong thing, tension crackling over the lines of his shoulders. “...I’m sorry that happened to you. You shouldn’t have had to deal with all of that on your own.”
“Well, I did .”
Tony dips his head in acknowledgement; yes, he did. As much as he might wish otherwise, Peter did, and Tony wasn’t winning any points wishing. “Yeah ki-Peter. Alright. Suit up.”
This Peter hid his surprise far better than Tony’s, but not well enough that Tony couldn’t still see it in those wide, brown eyes. Peter hesitates for the briefest second but, well - Peter Parker is not known for his self-control, and the question bursts out of him before he has a chance to stop it. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” Tony says, surprising himself by how even his voice is (he, at least, is a little more adept at schooling his expression).
“You’re right. I don’t know you. But I know him ,” Tony nods back towards the room where the others were waiting. “ - and I know you’re not the same. But you’re still Peter Parker, and there’s not a doubt in my mind that you’re capable.”
“I don’t want you to fight,” Tony says honestly, and Peter blinks at him, the anger slowly dissipating, cautiously. “Either of you. Losing Peter Parker just isn’t an option. I tried it once, and it’s not for me. But I can’t stop you. I’ve...never been able to stop him, either.”
Tony sighs and runs a hand over his face. Right. Crazy guy running around in tights. Priority numero uno. “So come on, you want to come? Shift it. I don’t have all day, Parker.”
With that, Tony turns to go back down the hallway, unable to continue the conversation when every bone in his body is telling him not to let this happen (but what choice did he have? ). He suppresses another sigh, straightening out his shoulders. He could already feel the headache building: because chances were, his Peter would want to come too.
Chapter Text
Well, would you look at that. Tony was right. (What else is new?)
It’s a bizarre experience, seeing both Peter Parkers suited up in the same place. They’re different, with the suit designs and the fact that alternate Peter’s suit is straight up craft store spandex, but still so strikingly similar.
They also spin their web cartridges at the exact same time, much to Tony’s private amusement. Peter’s mechanical eyes go comically wide (other Peter’s don’t move, lending him more to the deadpan snark), and he points excitedly. “Mr. Stark! Did you see these? Wow! Yours are so cool!”
“Thanks,” Alternate Peter says, tone inscrutable. “I made them myself.”
“Me too!” If Peter notices the lack of returned enthusiasm, it doesn’t seem to matter. He tilts his wrist up proudly so his doppleganger can see his webshooters. Alternate Peter slowly returns the gesture, though it’s hard to decipher how he feels about it from his body language.
Tony has to admit (at least to himself), that what the kid lacks in suit design, he makes up for with the webshooters. They’re elegant, a work of beauty, really, and smaller than the ones his Peter made.
“Show and Tell later, let’s go.” Tony interrupts, stepping forward with a whirr from his suit. His Peter steps forward to stick his hands on Tony’s chestplate, while alternate Peter watches with undisguised confusion. “I’m about to blast off, so unless you want to be left in the dust, gramps, climb aboard.
“It’s not hard to stick, just don’t accidentally let go.” Peter chirps up helpfully, and even though Tony can’t see it, he can feel the other Peter rolling his eyes.
“He speaks from experience.” Tony drawls teasingly, prepping his repulsors. Other Peter latches onto his back with only his fingertips, which is all he really needs. “Buckle your seatbelts, children.”
A camera flash interrupts them from the side, and May smiles guiltily, cameraphone raised. Peter groans the perennially suffering of a child embarrassed by their parent, and Tony can’t help his smile behind the faceplate.
“Well? Are you going to flame on or not, old man?” Alternate Peter grouses from the back, but if Tony didn’t know any better, he’d say the kid almost sounded good-natured . He doesn’t dignify it with a response, instead engaging his thrusters at full capacity and shooting them off into the sky with absolutely no warning.
Peter cringes against his chest, and the one at his back huffs out a halfway-amused snort, which Tony takes to mean, touch é.
“So what’s the low-down on this idiot?” Tony asks, over the roar of the wind that buffets them as he pilots towards Cap’s current location. Kraven is certainly giving them a run for their money, as he weaves through the city.
“He drank a magic jungle potion and now he’s like, super strong and never ages, or something.” Tony corkscrews through the air, and the Peters shift to accommodate him. “He also claims he can do that exploding heart martial arts thingy so uh, don’t get too close.”
“Like that really old movie, with the Bride lady?” Peter asks, and Tony sighs heavily as older Peter nods. “Kill Bill?”
“Yeah, exactly. I don’t buy it, but why test it, right?”
“Seriously? 2004 is old to you?” Tony can’t help himself, as he slows to a stop over part of the city. They’ve arrived, a little bit ahead of the direction Kraven was headed in, and the Spidermen ( ha ) jump down to crouch on a roof. They both ignore him, scanning the street below for any sign of the would-be villain.
“Let me talk to him first,” Alternate Peter leans over the edge of the building before rocking back on his heels. “See what the plan is, this time. He usually spills it if I ask.”
“They tend to,” Tony’s Peter nods sagely in agreement, crouched in the exact same position as the other Peter. Tony just watches, trying not to show his amusement - and wondering if this guy was really all that dangerous. Didn’t really seem like it.
( Okay, maybe sometimes he was wrong. )
“Got him.” Alternate Peter announces suddenly, and he’s flipping off the roof before Tony and Peter can so much as twitch. Peter lands on a light pole with a twang , and Kraven stops in his tracks, vicious grin lighting up his expression. His scarred face twists with savage pleasure, inviting Tony to reconsider his Not That Dangerous assessment. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to make a citizen’s arrest here, my guy. You can’t run around in the world’s ugliest pair of tights and expect to get away with it, you know?”
“Ah, Spiderman. At last, you answer my challenge.” Kraven’s voice is deep, his accent thick. Peter just cocks his head, watching him, and the large man spreads his arms invitingly. “Come and fight.”
“Why the hell would I do that?” Peter snorts derisively, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m good up here.”
“I thought you were little spider,” Kraven sneers mockingly. “Not little chicken.”
“Dude, I’m not Marty McFly , that shit’s not going to work on me.” Peter flips up to balance on one hand on the lamp post. “Now, are you going to tell me what this is about or do you just want to skip to the me-arresting-you part?”
“How about the part where we crush you?” Kraven growls, looking ready to pounce, and Tony thinks this guy really must not be the sharpest tool in the shed - except both Peters tense, suddenly rigid.
“It’s a trap!” They yell, together, and Tony’s Peter shoves him out of the way with bruising strength. An explosion cuts through the air, where they once were, though Tony doesn’t see the device that makes it. Out of nowhere, three more costumed bad guys swoop down, boxing in Alternate Peter.
“Hello Spiderman, ” Tony doesn’t like the breathless, twisted glee in the man’s modulated voice. He looks crazy, hovering on some sort of glider, decked out in more emerald green than Tony’s seen since the last time he watched The Wizard of Oz .
“Gobby, hello. You’re looking terrible today,” The words come out vicious, and Tony can see that Peter’s hands are clenched tight. “Nice cloaking tech, who’d you rip it off from?”
The Goblin ( isn’t that appropriate , Tony thinks) gnashes his teeth unhappily, tossing another bomb that Peter dodges ( that’s where it came from .)
“Vulture,” Peter breathes beside him, suit eyes mirroring the wide-eyed fear behind the kid’s mask. The man in question circles above, expressionless with the altitude mask strapped over his face. Any sign of joviality is erased as Alternate Peter looks between the four villains.
“What, you’re all in cahoots now? I thought I made it clear I didn’t want to hang out with you when I threw you all in jail.”
There’s a man in a rhino suit on the ground with Kraven, and he roars his fury, stomping his hind legs. This might just be the weirdest congregation of villains Tony’s ever seen in one place, but then, Spiderman does tend to bring out the truly bizarre. Still, Tony’s seen enough, and he blasts overhead, shooting off warning shots to all four of them.
“Alright gate-crashers, party’s over. Pack it up, let’s go.” A laugh rips from Goblin’s chest, and he looks up at Tony with unencumbered delight. It’s kind of unnerving - and he thinks Goblin’s friends find it equally as strange, despite their attempt to join in with the evil cackle, a beat later.
“Iron Man! Look at that, Spiderman, you made a friend .” Goblin’s voice turns venomous on the word friend , and it seems to affect Peter. Before he can quip something back, though, a brick comes out of nowhere and hits the guy square in the back of the head.
“Hey, ugly!” Tony’s Peter has apparently swallowed whatever lingering fear he might have of the Vulture, standing proudly on the edge of the building. Murmurs ripple through the villains - two Spider...men? “Can we get this show on the road already?”
“You keep this up,” Alternate Peter adds in, and Tony’s Peter finishes the joke in sync with him. “You’re going to be late for your date with my fist!”
Then the two of them both leap into action, quick as lightning. Is Tony even all that surprised anymore?
It’s chaos. Tony gets knocked around, mostly because he’s trying to be everywhere at once. He shoots off repulsor blasts seconds before a villain can get their hands around Spiderman - either of them, honestly, they’re moving too quickly for him to bother telling them apart. He wonders if Alternate Peter has ever had to fight all four of them on his own and shudders at the thought - it’s a tough fight, even with three of them, and Cap and Nat on their way.
Tony swallows the blood in his mouth, because there’s no alternative, and turns his attention to trying to blast Vulture out of the sky. The bastard clips Peter - is that his, no, that’s the other one - with sharp wings, and gets flung into a building for his trouble.
The fight is tough, no doubt about it. All three of them have been hit, thrown, cut - but something changes, in the middle. Goblin’s laughing, spitting out blood and throwing bombs that Tony tries to shoot out of the air, missing all except one, which one of the Peters narrowly dodges. He dodges, and the other catches him by the wrist, redirecting his momentum so he can land a flying kick right to Rhino’s face.
Tony realizes that his Peter was the one who landed the kick (his heart palpitations kick into gear, oh my god Peter just threw Peter at the mechanical Rhino man ) when he flips up into the air with a breathless laugh. “That was awesome!”
The fight is shifted from that point, and practically a breeze. The two Peters are in sync, now, and Tony finds himself hovering off to the side, unneeded. They twist and flip and web up the criminals neatly, one by one.
The longer he watches them, the easier it is to tell the red and blue blurs apart. There are different subtleties between them - Alternate Peter doesn’t have the tricks his Peter learned in training. Vice versa, Tony’s Peter doesn’t have the smooth poise the older one has, nor the level of dexterity and flexibility that no doubt comes with time and age as he grows into his powers.
Tony’s Peter punches Goblin in the face, the last of the group to go down, and Alternate Peter executes a brutal but effective Muay Thai Clinch. He grabs him by the neck, locking him in an unbreakable headlock, and drives his knee into the man’s ( he looks more like a boy, honestly, like he could be Pete’s age… ) stomach over and over and over, until he finally drops.
That’s nothing he learned in training , Tony realizes slowly. He picked that up from somebody who did it to him .
“Good work, team,” Tony hovers next to them, as Alternate Peter carefully webs up Goblin (odd, considering the brutality involved in taking him down, but Tony can’t see Peter’s face to know what he’s thinking). “What a nasty bunch, kid.”
“I keep telling them to lose my number,” Peter says, quieter than Tony would have thought, and his Peter raises an eager hand for a high five.
“That was so cool! Like, so cool ! I’d be swinging one way and you’d be going the other way and it was like I just knew where you would be - “
Alternate Peter shoots a web right at Peter’s face, and it globs where his mouth would be. There’s a beat, before Peter says, completely unhindered, “Uh. How’s that supposed to work when I’m wearing a mask?”
“Sorry, instinct. I didn’t really think it through, I’ll admit that.”
Tony can’t help himself - he bursts out laughing, and if it weren’t for the suit he’s pretty sure he’d keel over. The Peters just stare at him, though Tony knows there must be a shit-eating grin on Alternate Peter’s face. That’s how Steve and Natasha find them, however many minutes later (Tony’s eyes are too blurry with tears of laughter to keep track).
“I think we broke him.” One of the Peters says, Tony isn’t sure which one, and the other red and blue blur points accusingly at his double. “No, he broke him!”
Steve just sighs, and Tony starts laughing even harder.
***
Two hours later, Tony finds himself sitting in the common room, going through any data that might warn them of the next wayward soul to accidentally slip through an interdimensional portal. He’s hoping that number will be a big fat zero, since Strange said the universe should snap back into place within six hours - but you can never be too careful.
His view of the holoscreen is interrupted by a glass of yellow liquid, and Tony spends a moment staring at it dumbly before his gaze tracks up to one Peter Parker. Not his, but the older one who, despite his differences, somehow manages to have the exact same look of discomfort on his face.
“Here,” Peter grunts, which explains exactly nothing.
“Are you poisoning me?” Tony asks, deadpan, and Peter half-snorts, so he’ll count that as a win.
“It’s lemonade,” Peter says, which also doesn’t answer the question. Tony takes a sip anyway, watching Peter toy with the sleeves of the hoodie he’s borrowing, as he sits on the edge of the couch. He’s got something on his mind, and it’ll probably be easier to get it out of him if he just waits.
“Peter wanted to make it,” Peter continues after a beat, eyes on his hands. Tony doesn’t say anything, just watching. Peter had dragged Alternate Peter off to the showers chattering excitedly when they’d finally gotten back, and this time, older Peter hadn’t looked like he’d minded all that much.
The kid - he’s more of a young man, really - takes a deep breath and finally meets Tony’s eyes. “He’s - good. Someday he might even be great. I’m what he is, without you. Without another super who cares. I’m him but…he’s not me, and hopefully he never will be.”
“You say that like it would be a bad thing.” Tony says gently, and Peter’s mouth turns up at the corners as if to say, maybe it would be.
“I just wanted to tell you - there are tough times ahead for him. I don’t think there’s any universe my bad luck doesn’t permeate – but it’s good that he has someone to pick him up, afterwards.” Peter’s smile turns a little softer, and for a second, all Tony can see is his Peter, grown. “So…thanks.”
“I don’t know how I missed you,” Tony shakes his head, disappointed in his alternate self. “You mean so much to me, kid, I can’t even begin to tell you. I’m so sorry.”
“You heard Strange.” Peter raises an eyebrow at him, the exact opposite of contrite. So he was listening, little bastard. Tony can’t say he’s surprised. “Hundreds of thousands of decisions. Some of them were mine…and some of them were yours. I can’t change them, I have no control over most of them.”
Peter stands, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. He smiles again - a rare thing, Tony’s noticed, but it’s always so damn bright when he does - and tilts his head at Tony. “But it’s nice to know I’m not alone.”
“You’re never alone, Peter.” Tony promises, and they both know that’s not within his power to give.
Not to this Peter, anyway.
***
“It’s time to go.”
Strange’s portal looks bizarre, even more bizarre than normal. The sparks are multicolored, and wavy at the edges - like he’s opened a rip in the fabric between dimensions which. He has. Tony decides he doesn’t like it in the slightest, keeping his distance as Steve loads the misfit gang through, after double-checking their restraints.
Peter follows after he hugs May, tight, but hesitates, just as he’s about to go through. He looks like he’s been through the ringer and back in his ripped and bloodied suit, and his eyes meet Tony’s. Tony nods, once, decisively, and the boy’s eyes flicker back to his double.
Peter smiles kindly, and the older Peter stretches out his arm, fist closed. Peter stares at it for a second, and older Peter raises an eyebrow. “Well? It’s not going to bump itself.”
Peter quickly raises his hand to return the fistbump, and the older Peter smiles as he pulls his mask down, over his face. “I’d say ‘see you around’, but I really hope I don’t.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Parker,” Strange shakes his head, and Peter gives them a two-finger salute.
“Smell you later, old man!”
He backflips through the portal, because of course he does . Tony sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Ever the charmer, Peter.”
“You cannot blame me for him.” Peter pouts, as the portal closes with a swoosh , disappearing in a flutter of quivering, rainbow-colored sparks.
“You bet your ass I can,” Tony counters, and Peter squawks in denial.
“Mr. Stark !”
Notes:
Kraven and Chameleon really did that shit bro! Poor Petey has been through too much.
I write Spiderman with no hyphen for the aesthetic.
Follow my writing blog at thwip--thwip for more debatably decent content.
Rebloggable link <3Comment if you liked it! Love you all 3000.
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