Chapter 1: A Fragile Heart
Chapter Text
The sun had begun to set, casting warm shadows over the New York skyline. Perched on a rooftop, Peter gazed down below at the busy streets of New York below. He used to find comfort in the city’s energy, but lately, even that had faded. He fiddled with his mask in his hands, fingers tracing the familiar web pattern. It was meant to represent hope, strength and responsibility. Yet now, it felt like a heavy weight dragging him down, pulling him under the surface, making it hard to breathe.
Everything had changed in the past few months, and Peter had no idea why.
It had started after a routine mission. The Avengers were dealing with a HYDRA cell that had resurfaced in the city, causing chaos. Peter had been assigned to infiltrate and gather intel- nothing too complicated for Spiderman, a task he’d handled countless times before. So how had everything gone so horribly wrong?
Explosions erupted out of nowhere, tearing through the HYDRA base. The intel Peter had provided was flawed, leading the team straight into an ambush. The aftermath had been brutal. Tony was injured, Thor had taken a hit, and Natasha barely made it out. Steve, however, bore the brunt of the blast. Peter had tried to reach him, shouting through the comms for help, but it all happened too quickly. When the dust settled, Steve lay there, barely breathing.
The Avengers rushed to Steve’s side, struggling to free him from the wreckage. Peter stood at a distance, frozen, his hands trembling. He couldn’t process what had just happened– the chaotic aftermath, the anguished cries of his teammates, the sight of Steve Rogers as he took his last breath. When Tony finally looked at him, his face showed not understanding or comfort but anger. His eyes had burned with such an unfamiliar emotion Peter had never recognised before… It was hatred.
“Mr-Mr. Stark, I swear I checked everything! I-I don’t know how they–” Peter stammered, his heart racing and mind scattered as he tried to make sense of the chaos.
Tony cut him off immediately, his face switching from hatred to a face void of any emotions at all. It sent shivers down Peter’s spine. “You had one job, Peter. One job. YOU said the intel was clear!”
“But I–”
“No!” Tony’s voice was cold and cutting. “You don’t understand? Steve’s gone! We just lost him! Because of your mistake.”
“No, Mr. Stark I–I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean–”
“Sorry isn’t going to bring Steve back! We trusted you, and you’ve failed us all.”
Peter stood here, speechless. He couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. The Avengers were supposed to have each other’s backs. Hell, Tony was the closest thing he had to a father! They were a team, a family . But from that moment, everything changed. It all fell apart.
The days that followed Steve’s death were a blur, filled with grief and disbelief. Steve’s funeral was a grand, somber affair, with sorrow flowing from all corners of the world. For Peter, the event was an unbearable reminder of the weight he carried. He stood there among the sea of mourners, feeling like an outsider in an ocean of pain, a pain he felt responsible for. While the public and international media poured out their sympathy and shared condolences, Peter felt trapped in a personal hell, overwhelmed by guilt and confusion. How had his intel gone so terribly wrong? Everytime he replayed the mission in his head, he was tormented by the nagging thought of what he could have possibly missed. What could he have done differently to change the outcome of events.
As time went on, the weight of the tragedy began to morph into something darker and more sinister within the team. The Avengers, who had once been his family, started to slowly change as a result of their all encompassing grief. What had begun as a few cold stares and whispered exchanges evolved into deliberate isolation. The warmth and comfort that had once been at the heart of the Avengers’ Tower faded over the next few months, replaced by a chilling cold silence. Peter, once a beloved member of the team, now found himself on the outside, struggling to understand why his once-family now seemed to despise him.
It had started slowly, a subtle shift that Peter barely noticed at first. In the beginning, after Steve’s death, everyone was grieving, everyone was hurting, and so Peter had assumed the distance was just their way of coping. He figured they needed space, and he gave it to them– he stayed out of the way, tried not to be a burden, tried to help where he could.
But then the silence became more pronounced.
He noticed he was no longer included in group texts. Invitations to team dinners or movie nights–once so common– stopped coming. At first, he thought it was just bad timing– after all the team had been grieving a death for god’s sake. Maybe they were busier, more added tensions to deal with after the loss of a member. Then it became impossible to ignore.
No one directly said anything to Peter, but he could feel the shift. The unspoken tension whenever he entered a room. He would walk into the Avengers’ Tower, hoping to join in on a conversation, only for everyone to fall silent as soon as he entered the room. There were whispered conversations that ceased when he approached, eyes that avoided his, and once-friendly faces that now barely acknowledged him. If there was laughter before he entered, it would die out the moment they saw him. Peter tried so hard to ignore it, constantly brushing it off as the team’s grief. They’re mourning, just like I am , he told himself. But as the weeks passed by, the team stopped asking him to join them for training sessions, for strategy meetings. Little by little, they shut him out.
Natasha used to be kind, always offering Peter a smile or a quick word of encouragement when she saw him around the compound. Her presence had once been a source of comfort and support for Peter. Slowly, her kindness began to wane. Now, she barely looked at him. If she did, it was with an expression Peter couldn’t quite place– something between disappointment and irritation.
But it wasn’t just Natasha.
“Hey, Mr. Stark, I–”
“Not now, kid,” Tony would say without looking up from his work, voice abrupt. “Busy.”
It hurt every single time.
Tony, who used to spend time tinkering with Peter in the lab, teaching him about the intricacies of technology, was now barely acknowledging him. The friendly banter was gone, the long talks where Tony would give him advice, laugh with him, share his wisdom– they had vanished without an explanation.
Peter tried to figure out where he had gone wrong. He replayed the events over and over in his head, looking for a clue. But nothing made sense. He didn’t know how HYDRA had known they were coming, and it killed him that the others seemed to think it was his fault.
Even Tony. Especially Tony .
Chapter 2: Desperation to Belong
Summary:
Peter misses the way Tony used to look at him- with pride, but now all he sees is disappointment. Even after saving someone, he went to bed feeling as if he had just killed someone again.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Peter had always looked up to Tony Stark. From the moment Tony had first stepped into his life, there was something about the man that made Peter feel like he mattered, like he finally belonged somewhere. Tony Stark wasn’t just his mentor, no, he was the closest thing Peter had to a father. The way Tony had taken him under his wing, taught him about tech, life, responsibility– it meant everything to him.
Peter had clung to every word, eager to learn, eager to impress. He’d spent hours in the lab with Tony, watching him in awe as Tony worked on his projects, always with so much passion– but also always accompanied with a sarcastic lighthearted joke or a word of encouragement thrown Peter’s way. It was the kind of bond Peter knew he was missing deep down but was too afraid to ever voice out loud. The first time Tony referred to Peter as “kid”, it made Peter’s heart jump out with joy. Tony had looked at him with complete awe… with so much pride .
But now, that pride had long disappeared… replaced with something much darker.
Disappointment.
That was the look Peter saw in Tony’s eyes every time he glanced his way now. It was a look that absolutely killed and cut away Peter on the inside, deeper than anything. Gone were the days filled with playful banter between the two, no more shared late evenings in the lab, working together on projects. Instead, there was a wall of cold, silent, judgment, and it was eating away at Peter’s heart every time Tony barely spared the little boy a single glance.
Peter missed it so bad. He missed him.
He missed the days when Tony would call him “kid” with affection and softness in his heart, and not resentment. He missed the talks, the guidance, the fatherly approval that had made him feel like he was doing something right for once. All that remained now was just a gnawing feeling that he had let Tony, and everyone else along with him, down. He felt it every time Tony spoke to him. Disappointment that hung in the air was thick and suffocating. It wrapped around Peter’s neck like a noose. It was killing him slowly and painfully.
And it wasn’t just Tony or Natasha. No. It was all of them. The rest of the team had started looking at him the same way– like he was a burden. Like every time they saw him, all they saw was the kid who messed up. Like he had killed someone. The guilt of Steve’s death weighed heavier and heavier with each passing day, and no matter how Peter tried to make amends, he just seemed to dig himself deeper and deeper into a hole he just couldn’t seem to climb out of.
Sleepless nights had become routine for Peter. He started running on autopilot, he could barely tell the days apart now. Between school, patrolling, and missions, there was no space left for him to breathe– sleep was the least of his worries. He didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t care. He had to keep pushing through. He had to fix things.
Peter really felt like he was drowning. His desperation to make things right was slowly consuming him alive. No matter how exhausted or overwhelmed he felt, he couldn’t stop. The memory of Tony’s pride haunted him– those moments when Tony would give him a reassuring pat on the back, called him “kid” with endearment, or smiled at one of Peter’s clever tactics. All that affection had soured into something distant and cold, and it was driving Peter to the edge. He couldn’t lose Tony. Not like this. He refused to. So, Peter kept pushing himself harder, taking on more than he could handle in a desperate attempt to claw his way back into the team’s good graces, to Tony’s good side. That’s why, even though he was bone-tired and running late again, Peter found himself standing in the briefing room with his head down in shame, feeling so small, his heart pounding out of his chest.
He’d tried so hard to make it on time, to show up, to prove to the team that he wasn’t the screw-up they all thought he was. But here he was, running late again. It’s not his fault! He was caught up with patrolling duties, a local mugger had threatened to kill a poor young woman in an empty car park. There was no one else around to help her! Of course he had to intervene, he couldn’t just leave her there to die at the hands of this terrifying man. He had let uncle ben down once, he was responsible for Steve’s death, he was NOT about to let another person die on his watch. So, yes, he was caught up with patrolling duties, hence his tardiness to the latest team meeting. Surely, the team would understand… right?
The second Peter stepped into the room, he felt the shift. The conversation stopped, all eyes turning towards him. But it was Tony’s gaze that hit him the hardest– it was so… cold. Nothing like the warmth Peter used to feel.
“Nice of you to finally join us,” Tony said, his voice flat.
“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter stammered, his throat tight. “I got caught up–”
But Tony wasn’t interested in excuses. No, he was tired of hearing the kid speak. “Just sit yourself down and try not to interfere too much, okay?”
Peter’s chest tightened at the words. He nodded quickly and slid into the nearest empty seat, his stomach churning. He tried to focus on the mission, but all he could think about was Tony’s tone, the way it was overspilling with the same disappointment and annoyance that Peter had come to dread and hate. He needed to fix this. Tony acted as if Peter’s input in the team meeting would be counted as ”interference”. Why was he even called to the meeting if they didn’t require Peter’s input? But of course, who was Peter to refuse to show up. After all, it had been ages since he was actually called to a team meeting for once.
But interfere? It really did sting. Even if he pretended it didn’t, he knew deep down the words stung. He wasn’t interfering. He is supposed to be a part of the team, isn’t he? Why won’t they notice that, for weeks now, Peter had been working himself to the bone, pushing his limits to prove he belonged with them– that he deserved to be there . But now, reality hit him once again as he sat surrounded in a room full of people, feeling as lonely as ever. It felt like no matter what he did, he was just in the way. Useless.
He looked around the room, hoping to catch someone else’s eye– anyone who might give him a sign that he wasn’t as much of a burden as the situation currently made him feel. But they were all too focused on the briefing. Natasha was studying the screen in front of her, arms crossed and jaw tight. Closed off. Rhodey was leaning back in his chair, eyes locked onto the briefing notes with an expression Peter was unable to read. Even Bruce, usually the most understanding within the group, was furrowing his brow at the screen in front, not sparing a single glance Peter’s way even after the light humiliation he received from Tony.
Peter swallowed hard and looked down at his hands, gripping the edge of the table to stop them from shaking. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, the embarrassment threatening to choke him. It was happening again. He was disappearing. Fading into the background like he didn’t matter anymore. The meeting dragged on, each word from Tony and the rest of the team a blur as Peter’s mind kept drifting back to the woman in the parking lot. The terror in her eyes and on her face flashed in Peter’s head. He’d saved her, he did the right thing. But here he was, treated like a problem rather than a hero. He didn’t want praise, no, he just wanted someone to see him. He wasn’t just goofing around before the meeting and turning up late due to laziness as they thought, no he was actually doing something to save a life. Was he the only one who cared about the people on the streets? This isn’t what being an avenger meant– to choose missions over everyday normal lives, it wasn’t what he signed up for and it definitely wasn’t what Tony taught him. So even if they see Peter as the villain, he knows deep down he made the right choice to help the poor parking lot woman out.
Tony didn’t even seem to want him here. Not really, he was just an obligation, someone they had to put up with because, technically, he was still a part of the team. Time and words blurring together were beginning to bother Peter. He was losing track and zoning out constantly.
“Parker, are you even paying attention?”
Tony’s sharp voice made Peter jump. His head snapped up, heart thudding painfully in his chest.
“Y-yes, Mr. Stark. Of course,” Peter mumbled, though he wasn’t sure he even knew what they were talking about anymore.
Tony’s eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced. “Good. Then you won’t have a problem carrying out the task. We need eyes on the ground near the warehouse. Think you can handle that without getting distracted or someone killed this time?”
The words dripped with condescension, it made Peter feel so small. Peter had to force himself to nod, biting back the urge to defend himself. Getting distracted? He had been patrolling relentlessly every night, juggling school, mission work, and trying to prove himself worthy of being there. How was that getting distracted? Peter decided to ignore the comment about getting someone killed because he knew if he continued to think about it, it would send him spiraling immediately and he just couldn’t afford another breakdown in front of the team right now. Not when all eyes were constantly on him, waiting for just one minor chance to prove how unworthy he was of staying in the team.
“I’ve got it,” Peter managed, putting on a front to fake confidence.
“Great. Let’s hope so.” Tony didn’t even look at him again as he turned back to face the screen. Peter’s stomach twisted. He wanted to fix things so bad– he had to. But every time Tony spoke to him like that, it felt like a dagger being twisted inside him, wounding the fragile confidence Peter was so desperately clinging onto. He’d saved someone tonight, and yet… somehow, that didn’t matter. All that mattered were his mistakes, his lateness, his failures. He’d saved someone tonight. Yet, once again, he went to sleep feeling like he had murdered someone once again.
Notes:
Haven't checked this for mistakes, just writing to cope lol. Listened to just the neighbourhood whilst writing this entire chapter lmao, rlly going through it. Thank you to all for all your lovely comments, I really do appreciate them! Poor Peter, just want him to get a hug :( [it's me- i need the hug lmao]
Chapter Text
Peter prayed so hard for their coldness to thaw, just a little. He longed for a reassuring nod, or just some indication that they still trusted him. But the next few days dragged on without a word. No new missions, no calls, not even a text about training. Each time he returned to the Tower, it felt emptier.
He’d started avoiding the Tower more often now. Patrolling streets became his excuse, because there were always people to save, criminals to stop. It was a lot easier than sitting around, waiting for a call that would never come. Deep down, he knew why he was avoiding the Tower– he didn’t feel like he belonged there anymore. The looks, the cold shoulders, Tony’s disappointment– every time Peter stepped a foot inside, it felt like the walls were closing in around him. It was suffocating that this was supposed to be his home. A few months after Tony had offered him an internship, he had asked the kid to start living in the Tower, claiming it just made things easier. But Peter liked to believe it had once been about wanting his company rather than mere convenience. Where do you go when home no longer feels like home? When the place that was supposed to offer safety now feels anything but?
It was an uneventful Tuesday afternoon when Peter dragged himself out of bed. Rubbing the tiredness from his eyes, he reached for his phone. The screen lit up, but there were no messages. No notifications. An all-too-familiar pang of loneliness settled in his chest. It had been days really since anyone from the team had reached out. Not that it was anything new, but still… he used to be included in everything– back when Tony had actually wanted him around.
For a brief moment, he thought about texting Tony. Maybe asking if there was anything he could help with today– maybe an errand, a mission, anything to show he was still reliable. But then he remembered their last conversation. Tony’s cold dismissal, the accusation in his tone when he’d implied, in front of the whole team, that Peter just couldn’t handle things without screwing up. With a defeated sigh, he set the phone down.
“Maybe it’s better to just… stay out of the way,” he muttered to himself.
That’s what they wanted, wasn’t it? He wasn’t needed anymore.
Still, the nagging feeling tugged at his heartstrings, the sense that he should be doing something, that he should be making himself useful . He decided to head out for patrol again. At least out there, he could still make a difference. At least there, people still needed him.
By the time Peter returned to the Tower later that evening, the fatigue clung to him like a second skin. It was the mental strain of everything weighing on him that made it hard to shake off the exhaustion. Patrol had been fairly uneventful– just a few petty crimes, nothing requiring too much effort. Normally, he’d feel relieved when things were quiet, but today, the stillness only amplified his restlessness.
As he walked through the hallways towards the common area, he noticed something was off. It was unusually quiet. Normally, there’d be some noise, voices, sound of training equipment, buzz of conversation. But today, it was… still. Too still.
His brow furrowed. Where was everyone?
He made his way to the briefing room, hoping to catch someone there. As soon as access was granted and the door opened, he felt his stomach drop. The room was empty– yes, except for the large screen still lit up with the remnants of a briefing in progress. Notes on the screen about a mission– coordinates, objectives, plans.
oh.
They’d gone on a mission. Without him.
Staring at the screen, his throat tightened up. He wasn’t invited. He hadn’t even been told. For a moment, he tried to convince himself it was nothing, that maybe they just didn’t need him for this one, that it wasn’t personal. But the weight in his chest grew heavier as he stood still.
No one had bothered to tell him.
No one had even thought to let him know.
“Friday, where is everyone?” Peter’s voice wavered slightly, though he already knew the answer.
“Current mission coordinates indicate the team is en route to Beijing for a high-priority op,” Friday responded in her usual calm tone. “Estimated return: 72 hours.”
Peter’s jaw clenched. Beijing . A mission big enough to involve the entire team. His stomach churned at the thought of them all out there– without him. He stepped closer to the screen, scanning through the details that remained.
And there it was. His name, absent from the roster. Of course.
Peter let out a slow, shaky breath. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he was. They’d done this before– plenty of times since… since Steve.
Things had been so different since Steve’s death. The team had fractured, the cracks widening with every passing day. And Peter knew his role in it all. He wasn’t just some innocent bystander in the fallout. Mr. Stark was right after all; he was the one who had screwed up. He was the one who hadn’t been there when it counted, when Steve needed him the most. It’s no wonder they didn’t want Peter around. The memory of that day– the day they lost Steve– was burned into Peter’s mind, a constant jarring reminder of his failure.
It’s my fault .
He doesn’t blame them. He doesn’t blame Tony. The icy glares directed at him were justified. He didn’t blame the team for starting to treat him like a liability– it had all started after that day.
The room around him spun as his mind drifted back to that final mission with Steve. Peter had been too reckless, too caught up in proving himself, too eager to be seen as someone who could carry his weight. And Steve had just paid the price. He should’ve double– no, triple checked the information he gave the team. He had no right to be so reckless.
“Friday,” Peter said quietly, his voice barely a whisper, “did anyone ask where I was? About my absence from the mission?”
The AI was silent for a few seconds. “No, Peter. There were no inquiries.” A pause lingered before she continued,
“Apologies if I may seem like I’m overstepping my boundaries, but I sense that you may be going through some emotional distress. Are you alright Peter?”
Peter closed his eyes, trying to suppress a wave of emotions. His fists clenched at his sides, a surge of anger and hurt flowing through him. Even the fucking AI sees it. How could they not? How could Tony not see it?
He could feel his eyes stinging, and he quickly wiped at them, willing himself not to fall apart. Not here. Not now. He was definitely NOT about to breakdown to a fucking computer of all things.
“I’m good, Friday. It’s okay. They probably didn’t need me,” he muttered under his breath, trying to convince himself, though the words felt hollow.
Deep down, he knew better. He’d been left out of the loop before, but this time… this time it felt different. It felt deliberate. Like they were excluding him on purpose.
The realisation made his chest ache. He desperately wanted to call Tony. Ask him why he hadn’t been included. But his mind wandered back to how their last exchange had gone down and Peter was not emotionally prepared to have another moment of utter humiliation from his mentor. Suddenly, the thought of reaching out made him feel sick.
They didn’t want him there, and maybe it was better this way.
Turning on his heel, he walked out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. He needed to escape. He couldn’t stand the silence of the Tower, the feeling of being invisible in a place that was supposed to be home.
As Peter stepped out of the Tower, a sense of urgency directed him towards a familiar destination. Aunt May’s house felt like a refuge, a place where he could momentarily escape the weight of his loneliness.
When he finally arrived, he paused at the door, taking a deep breath. The warmth of his old home was inviting. He pushed the door open, a smile plastered on his face despite the ongoing storm inside him.
“Peter! What a surprise!” Aunt May exclaimed, her face lighting up as she entered the hallway. “You didn’t say you were coming! Everything alright?”
“Y-Yeah, everything’s great!” he replied too quickly, hoping the cheerful tone in his voice masked the heaviness in his heart. “Just thought I’d drop by. Missed you.”
She pulled him into a warm embrace, her presence comforting in a way that momentarily made him forget about his worries. But as she pulled back, he noticed the concern in her eyes, a flicker of worry. “You’re sure? You seem a bit… off. And you’ve lost weight!”
Peter forced a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m fine, really. Just really busy with the internship and all. Lots of things happening, you know how it is.”
Aunt May looked at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “How’s that going, anyway? How are you finding it?”
“Oh, it’s amazing! I’m having so much fun,” he said, enthusiasm dripping from his words, lying through his teeth. “Everyone really cares, especially Mr. Stark. He’s been great.” His mind wandered back to the hurtful silence between them, “He just… really knows how to make the team feel like a family, you know? He really does care for me”
Aunt May smiled, though her eyes still held a small hint of doubt. “I’m glad to hear that. You know I’ve always been proud of you, right? You’re doing incredible work.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, forcing a grin. The truth felt too raw, too painful to share. He couldn’t break down in front of her– not now, not when she was trying to hold everything together after Ben.
They settled down on the couch, the familiar comfort of home wrapping around him. Aunt May was busy in and out of the kitchen, preparing hot drinks and snacks, her chatter filling the silence. Peter listened, nodding along, but inside, the ache of his loneliness was anchored deep into his heart. The weight of what he hadn’t said hung in the air, pressing down on him like thick fog.
“Are you still upset about Steve?” Aunt May asked gently, returning to the living room with a tray of steaming mugs filled with hot chocolate. “I know you were close. It’s okay to feel sad about it.”
Peter’s heart sank. “I’m fine,” he insisted, a little too frantically. “Really, I’m just–”
But the words caught in his throat, the memories along with guilt flooding back uninvited. “I just miss him, I guess,” he finally admitted, swallowing hard and looking down in shame.
Aunt May nodded, her expression softening. “It’s hard when you lose someone you care about. But remember Peter, you have people who care about you too. You’re not alone, Peter.”
What stung the most that it wasn’t just Steve he lost that day. He lost all of them . He wanted to believe Aunt May’s words, to embrace it fully, but he just couldn’t. “I know, Aunt May. Thanks.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the tension lingering in the air. Peter took a sip of his hot chocolate, letting the warmth wash over him, grounding him in the moment.
“I’m really glad you came by,” Aunt May said, voice filled with sincerity. “You’re always welcome here, no matter what. Don’t forget that.”
“Thanks, May,” he replied, heart overfilled with gratitude. “I won’t.”
But as the afternoon sun set in, painting the room in golden hues, Peter felt the weight of his unspoken truths pressing down into him. He wanted to tell her everything– the fear, the loneliness, the way he wanted nothing more than to just receive one kind word from a certain Tony Stark. But the words stuck in his throat, and instead, he plastered on a smile once again, hoping that it would be enough to mask the darkness inside him.
As the evening shadows overtook the golden hues, Peter stood up to leave, the comforting warmth of Aunt May’s home already started to fade away. He gave her a quick hug, whispering a soft “love you” before stepping out into the cool night air. With each step away and towards the Tower, the weight he’d momentarily set down returned, heavier than before. The world outside felt just as cold and indifferent as when he’d left it. And as Peter took one last glance back at the house, he couldn’t shake the thought that no matter where he went, the loneliness would follow.
Notes:
Thank you for all the comments again :D I really appreciate them!! Please let me know your thoughts and how you're finding the fic so far!!!
Chapter 4: A Love Submerged
Notes:
Trigger warning for talks about funerals and death in this chapter!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tony Stark was not a man who easily let people in. He had built his life around walls. Walls of sarcasm, humour, and an impenetrable iron suit. He had mastered the art of hiding behind his persona, behind the smirks and charm. And yet, beneath all the layers of iron and arrogance, Tony cared deeply. Too deeply. That was his problem, it always had been. His heart, for all its metal reinforcements, was fragile in ways no one would ever know. Not even the team. Not even Steve.
It was why, despite all his best efforts, he found himself caring far too much about the kid .
Tony had vowed years ago he wouldn’t be anything like Howard Stark. Cold. Detached. Unreachable. He’d spent a lifetime making sure he didn’t become the man who had left him feeling small and worthless. Vowed to never let ambition or genius override what truly mattered: people. And yet, despite all the promises, despite all the years of trying, Tony could feel it happening. The way he was becoming cold, distant– pushing Peter away like Howard had once pushed him.
He was aware of the distance. It gnawed at him, that slow and painful awareness. Peter was just a kid, his kid . Just a kid trying too hard, eager to prove himself. And once upon a time, Tony had cared about that more than anything. He had seen so much potential in the spider-kid, seen the same spark he had when he was younger– only this time, without all the arrogance.
But things change... and things had changed. Tony had changed. And now, every time he looked at Peter, all he saw was his failure . Failure to protect the team. Failure to protect Steve. It wasn’t fair to blame Peter, Tony knew that. Tony knew that, deep down, buried under layers of denial. But knowing it and believing it were two very different things and fair didn’t matter anymore, not when Steve was gone.
Gone – Steve was gone .
The words still echoed through Tony’s mind, like a wave that wouldn’t stop crashing against the shore.
Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair in the lab, eyes fixated on the holographic blueprints floating in front of him. He hated how much Peter reminded him of himself– eager, hopeful, full of promise. He hated even more how he had started treating Peter the same way Howard had treated him. Distant, dismissive, impossible to please.
The irony wasn’t lost on him.
But irony didn’t make it hurt any less.
Hours later, the door to his lab opened, the soft creak breaking the heavy silence, pulling Tony from his thoughts. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The one person he’d been actively avoiding these last couple of months.
“Mr. Stark?” The kid’s voice was small, hesitant, like he was walking on eggshells. Peter was always walking on eggshells around him these days, and Tony hated it. Hated that the kid– his kid– was scared of him now.
Tony’s eyes remained on the hologram in front of him. “What is it, kid?”
“I just… I wanted to see if you needed anything. You know, help with something. Or–” Peter’s voice faltered, the desperation in it barely masked “ –maybe… we could talk?”
Peter saw his mentor’s jaw visibly clench. Tony forced himself to stay focused on the floating blueprints in front of him. He couldn’t afford to care anymore. Not like he used to.
“I’m good,” he said flatly. “Don’t need anything from you.”
Peter shuffled awkwardly at the doorway. “I just… I know you’re upset. I get it. I just want to–”
“Don’t,” Tony snapped, finally looking up from his desk to meet Peter’s eyes with a stern look. “Don’t say you get it. You don’t get it, kid. You don’t even grasp a fraction of what’s really going on here.”
Peter winced, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. Tony could see the pain in his eyes, the confusion, the guilt. But he forced himself to look away. He couldn’t do this right now. He couldn’t bring himself to care. Not now.
“I didn’t mean to… let you down. Or the team. I–” Peter swallowed hard, voice trembling “I didn’t mean to–”
“Let him down?” Tony stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. His voice was rising, sharp and bitter. “Is that what you think you did?”
Peter froze.
“You didn’t just let him down, kid,” Tony spat, venom lacing his words. “You killed him.”
The room went still. The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating in their finality.
Peter’s face paled, his breath coming in shallow, broken inaudible gasps. Tony saw the way the boy crumbled, saw the way the guilt slammed into him like a tidal wave. But Tony didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
“I didn’t–” Peter started, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to–”
“You didn’t mean to, right?” Tony’s voice was cold, sarcastic, devoid of all warmth. “You didn’t mean to kill him. But you did. And now the team’s fucking falling apart because of it.”
Peter’s eyes filled with tears, desperately blinking them back, lips quivering as he fought to keep the dam from breaking. He always tried to be strong around Tony. Tried to hold it together.
But Tony didn’t want Peter to be strong. He wanted him to be gone. Out of sight. Out of mind. Because every time he glanced at Peter, all he could see was Steve. Steve’s face. Steve’s body– lifeless, cold.The empty casket.
The funeral Tony hadn’t even attended. The funeral he refused to attend.
The memory of that day played in Tony’s mind on a loop. The team had gathered that day, each one of them carrying their own grief. But Tony? He had locked himself away in the lab, drowned himself in work, pretending none of it was real. Pretending Steve’s death wasn’t real. He couldn’t stand the thought of standing by that grave, watching them lower Steve into the ground, knowing he hadn’t been able to save him. Tony hadn’t been there for Steve.
Knowing he hadn’t even said goodbye.
“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, voice barely audible at this point. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, Mr. Stark” he continued, looking down at his feet, head down in shame.
Tony wanted to scream, to rage, to break something– anything– but he couldn’t. The sincerity in Peter’s voice made Tony’s chest ache, but he forced it down, buried it beneath the layers of anger and resentment. He had to. If he let himself feel even a fraction of it, he would drown.
“Sorry doesn’t bring him back,” Tony muttered bitterly. “Sorry doesn’t fix the mess we’re in.”
Peter remained silent. He just stood there, eyes glassy, looking broken and lost as his mentor continued to break his fragile heart down into tiny little pieces.
Tony turned away from him, unable to bear the sight. “Just go, kid,” he muttered. “Go.”
Peter didn’t move for a moment, but when Tony didn’t say anything more, he quietly turned and left the room. The door shut behind him, leaving Tony alone once more.
Hours passed. Tony wasn’t sure how long. The silence in the lab grew stronger with each ticking second. It felt suffocating, like the walls were collapsing in on him. He needed air. He needed space. Finally, Tony stepped out into the night air, the cool breeze brushing against his skin. He leaned against the railing, staring out into the endless darkness of the courtyard. The night sky stretched out before him like the ocean- vast, cold, and unforgiving,
Steve had always been there, his anchor in the storm. The man who had grounded him when everything else was spinning out of control. He had been more than just a friend, more than just a teammate. He had been the one thing Tony could hold onto when the world became too much– his everything . Steve had always been the moral compass of the team. He had kept Tony on the right path, even when Tony didn’t deserve it. And now Steve was gone.
And Tony hadn’t even been there to say goodbye.
With Steve, Tony’s ability to keep the team together had disappeared too. He rubbed a hand over his face, exhausted, both physically and mentally. Chest tight with the weight of all the things he would never say.
He hadn’t slept well in months. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Steve– his face, his smile. The quiet moments he and Steve had shared– those moments no one else had known about . They hadn’t been open. They hadn’t been allowed to be. But those moments had meant everything to Tony, and now, those moments were all he had left.
All he had left were the memories, the regrets, and the crushing weight of guilt that refused to leave him– Tony should have been there to save Steve.
He knew he was pushing Peter away. He knew it was unfair to blame him for everything, but every time he saw the kid, every time he heard his voice, Tony felt the loss of Steve all over again. It wasn’t all just Peter’s fault, he knew that. But that didn’t stop him from resenting the kid–
For it was a lot easier to cast the blame on someone else than to spare even a second facing the dark, twisting shadows of his own guilt.
Tony let out a shuddering breath, his eyes sweeping the horizon as if in search of a lifeline. He felt as though he were drowning, submerged in the vast ocean of grief that came with losing Steve. Each time he encountered Peter Parker, every time the kid’s voice reached his ears, it was like a wave crashing over him, a stark reminder of the man he had failed.
The man he had loved.
And Tony knew, deep down, that it wasn’t Peter he was angry at.
It was himself.
Notes:
I didn't even plan??? to have Tony/Steve ???? I'm being so fr rn, this came to me last night at 2am and suddenly boom I have a very specific plot in mind on how I want this fic to play out. Once again, thank you for all your comments and kudos, they really motivate me :D
Chapter Text
Peter stood frozen in the hallway, just beyond the lab door he had quietly shut behind him, the sound of Tony’s voice still ringing in his ears. Every part of him, every bone in his body wanted him to run back inside, to apologise again, to beg for a way to fix things. But he couldn’t. Tony had made it clear. There was nothing Peter could say, no apology that would bring Steve back. No amount of ‘sorry’ could make Tony see him any different now.
His feet felt heavy as he walked down the corridors of the Tower, each step a reminder of the unspoken tension that hung between him and his mentor. The guilt was suffocating, a constant plague at the back of his mind. Maybe Tony was right– maybe it was his fault. Maybe there was more he could have done. More he should have done. The thought consumed him, spiralling in the way that only guilt could, until all Peter could focus on was how small he felt.
He had failed– failed Tony, failed Steve, failed everyone. And no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t see a way out, a way to move on. Maybe that’s why his feet instinctively carried him towards the one place that might give him some sense of clarity, or at least, closure. The grave. Steve’s grave. He had no idea no clue what visiting Steve’s grave would accomplish, but something deep inside him pushed him forward. It felt like the only place left to go, the only place which had space to offload the overwhelming ache in his chest.
The funeral had been months ago now, but Peter hadn’t stayed long. He hovered back in the shadows, not as Spiderman, but as Tony Stark’s intern, keeping his head down, blending away into the crowd. He wasn’t supposed to be here, not really. It wasn’t his loss to mourn, and yet, somehow, it was. It felt like his loss too, because everything that had gone wrong– everything – had started with him.
And so, before he knew it, Peter found himself kneeling down alone in the middle of the cemetery in the dark hours of the night, as the cold rain soaked him to the bone. He needed this, needed to face the truth. His quiet sobs blended with the sound of the downpour, his tears lost in the streams of water running down his face, glistening under the moonlight. The rain was relentless, mirroring the storm inside him– an endless overflowing sense of regret and guilt that he couldn’t control, couldn’t escape. Each drop that fell from the sky added to the weight on his shoulders, pressing him further into the ground, until the very Earth beneath him felt like it was swallowing him whole.
The cemetery was eerily quiet, apart from the sounds of the raindrops hitting the gravestones and the occasional rumble of distant thunder. Steve’s grave stood solemnly in front of him, simple yet strong, just like the man it embraced. The engraving was barely visible in the darkness, but Peter didn’t need to read it. He knew every word that had been etched into the stone by heart. He knew exactly who lay beneath it, and the weight of the world that seemed so much heavier in his absence.
His clothes clung to him, drenched and heavy, as the cold earth beneath him turned into mud, staining his knees and hands. Peter didn’t know how long he had been here. He didn’t care. In that moment, nothing mattered except the overwhelming feeling that consumed him, the words that escaped his lips between shaky breaths, “I’m so sorry… I'm so so sorry, Cap .”
His voice broke as he whispered endless apologies late into the night. Each word was a desperate plea, a confession to the man who rested below.
“I never wanted… I didn’t want to be the reason you’re gone…”
His hands dug into the wet soil, trembling, as he tried to hold himself together. The rain, freezing, and without mercy, felt like the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely, like it was punishing Peter for the mistakes he couldn’t undo.
Peter’s thoughts spiralled, darkening and unforgiving. The rain felt less like weather and more like judgement– a direct manifestation of the team’s anger, of Tony’s bitterness, of the distance between them all. It was as if the sky itself were mocking him, mirroring every mistake, reflecting everything that had gone wrong. He was soaked through and through, shivering, his body shaking with silent sobs that gave voice to the ache deep in his heart. He felt so small– so terribly, insignificantly small– kneeling before the grave, pleading for forgiveness from a man who would never hear him, the gravestones like silent witnesses to his repentance. And in that moment, the small boy from Queens felt it all– every ounce of guilt, grief, and regret. Until finally ,
he felt nothing.
For a long time, Peter didn’t move. He just sat there. He lost track of time completely, he just sat there, numb and drenched, mind empty and yet overflowing all at once. The rain had long since soaked through his clothes, leaving his skin cold and clammy, but the physical discomfort barely even registered. He felt disconnected, his body felt disconnected, like it wasn’t even his anymore– just a vessel adrift, lost in a relentless tide of thoughts that surged and crashed within him, pulling him under again and again. Each wave of remorse seemed to rise higher, leaving him gasping for air he couldn’t seem to find.
He sat there, knees sinking into the wet earth, his hands hanging loosely by his side, too tired to hold them up any longer. Apologies had long since faded into the rain, swallowed up by the darkness of the night, but the weight of the numbness clung to him like a second skin. He wanted to get up, to leave, but the thought of moving seemed impossible . His small frame felt like lead, every muscle locked into place. He wanted to leave and yet didn’t want to all at the same time. He didn’t want to leave until he fixed things. But how do you fix what is already shattered beyond repair? Like trying to piece together a broken teacup, the fragments could never fit quite right again… reality would never allow it.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, a faint vibration that somehow pierced through the mental blur. Slowly, Peter reached for it with shaking fingers, barely able to grip it as his soaked skin made everything slippery. The screen lit up, casting a soft blue glow over his face, but his eyes struggled to focus. He blinked through the rain, through the fog in his mind, barely registering the message from Ned, asking if he was okay.
Ned.
A flicker of warmth sparked in Peter’s chest– something very small, but enough to remind him that there was someone… who still cared. Someone who would come if he asked, if he could just find the strength to type. Ned probably figured out Peter’s whereabouts now through their location sharing and was worried to see Peter here, at the cemetery, at such ungodly hours of the night.
His fingers continued to tremble as he fumbled with the keys on screen, the rain droplets making it difficult to see and type the letters. Each letter felt like it took a lifetime to press, but finally, he managed to type out a reply:
Ned… I don’t know what to do. I can’t move. I don’t feel anything .
There was a long pause. He stared blankly at the screen, rain dripping down his cheeks like his tears had done so, just a few hours ago. He didn’t know what he expected- he wasn’t sure if he even expected a reply. But then, after what felt like forever, the three little dots appeared at the bottom of his screen. Ned was typing.
Where are you, Pete? I’ll come get you.
Peter hesitated. He hadn’t thought that far ahead, hadn’t really paid thought to anything but this numbing feeling at the pit of his stomach. But now that Ned had asked, he wasn’t too sure how to respond. The cemetery felt like a corner of the world hidden away… a place so far removed from everything and everyone, it almost didn’t feel real.
Steve’s grave.
Peter typed, fingers still shaking. He didn’t need to say anything more. Ned knew. Only a few seconds passed before Ned’s reply came through, this time in the form of a voice note, “I’m on my way, Pete. Stay there. Don’t move.”
Peter didn’t have the energy to respond, and even if he did, he was too sure if he could make his body obey. He wasn’t sure how long had passed as he waited for Ned. Minutes? Hours? It was really all a blur. The rain continued to pour down its judgement upon him as he waited.
By the time Ned arrived, the world around Peter had faded into a quiet hum. He didn’t hear Ned calling his name at first, didn’t see the flashlight cutting through the night until Ned was standing right in front of him, eyes wide in shock.
“Peter? Oh God , Peter!” Ned dropped to his knees beside him, hands hovering hesitantly before finally resting them on Peter’s shoulders, trying to shake him out of whatever trance he had fallen into. Peter blinked slowly, his bloodshot puffy eyes glazed over and unseeing.
Ned’s eyes scanned over Peter’s drenched frame, taking in every heartbreaking detail. Peter’s clothes were soaked and filthy, covered in mud and dirt, clinging to his too-skinny frame. His hair, usually soft and messy, was stuck to his forehead, dripping water into his red, swollen eyes. The dark circles beneath his eyes were more pronounced than ever, standing out like a sore thumb against his pale skin. His lips were visibly blue from the cold, and his whole body shook with shivers that Ned could feel through his hands. Ned was terrified Peter would slip into hypothermia any second, if he hadn’t already.
Peter’s teeth chattered, but he didn’t speak. His face was devoid of all emotion, just a blank, hollow mask that looked so terribly wrong on someone who was usually so full of life. Ned’s heart ached, seeing his best friend like this. He had never seen Peter look so broken, so utterly lost.
“C’mon, Pete,” Ned said softly, worry subtle yet evident in his voice. “We need to get you out of here. Let’s get you warm”
He helped pull Peter up onto his feet, and though Peter moved with him, his body felt limp, like he wasn’t really present. Ned had to keep a firm grip on his arm to stead him, as Peter’s legs seemed to give out at any moment. They moved slowly, Ned guiding him towards his car, the rain still pouring down heavily around them.
Peter didn’t say a word. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t cooperate much either. He just… existed, his mind somewhere far away. He was a ghost in his own body, following Ned’s movements but not really there .
As they reached the car, Ned quickly opened the passenger door and helped Peter inside, buckling him in as if he were a child. Peter sat stiffly, his hands resting limply in his lap, eyes staring blankly out the window. His cheeks were dry now, his tears long gone, but nonetheless, his face remained emotionless, as though there were nothing left to feel.
The drive back was quiet, except for the sounds of the pitter-patter of the rain tapping against the car’s body. Ned glanced over at Peter every few minutes, worried about the hollow look in his friend’s eyes, but the other didn’t respond to the concerned glances. He didn’t respond to anything. He just sat there, standing at the darkness outside the window, his body damping down on the shivering as the car warmed up.
Ned wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence, but he was at lost for words. What could he say to someone who looked so… exhausted? So beyond reach?
They arrived quietly at Ned’s house. He helped Peter out of the car, guided him inside, still holding onto his arm, just in case Peter collapsed. Once they were inside, Ned grabbed a towel and tried to dry Peter off as best as he could, the latter remaining in his unresponsive state, his body moving like a marionette.
“Pete, you need to change,” Ned spoke softly, but Peter just stared at the floor, mind clearly somewhere else.
Ned sighed, frustration and worry filling his head. He went to his closet and grabbed some of his old clothes, the first things he could find that would fit, and handed them to Peter. “Here, put these on. I’ll get you something warm to drink.”
Ned rested the clothes neatly next to where Peter was seated. Peter took the clothes mechanically, fingers still stiff from the cold. Ned watched him for a moment, it was clear Peter wasn’t going to move on his own and so he turned away to give his friend some privacy.
When he returned a few minutes later, with a mug of hot chocolate, he stood still at the door to see Peter was still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at his hands, still dressed in his soaked clothes.
Ned set the mug down on the bedside coffee table, and knelt down in front of him, gently placing a hand on Peter’s knee. Peter refused to make eye contact. “Peter,” he said slowly, his voice trembling with emotion, “you didn’t kill him. You didn’t kill Steve.”
Peter didn’t respond. However, Ned could see the slightest flicker of something in his eyes– pain, maybe, or guilt. Ned squeezed Peter’s knee gently. “You’re not alone in this, okay? You don’t have to carry this by yourself. I’m here, Peter. I’m not going anywhere.” Ned wished he could ease his friend’s pain, and do just something to help Peter out.
Ned’s mind raced with worry, the weight of Peter’s silence sitting uncomfortably on his chest. He knew he had to talk to Tony; Peter needed help, and if there was anyone on Earth who could help and understand, who Peter respected and cherished, it had to be Tony Stark . And that’s how he found himself retrieving Tony Stark’s number from Peter’s phone and texting his best friend’s mentor in the middle of the night:
[New Message from: Unknown]
Hi Sir. Mr. Stark. This is Ned, Peter’s friend. Please can we talk in the morning? He’s had a bit of a rough night and I think he could really use your help right now, a lot more than mine and better than what I can offer. Don’t worry about where he is, I’ve got him to finally sleep here, at my house, so he’s resting now.
[New Message from: Unknown]
I thought to text you as I'm just really worried about him.
Notes:
skipped lectures (and i’m a med student rip) to write peter parker whump :)
Just a side (personal) note - feel free to skip over:
This was one of my fav chapters to write. The way I’ve written how Peter feels numb is actually honestly very similar to what I feel like in the middle of adhd paralysis/bed rotting due to poor mental health- it’s rlly not fun at all. It’s the feeling of being locked into one place and no matter how much you wanna snap out of it, you can’t. Lots of people w depression may relate to this, it’s a very real struggle and pls don’t ever think you’re ‘lazy’ if you ever find yourselves in a position like this. Please look after your health and yourselves, if you’re struggling pls reach out to someone, either friends/family or professional help💕 and if needed, u can reach out to me too if u have no one <3 take care guys, and once again thank you for all your interactions/comments/kudos!
Chapter Text
The following morning, Peter awoke slowly, like surfacing from deep underwater. Disorientated would be the best way to describe it. His surroundings felt unfamiliar. The soft light filtering through the curtains, the weight of a blanket that wasn’t his, the distant clatter of dishes from another room. For a brief, fleeting second, he could almost convince himself he was home, back in his own bed. But that illusion soon shattered the moment his eyes fully opened, memories from the night before crashing down on him with the same force as the rain that had soaked him to the bone just the night before.
The cemetery. Steve’s grave. His knees sinking into the mud. The rain, as he got lost in a series of endless apologies that disappeared into thin air. All of it came rushing back. Peter lay still, staring up at the ceiling, his body heavy, yet heart hollow. The numbness hadn’t gone away; if anything, it had only grown thicker, clinging deep onto his bones. He didn’t want to move, and honestly, he didn’t really know if he could .
He sighed and rolled over slowly, wincing as his stiff muscles protested, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. At first, it was just to check the time. The last thing he expected was to see his screen light up with a new message that had his breath caught in his throat.
[New Message from: Mr. Stark :D]
His thumb hovered over the notification, not opening it right away. He just stared at it, heart pounding in his chest, each beat echoing in the silence inside his head.
Why was Mr. Stark texting him? He hadn’t heard from him– not like this– in weeks, not since… since the last argument where he had looked him dead in the eyes and told him he was a murderer. Peter’s mind raced, confused as to why his Mentor was texting him after having ignored him for so long. He would so often send messages only to get one or two-worded answers in replies, and that’s if he was lucky. He didn’t really get… messages from Mr. Stark anymore. Nor calls. Nor any great form of communication, really. He thought hard through all the possibilities as to why Tony Stark , of all people, would be texting him this early in the day,
A lump formed in Peter’s throat, and he swallowed hard, a sickening realisation settling into him. Ned. Ned had texted Tony last night.
Peter’s heart sank, and anger began to surge through the numbness in his chest. How could Ned do that? How could he tell Tony– that too, without talking to Peter first about it? The last thing Peter needed on his, already very full, plate was to seem even more pathetic in Tony’s eyes. To look even more incapable than he already did. With a shaky breath, Peter finally unlocked his phone and read the message.
[New Message from: Mr. Stark :D]
Heard you had a rough night, Ned’s worried. You should get some rest. We’ll talk later.
The words hit harder than they should have. The detachment in Tony’s message felt like a slap across the face, but it wasn’t surprising. It was exactly what Peter expected– cold, indifferent, dismissive. There was no warmth, no concern. Just the same bitterness that had been there for a while now. He didn’t even bother to ask what happened– No, he didn’t care enough to want to know, just an indifferent reply asking Peter to rest because his problems are worrying Ned . He’s just being… an inconvenience to his friend. Who, out of concern, supposedly texted Tony last night, which clearly inconvenienced Tony.
Peter felt his chest tighten, the shame and frustration mixing into a knot of anger. He hated that Ned had dragged Tony into this, hated that Tony now saw him as even more incompetent and weak. He shouldn’t have done that .
Peter shoved the phone into his pocket, taking note of the unfamiliar clothing he seemed to be wearing. These weren’t the clothes he’d filthied at the cemetery the night before. Despite feeling gratitude for Ned having cared enough to get him changed out of wet clothes last night, Peter still felt his pulse quicken as frustration clawed at him. He needed to confront Ned. He needed to make him understand that this– all of this – was only going to make things worse.
Peter’s footsteps were heavy as he made his way down toward the kitchen, each step feeling like it took more effort than the last, his body moving on autopilot. The smell of breakfast hit him strong as he entered the room, but it only seemed to make him feel nauseous. Ned was there, humming softly as he held two plates to take towards the counter. He glanced up to see Peter enter the room, a small smile forming on his face.
“Morning, Pete! I made–”
“Why did you text Tony?” Peter cut straight to the chase. The words came out before he could stop them, his voice low. He watched as Ned’s expression shifted from calm to confused.
Ned set down the plates, his brow furrowing. “W-what? Pete, I… I was worried about you. You were really not looking good last night, and I thought maybe Tony–”
“ Why did you text him? I didn’t ask you to get him involved.” Peter’s voice came out a lot harsher this time, more than intended, his fists tightening. He didn’t want to be angry at Ned, but he couldn’t help it. Everything felt so out of his control. He felt humiliated . “You shouldn’t have done that!”
Ned blinked, clearly taken aback. “Pete, I thought– he’s T-Tony, Pete? I thought he–”
“You thought wrong.” Peter cut him off immediately, heart pounding in his chest and his mind spinning. “You don’t get it. You don’t understand what’s going on.”
Ned’s expression shifted from confusion to worry, his eyes searching Peter’s face for an explanation that didn’t seem to come. “But… he’s your mentor, Peter? Literally the guy who looks after you? He’s Tony Stark, why wouldn’t he want to know that you’re not oka–”
“Because he doesn’t care .” Peter’s voice cracked, hating how vulnerable he sounded, but he couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. It felt humiliating to admit it all in front of his best friend. “He doesn’t care, okay? Not after what I did. Not after… Steve. He practically hates me. Just–” he paused, “Just don’t text him again regarding me.”
Ned’s eyes widened. “Hates you? Peter, no, that’s not– Tony loves you. You’re practically like his kid –”
Peter let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he tried to keep his tears at bay. “Not anymore, Ned. He hates me because I killed . Because I ruined the team. I ruined.. it all .” Ned stepped closer, soft and careful, almost like he was approaching a wounded animal.
“But, Pete… you’re Tony’s guy. He’s your mentor, Peter. He’s Tony Stark. Why wouldn’t he care that you’re not okay? I mean, he texted me last night after I told him, and said thanks for letting him know. He said he’d make sure to talk to you later.”
Peter’s breath caught in his throat as he swallowed a lump. “You think that’s concern, Ned? That’s just him pretending. He doesn’t care. Not after what I did. The sad fact is that I did get Cap killed.” Peter said, the confession hanging in the air heavy. He sucked in a deep breath before continuing, “So yes. That’s why. That’s why he hates me. And now, thanks to you, he thinks I’m even more of a mess.”
Ned stood there, dumbfounded, mouth hung slightly ajar. “No, Pete. You’ve got it all wrong. Tony wouldn’t pretend like that. He wouldn’t ignore you. Like I said, you’re like a son to him!”
“Mr. Stark can’t even look at me anymore, Ned.” Peter interrupted, his voice hollow now. He ran a hand through his messy hair, taking a shaky breath, as he laughed bitterly again.
Ned stepped closer, his voice gentle. “Pete, Tony doesn’t hate you. I’m sure if you just talked to him-”
Peter shook his head, the tightness in his throat making it hard to speak. “I’ve tried, Ned. He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear anything from me.” His voice dropped, quieter now, almost a whisper. “Just… don’t text him again. I’ll manage.”
Ned frowned but decided to no longer push the topic. “I’m sorry, Peter, I really thought I was helping. But if you say so, I won’t message him again. You’re gonna be okay, right? I mean… I’m still worried for you Pete.”
Peter bit his lip, forcing down the urge to tell Ned the full truth– about all the looks, the cold remarks, the way Tony behaved towards him ever since Steve. But he couldn’t. Couldn’t bring himself to shatter Ned’s belief that things could still be okay. Didn’t want to burden his friend too much with the thought of a cold Tony Stark.
So he swallowed down all his frustration, and forced a weak smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” But they both knew it was a lie.
Ned hesitated, worry still clear on his face. “At least eat something before you go, you look like you could use it.”
Peter glanced down at the plates Ned had set up for the two. The sight of food made his stomach turn. He wasn’t sure if it was the lingering cold from the night before, or the nausea that had settled in his gut, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat.
“I’m not really hungry,” Peter muttered, settling for the cup of tea instead. “I’ll just have this. Probably still sick from being out in the rain.”
Ned frowned, “Okay, but if you’re still feeling like this later, we’re going to get you checked out.”
Peter nodded, though he had no intention of following through on that. He took a sip of the tea, letting the warmth momentarily ease the tension inside him.
Ned didn’t push further when Peter excused himself later on, muttering something about needing to head back to the Tower, but the worried look in his eyes never left as they followed Peter all the way out the door.
Tony sat in the dim glow of his lab, the hum of machines and soft clicks of his tools filling the silence. He had been in the lab for a while working on his current project. He hadn’t made much progress on the project since the night before, just sitting idly tapping against the metal surface of the table in front of him. His mind wasn’t in it. Instead, it was stuck on the message from Ned that still sat unread on his phone.
He hadn’t responded, not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t know what to say. His mind fought between bitterness and worry, guilt and anger. Ned’s words had been running through Tony’s mind for hours now, each one like a small jab to his already fraying conscience.
In a way, Tony almost wished the message hadn’t come at all. Ignorance was just so much easier. He wanted to believe Peter was just acting out, something he’d snap out of. After all, guilt was a natural consequence and Peter had every right to feel it. But still… Ned’s words lingered, heavy and unavoidable.
He’s had a bit of a rough night… I think he could really use your help right now…
Tony clenched his jaw, grip tightening around the tool in his hand before he let it drop with a clatter. He hated this– the gnawing feeling that had been building since he had let his anger at Peter consume everything. He should be angry at Peter– he was angry. After everything that happened, how could he not be? But no matter how hard Tony tried to hold on to that anger, it was slipping through his fingers, replaced by something much harder to push away. Guilt. It was guilt that had started to dull his anger.
Guilt for how he’d been treating the kid these past months. He ran his hands through his hair, frustration bubbling up inside him. He didn’t know how to go about this, didn’t know how to reach Peter, not when he couldn’t even deal with his own emotions. The guilt just wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard he tried to push it down. Tony’s eyes looked back to his phone on the table.
He should respond. He should say something to Ned. But the words wouldn’t come.
“Goddamn kid,” Tony muttered under his breath, his fingers curling into fists.
He tossed the tool aside, feeling the weight of his frustration building. It wasn’t fair– none of it was. Not for Peter. Not for Steve. And certainly not for him. But that didn’t change the fact that Peter had been reckless. That didn’t change the fact that Steve was dead .
But still…
Still, the image of Peter’s face, hollow and drawn, did haunt him no matter how much Tony tried to deny it. He’d let his own grief and anger drive a wedge so deep that he wasn’t sure if it could be repaired anymore.
His hands hovered over the phone again. He had to reply. He owed it to Peter, to Ned– even to himself. He couldn’t just ignore it no matter how much he wanted to. With a deep breath, Tony began typing a response, fingers hesitating as they hovered over the screen.
[New Message To: Ned (Pete’s friend)]
Is he okay now? I’ll talk to him today. Thanks for looking out for him.
The words were simple, not thinking twice before hitting send. He tossed the phone back onto the table and stared at the wall, with just a steady silence in the room.
There was a time where he thought Peter could be his second chance– his chance to get things right after all the mistakes he’d made. Now he wasn’t so sure. Tony could see deep down that the kid was drowning in something bigger than he could handle alone. And maybe… It was Tony that had helped to push him into those depths.
“Goddamn kid,” Tony muttered once again, his voice softer this time, almost defeated. He stood up, rubbing a hand over his face as if he could somehow wipe away the exhaustion. There was no getting around it. He had to talk to Peter. Maybe it wouldn’t fix things. Maybe it would make everything worse. But one way or another, it was time to face the mess they were both in. And so with that thought in mind, he sent another message to the kid himself.
[New Message To: Spiderling Kid]
Heard you had a rough night, Ned’s worried. You should get some rest. We’ll talk later.
Tony sat back in his chair, the weight of his phone in his hand much heavier than it should be. His gaze lingered on the contact name– Underoos– a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’d given Peter that name when things were a lot simpler, back when he thought he could guide him, when he still believed he could protect him from the world. Before everything had fallen apart.
He set the phone down gently, the quietness of the lab wrapping around him like a shroud. For the first time in a long while, Tony Stark didn’t have the answers. He wished he could find a way to get through the wreckage. To be the mentor Peter had once trusted him to be. But right now, all he could do was sit in the stillness, haunted by the memories of what the team, what they , used to be.
Notes:
Sorry this chapter was posted later than I intended, but thank you for reading and I hope you like this chapter :)
Chapter Text
Peter’s footsteps echoed through the corridors of the tower like the ticking of a clock, rhythmic yet empty. He no longer bothered to notice the cold glances that trailed after him or the subtle way the team’s conversations dimmed as he walked past. It was all background noise– static that didn’t seem to touch him anymore. Everything felt muted, distant, like he was walking through a dream, only half-present.
He’d decided after leaving Ned’s house that there was no use anymore doing anything. He’d decided it was worth it to not speak now unless absolutely necessary, and even then, he’d keep his words clipped and monotone. It was easier this way. Easier to shut down, to let the numbness take over completely. At least this way… he no longer felt pain. No more pretending, no more awkward explanations, no more trying to justify himself to people who would never understand. He had tried to explain before– to Tony, to the others, but what good had it done? They looked at him like a stranger now. They couldn’t superimpose the Peter they’d known with the one who had walked away from Steve’s grave drenched in guilt, it was 2 different people for them– one was a kid, the other a killer.
He dreaded the conversation with Tony that was bound to come. He could feel it hovering over him, an inevitable storm cloud waiting to break. And yet, there was no fear, no apprehension. Only a dull, gnawing weight that appeared every time he thought about it.
He stepped into the common room, his body still on autopilot. His hands tucked away inside his pockets, shoulders hunched slightly as he made his way towards the couch. Clint was there, seated across the room, but hadn’t acknowledged the other’s presence. The archer’s eyes flickered up briefly, then settled back on whatever he was focused on. The silence stretched between them, thick but unspoken.
Good, Peter thought. This was better. No awkward words, no forced interactions. He could deal with silence.
He sat down, sinking into the cushions, though they brought no comfort to him. His mind was elsewhere, drifting, unnoticing of the footsteps approaching. Despite becoming aware of the steps, he didn’t need to look to know who it was. Tony had a way of filling a space without saying a word, the air growing heavier, more tense. Peter’s pulse quickened in his chest, but he forced his expression to remain impassive, his eyes still fixed on some distant point in the room.
“Kid.” Tony’s voice was low, not quite soft, but without the usual sharpness. This was unusual. It held something else– something Peter couldn’t quite place.
Peter didn’t answer at first. His hands twitched slightly in his lap, but he stayed still, jaw clenched as he prepared for the inevitable. Tony wasn’t the type to tiptoe around things, and Peter knew what was coming. Still, Peter refused to glance over at the older guy.
Tony stepped closer, crossing the room in just a few strides until he stood directly in front of Peter. There was no escaping it now. Slowly, Peter lifted his gaze, meeting Tony’s eyes with a forced calmness. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing him rattled. Not again.
“Ned texted me last night,” Tony said, watching the younger man carefully.
Peter’s stomach twisted, but he didn’t let his expression falter. He let out a slow breath, shrugging slightly. “Yeah, I figured.”
There was a pause. Tony was looking at him like he was waiting for something, some kind of response that wasn’t just an indifferent shrug. When it didn’t come, Tony’s lips pressed into a thin line. Clint watched the awkward interaction between the two from afar in the room.
“Is that it?” Tony asked, his tone tight with barely held back frustration. “You don’t have anything else to say?” Peter’s eyes broke away from Tony’s, and flickered briefly towards the door, but he didn’t move.
“What do you want me to say?”
Tony scoffed, taking a step back as if trying to compose himself. His hands ran through his hair, frustration seeping into every movement. “I don’t know, Peter. Maybe you could start with why Ned, your best friend, felt the need to text me in the middle of the night, saying you had a ‘rough night’. Maybe you could start by explaining that.”
Peter’s jaw clenched again, but this time it was out of anger. He absolutely hated that Ned had dragged Tony into this. Hated that Tony was standing here, acting like he cared. He didn’t want Tony’s pity. He didn’t need it.
“I didn’t ask him to text you,” Peter muttered, voice emotionless. “He did that on his own.” He shrugged, and for a second Tony thought the kid was purposely trying to wind him up.
“I know that,” Tony snapped back, his annoyance flaring. “But he’s worried about you. And you– what, you just brush it off like it’s no big deal?”
Peter’s eyes narrowed, hands curling into fists in his lap. “I don’t need you to pretend like you care, Mr. Stark. I’m fine. I can handle myself.” Peter spat out the words, filled with bitterness.
Tony’s eyes widened slightly, the surprise rather quickly morphing into something harder, more defensive. “You think I’m pretending?” He sounded disbelieving, almost hurt at the accusation, though he quickly masked it back with frustration. “You think I’m standing here because I don’t care?”
Peter didn’t flinch. He stood up slowly, the air growing more tense. “I think you’re here because you feel guilty ,” his voice steady, though his heart was pounding in his chest, faster than his brain could keep up. “But you don’t have to. I’m not your responsibility. You don’t have to fix this. You’re free from me, Mr. Stark.” Peter almost laughed bitterly in his mentor’s face, but held back.
Tony’s face darkened, his eyes flashing with something unreadable. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m trying here. I’m trying to give you a chance to talk about this, to fix whatever the hell is going on between us. But you– you keep shutting me out.”
Peter’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to hold Tony’s gaze. “Because there’s nothing to talk about. You don’t have to act like I’m your problem. I can manage on my own.”
Tony’s frustration boiled over, his voice now starting to raise. “You’re not managing, Kid. You’re barely holding it together.” Peter’s chest ached at the words, but he refused to let it show. He took a step back, shaking his head as he spat out the next words, “I don’t need your help.”
Tony scoffed once again, jaw tight as he stared at Peter, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m trying and you’re just–” he paused, shaking his head. “You’re throwing it all back in my face.”
Peter swallowed hard, feeling the sting of Tony’s words. He pushed it all down. He had to. He had to keep going, had to keep pushing Tony away, because letting him in would be worse. It would hurt more.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Stark,” Peter said quietly, his voice flat and emotionless. “I won’t inconvenience you again. And Ned won’t be messaging you either.”
Tony’s face twisted, but Peter didn’t stay long enough to see what came next. He turned around, his heart hammering inside his chest as he made his way toward the door, leaving a stunned Tony Stark standing in silence.
Tony stood rooted in place long after Peter had walked away, his gaze fixed on the doorway the kid had walked through. The silence that followed felt all-consuming. He ran a hand through his hair again, letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Why did every conversation with Peter these days just feel like walking on glass? One wrong step, and everything came shattering down on them.
“You’re making it worse, you know.”
The voice came from the far end of the room, startling Tony out of his thoughts. He turned sharply, eyes narrowing as he acknowledged Clint’s presence in the room. Clint was leaning casually against a wall, arms crossed over his chest. The archer’s expression was neutral, but there was a guardedness in his eyes that Tony didn’t miss.
“Excuse me?” Tony’s words dripped with irritation as he processed the words. “What do you mean I’m making things worse?”
Clint shrugged, pushing off the wall and stepping closer, his gaze briefly flicking back to the doorway Peter left through. “Exactly what I said. Every time you talk to him, you end up pushing him further away. I’m not saying it’s your fault, but it’s… not helping.”
Tony let out a humourless laugh, his hands coming up in a defensive gesture. “And what exactly am I supposed to do? Pat him on the back and tell him it’s all okay? Just forget that he–” he cut himself off, jaw tightening as if the words physically hurt him to voice them out loud. “That he’s the reason Steve’s dead?”
Clint’s eyes sharpened, slight frustration visible in them. “Look, I’m not saying we should pretend everything’s fine. But you can’t keep treating him like he’s some kind of… villain either.” His words were blunt, but his tone was carefully controlled. “Yeah, the kid messed up. And yeah, it cost us– cost him– more than any of us should’ve had to pay. But you and I both know he didn’t mean for it to end the way it did.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that Steve’s gone. Intentions don’t erase consequences, Barton.”
“And beating him down every time he so much as breathes wrong is supposed to make things better?” Clint shot back. “You think this is going to bring Steve back? That making Peter hate himself more than he already does is some sort of justice?”
“Justice?” Tony scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t know what this is anymore. I just… I can’t stand the way he looks at me nor can I stand looking at him. He looks at me… like I'm the one who’s failed him. Like I’m the one who owes him something.” The bitterness in his tone was raw, and unguarded.
Clint sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. “Maybe because he doesn’t know what you want from him. One minute, you’re biting his head off, and the next, you’re trying to ‘fix’ things. It’s like you can't decide whether you want to be his mentor again or just… keep punishing him.”
Tony stiffened, Clint’s words clearly having struck a nerve. “And what about you, huh? You’re not exactly the kid’s biggest fan these days either.”
Clint sighed once again, the accusation striking closer to home than Tony probably realised. He looked away. “I’m not saying I’m not pissed.” he admitted quietly, his voice strained. “I am. I’m angry– hell, we’re all angry. But it’s not that simple. He’s just a kid, Tony. It was just a mistake , he didn’t mean it. He shouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place.”
“Don’t–” Tony’s words bit back, a warning in his tone. “Don’t you dare put that on me.”
“I’m not,” Clint’s reply was frank. “I’m just saying… maybe you should go figure out what you want to do with him. Because right now? You’re stuck between trying to be the good guy and punishing him for something he can’t undo.”
That silenced Tony for a long time. He wanted to argue, to snap back with something that would shut Clint up, but the words died on his tongue. Because deep down, he knew Clint was right. He was stuck. Torn between the anger he couldn’t let go of and the guilt that gnawed at him every time he looked at Peter.
“I don’t know what to do,” Tony finally said, the admission barely above a whisper. It was the closest he’d come to acknowledging just how lost he felt in all of this.
Clint’s expression softened lightly, the tension in his shoulders easing by just a fraction. “Maybe start by deciding what you actually want from him. Because if you keep throwing mixed signals like this, you’re going to lose him for good. Look, I’m not saying I have all the answers,” he paused, “but just… think about it. Whatever you’re doing right now? It’s not working.”
With that he turned to leave, but hesitated before stepping out. “And Tony?” Clint paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth… I don’t think he meant to get Steve killed. But that doesn’t change the fact that he did.”
Tony’s breath hitched, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He swallowed hard, not responding as Clint walked away in silence. Once again, Tony was left alone with the uncomfortable weight of his own thoughts.
The door slid shut behind Peter with a quiet click, but the silence it left behind was heavy on his mind. He didn’t pause, didn’t look back. He didn’t have to. He could feel the weight of Tony’s gaze burning into his back as he walked away, each step carrying him further away from the confrontation that still left its remnants lingering in the air. His heart was hammering too fast, his pulse like a relentless drumbeat. But he forced himself to keep moving, forced his body to stay calm even as everything inside him screamed.
He made his way down the empty hallway, the Tower’s cold, sterile walls somehow feeling both suffocating and hollow at the same time. He hated being here. Hated that tension that seemed to simmer just beneath the surface, the way the air seemed to thicken upon his presence into every room. But more than that, he started to despise the looks. The half-hidden glances filled with judgement, with disappointment, with blame– they became a mirror to taunt Peter every chance they got, to show him what he really was.
Maybe if he had enough energy left, it would’ve stung. But he was too tired to care anymore. Let them think what they wanted. It wasn’t like he could change any of it. He didn’t even know if he wanted to.
The elevator doors opened, and Peter stepped inside, the soft hum of the lift being the only sound as he ascended to the top of the tower. He didn’t have a destination in mind, not really. He just needed to move, to put some distance between himself and the bitterness of the common room with Tony. Maybe he’d end up in the training room again. Maybe he’d just keep wandering around the hallways until he wore himself out. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
When the doors opened again, Peter stepped out and found himself getting hit with a wave of fresh cold air. He’d ended up on the terrace, where it was quiet. He didn’t have anyone intruding on him and his thoughts here. Didn’t have judging glances lingering on him every second here. The idea was to just stay out here, enjoying the silence, until Peter felt cold enough to go back inside. But life had different plans for him.
Clint Barton had made his way up to the terrace not long after Peter himself. His expression was unreadable, shadowed by the dim light under the night sky, but his gaze was fixed firmly on Peter. The archer didn’t move, didn’t say anything, just stood there, either one not breaking the silence between them. Peter was sitting down, back against the wall, hands carefully wrapped around his knees as he bent them and brought them up to his chest. Clint kept some distance but made his way and rested leaning against the wall, just a few feet away from Peter, not invading his personal space.
Peter hesitated seeing the elder just stand here, Clint’s presence had been unexpected here, he couldn’t quite read the man’s stance. But speaking now would look weak, and the last thing Peter needed was to show another crack in his already fragile armour. So he kept the silence, kept his expression carefully blank as Clint turned his gaze to look at Peter.
“You know… if you’re looking to avoid Tony, sitting out here on the terrace isn’t going to help.” Clint was the first to break the silence, and Peter wished he had just stayed quiet for a little moment longer. Peter shrugged, the movement small and indifferent.
“I’m not avoiding anymore,” Peter replied, voice sharper than intended. He regretted it instantly, fists clenching, pulling his knees further into his chest as he tried to pull himself back under control. “I’m just… getting some fresh air.”
Clint hummed softly, a sound that may have been agreement or dismissal. It was hard to tell.
He pushed off the wall, taking a step closer, and Peter had to fight the urge to press himself further back into the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible.
“Look,” Clint said, coming down to sit next to Peter, mimicking his posture. “I’m not here to lecture you guys or whatever. But you and Tony…” He hesitated, as if carefully constructing his next words. “You guys need to talk this out. Before it gets worse.”
Peter laughed, a bitter sound that dissipated into the cold air around them.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
Peter’s jaw clenched, but he kept his mouth shut, refusing to rise to the bait. Clint stared at him for a long moment, then sighed, shaking his head slightly. “You think you’re making this easier on yourself, huh? By shutting us all out, acting like you don’t care?” Clint asked quietly.
Peter didn’t respond. Didn’t trust himself to.
“Yeah, maybe you think it’s better this way. But it’s not. All you’re doing is digging yourself into a deeper hole you’re not gonna get out of alone.”
“Why do you care?” Peter started to get annoyed now. He hadn’t meant to say it, but the words slipped out before he could stop them. “I thought you all–” he broke off, swallowing hard as he tried to keep control of the flood of emotions clawing at his throat. “I thought you were done with me.”
Clint’s gaze softened. “Look, kid, I’m not saying you’re off the hook. What happened… it was a mess. You made a mistake.”
You made a mistake. Not off the hook.
You killed him.
Killed Steve.
The words, for what seemed like the millionth time that day, felt like a punch to the gut. But Peter forced himself to stay still, to breathe through the pain that spread through his chest. Clint’s steady gaze never left his.
“But it wasn’t just on you,” Clint continued slightly. “Steve’s gone, and yeah, we’re all… hurting because of it. But that doesn’t mean–”
“Doesn’t mean what?” Peter cut in, his voice shaking with something raw and… desperate? “That doesn’t mean it’s not my fault? That doesn’t mean I didn’t–”
“Doesn’t mean you did it on purpose,” Clint interrupted, his voice firm. “Doesn’t mean we can’t figure this out.”
Peter stared at him, his throat tightening painfully. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to argue, to push Clint away the way he had with Tony. But the words wouldn’t come out.
“Kid,” Clint spoke, almost gently. “ You’re not doing anyone favours by pretending you’re fine. Not Tony. Not the rest of us. And definitely not yourself.”
The sincerity in Clint’s tony terrified Peter, it made something crack deep inside his chest. He looked away, blinking rapidly as he fought to keep the tears from forming. He couldn’t– he wouldn’t break down. Not here. Not now.
“I don’t need anyone’s help,” he whispered.
I don’t deserve it.
“I’m fine. I don’t need–”
“Yeah, you do. But that’s not something I can force on you. You have to figure that out for yourself.” Peter didn’t respond. The silence between them was wrapping around Peter’s neck, closing off his airways. Clint finally stepped back, giving him some space.
“I’m not saying it’s gonna be easy… but you’re not alone in this. Whether you like it or not.”
You all hate me. I killed someone. I ruined the team. I deserve to be alone. You’re lying.
Peter swallowed hard. He wanted to believe Clint, wanted to cling to the silver of hope that the man’s words offered, but he couldn’t. He knew better. He didn’t deserve it. Not after everything that had happened. This was probably another stunt pulled from guilt, Clint didn’t care and neither did Tony. They probably just felt guilty about Peter’s mini breakdown they’d come to know about because of Ned.
Without another word, Clint walked away, leaving Peter sitting alone. For a long while, Peter stayed still in the same position. Didn’t move. Stared blankly at the spot where Clint had been in, his mind a chaotic mess of emotions he couldn’t begin to untangle.
Maybe Clint was right. Maybe he was digging himself into a hole he couldn’t climb out of. But that didn’t change anything.
He was alone.
And that was exactly where he belonged.
Notes:
Two chapters on consecutive days?! Making up for posting the last chapter so late, hope you all forgive me <333
Pls continue to let me know your thoughts and feelings! How you're finding the story so far! What you think we may see in the future, what your general feelings are about the characters :) I love reading all your comments! Hope you all have a good day <3
Chapter Text
The world blurred as Peter moved. Punch, dodge, strike. His body reacted, muscle memory guiding each motion, never having left autopilot. He wasn’t really there, not really present in the way he used to be. Training had become a mechanical exercise, the same way his patrols had. Nothing lit him up anymore; the fire that once drove him had dulled into a faint ember.
Peter’s fists hit the punching bag with a dull thud, but the force behind it was weaker than before. He could feel stares from across the room, but unlike before, they weren’t sharp, cutting glares that sliced him open. They were softer now– hesitant, maybe even conflicted? It’s not real, he told himself.
T hey’re just tired of hating you. Doesn’t mean they’ve forgiven you.
But the more Peter moved, the more he noticed the difference. Romanoff wasn’t glaring as she used to, her eyes no longer held an icy glare directed towards Peter. Clint’s eyes lingered on him, but without the usual judgement. Peter assumed it was due to the conversation they had on the roof at night, a few days ago. They weren’t talking to him directly, not yet, but the air in the room did feel like it had shifted. It wasn't quite warm, but it didn’t feel as cold either.
Still, Peter didn’t dare hope. He’d been wrong before. Hope only leads to disappointment. His thoughts drifted, turning inward, spiralling through the same cycle of guilt and blame he’d carried since that day.
I deserve this. It was my fault. If I had been more careful, Steve would still be here.
But somewhere, buried beneath that familiar wave of self-loathing, a quieter thought whispered, almost too faint to hear.
It was an accident wasn’t it? You didn’t mean for it to happen.
The thought startled him, and for a brief moment, he hesitated mid-punch, his knuckles grazing the bag instead of landing solidly. No. He clenched his fists, trying to push the thought away.
It doesn’t matter. Steve’s gone.
“Kid.”
Peter’s head snapped up at the sound of Clint’s voice. The archer was standing by the weights, watching him carefully. There was no hard edge in his tone, no accusation behind his words. If anything, Clint looked… conflicted.
“You’ve been at it for a while. Maybe take a break?” Clint suggested, his voice surprisingly soft.
Peter stared at him for a moment, unsure to respond. A break? Since when did Clint care whether or not he was overworking himself? The team had made it clear time and time again he wasn’t good enough, which meant he absolutely needed to train more. Peter nodded, more out of habit than actual agreement, and let his hands fall to his sides. His heart was pounding, not from the physical exertion but from the odd feeling creeping into his chest.
Is he worried? No… that’s impossible. They don’t care. Not after everything. They’ve made it clear.
Peter forced himself to walk away, ignoring the way Clint’s gaze followed him. They were starting to confuse him now. What did they want from Peter?
The quiet in the common room felt familiar as Peter stepped in, hesitating for a moment at the doorway. Natasha, Thor and Tony were sitting at the far end, talking in low voices. They hadn’t noticed him yet. He could slip out, avoid another awkward interaction. But something halted him.
“...he’s just a kid, Tony,” Natasha was saying, her voice low but filled with a strange mix of frustration yet guilt? “We were too hard on him. I’ve been too hard on him.”
Peter’s heart skipped a beat, hands curling into fists. Were they talking about him?
Tony sighed, “I know. But that doesn’t change what happened. Steve’s still…”
“I know.” her voice softened, the usual sharpness had been replaced by something more… vulnerable. “But it could’ve been any of us. We’ve all made mistakes. It’s just… hard.”
Peter stood frozen in place, the heaviness of their words pressing down on him. They were still hurt, he could hear it in their voices, the grief they were still carrying. But there was something else too– something he hadn’t heard before.
Do they not completely hate me? The thought came unbidden, startling him.
Maybe they’re starting to see it? That it… it wasn’t all my fault.
Peter swallowed hard, unsure what to do with the sudden flicker of hope creeping into his chest. It was a fragile feeling, like glass teetering on the edge of a table, one wrong move and it would shatter.
He left before they could notice him, the conversation still echoing in his mind, making him feel dizzy. For the first time, in a long while, the guilt that weighed him down felt a little lighter. But with that relief came fear– fear that it wouldn’t last.
Don’t let your guard down. It’s only a matter of time before they remember what you did. How you let them down. How you let Tony down. How you let Steve down.
Later that night, Peter found himself staring at his phone, hesitating as he looked over Aunt May’s contact. He’d been avoiding this call for a while, ever since his conversation with Tony that led to his little breakdown. Before he could change his mind, he pressed onto the call button.
“Hey, sweetheart.” May’s voice crackled through the line, warm and familiar, yet very soft.
“Hey, May,” Peter said, “How are you doing?”
“Oh, you know… same old, same old.” she replied, followed by a faint cough at the end of her sentence. She did sound tired and quite worn down.
“You sure? You don’t sound too great.”
There was a slight pause on the other end, just long enough for Peter’s worry to spike. “I’m doing just fine, sweetheart,” she said, her voice was softer now but less convincing. “Just a little run down. I’ve been meaning to see the doctor actually, but you know how it is.”
Peter raised an eyebrow, worry sprouting in his mind. “May, you should go. You’ve had a few ups and downs in the last year, if you think you’re feeling ill again you should go. Promise me you’ll go?”
“I will, Peter,” she assured him, but something about her tone made her promise feel hollow . “Don’t worry about me, you silly boy, okay? You’ve got enough going on.”
Is she lying? Peter questioned, heart sinking. She was trying to protect him, trying to keep him from worrying. But he could hear it in her voice, something that made Peter feel at unease– she sounded tired, the way her words dragged. She hadn’t sounded like this the last time they spoke at her house. But Peter knows better, May had episodes of getting recurrent infections lately over the last year, but the doctor’s always resolved them in the end.
Probably just viral again , Peter thought.
“May, I’m serious. Please go to the doctor. Just to be safe.” Peter kept his voice stern, trying to convince his aunt on the other line.
“I will,” she repeated. “Just been a little tired, that’s all. You don’t need to worry about me.”
But I do , Peter frowned. “I’ll check in on you later, okay?” he said softly, his voice tight with emotion.
“Okay, sweetheart. I love you.” May replied, her tone gentle.
“Love you yoo.” Peter whispered, ending the call. He felt relieved now that he had caught up with May, he’d been meaning to talk to her for a while. His breakdown had just taken a lot of energy away from him, and he was only just starting to crawl out of that numbness.
For the next few days, Peter found himself caught between two worlds– the fragile hope that things were slowly changing with the team, no matter how hard he found it to believe, and the gnawing fear that everything was about to fall apart. Aunt May’s voice also lingered in the back of his mind every now and then, she sounded poorly. Peter just felt… confused. The team, Tony… they had gone from one moment completely shutting Peter out to now… it seems feeling guilty? For having done that? It left Peter extremely confused. Hesitant and uncertain.
The team’s behaviour toward him continued to shift, little by little. Bruce had even held a small, civil conversation with him the other day, which left Peter’s little heart gleaming with joy. Clint would give him reassurances during training, ending sessions with a pat on the back. Natasha was no longer glaring at him when he passed her in the hallway. Conversations didn’t seem to completely die down when he walked into a room. Tony… Tony wasn’t exactly warm, but he didn’t snap at him either. It was almost as if they were trying… even if they didn’t know how. It felt strange to Peter. Why now? What made them change their minds? Why were they behaving just so… strange . Peter wasn’t complaining that the team seemed a little more compassionate, even if it was just by a fraction of an inch.
Maybe they’re starting to forgive me? Understand my side?
The thought felt so dangerous, like it could crumble at any moment, but Peter couldn’t help but hold onto it. It was the first time in months that he felt like he wasn’t completely alone. He wanted to cling so desperately onto it and never let it go, thinking that if he just held hard enough, it wouldn’t ever slip away from him.
But then the doubt would creep back in. They’re only doing this because they feel guilty. They don't actually care. It’s just a mistake to them… but Steve’s still dead. The thought echoed in his mind, louder than the fragile hope he’d started to foster.
Maybe it wasn’t your fault…? It was just… a mistake… right? It was just a mistake.
These thoughts were terrifying to Peter. He couldn’t push them away as easily. It was like a tiny crack in the armour he’d built around his guilt, and the more he thought about it, the more that crack widened.
I didn’t mean for it to happen. It could’ve been anyone .
But then he’d remember Steve’s face. The moment it all went wrong, and the flood gates would open causing the guilt to come crashing back in. It doesn’t matter. He’s still gone.
Peter’s phone buzzed again later that night, heart skipping a beat as he saw Aunt May’s name flash across the screen.
“Hey, May,”
“Hello, sweetheart,” she replied, voice soft. “I just wanted to let you know I’m heading to the doctor tomorrow. Just to be safe.”
Peter nodded behind the phone, feeling reassured May had listened to his advice. “Good,” he said, relief washing over him, “Let me know how it goes, okay?”
“I will, sweet.”
“I love you, May,” he said quietly.
“Love you too, Peter,” she replied.
They talked for a while longer, May catching Peter up on the details about her day and the different errands she still had pending, before the call came to an end. Peter didn’t mention the weird dynamics he and the team had going on at the moment, didn’t think it would do any good talking to May about it.
He was confused. The team was softening up toward him, yes, little by little.
What changed?
The question nagged at Peter constantly. What had shifted? He was used to the weight of their disdain, used to being the outsider, the sudden softening of the lines really confused him.
As Peter went through the motion of the next few days, the mixed signals only increased. The next few days were a strange blur. Peter continued to expect cold glares he never met, at least they weren’t there like before. When Tony passed him in the hallway, there was no harsh silence or sarcastic remark, blaming Peter for killing a team member. Instead, strangely, there was something softer. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it didn’t feel much like hate either. Peter had wished Tony would just stop fucking around with him. He didn’t know how to feel about all of this. Had Ned’s message really triggered a shift in thought for Tony?
But the fear lingered heavy too. Fear that this was just a temporary reprieve.
May had gotten back to Peter in the following few days. Peter was relieved to see it was nothing to worry about after all. She said they had run some tests, but it turned out to just be a bug and nothing serious, thankfully.
After he had gotten off call from May, the relief was there, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the other sense of unease growing inside him– the one centred around the team’s change in behaviour.
Why now? Peter couldn’t stop asking himself. It felt almost as if someone had flipped a switch, but that wasn’t it. He could sense something deeper beneath the surface. Maybe they did just feel guilty? That thought, at least, made more sense to him.
In the weeks following Steve’s death, the team had lashed out at Peter– some more subtly than others. But he had felt it in every interaction, every cold glance, every stilted conversation. The grief was palpable, a shadow that covered all of them, but it had turned their pain into anger. And that anger had found its easiest target in Peter.
It wasn’t just grief, though. Peter knew that. There had been real mistakes made– on his part, on theirs. The mission had been a disaster from the start. And he had been reckless .
But now… now it felt like they were reconsidering. Clint’s comment on the roof a few days ago echoed in Peter’s mind.
“What happened… it was a mess. You made a mistake.”
Peter replayed the words over and over. Maybe if he repeated it enough times, they would start to accept it. It wasn’t on purpose. I didn’t mean for Steve to die . The truth of that was undeniable. But even if his actions hadn’t been malicious, the consequences were the same. The consequences didn’t change. Steve was gone. And Peter played a part in that.
But… doesn’t everyone make mistakes? Another thought that felt like he was treading on thin ice. Still, it wouldn’t seem to leave him alone. It looked like the team seemed to be thinking the same thing too. Natasha’s words in the common room replayed in his head,
“We’ve all made mistakes.”
“But it could’ve been any of us.”
Could it, though? Peter wasn’t sure. Could any of them have made the same mistake? Or was it just him?
Clint had noticed it first. The way Peter moved now– more hesitant, more withdrawn. It wasn’t just grief weighing the kid down; it was something else, a lot deeper. And it wasn’t getting better.
At first, Clint had been angry– hell, they all had. But he couldn’t deny that over the last few weeks, that anger had started to shift into something more complicated. Guilt, maybe. Regret. Clint couldn’t help but think about how they’d treated Peter after Seve’s death. Sure, they were grieving, but they way they’d shut him out, pushed him away– it hadn’t been right. And deep down, Clint knew it wasn’t all Peter’s fault either.
Before the conversation with Tony, he had shared his thoughts with Natasha one night over a quiet drink. “We were hard on him.” he said, his voice low as he stared into his glass. “Too hard,”
Natasha didn’t respond right away, but he could see the tension in her shoulders. She had always been good at hiding her emotions, but Clint knew well enough to see through it. “We were grieving. We are grieving. We all were.” she said finally, her voice tight.
“Doesn’t make it right,” Clint muttered, looking away. “He didn’t mean for it to happen, Nat.”
Natasha sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “I know. But Steve’s still dead.”
Clint nodded, lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah. But couldn’t it have been any of us? We have all made mistakes. And the kid… he’s been carrying it all on his own.”
The conversation had left both of them in a heavy silence. Clint had known then, as he did now, that they’d been too harsh, that they’d been burying their own grief in their treatment of Peter.
And now, watching Peter continue to isolate himself despite their quiet efforts to soften, Clint couldn’t help but wonder if they’d already done too much damage.
Notes:
Hope you enjoy this chapter! I just wanted to add in a note to remind that this is a slow burn fic! It will be long, I don't think we're even 1/3 of the way there yet maybe? I reassure you if you're confused at this point, that's okay :) Things will be clarified later on!! There's still a lotttt we have yet to uncover.
That being said, I hope you're enjoying the fic so far! Let me know your thoughts on this chapter, and the fic so far :) Once again, I really appreciate all your comments and kudos! Hope you all have a good day.
Additional note:
Just a quick reminder, please remember to look at the tags for trigger warnings. I still haven't added some tags to prevent spoilers I don't want to give out yet. Just take this as another general warning that please expect this fic to be dark and heavy. Thanks once again for reading notes!
Chapter Text
Peter moved through the Tower, still trying to get used to the subtle changes that seemed to follow him lately. His steps were slow and quiet, but not as hesitant as they had been a couple of weeks ago. Somehow, it felt as if there was no longer that tight, suffocating sense of dread that had once been following him everywhere he went. Instead, there was something… softer? It was confusing, it was a strange warmth, as if the edges of an ice cube had started to melt– it felt delicate, but it was there.
He didn’t know what to do with it.
Peter had spent so long drowning in guilt and blame that the slightest hit of normalcy felt foreign. The pain was far from having disappeared, of course. Steve was still gone, and Peter still carried the weight of that loss with him everyday. But the suffocating animosity, the sharp looks, the deliberate silence– it had almost… faded.
Peter noticed the change from Clint first, he’d noticed it after that night on the roof, when Clint’s words had dug into his mind, replaying over and over.
What happened… it was a mess.
You made a mistake.
Peter tried so hard not to, but reality was, he had clung to that, turning it over in his mind until it almost made sense. It was a mistake. Not a choice. Not something he wanted. But the guilt still clawed at him, no matter how hard he tried to bury it.
Even Natasha seemed to have softened. It was the little things. Her glances weren’t filled with the usual coldness, and her words felt less biting. She didn’t speak to him directly often, but the few times she did, there was a heaviness to her voice that hinted at something close to understanding. She hadn’t forgiven him, not entirely. But the pure hatred had lessened, and Peter found himself holding on to that small glimmer of hope.
Still, he wasn’t sure if he deserved it. The cracks in his armour were growing larger, and every time he tried to let that hope in, the weight of his mistakes would pull him right back down.
But for now, he let himself lean into the calm. Just a little.
Even training sessions have taken on a different tone lately. Where Peter would once find himself isolating into the corner of the gym, avoiding the others as much as possible, now he found himself drawn into the rhythm of their workouts. It wasn’t direct interaction– not yet– but the distance between them felt like it was slowly shrinking.
Yesterday, as Peter finished his last set on the weights, he noticed Thor’s presence nearby. The Asgardian hero had never overtly been harsh with Peter after Steve’s death, but he had maintained a noticeable difference. Peter assumed it was out of respect for the others’ anger and grief– Thor never interfered when Clint, Natasha, or Tony lashed out at him.
But now, as Peter wiped the sweat from his forehead, Thor stepped closer, his expression neutral but lacking the cold indifference it had once held. There was still a kind of tension in the air, but it wasn’t the kind Peter was used to.
“Peter,” Thor’s voice boomed, though it was gentler than usual. “Would you care to spar with me? It has been some time since we tested out strengths against one another.”
Peter blinked, taken aback. Thor hadn’t directly invited him to train in months. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Was this another test? Another way to see if he was still worthy of their trust?
“I– yeah, sure.” Peter finally spoke, nodding.
They moved to the mat in silence, a soft hum from the aircon filling the space between them. As they squared off, muscles automatically tightening as his body prepared for combat. There didn’t seem to be any malice in Thor’s stance, no animosity in the way he moved. It was… almost normal.
They sparred for a while, the clash of their movements quick and smooth. Thor was holding back, Peter could tell, but the other was still formidable. Peter’s body responded instinctively, experience from patrols guiding his movements. Punch, block, dodge. Each strike felt lighter than it had in weeks, as though the weight of everything had loosened, even if only a little while.
When they finally stepped back, Thor gave him a nod of approval. “You fight well, Spiderman.” The light humour in his words threw Peter off completely. Peter felt something stir in his chest, a very small spark of warmth that he hadn’t felt in so long.
“Thanks,” he muttered, still unsure of what this all meant. But for the first time, it didn’t feel like a trap. It didn’t feel like he was walking on glass, waiting for the second it would shatter beneath him.
As Thor walked away, Peter allowed himself to breathe.
Maybe… maybe things were really changing.
Peter left the training room with the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of his lips, though it was fleeting, almost uncertain. His steps were lighter than they had been in weeks, his body still buzzing with the lingering energy of his spar with Thor. It was… strange. Everything about the Avenger’s behaviour lately has been strange. He wasn’t used to this– not used to the absence of biting remarks, not used to the subtle nods of approval that replaced the cold distance they’d kept between them for so long. It just didn’t really make sense to him, but in no way was he about to complain.
He replayed Thor’s words in his head as he walked down the quiet corridors of the Tower.
‘You fight well, Spiderman.”
The compliment felt genuine, almost casual, but for Peter, it was much more. It was a lifeline in the sea of guilt and self-doubt that had been consuming him for so long. He clung to it, afraid that if he let go, everything would slip back into the cold bitterness it had been for months.
The building seemed quieter than usual, with little background noise filling the silence as Peter made his way to the common room. His mind was buzzing, the echoes of recent interactions bouncing around in his head. Thor’s unexpected friendliness and even Natasha’s softened demeanour– things were changing, whether Peter wanted to believe it or not.
But even as the warmth of their behaviour started to creep into his chest, a familiar weight stayed camping on his shoulders. The guilt, the constant reminder that he had made a mistake, a deadly one. It never fully left him. How could it? Steve was gone, and nothing– not Thor’s approval, not Natasha’s quiet understanding, not even Clint’s attempt at comfort could change that.
As Peter approached the common room, he hesitated for a moment, his hands hovering over the door frame. The team was gathered again, much like the last time he’d overheard them. He could hear the low murmur of voices from within– Tony’s voice, deep and muffled, Natasha’s softer but firm, and Bruce’s calm tone. Peter wasn’t sure if he should step inside or keep walking. He wasn’t exactly part of these conversations, even though things had… softened.
He stood there, quietly debating with himself for a long time before the door slid open on its own with a quiet hiss, revealing the group gathered around the large couch. Tony was standing near the window, his back to Peter. Bruce was in one of the armchairs, a book in his lap, but his attention was clearly on the conversation happening in front of him. Natasha was leaning against the back of the couch, her gaze flickering over to Peter as he hesitated in the doorway.
For a split second, Peter considered slipping away– retreating to the safety of his room, where he didn’t have to face their scrutiny. But Natasha’s eyes softened, and she gave him the slightest not, as if inviting him to join them.
Peter swallowed hard, forcing his feet to move, though they felt like they were dragging against the floor. He made his way to one of the chairs off to the side, keeping a safe distance from the group but not so far that he was completely isolated. He sat down quietly, his eyes flickering between them, waiting for… something. A question, an accusation, maybe just the silence that had once felt like a punishment.
But nothing came.
Instead, Natasha spoke again, her tone calm, though there was still a slight sense of underlying tension in the room.
“We need to make sure everything is in place before tomorrow,” she said, glancing over at Tony. “It’s going to be a fairly risky op.”
Peter’s chest tightened as his heart dropped. There it was– the reminder that he wasn’t really part of the team anymore, not in the way he once was. He wasn’t privileged with the details of missions, not unless they absolutely needed him. And even then, it was more out of necessity than trust.
But then Tony turned, his eyes ever so slightly narrowing as they met Peter’s from across the room. Peter’s breath caught in his throat, heart pounding in his chest. This was it. Tony was going to say something. Maybe it would be harsh, maybe it would be dismissive, but it would be something. The silence between them had stretched on for too long.
To Peter’s surprise, Tony didn’t lash out. He didn’t throw any blame or snide comments Peter’s way. Instead, he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark hair, the lines of exhaustion clear on his face.
“Kid,” Tony said, his voice not as sharp as Peter had expected, though it still carried a heaviness to it. “I need you to be on alert tomorrow. No distractions. You got that?”
Huh?
Peter blinked, surprised by the directness, but even more so by the lack of anger in Tony’s tone. He hadn’t expected Tony to involve him in any part of the mission, let alone give him a task. He nodded quickly, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Y-Yes Mr. Stark. I got it.”
Tony’s gaze lingered for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he turned back to the window, staring out at the city below. Peter sat there, feeling a strange mix of relief and tension twisting in his gut. It wasn’t exactly approval, but it wasn’t rejection either. It was... something. He found himself, once again, clinging onto the same familiar feeling of hope, despite all alarm bells in his head going off, warning him that there had to be some sort of catch.
As the conversation in the room shifted back to the mission details, Peter’s mind wandered. He couldn’t shake the feeling that things were changing, slowly, almost imperceptibly, but they were. The lines between him and the team weren’t as sharply drawn anymore, and while that should have felt like a good thing, it left Peter feeling unsettled.
How long would this last?
Will they change their minds again?
Would Tony go back to blaming him the moment something went wrong?
Peter’s mind buzzed with those unanswered questions, but he did his best to push them down, refusing to let the weight of doubt drag him back into the pit he’d just started to attempt at crawling out of. He focused on the present. On the fact that, for the first time in what felt like forever, Tony had addressed him without a trace of venom. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A fragile step forward.
The conversation around him carried on, but Peter’s attention drifted back to Thor’s words from earlier on.
“You fight well, Spiderman.”
A simple compliment, but it had stuck with him, quietly anchoring him amid the uncertainty swirling in his head. For once, Peter didn’t feel like he was drowning under the weight of everyone’s expectations. Or their disappointment. He wasn’t sure where this newfound softness from the team was coming from, but he couldn’t help but to hold on to it tight and close to his fragile heart.
As the meeting drew to a close and the team started to disperse, Peter lingered for a moment longer, watching them. Tony’s back was still to him, but the tension that usually loomed in the air between them felt… less suffocating. Natasha gave him one last glance before slipping out, and Clint offered a small smile as he left the room. It wasn’t much, but in Peter’s world, it was enough to make his heart feel just a little lighter.
For now, at least, the storm had calmed. And Peter? He let himself breathe in that calm, even if it was just for tonight. He wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring, but for the first time in a long while,
he wasn’t absolutely dreading it.
Notes:
I am extremely sorry for how late this chapter is 😭 I have been meaning to upload all week and last week but I’ve just been so exhausted and busy.
I’ve just started hospital placements and I quite literally have been scrubbing into surgeries and standing for like 7-8 hours straight going around shadowing on ITU😭 so once again, I do apologise for the late update but life’s been super hectic rn for me. I do hope I get to upload more chapters this upcoming weekend though. I hope you all are doing well, thank you for reading this far and staying with me 💕 lmk your thoughts and feelings in the comments!
Chapter 10: Glimpses of Normal
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Peter didn’t sleep that night. Not really. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling as the soft moonlight filtered through his window, casting long shadows that seemed to dance and shift with every passing wave of wind. The unfamiliar buzz from the team’s interactions still left a strange, unfamiliar warmth in his chest that left him restless. He wasn’t used to this– to the cautious glances that weren’t filled with resentment, to the fleeting moments of kindness that made his heart flutter with a tentative sense of hope.
They hadn’t fully forgiven him– he wasn’t naïve enough to think that. But… maybe they didn’t hate him as much as they used to…? Maybe they were starting to see it as Clint had said: a mistake, rather than accusing him constantly to imply he was some murderer. It was a fragile hope, one he wasn’t sure he was brave enough to hold onto. Not yet. But for the first time in months, the team’s words and gestures didn’t feel like weapons poised to strike him down.
The light from his phone lit up the darkened room as Peter glanced at the time. Nearly 5 AM. With a quiet groan, he pushed himself out of bed, rubbing a hand over his face. Today was going to be a busy day. School was in a few hours, and he doubted he’d get any sleep between now and then. Might as well get ready early. He moved through the same daily routine; brushing his teeth, shower, pulling on the same hoodie and jeans he always wore on days he didn’t particularly want to stand out. His mind drifted back and forth constantly back to the last conversation with the team, particularly back on Tony’s unexpected words from the night before.
“Kid, I need you to be on alert tomorrow. No distractions. You got that?”
Peter had been floored. For months, Tony’s voice had either been laced with venom and bitterness, or, more commonly, completely absent. And now, Tony wanted him to… help? Maybe not actively, but he’d given Peter a task. A small one, sure, but it was something. It felt like a step forward, even if Peter couldn’t quite comprehend it just yet.
He sighed, flinging his backpack over his shoulders as he moved toward the kitchen. The rest of the Tower was silent– too early for anyone else to be up. Except, when he rounded the corner, he nearly stumbled in surprise.
Tony Stark was already there, sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked as worn and weary as Peter felt, his hair sticking up all dishevelled, his shoulders hunched slightly. It was rare to see Tony like this– unguarded, almost vulnerable. Peter hesitated in the doorway, unsure if he should just leave before he was noticed, but by the time he could come to a decision, Tony’s gaze had already been fixed in Peter’s direction, sharp and clear.
“Morning, kid.” The words were hoarse, but not harsh. That was clear. Another surprise.
“Uh, morning, Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbled, shifting awkwardly. He moved to the fridge, pulling out some orange juice just to give himself something to do. The silence stretched far between them, heavy and awkward, until Tony spoke again.
“You heading out to school?”
Peter nodded, pouring the juice into a glass. “Yeah. Early day, I guess.”
Peter knew it was ridiculously early, he planned to just leave early and spend some time going on a long walk before he actually went to school. It’s not like he was going to get any more sleep so it was pretty much useless to just stay in bed. Tony took a sip of his coffee, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought before he spoke again, his voice quieter.
“You doin’ alright?”
Peter almost dropped the glass. That was not the question he had expected. It wasn’t even really a question. It was more like Tony trying to check in, in his own awkward way. Peter gripped the edge of the counter tightly, unsure how to respond.
Don’t do this to me, Mr. Stark.
Don’t pretend like you care…
It hurts.
The small pang of hurt was still definitely there, just tucked away and hidden in a corner of Peter’s heart.
“I’m… yeah. I think so.” He swallowed, casting a quick glance at Tony. “You?”
Tony didn’t answer right away, his fingers tapping lightly against the mug in his hand.
“Fine. Just… long night, I guess.”
Peter didn’t push for more. Though the silences between them seemed to have grown smaller, they weren’t entirely comfortable either. It was like standing on a thin bridge between the top of two mountains, neither of them knowing if it was safe to cross yet.
Eventually, Tony cleared his throat and glanced at the clock. “The mission’s still on for later today. I’ll brief you once you get back.”
Peter blinked, surprised again. “Brief me?”
He wants to brief me? Like actually brief me??
Tony raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. You’re part of the team, aren’t you?”
Peter felt his heart hammer in his chest. He didn’t know what to say. For the first time in months, Tony was including him. And not just in a passive, ‘stay out of the way’ kind of way. He was actively involving Peter, treating him like he still mattered to the team. Peter nodded quickly, trying to hide the mix of relief and disbelief out of his voice.
I’m… part of the team?
Am I?
Is that true, Mr. Stark?
It took everything within Peter to not voice his thoughts out loud. He was so confused . He didn’t know what to make of this. What does this even mean? Did Tony actually consider Peter a part of the team? Was this a joke? Peter was afraid if he asked that he would hear an answer that would shatter his fragile hope so he settled to just nod in reply.
“Right. I’ll, uh… I’ll be ready.”
Tony’s gaze lingered on him for a few seconds longer before looking away and sipping his coffee again.
“Good. Have uh… a good day. I’ll see you later, kiddo.”
Peter couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips at that.
“See you later, Mr. Stark.”
Peter headed out into the crisp early morning air, the faint light of dawn visible just over the horizon. The quiet streets offered him a rare moment of peace as he walked. Normally, Peter would have zipped through the streets in his suit, weaving in between buildings with ease, but today, he just needed to walk. He was in no rush to get to school. He needed some time and air to clear his head, to process whatever was happening with Tony, with the team, with himself.
Don’t they still hate me? How am I part of the team again?
The question had been circling his mind from the moment Tony had said it. He hadn’t felt like a part of the team in so long that hearing those words almost felt too surreal. There was a small glimpse of something in Tony’s voice– a softness that Peter hadn’t heard in months. It was jarring, and Peter wasn’t sure what to make of it. His relationship with his mentor had been strained, to say the least, but this? This was different. And confusing.
He replayed their conversation in his head over and over, dissecting every word, every pause, every look that had passed between them. Mr. Stark seemed tired– more so than usual. But there had been something else in his expression too. Regret? Guilt? Peter wasn’t sure, but it was an unsettling sense of ease that Peter felt too uncomfortable to even acknowledge. He wasn’t ready to accept any of this yet, not when he’s absolutely petrified of even this small ounce of kindness to be ripped away from him any second.
The thought twisted in his gut. He didn’t want to hope. Not after everything.
What if it’s just a phase? Is Mr. Stark just being nice because he feels bad?
Peter shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, trying to push those thoughts away. He had to focus. Today was just another day. School, the mission, whatever came next… He couldn’t afford to let his mind spiral.
As Peter approached the school, Midtown High stood before him, just as it always had. The students loitering by the gates, the steady hum of early morning conversations, the buzz of life– none of it had changed. But for Peter, everything felt subtly askew. He had changed. Ever since Steve… his days here had become fragmented, his attendance erratic at best. Some mornings, the weight of everything kept him anchored to his bed, unable to rise up and face the world outside. As long as grades didn’t slip too far, he knew no alarms would be raised– not with May, and not with Tony. Though, deep down, Peter wasn’t even sure if Mr. Stark would notice… or care. Did Tony still care about Peter’s life outside of missions? Or was that part long gone?
He walked past the gates, keeping his head down as he made his way towards the entrance. No matter how much he tried to push it aside, the conversation with Tony kept looping in his mind. The spark of hope kept flickering in his chest, and all Peter wanted was to strangle it, to choke the life out of it before it had the chance to grow. He didn’t want it to take hold, but it was harder to kill than he’d like to admit. It was as if that flickering hope was something he was doomed to cling to, desperation woven into his very being.
“Peter!” A familiar voice called from behind him, cutting through his thoughts. He turned to see Ned hurrying toward him, a wide grin plastered on his face.
“Ned,” Peter greeted, forcing a smile. It had been a while since they hung out properly, given everything that had happened. Between the Avengers and… well, everything else, Peter had been keeping his distance. Not intentionally, but out of necessity. The memory of his last breakdown still gnawed at him, filling him with embarrassment. The last thing he wanted was for Ned to be dragged further into the tangled mess that had already consumed him.
“Dude, where have you been? I’ve barely seen you around lately. I was worried, Pete. How are you doing now?”
A subtle flush of pink crept up Peter’s cheeks, embarrassed that he had caused his friend to worry. They’d kept in touch over the phone here and there since his last breakdown, but it had mostly been Ned reaching out, and Peter… just ignoring the messages. Not intentionally. He was either too embarrassed, ridden with guilt, or simply exhausted. Ned had been a good friend all along, constantly checking in. Peter had been the one to falter, too drained most days to muster the energy to respond.
“Yeah, I know,” Peter mumbled, shifting the weight of his own backpack. “Things have been kinda… complicated.”
Ned raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with that answer.
“Complicated how? Like, ‘I’ve-been-saving-the-world’ complicated, or ‘everyone’s-still-acting-pissy-and-I’m-grounded’ complicated?”
Peter chuckled at that, though it felt a bit hollow. He had told Ned that he’d been working things out with Stark after he almost spilled the truth to Ned during his last breakdown. He was still adamant and stubborn on his words that he didn’t want his best friend getting involved with Mr. Stark at all.
“Definitely the first one.”
Ned smiled as they walked ahead in silence, weaving through the crowd of students as they entered the school. The familiar smell of cheap cafeteria food and the faint buzz of chatter from near the lockers greeted them. Peter hadn’t realised how much he had missed it– the simplicity of it all.
School wasn’t easy by any means, but compared to the weight of the Avenger’s expectations? It felt like a welcome break.
“So, what’s the update?” Ned asked as they reached their lockers. He was clearly itching for more details, leaning in slightly as Peter opened his locker and began pulling out his books.
Peter hesitated. He didn’t want to dump everything on Ned, especially not after keeping so much to himself for so long. But at the same time, he didn’t want to continue completely shutting him out either. Ned had been his best friend for years. If there was anyone Peter could trust with this, it was him.
“There’s been a lot going on with the team,” Peter admitted, keeping his voice low. “They’ve been… different lately.”
“Different how?” Ned asked, curiosity all over his face. Peter glanced around to make sure no one was listening before he continued.
“I don’t know, man. I guess… they’re not as mad at me anymore? It’s like they’re trying to… I don’t know, make things right? Like they’re starting to see that what happened wasn’t really my fault.”
Ned nodded slowly, a small smile on his face. “That’s good, right? I mean, we talked last time and I told you! They all love you, especially Tony. If they’re starting to soften up, it’s a good thing!”
Peter shrugged, closing his locker with a soft click.
“I guess. It just feels… weird. None of it makes sense.”
Ned’s smile faltered slightly, and he placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder.
“Hey, Pete… they’re your team. I know you mentioned difficulties with them lately, and I know you don’t want me getting involved but… they’ll come around. And if they don’t? Well, then they’re missing out on the Best Spider-Man there is.”
Peter smiled softly. “Thanks, Ned.”
“Anytime, dude,” Ned replied, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Now, come on. We’ve got class in a few minutes.”
Peter followed him down the hall, but his mind was already drifting back to the mission later that day. The uneasy feeling that had been lingering subtly around him since the morning refused to leave, and he couldn’t shake the sense that something was going to go wrong.
The day passed in a blur of half-listened-to lectures and half-assed notes. Peter found himself zoning out more often than not, his thoughts consumed by the mission and the team. Even when he tried to focus, his mind kept slipping back to the same questions:
What did Tony mean? Am I really part of the team again? Can I trust this?
After his noticeable change in attendance, Peter knew he would encounter a few questions from peers. He exchanged a few awkward nods and greetings with classmates throughout the day, barely processing the smiles or waves sent his way. He wasn’t up for explaining himself at all, he’d shut the conversation down immediately if it lingered too long on his on-and-off attendance at school. He dodged a brief encounter with MJ in the hallway, her quizzical gaze longer than he liked. He did feel bad for avoiding his friends, but he just didn’t have it within him to face them. Flash threw out one of his usual stupid jokes , but even that felt muted today, almost like white noise fading into the background.
By the time the final bell rang, Peter was drained. He packed up his things quickly, offering a hurried smile and a quick goodbye to Ned and MJ before hurrying out of the school.
The Tower upon Peter’s return was just as quiet as he had left it. He walked quickly through the place, making his way to the briefing room where Tony had said they’d meet. His steps felt heavy, his heart pounding loud in his chest. He wasn’t sure what to expect. What if this turned out to be another mission where they left him on the sidelines? Or could this possibly be a moment where Tony had finally decided to let him back in?
When he stepped into the room, he was greeted by the sight of the team already gathered. Natasha was sitting on one end, arms folded tightly over her chest, a neutral expression on. Clint and Bruce were deep in conversation. Tony stood, fingers tapping away at a holographic screen, his face half-illuminated by the blue light. Peter hesitated for a moment before stepping inside fully, catching Tony’s attention as he did.
“Kid, you’re back,” Tony acknowledged with a nod. “Take a seat.”
Peter swallowed hard and did as he was told, sliding into one of the available chairs at the table.
The atmosphere was thick with tension, but for once, it didn’t feel like the suffocating weight of blame pressing down on him. For once, the tension wasn’t about him.
Tony cleared his throat, gesturing to the holographic map infront of him, the lines of the city outlined in glowing blue.
“Alright, here’s the situation…”
Tony went on for a while outlining the details of what to expect. The team was set to shut down an illegal operation, confiscating weapons rumoured to be enhanced with alien-tech. The details came in rapid-fire succession, but Peter absorbed it all, his nerves buzzing with a mix of anticipation and fear. He couldn’t believe it. He was being included. Not as an afterthought, not as someone to just sit on the sidelines, but as part of the team. They were trusting him again.
The adrenaline built in his chest, mixing with the exhaustion that had gnawed at him all day. Sleep-deprived and running on nothing but scraps of food and a desperate desire to prove himself, Peter felt a rush of something almost like euphoria. He was ready to do anything to make this mission go right. No amount of fatigue, hunger, or self-doubt would get in the way of that.
“The plan is simple,” Tony continued, his gaze sweeping across the room. “Natasha and Clint, you handle the ground targets. Peter, you’ll be with me. Your job is to watch and guard the perimeter. Make sure none of the targets slip past us, you’ll also help with seizing the weapons. Got it?”
Peter’s throat tightened, his stomach flipping in on itself, but he nodded. “Got it.”
Is this really happening? He’s actually partnering with me?
The idea of being Tony’s partner made his chest clench with both anticipation and dread. The reality of it pressed into his lungs, making breathing difficult. He wasn’t just on the team; he was standing alongside Tony, someone who had barely looked at him in months. The responsibility almost felt crushing.
And with it came the fear. That gnawing, sinking fear that gripped onto his insides. What if he screwed up again? What if he hesitated like before, and everything went wrong? Tony had given him this chance, but it felt like walking a tightrope– one wrong step, and he’d send everything crashing down again. He could feel the old guilt clawing its way back, whispering in the back of his mind that he wasn’t ready, that he wasn’t good enough.
Peter’s hands fidgeted under the table, playing with the hem of his hoodie. He glanced around the room– all of them– they were so calm, so collected. They had this effortless control, this confidence that he felt like he would never have. He was just the kid. The kid who messed up. The kid who hadn’t been enough.
And yet, Tony had given him this role. Tony was trusting him, but the thought alone made Peter’s chest tighten. It terrified him. He was terrified of screwing up again, of letting Tony down, of watching disappointment wash over Tony’s face, the way it had so many times before.
What if I fail again? What if I’m just… not good enough?
He felt fragile. Fragile in a way that made him want to shrink back into the shadows, to fade out before anyone could see just how weak and scared he really was. But he couldn’t. Not now. The others in the team were actually looking at him like he belonged here. He had to be good enough. He had to hold it together, no matter how much it felt like everything was cracking beneath the surface. Because if the rest of the team can look at him like he belongs again then maybe… maybe one day… one day he’d see the same look on Mr. Stark.
The team was trusting him. Tony was trusting him. But the truth was, Peter didn’t know if he trusted himself.
The mission started quietly. The warehouse, located on the outskirts of the city, was ordinary-looking, blending perfectly into its surroundings. From the outside, it looked like any other industrial storage facility, but the information they had received painted a much different picture. Inside, there were weapons incorporated with alien technology, smuggled into the city by an underground operation that they were here to shut down.
Peter stuck close to Tony as they approached the building. His spider senses were on high alert, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. His heart raced, but it wasn’t just adrenaline– it was fear. The kind of fear that clawed at his stomach and made his breaths feel shallow. Tony’s presence was steadying, but the constant thought of letting him down was crippling.
“Remember what i said,” Tony murmured over the comms. “You’re guarding the perimeter, make sure no one gets through. Stay sharp, kid.”
Peter nodded even though Tony couldn’t see him. HIs hands flexed at his sides, fingers brushing against his web-shooters as they took their positions. He scanned the area, doing his best to focus on his task, but the anxiety hung over him like a storm cloud.
This is your chance, Peter. Don’t screw it up.
They entered the place in silence, slipping through a side entrance that Natasha had already cleared. Peter kept close to the shadows, following Tony’s lead. The inside of the warehouse was dimly lit, with crates stacked high along the walls. Somewhere beyond the rows of storage containers were the weapons– alien-tech smuggled in for most likely inhumane purposes.
Natasha moved ahead, disappearing into the darkness effortlessly, while Clint took position on an elevated platform overlooking the floor below. Peter caught a glimpse of his arrow in position and ready, a faint glint of the metal under the dim light. Bruce was ready on stand by as he hung back slightly, ready to step in if things escalated.
“I’ve got Rhodey on standby.” Tony added. “If things go sideways, he’ll step in and handle it.”
Peter nodded and kept moving. For the first several minutes, everything went according to plan. Natasha and Clint swept through the different levels while Peter and Tony took positions as discussed in the plan. Peter’s job was simple: keep watch, make sure no target slips past, and assist Tony if things get messy.
But nothing ever stayed simple for long.
It started with a distant rumble– a faint, vibrating noise that Peter couldn’t quite recognise. HIs ears perked up, and he glanced over at Tony, but the older man was focused on his HUD, tracking the others as well as heat-mapping past the storage containers to see evidence of anyone else being there. The rumble grew louder, and it clicked for Peter as he realised what it was– vehicles. Trucks. Lots of them.
A convoy of armoured trucks pulled up to the far side of the warehouse, and before Peter could even blink, the back doors swung open, and men poured out, armed from head to toe with weapons he recognised instantly as alien-tech.
“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered urgently, his voice tight with panic. “We’ve got company– on the north side.”
Tony turned to face the commotion, almost eye-rolling and groaning as he took in the scene.
“Damn it. I was hoping this would be quieter.”
The next few seconds all passed by too quickly. The sounds of gunfire rang out, and chaos ensued. Peter fired off a web, taking out one of the armed targets before he could even get a shot. He moved on instinct, dodging a blast of energy that ricocheted off the warehouse wall, his body twisting in mid-air as he landed a few feet away.
“Stay close, kid!” Tony’s voice barked through the comms.
Peter tried– he really did– but everything was happening so fast. More men were pouring out of the trucks, and the sheer number of them was overwhelming. His movements became more frantic, his breathing more shallow as the familiar sense of panic began to claw up again to his throat.
Don’t mess up. Don’t mess up. Don’t mess up.
He repeated it again and again inside his head like a mantra. He fired off another web, catching one of the targets around its legs and yanking him to the ground, but before he could even catch his breath, another shot of energy with a blue glow whizzed past his head, barely missing him by inches.
The fear was becoming too much. His heart pounded wildly, and his vision blurred for a second as another blast shot toward him. This time, Peter wasn’t fast enough. He tried to leap out of the way, but his body was too slow, too sluggish from the fatigue. The blast knocked him off his feet, sending him sprawling across the ground.
The panic hit him full force then. His breaths came out in short, shaky gasps, and his vision clouded. He could feel the world spinning, the edges of his consciousness wearing thin as the anxiety took over and consumed him.
“Kid!” Tony’s voice broke through the haze.
Before Peter could fully register what was happening, Tony was beside him, pulling him to safety behind a stack of crates. Tony’s hand gripped Peter’s arm tightly, steadying him.
“Breathe, Pete,” Tony’s voice was shaky. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”
Peter tried to focus, but his chest felt too tight. His heart was racing out of control. He could hear the sounds of the fight around them– gunfire, shouts, blasts– but all he could think about was how badly he had messed up. He had hesitated. He had let the panic win.
“I’m– I’m sorry,” Peter gasped, voice shaky and hoarse as he tried to control his hands from trembling. “I– I didn’t mean to–”
“Hey,” Tony cut him off, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Look at me. You didn’t screw up. You hear me? Just take a second and breathe, kiddo.”
Peter squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. Sobs and tears escaped against his will. He had his teeth clenched tightly together as he desperately tried to get a grip over his own mind. Tony’s hand stayed on his arm, grounding him. Slowly but surely, Tony helped to pull him back from the panic that had nearly swallowed him whole. There wasn’t time to have a breakdown. He simply didn’t have the luxury of falling apart. After what felt like an eternity, Peter’s breathing started to even out. He opened his eyes, glancing up at Tony, who was watching him closely.
“You good?” Tony asked, voice still soft.
Peter nodded, even though he wasn’t sure if he really was. “Y-yeah. I’m good.”
Tony gave him one last look before releasing his grip and standing up. “Alright, kiddo. Let’s finish this.”
Peter scrambled to his feet, still feeling a little shaky, but determined to push through. Tony had trusted him, and he wasn’t going to let this moment of panic define the mission. He had to prove himself. He had to.
The rest of the fight passed in a blur of movement and noise, but eventually, they managed to gain control. Rhodey had stepped in to help and partnered with Natasha to clear the remaining ground targets. Clint helped clear the other enemies from higher ground, enabling Tony and Peter to go and secure the weapons. Finally, after what felt like hours, the warehouse fell quiet again– the armed targets were either down or retreating, the alien tech weapons secured.
The mission was a success.
Peter stood there, chest heaving, his body heavy with exhaustion. His hands trembled, the adrenaline still coursing through him. He hadn’t been perfect– he knew that. But he’d helped. He hadn’t completely screwed up.
He exhaled a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding as the tension drained from his muscles.
Tony, standing a few feet away, caught his eye and gave him a small, but reassuring nod. It wasn’t a grand gesture, or even much of an acknowledgement, but to Peter, it was everything. It was proof that, despite the fear, despite the panic, despite his mistakes– he had contributed. He had made a difference.
Peter had helped.
He helped the team in the end.
Notes:
Hello again! Apologies once again for the late update, I've just not been feeling great lately. But hey! This chapter is almost 5k words so I hope that this somehow helps to make up for it :) We're finally at Chapter 10! Thank you so much for staying with me so far and reading till now! I hope you are enjoying the fic, thank you to everyone who's been commenting. I really appreciate the comments :) Lmk how you found this chapter!
(also sorry for any mistakes, its 1:23am currently and I haven't had the chance to read over before posting)
Chapter 11: Almost Safe
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The mission had ended in a shaky victory, the adrenaline coursing through Peter’s vein still refusing to settle down. Yes, every muscle in his body may have been aching as he trudged back to the Tower, but beneath the weariness, there seemed to be the slight bubbling of something ever so small.
Hope.
The flashback of Tony helping him out stayed with him. It sparked a tiny glimpse of hope within Peter which caused an unfamiliar warmth to spread throughout his chest. After months , Tony hadn’t looked at him with disappointment. He hadn’t looked right through him, either.
It wasn’t forgiveness. It didn’t feel like forgiveness to Peter. It wasn’t even close. But it was something . And most importantly, after a long time, it didn’t feel like cruelty.
The debrief was quick and short, as always, with Natasha having outlined the mission’s successes and mistakes with her usual observational skills. Peter was still embarrassed about his fuck up. He tried to shrink into the background, trying to make his presence inconspicuous, but he still caught glimpses. He’d expected the normal looks of annoyance or disappointment when discussing the mission mistakes but what happened was far too strange for Peter to take in. None of it was spoken, but a small nod and subtle reassuring smiles from a few members, but nonetheless– it was there! It was acknowledgement, if nothing else.
Tony once again found himself sitting alone in the lab, the familiar sounds of machinery filling the silence. He was currently sitting there reviewing footage; the mission, Peter slipping up, his mind drifting back to the moment of pure panic.
He thought of Peter.
The kid’s hunched posture during the debrief lingered in his mind. It was clear Peter had been trying hard to shrink into the background, eyeing the room nervously, his hands fidgeting in his lap. But it was the way Peter had looked at him– fleeting glances, searching for something Tony couldn’t bring himself to give– that twisted the knife in Tony’s chest.
Approval? Forgiveness? Comfort?
Tony didn’t have the answers. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to find them. His own emotions felt like a tangled web, one that tightened around him every time he let his mind wander too close to the kid. And yet, no matter how much he had avoided Peter, how much distance he tried to put between them, Peter’s presence was inescapable.
The footage replayed in a maddening loop– Peter stumbling, the blast hitting him, and that split second when Tony’s stomach had dropped like a stone. He knew the video by heart at this point. The way the kid’s body had been thrown across the floor like a ragdoll.
Tony paused the video and leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand down his face. He hated how vividly he could remember the moment. The sheer panic that had surged through him, sharp and all-consuming, when Peter didn’t immediately get up. It was the kind of feeling that knocked the air out of your lungs, left you raw and exposed.
And he hated it even more because it proved what he already knew. That no matter how hard he tried to keep his distance, to shove Peter out of his heart, the kid was firmly lodged there. Seeing Peter hurt, seeing him vulnerable, for one agonising second during that mission, Tony Stark was afraid – he had felt his breath hitch, his pulse spike, chest tighten as if his heart had forgotten how to beat. The moment had reignited something in Tony– a need to protect, to shield him from the world and it’s relentless cruelty.
The problem was, Tony wasn’t so sure he was capable of that anymore. Not when his own guilt and anger clouded every interaction. Not when every time he looked at Peter, he saw Steve.
He didn’t even clearly remember crossing the distance to Peter; all he knew was that one second he was fighting off targets himself, and the next he was dragging Peter to safety as he pulled him behind the crates, gripping his arm tightly as the kid struggled to breathe. He remembers shouting his name with a desperation that still echoed in his ears.
“Breathe, Pete,” he had said, his own voice shaking, raw. And the way Peter had looked at him– wide-eyed, panicked, lost– made Tony feel like he was drowning all over again. Peter looked so small then, so utterly lost, and it had taken every ounce of Tony’s composure to stay calm. He remembered the tremor in Peter’s voice, the way his wide eyes had darted to Tony like he was searching for an anchor.
And Tony had been that anchor, if only for a moment.
He didn’t know what had come over him– maybe instinct, maybe something deeper– but he’d crouched there, holding Peter steady, his voice soft despite the chaos around them.
“You’re okay, Pete,” was what he had said next. And for once, he’d meant it. In that moment, Peter wasn’t the kid who had failed. He was just a kid, scared and shaken.
But every time Tony watched the footage, all he felt was the gnawing unease that he had gotten too close again. That despite everything he had told himself– despite the walls he tried to rebuild– Peter had slipped through.
He’s just a kid , Tony thought bitterly.
A kid who shouldn’t even be out there.
And yet, when Peter had gone down, Tony didn’t think about the mission, the weapons, or the team. All he could think about was getting to Peter.
Tony hated it. Hated the visceral panic that gripped him, hated the way it lingered now, long after the mission was over. Hated the part of him that still cared, that still saw Peter as someone worth protecting. He didn’t want to care this much. Because it wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet. Tony wasn’t sure if he was capable of that. But it was something. And that something scared the hell out of him.
It was suffocating, the memory of Peter struggling to his feet, apologising with trembling hands and tear-filled eyes was. The kid’s voice, “I-I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to” , played in his head like a broken record.
Tony shook his head, letting out a sharp exhale. He couldn’t lie to himself. The truth was, despite how much his heart may hate it, he cared . He cared more than he wanted to admit, more than he could handle.
And that care was what terrified him.
Because caring meant vulnerability. It meant opening himself up again, to the possibility of loss, of failure, of standing over another grave and knowing he hadn’t done enough. And Tony Stark didn’t know if he could survive that again.
He stared at the frozen frame of Peter, his chest heavy. The kid had pushed himself so hard during that mission, too hard. Even after the blast, even after the panic attack that had left him trembling, Peter had gotten back up. He fought like hell to prove himself, his movements fueled by sheer determination.
This too, scared Tony. Once again, Peter had reminded him of himself. The same reckless drive, the same unrelenting need to be better, to do more. But where Tony Stark had built his armour– both literal and metaphorically– to shield himself from the world, Peter wore his heart on his sleeve. He cared too much, gave too much, and Tony knew all too well what that kind of vulnerability could cost.
Tony pushed back from the desk, hands raking frustratingly through his hair. His chest felt too full, like the grief and guilt and anger were all fighting for a space inside him. Every time he saw Peter, it was like reopening an old wound– a wound that refused to heal.
“Damn it, Steve,” Tony muttered under his breath. “What the hell am I supposed to do with him?”
The question hung in the air, unanswered. Steve had always been the one with the moral compass, the one who saw the good in people even when Tony couldn’t. Steve would’ve known what to do. He always did.
But Steve wasn’t here anymore. And no matter how much Tony wanted to, he couldn’t fill that void. He couldn’t be the leader Steve had been. He couldn’t be the man Peter seemed to think he still was.
He thought back to the way Peter looked at him after the mission, his eyes wide with a mixture of hope and hesitation. Tony had given him a nod– small, almost unnoticeable– but it had clearly meant the world to the kid. That, more than anything, made Tony’s chest ache.
Because Peter didn’t just want approval. He wanted his approval. And Tony wasn’t too sure if he deserved that kind of trust.
“Kid doesn’t make it easy, does he?” Tony muttered to the empty room. He let out a humourless laugh, and shook his head. “I’m trying. I swear I’m trying. But damn it, Steve, I don’t know how to do this without you.”
The silence that followed was painful. No reassuring voice, no steady hand on his shoulder, just a steady hum of the arc reactor in his chest. God, it would be so much easier if he could just hate the kid. Easier to shove the blame onto Peter’s shoulders, to let his anger and grief mask the unbearable guilt of his own. But every time he tried, every time he thought he could lock away the small part of him that still cared, Peter did something to ruin it. A glance, a gesture, a reckless act of courage. The kid wouldn’t let him keep the distance he so desperately needed.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Tony wanted to be angry. Wanted to keep hating him for Steve’s death, for the way everything had crumbled since then. But the anger was never as clean as he needed it to be. It was messy, tangled up with feelings he didn’t know how to name– protectiveness, guilt, and something dangerously close to affection.
Tony thought back to Peter’s wide, teary eyes after the blast, his trembling hands, the way he’d whispered that broken, fragile apology. Tony had wanted to shake him, to tell him to stop apologising for things he couldn’t change. But instead, he’d helped stabilise him behind the crates, and told him to breathe.
In that moment, it hadn’t been about the blame or guilt or anything else. It had just been about keeping the kid alive.
And now, sitting alone in the quiet of his lab, Tony wondered if that was all he could do– keep Peter alive. Maybe he couldn’t forgive and forget. But he could protect.
The lift journey down to Lab 3 felt longer than it was. Peter stood near the back, arms crossed tight over his chest, watching the numbers tick up. His watch buzzed for the second time with a repeat notification, an alert Friday sent only a few moments ago:
“Mr. Stark requests your presence in Lab 3 in fifteen minutes.”
He hadn’t replied. Just stared at the message for a good few seconds, then stood up too fast, knocking his knee against the desk leg. His heart raced as his mind jumped straight to the worst-case scenarios. That maybe yesterday had been a mistake and Mr. Stark’s brief show of concern was just a glitch in the system. Maybe he’d changed his mind, realised Peter had been too weak on the mission, and now wanted to make sure it didn’t happen again.
Peter hadn’t even done anything wrong. Not really. But the guilt still settled in the pit of his stomach like it always did- heavy, familiar, inescapable.
When the lift doors opened, he stepped out and kept walking. The corridor to the labs was fairly empty. The lights overhead buzzed quietly, the only sound besides his own footsteps. He kept his eyes low as the lab doors slid open with a short hiss.
Tony was already inside, typing something into one of the computers. He didn’t look over at Peter. Peter hovered nervously near the door, waiting for instructions. He didn’t want to assume anything. He had no idea why he’d been called, but the worst-case scenario had already looped through his head enough times that he braced himself for it. Tony finally spoke without turning.
“There’s a vibranium-polymer thread we’re testing. I want tensile strength values measured across a heat range. Start at room temp. Take it up to 1400 degrees fahrenheit. Intervals are listed on the chart.”
A short pause. Then, dryly, glancing over the glasses on the edge of his nose “Try not to melt anything. Or burn the lab down. And put the safety kit on before you start.”
Peter blinked, uncertain if the joke counted as humour. It didn’t sound harsh. Just… like Tony. Like how things used to be, almost.
Before he could say anything, Tony moved past him toward the door. He was nearly out when he said, “Let me know what you find.”
And then he was gone.
Peter stayed still for a second, unsure what to do with that. So… he didn’t get scolded as he had expected. He let out a quiet breath, only then realising he’d been holding it since Friday’s message. Maybe Tony wasn’t mad about the panic attack after all.
He set up quickly, ensuring he had the safety gear on as instructed by Tony. Gloves on. Safety specs. Chamber calibrated. His hands moved without hesitation, going through the steps with sharp, practiced precision. There was a quiet urgency under everything- not quite panic, but a need to do it right. He had to do this perfectly, and fast, if he was going to be an asset to the team again, he had to work on his agility.
Working with the polymer wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t impossible. Vibranium threading meant high energy reactivity. The kind of thing Tony wouldn’t hand off to just anyone unless it mattered and he trusted them with this material. Vibranium is the kind of material you don’t mess with unless you know what you are doing.
Peter performed a baseline test, and logged it. Rechecked. Adjusted for each temperature interval, as Tony had instructed on the record chart. Then repeated the whole thing from scratch, one more time, just to be sure.
He didn’t know why he was being so careful- or maybe, deep down, he did. If Tony was giving him a task like this, then messing it up wasn’t an option. Not after everything. Tony was giving him a chance, and he had to prove himself worthy of it.
Time slipped by quickly, the day moved on but Peter had barely noticed it. He didn’t sit. Didn’t eat. Just kept moving between the thermal chamber and the sample container, resetting tests and recording data. Every line of data was double checked, triple logged, written by hand before he entered it digitally.
A few times, the door hissed behind him as someone passed the hallway. Each time, he flinched. His breath hitched in his throat before settling again when no one walked in. He didn’t want to be interrupted. Not because he was hiding, but because the work felt… safe. It gave him direction. Something solid to hold onto.
The air in the lab was dry and carried a faint burnt-metal tang from the test chamber. Peter wiped his brow with the back of his arm, and stepped back to check the calibration clamps. They were still aligned, but he adjusted them anyway. He wasn’t aiming for perfection. He was aiming to not give Tony a reason to regret asking.
By the time the last sample test was cooling. Peter’s hands were starting to tremble. A mix of adrenaline tapering off and the exhaustion within catching up. He didn’t really notice the ache in his neck until he rolled his shoulders and it pulled tight. His stomach grumbled softly a few minutes later, but he ignored it.
Later. He’d eat later.
Right now, he had something to finish. Something important, that mattered , and food wasn’t exactly a priority.
The lab lights had automatically dimmed into their evening setting by the time Peter peeled off his gloves and finally stepped out, shoulders stiff and hands aching from the hours of quiet, relentless testing.
His mind still buzzed with numbers, tensile curves, reaction thresholds, the scent of heated vibranium threading still clinging faintly to his skin. The rest of the Tower had settled into its evening rhythm. Somewhere above, music played faintly, too distant to make out, but loud enough to know people were home.
Peter’s stomach gave a low, reluctant grumble again as he stepped into the kitchen. He winced slightly at the sound, casting a glance over his shoulder, like someone might scold him for it. He wasn’t even sure why he’d come here. He didn’t feel hungry, not really. It was more like… an obligation.
Something to check off. Eat something. Stay functional. Don’t pass out mid-swing.
The kitchen was dimly lit with the under-cabinet LEDs casting a warm amber glow over the marble counters. He hovered in the doorway for a second, quietly taking in the familiar space.
Bruce stood near the far end, sleeves rolled up, quietly washing something at the sink. He didn’t look over when Peter walked in. Just kept rinsing a glass in steady circles. Peter entered, without saying anything. Neither did Bruce. And that was fine. Good, even. The silence wasn’t cold, just… ambient.
He moved on autopilot to the cabinet, fingers closing around the first protein bar he could find. It was one of the plain ones. No fancy chocolate or peanut butter flavour. Just oats and a vague hint of vanilla. Small, dense, and efficient.
He didn’t bother looking for anything else. He’d already eaten this morning, though he couldn’t remember what exactly. Maybe a few bites of something. Didn’t matter. This was enough. He peeled the wrapper slowly, one hand drifting to the kettle in the corner. Water, tea- something warm. Just so it didn’t seem like he was only here to scavenge and leave.
As the kettle began to simmer, Peter caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of the oven. His skin had seen better days. It wasn’t absolutely awful. It was… efficient. He’d been lighter on his feet during missions. His suit felt looser, too and less restrictive than before. Logically, he knew it was designed to adjust to his body no matter what. But whether the change was real or just something he’d let himself believe- to feel good about the way he’d been shrinking- didn’t really matter.
From behind him, the sound of the faucet stopped. Bruce moved towards the dish rack, placing the clean glass upside down before quietly wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. He passed behind Peter, and finally muttered a soft, “Evening,” as he opened the fridge.
Peter looked back, nodding quickly. “Hey, Dr. Banner.”
Bruce pulled out a bottle of something green, likely a smoothie, and gave a faint grunt of acknowledgement before walking out of the room without any further exchanges.
Peter exhaled slowly.
The interaction had lasted less than ten seconds, but his chest still felt tight with residual tension. He leaned against the counter, the warm mug cradled in both hands. A few sips. The protein bar was now sitting half finished on the counter beside him. After eyeing it for a couple of brief seconds, he picked it up again.
He took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed.
When Peter slipped back into the lab, it felt colder than it had been earlier- likely due to the heat from the thermal testing having long since dissipated. He wasn’t planning on returning, but he told himself he needed to double check the data logs one last time. Just in case. He’d already transferred the data to the designated drive Tony preferred, labelled the files precisely the way Mr. Stark had shown him last year. No excuses for mess. No room for sloppiness.
The screen cast a low blue light across his face as he flicked through the graphs and data again.
Behind him, the door slid open. Peter froze.
“Didn’t expect you to still be here,” came Tony’s voice. Neutral. Not cold. Just… Tony.
Peter turned, just enough to glance over his shoulder, and swallowed hard. Tony stood a few feet away, dressed down in his usual black tank top, arc reactor casting its soft glow through the fabric. There was a faint oil-smudge streaked up one forearm, and his hair was slightly dishevelled- that same look he always wore when he was three projects deep and pretending not to be tired.
Peter offered a quick, nervous smile. “Just finishing up,” he mumbled, voice softer than intended.
Tony didn’t respond right away. He moved past Peter, stepping up to the dashboard and pulling up the files. His eyes scanned quickly, the horizontal lines deepening on his forehead as he focused. Peter didn’t move. Just watched, holding his breath without meaning to.
He watched his face for a reaction. Any reaction.
Finally, Tony exhaled. Not sharply or dismissively, just a breath.
“Looks good.”
Peter blinked. “Oh. Um.. thanks,” he felt his throat tighten, but kept going. “I triple-logged the thermal fluctuations, just in case. There were a couple of minor variances at the higher temperatures, so I re-ran the set-”
“I saw,” Tony interrupted, eyes still on the screen. “Good call.”
Peter’s whole body stilled. His breath caught mid-inhale, chest tightening in surprise. He felt a small, shaky sound rise in his throat- something unvoiced and trembling, too close to a whimper- but he clenched his jaw before it could slip out.
His eyes snapped up to Tony’s profile, wide and disbelieving. Just two words.
Good call.
The small praise hit him harder than he expected. He hadn’t realised just how much he’d needed to hear that until now. His mouth parted slightly, lips pressing together again when he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Tony took a step back from the screen, rubbing his jaw absently. “I’ll take it from here. Go get some rest, Peter.”
Peter nodded too quickly. “Right. Yeah.”
He hovered for a moment, hand twitching at his side like he didn’t quite know what to do with it. His brain was still catching up. He was nearly at the door when Tony added- without turning around, almost as an afterthought:
“And… good work.”
Peter halted mid-step and his breath hitched, once again. He turned halfway, head ducked slightly, eyes locked on the floor. “Thanks, Mr. Stark,” he said, so quietly it was barely audible.
He didn’t quite smile. Couldn’t. But as the door slid shut behind him, something heavy eased inside his chest.
He could breathe a little easier.
Back in his room, the lights were off.
Peter didn’t bother turning them on. He moved using muscle memory, tossing his hoodie onto the chair, collapsing onto the bed. His bones felt heavy and it wasn’t due to any web-slinging. Before he had a moment to process his earlier interaction with Mr. Stark, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.
He fished it out, thumb hovering instinctively over Ned’s contact and then changing his mind. Instead of answering the new message, he opened his last thread with Aunt May. The thread was still there from earlier in the week- her visit to the doctor, her reassurance that it was “just a bug.” She’d sounded a little better on the phone. But the cough… it hadn’t really gone away.
She’d lost weight, too. He hadn’t wanted to say anything. But her face looked more drawn last time he saw her. The way her clothes fit a little looser. How she leaned more often when she stood, like standing up for too long took effort. She brushed it off, of course - said she was tired, said she’d been running around too much. But May had always been full of energy, up early, on her feet, always bustling around the house.
Now, it was like the edge had dulled. He tapped out a new message.
[To: Aunt May <3]
Are you still on for dinner tomorrow night? :)
The reply came faster than he expected.
[From: Aunt May <3]
Can’t make it tomorrow night, sweetheart, sorry. Feeling a bit tired. Love you <3
Peter read it once. Then again.
It was the kind of message he’d seen a hundred times before. Polite. Gentle. Nothing alarming. But it sat wrong in his stomach anyway.
He could hear her voice in his head. That gentle rasp in the background. How she cleared her throat mid-sentence, like it was second nature. She didn’t used to do that. She didn’t used to cancel dinner.
His thumb hesitated. Then moved toward the Stark tablet on the nightstand. He flicked it on, bypassed the lock screen, and ordered a private trace, something he wasn’t really supposed to use for personal use.
May Parker’s Location: HOME
Right where she said she’d be. Peter stared at the glowing dot for longer than necessary. He hated himself for checking. Hated the tight knot of doubt crawling through his chest- the fear that maybe, maybe, she wasn’t telling him everything.
But she’d tell him… wouldn’t she?
Peter closed the tablet and let it slide off the bed with a dull thud. Then he tugged the covers over his head, curling tightly beneath the blanket, cocooning himself in the dark.
It felt safe.
He’d done this as a kid- after bad dreams, after rough days. Wrapped himself up tight, hidden away where no one could see him. It was one of the few things that still worked. There was comfort in being small, bundled up in warmth, as if shrinking the world down to something manageable.
And now, as sleep pulled at the edges of him- eyes stinging, muscles aching,
the world felt far too big.
Notes:
I'm alive guys... I am so sorry. You're gonna have to bear w me as I try to write these chapters with ADHD beating my ass. Clearly the only time I can update is when I'm under an insane amount of stress, so here you go :) my 2nd year exams are in less than 7 weeks rip.
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