Tether of Iron

by PhantomOfTheArchive (yoursleepdeprivedauthor)

Summary:

Dragged back from death by a twist of magic, Tony Stark wakes in New York eighteen months after the war with Thanos.

The Avengers won. The world has moved on. He should be grateful—except no one remembers Peter Parker. Spider-Man still swings through the city, but the boy beneath the mask is gone, as if he never existed. and Tony will stop at nothing to find him.

Chapter 1: In which Happy nearly crashes a car

Notes:

I'd tell you English isn't my first language, but that's not true. The spelling mistakes are simply because I'm dyslexic.

The snap burned through him like wildfire. Tony had expected pain—he welcomed it, in a way. The instant the stones answered to his will, he knew his body was signing its final resignation letter. The searing agony that ripped down his nerves was unbearable, and yet, beneath it all, there was something else. Something gentler.

The battlefield noise fell away, the screams, the pounding feet, the metallic thunder of war. It was all replaced with quiet, like slipping under the surface of still water. Peace, finally. A weightlessness wrapped around him, and everything stopped. The exhaustion, the fighting, the fear of failing once again was just… gone. Leaving Tony alone to dissolve into the dark.

It was easy to let go. Easier than breathing. He closed his eyes and let the growing warmth cradle him. His only hope was that he had succeeded for the others' sake. For his family's sake. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore.

The darkness shifted into light, and in contrast to everything else, the light didn't hurt. For the first time in so long, it didn't hurt.

Until something caught him.

It felt like an invisible force had hooked his very core. It yanked him forward through the light and back up into the darkness and the pain. Like he was merely a ragdoll being dragged by a child. He struggled against it, desperate to go back, but fingers of cold steel dug into his ribs, dragging him against his will.

Tony gasped—gasped, as if his lungs were being stitched back together with barbed wire. He clawed at the dark, but it didn’t matter; the pull was merciless.

And then just as abruptly as it had grabbed him, he was being dropped. He was aware of shapes, colour, and movement swirling around him as he fell.

Magic.

He clenched his teeth at the thought. He didn't want any more magic, or tricks, or contingencies. It was supposed to be over. For a few brief moments, it had been over.

And then it stopped.

Tony groaned, shifting onto his side just in time to avoid throwing up in his mouth.

He stayed like that, eyes half open but unseeing, panting as he lay on his side, whilst he regained his senses.

The stench of rotting food and damp cardboard met him first.

He opened his eyes, forcing them to focus in the dim light. He looked down at what he'd wrongfully assumed to be the ground and groaned, leaning back into the rusted lip of a dumpster. He coughed, gagged again, rolled onto his side and spat some of the remaining vomit onto the gravel below. His hands were shaking. His body felt strange. Like it had been taken apart and roughly stitched back together.

For a moment, he just lay there, chest heaving, staring at the city sky with swimming vision as he listened to sounds filtering in from the alley’s mouth—horns, voices, the grind of traffic.

Something white and crumpled pressed against his palm. A newspaper. It was damp at the edges, and the print was smudged from the trash juice soaking through, but it still looked fairly legible. He blinked, forcing his vision to steady, and read the date.

It had been a year and a half.

There was no way of knowing for sure if they'd won. But the fact that he appeared to be on Earth, likely in New York, and the human race still existed was certainly evidence in his favour. He tried to focus on that, and not the horror of how much time had passed. Had Pepper made it out? Had she spent the last eighteen months raising Morgan alone? She could do it, of course, she could, but she shouldn't have to. And the idea of Morgan growing up, of him missing birthdays and Christmas... it left bile rising in his throat for the third time.

For a short moment, he thought the weight of horror inside of him couldn't get any worse.

And then he read the headline of the article below.

It slammed into him harder than any gut-punch. Big bold letters screaming from the front page, a grainy photo of a wide-eyed kid at the centre of it all:

PETER PARKER: FRAUD, MENACE, MURDERER

Tony’s breath stuttered. His pulse roared in his ears. He sat up in the dumpster, ignoring the stench, ignoring the bruises, ignoring the fact that he’d just been dragged away from death by an unrepentant force.

Peter - his mentee, his... kid - had been exposed. He was out there, likely being hunted, and he was vulnerable.

When Tony had revealed his identity as Iron Man, it had been his choice. And whilst it had been a regrettable decision at times, at the end of the day, he'd been okay because he had security, bodyguards, and lawyers. Peter had none of that. For all he knew, Peter might not even have the Avengers any more.

The relief of dying was gone, ripped from him as brutally as the stones had torn through his veins. In its place was a cold, gnawing certainty: whatever dragged him back didn’t do it by accident. He had a strange sense of clarity. He was here for a reason, and he was pretty sure that reason was because Peter needed him.

Tony slid down from the rim of the dumpster, legs threatening to collapse with every step. His whole body felt like wet cement poured into a cracked mold. Heavy, uneven, and liable to break apart. He braced himself on the wall as he staggered out of the alley, his breath shallow and his hands still trembling. The city buzzed on, oblivious.

Each step felt more exhausting than the last. He wouldn't be able to walk anywhere safe in this state.

And then he saw it. Across the street, tucked beside a bodega with a flickering neon sign: a payphone. The thing was a relic, a rusted booth smeared with fingerprints and gum, probably hosting several diseases and at least a little human excrement.

It was perfect.

Tony dug into his pocket out of instinct, but it was empty. Just lint and the damp newspaper crumpled in his fist.

But by some incredible stroke of luck, two quarters were sitting on the grime-caked shelf beneath the receiver. He stared at them a second, almost laughed, then fed them into the slot and pressed the numbers his hands knew, even if his brain felt half-slagged.

It rang. Once. Twice.

“Hello?” Happy’s voice was rough, tired. He sounded absolutely exhausted.

Tony exhaled. “Hap.”

There was silence on the other end. Then a scoff. “Cute. Real funny. You sick piece of—do you people enjoy this? Huh? Picking the scabs? You think pretending to be him is some kind of—”

“It’s me,” Tony cut in, pressing a hand against his temple as if he could keep his brain from shaking apart.

“Tony's dead.” Happy’s voice cracked, more furious for it. “You don’t get to—look, I don’t know what you want, money, headlines, whatever scam you’re running, I don't care. Normally, I'd have my people track you down for trying to pull something like this, but I've had an awful week."

Happy's voice broke at the words, and Tony paled. He'd never heard Happy sound so emotional in the twenty years he'd worked for him. Whatever had happened this week... well, it must have been big. Was he referring to Peter getting his identity revealed? He must be. There was no telling how old that paper was, but surely, no matter what had happened or how much time had passed, Happy would still be there alongside the kid.

"So I'll give you a pass this once, but if you ever call this number again—”

Tony shut his eyes, dragging in a ragged breath. He didn’t have time for this, but he also couldn’t blame the guy. If their positions were reversed, he’d be tearing someone apart right now.

“Happy,” Tony said, steady, low. “First week you worked for me, you remember? You were still all buttoned up, Marine Corps posture, didn’t crack a single smile. I dragged you to Vegas, said it was business. It wasn’t business.”

Happy stayed silent.

“You had one cocktail, I told you it was non-alcoholic. It wasn't. You got green as hell, threw up all over Caesar’s Palace bathroom floor. And I—” Tony’s mouth twisted at the memory. “I made you hold my martini glass while you did it. That ring a bell?”

A beat. Two. The line went so quiet that Tony thought maybe the call had dropped. Then—

“Tony?” Happy’s voice was suddenly very small. “Is it really you?”

Tony laughed with relief, although it probably sounded more like a wheeze. “Yeah.”

“You—Tony, you died. What the hell—where the hell are you?”

Tony leaned against the side of the booth, forehead pressed to the smeared plexiglass, eyes burning. He wasn’t ready for explanations. He wasn't even sure what had happened, let alone how to explain it.

“I’ll give you the full bedtime story later, Happy. Right now, I need a pickup."

"You’re serious.” Happy said flatly. "You call me out of the blue after letting us all believe you'd died because you want a chauffeur?"

“Dead serious,” Tony muttered, then grimaced. “Well. Alive serious. But if it makes you feel any better, I was dead, or something like that."

There was a pause.

"Where are you?" Happy asked.

"A bodega off Forty-Third, across from a payphone that should’ve been condemned ten years ago. You’ll find me.”

Happy didn’t answer right away. Tony could hear him breathing hard through the line, trying to reconcile the impossible with the man on the other end.

“Don’t move. I’m coming.”

The line clicked dead.

Tony lowered the receiver, his hand shaking harder now.

He wanted so desperately to rest. He'd been fighting for so long. But he couldn't stop now. Not when Peter needed him.

 

---

 

Headlights cut a harsh glare across the alley mouth, bouncing off the dumpster Tony had nearly christened as his coffin. A familiar black SUV rolled to a stop, engine purring low.

The driver’s door opened, and then Happy stepped into view. His outline was bulkier than Tony remembered, shoulders tight with suspicion, and his hand was unmistakably wrapped around the grip of a Glock.

Tony barked a laugh. “Wow. Some warm welcome back from the afterlife this is. Didn’t know you joined S.H.I.E.L.D. while I was gone.”

Happy didn’t lower the gun. His jaw was locked, eyes searching Tony’s face like he expected it to peel back and reveal a stranger underneath.

“I wasn’t sure what I was gonna find,” Happy said flatly. His voice was still rough with disbelief. “So, yeah, I came armed.”

Tony raised his hands in mock surrender, wobbling slightly as he did. “Relax, Rambo. If I were an imposter, I’d at least show up taller and with more hair. You know—an upgrade.”

Something in Happy’s expression cracked at that, the gun lowering slowly. “Seriously Tony?” he muttered. Then louder, “You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” Tony said, pushing off the booth wall and stumbling forward. “Been a rough eighteen months. Zero out of ten, don’t recommend resurrection.”

Happy hurried to his side before he faceplanted, slipping an arm under Tony’s. Up close, Tony could see the man’s eyes were red, puffy, like sleep hadn’t been on the cards for weeks.

They reached the SUV. Happy opened the back door, and Tony more or less collapsed inside, sprawling across the leather seat with a groan.

“Don’t bleed on the upholstery,” Happy grumbled, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Tony let his head roll back, eyes half-lidded. “It’s my car.”

“Not anymore.”

“Touché.”

They drove in silence for a minute, the hum of the city blurring against the windows. Happy kept glancing at the rear-view mirror, as if to reassure himself that Tony wasn’t going to disappear again.

Finally, Happy asked, “Where am I supposed to be taking you?”

Tony cracked one eye open, realising he'd been so distracted by the bliss of knowing he was safe that he'd entirely forgotten everything else. Guilt bubbled up inside him.

“I need to see Peter.”

“Peter who?”

“Peter.” Tony’s voice had an edge, urgent. “Kid in the Spider Pyjamas. Queens. Calls several times a day. You know, Peter Parker.”

Happy frowned. “Who the hell is Peter Parker?”

Tony’s stomach sank. His mind whirled, replaying the headline, the photo, the certainty that Peter needed help. It didn't make any sense. Happy knew Peter. The whole world was supposed to know Peter, according to that article.

“Don’t screw with me, Happy,” Tony said, sharper now, forcing himself upright despite the weight pressing him down. “Spider-Man. My—” he caught himself, jaw clenching, “—the kid.”

Happy shook his head slowly, glancing at Tony in the mirror with a crease of concern. “Tony… I’ve never heard the name Peter Parker in my life, and I don't want to talk about Spider-Man right now.”

Tony’s pulse was climbing, his head buzzing like feedback in a blown speaker.

“What do you mean you've never heard of him?” Tony barked, sitting up straighter despite the way his body screamed at him. “You know him. Kid, Queens, acne, about yea high—” He waved his hand a little too aggressively, then hissed as his shoulder protested. “Spider-Man, Hap. Ringing any bells? Mask, webs, bad one-liners, kinda like me minus puberty and the bad life choices.”

Happy’s eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror. “Tony. You sound insane.”

“Yeah, well, resurrection does that to you. Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Happy’s jaw worked. “You’ve clearly got a head injury. You’re rambling—”

“I am not rambling! When do I ever ramble?”

Happy snorted. “All the time. Nonstop. It’s your thing.”

Tony jabbed a finger at him from the back seat. “That’s called charisma. Not rambling. Difference.”

“Sure,” Happy shot back. “Charisma is talking about a non-existent kid while you’re bleeding all over my backseat.”

Tony slapped the door with the flat of his hand. “He’s not non-existent! He’s Spider-Man! You practically know him better than I do. And I'm not actively bleeding, for the record."

Happy’s grip tightened on the wheel. “Drop it.”

“No!” Tony leaned forward, voice sharp. “When did you last see Spiderman?”

Happy shook his head. “Tony—”

“When?”

“I told you to stop talking about Spiderman!” Happy’s voice cracked like a whip.

“Not until you tell me when you last saw him!”

Happy’s face flushed, his knuckles bone-white on the wheel. “Fine! The last time I saw Spider-Man was at May’s apartment building, okay? Right before she—” His voice broke, raw and jagged. “—right before she died.”

The words hit like a punch to the chest. Tony froze, stunned silent for a beat before snapping, “No. Nope. Not buying it. That’s not how this works. May can't be dead.”

Happy slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Well, newsflash, Tony, she’s dead! I really don't need this right now. It's amazing you're back, I'm happy, I really am, but—” His voice cracked again, and suddenly he was swiping angrily at tears rolling down his face.

Tony’s heart lurched. He shook his head furiously. “No, no, you don’t get it—if May’s dead and you don’t  remember Peter, then who the hell is looking after him?”

“Peter doesn’t exist!” Happy barked, almost pleading now.

“He does!” Tony fired back. “And if you weren’t busy being emotionally constipated, maybe you’d—”

The SUV jolted violently, a horn blaring as another car swerved past, the driver yelling obscenities out the window. Happy yanked the wheel back, the sudden movement throwing both of them sideways.

Tony jolted, bracing himself. “What the hell, Hap? You trying to kill me again?”

Happy was shaking, chest heaving, tears streaking his face. “Don’t talk to me about dying, Tony! Just because you coming back may be the best thing thats happened doesn't give you the right to yell about some kid who doesn’t exist and—”

“Pull over,” Tony snapped.

“I’m fine—”

“You’re not fine!” Tony barked, leaning forward between the seats. “Neither of us are fine! Pull the hell over!"

Happy cursed under his breath but swerved them onto a side street, slamming the SUV into park. The silence that followed was deafening, both of them panting like they’d just gone twelve rounds.

For a long minute, neither spoke. The city outside was a blur of horns and chatter, life marching forward while theirs had stalled.

Finally, Happy muttered, voice rough, “What do you want to do, Tony?”

Tony dragged a hand down his face, his mind a storm, but one thought breaking through the noise. The only person who could anchor him now.

“We need to call Pepper.”

 

---

 

Pepper had gotten good at disguising the ache.

She sat at the conference table, listening as three different board members argued over projected numbers, international contracts, and the fine details of Stark Industries’ latest renewable energy expansion. Their voices droned on till they slipped into what may as well have been static for Pepper. She nodded at the right times, even interjected a sharp correction when one of them got a figure wrong, but her mind was elsewhere.

It always wandered eventually.

A year and a half, and she still caught herself turning her head to the passenger seat when she drove, expecting some sarcastic comment to be tossed her way. She still half-waited for his voice when she picked up her phone. And the worst part was, those echoes weren’t cruel anymore. They weren’t jagged shards of grief slicing her raw.

They were simply worn down. Time had smoothed the sharpest edges, and somehow that almost hurt more. She didn't want to heal. She didn't want to move on. But she had to, if not for her own sake then for Morgan's.

She hated herself for that sometimes. Hated that she could laugh when Morgan repeated one of Tony’s lines with frightening accuracy, hated that she could sit in a meeting like this one and keep her head held high while the world kept turning. But she was also grateful, because Morgan needed her steady. Morgan deserved her whole. And Pepper had promised Tony she’d be okay.

So she was okay. Most days.

Still, right now, all she wanted was for this meeting to end so she could go home to her kid. Send the babysitter home, collapse on the sofa with Morgan's head in her lap and rest.

Her phone buzzed on the table. Discreetly, she flipped it over. Happy Hogan.

Her chest tightened. Happy never called her during business hours unless something was wrong, and nothing had been wrong that required Happy calling her since... well, since before Tony's death.

“Excuse me,” she said smoothly, rising from her chair before anyone could protest. She stepped out into the hallway, tapping the screen. “Happy? Is everything okay?”

His voice came through raw, uneven. She paled as clarity washed over her. This was about May. It had to be. She'd seen the death in the news. She'd sent Happy a text to say if he wanted to talk, she was here, because it had been obvious quite how much May had meant to him, but she'd sort of hoped he wouldn't take her up on it. The idea of talking about losing a partner... she wasn't sure if she could manage that just yet.

“Pep… you need to sit down.” Happy said, voice shaky, but demanding.

Pepper frowned. That's not what she'd expected.

Pepper’s stomach dropped, a cold, sinking weight she hadn’t felt in months. “Sit down?” she echoed, voice tight. “Happy… what—what’s happened?”

There was a long pause on the line. Then, finally, Happy’s uneven breath came through, ragged and quick. “It’s… Tony.”

Her hand tightened around the phone. Her heart thudded violently against her ribs. She'd heard that wrong. She must have.

“Tony?” She whispered.

“Yes.” His voice cracked, like it might shatter at any second. “He… This is going to sound crazy, but he’s alive, Pep. I—I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Pepper froze in the hallway, the muted hum of the office fading behind her. For a beat, the words didn’t register. Alive. Tony is alive.

She stumbled back against the wall, gripping the phone so tightly she thought she might break it. “You… what? What are you talking about, Happy? Have you been drinking?”

“No, no, I swear.” Happy’s voice was ragged, almost pleading.

"You and I both know if Happy had been drinking, he'd be too busy puking to make this call."

Pepper froze.

"Tony?"

"Hey Pep." He replied. She could hear the grin in his voice. That familiar, stupidly cocky voice.

Pepper pressed the phone to her chest, mouth slightly open, mind spinning. She had so many questions, so much disbelief swirling that she didn’t even realise she was shaking. “H-How?” Her voice was small, almost fragile.

“It's kinda complex, but I swear it's real," Tony replied. "Yeah, yeah, I'm getting to that, Hap, calm down."

"What's going on?" Pepper demanded, hearing the tone in his voice. "Where are you?"

"I'll send our location over. We need a lift."

"You need a lift?" Pepper said, too in shock to even comprehend how absurdly mundane the words were. She suddenly felt like she was in her early thirties again, hiring a chauffeur because Tony had got Happy purposefully drunk once again just to prove a point.

"Yeah, yeah, Happy's given me the speech about not demanding rides straight after getting resurrected, but right now we're just parked in this little side road hoping one of us regains the ability to drive before the next world-ending event and... well, I want to see you, Pep."

Pepper’s knees almost gave out. She gripped the phone tighter, trying to keep her balance, trying to ground herself in some sliver of reality.

"No, I'm not being mushy," Tony said, sounding frustrated. "Happy, what are you doing - Happy!"

"Pepper, hi." Happy said, clearly having stolen the phone back.

She grinned at the mental image. She'd never thought things would feel so normal again.

"I know this is all pretty insane, but it's kinda urgent, I'd like to get Tony a CT scan ASAP-"

"I'm not concussed!" She heard him yell.

"And definitely a full check-up because he looked like he's been to hell and back." Happy finished.

"That's insensitive," She heard Tony mutter in the background.

"I'm on it." She replied. "I'll have someone drive me. And Tony?"

"Yeah?" Tony replied softly.

"I love you." She said, a tear straying from her eye.

"I love you too." He replied, voice breaking at the words.

Notes:

I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter ❤

Peter's POV is coming next

Chapter 2: In which Peter befriends a thief

Summary:

“I’m starving.” He replied.

She stared at him, mouth hanging open.

“What? I haven’t eaten in eighteen months. You people ate while I was gone, right? I think I’m entitled to a cheeseburger. Or twelve.”

Happy glanced over his shoulder like he’d misheard. “You… want a cheeseburger?”

“Yes, Harold, a cheeseburger. Don't tell me you've never heard of a cheeseburger before." He said with his staple grin. "Hey driver, pull over at the first joint with a flickering neon sign.”

Notes:

I've been hiking for a week with no service to update, but lots of time to write, so I'm very ahead on this fic. I'm hoping to get into a regular pattern of posting every Friday.

Peter perched on the edge of the fire escape, knees tucked up under his chin. The city moved beneath him with its usual restless shuffle, but he paid it no interest. Usually, he'd be calling Happy right about now to report on his patrol. Commenting on every little detail just in case any of it was relevant. Since the moment Tony had first recruited him, he'd never done anything half-heartedly. But he couldn't call Happy now, and Tony was dead, just like May. The first few patrols since Strange's spell, he'd recorded a voice note as though he was calling Happy in a desperate attempt to keep the loneliness from creeping in, but he'd quickly realised it was futile.

It felt like everything was these days. It was all meaningless. Everything but patrol. Spider-Man couldn't stop just because Peter Parker had ceased to live. He may as well be dead himself, he felt like a ghost, knowing no matter how close he found himself to those he loved, they'd simply look through him unseeing.

“Okay, Parker,” he muttered to himself as he got to his feet. “Focus.”

He launched forward, flinging himself between the buildings. His chest tightened with the motion.

He'd managed to keep his usual banter running, although it felt dull compared to before.

A guy trying to jimmy a bike lock?

“Buddy, I know that’s technically grand theft, but trust me—you really don’t want a Citi Bike. They're just so slow. How were you planning to get away on that?”

A group of drunk college kids shouting from a rooftop party?

“If you continue like that one you is gonna fall, and my health insurance doesn’t cover human dodgeballs.”

The jokes came out a little forced, sure, but they kept him moving.

His phone buzzed. He flipped it open mid-swing, glanced at the cracked screen.

It was an alarm reminder.

Peter groaned, nearly missing his next web-line.

He swung lower, threading through streetlights and billboard frames with a new sense of urgency. If he didn't pick up speed, he'd be late for work, and he couldn't risk being fired.

The place wasn’t glamorous. Hell, it wasn’t even clean. Some grimy fast food joint on the corner of 12th with a forgettable, half-lit sign buzzing like a dying mosquito. Officially, they served burgers, fries, and milkshakes. Unofficially... well, Peter was about eighty per cent certain the back room was moving either stolen tech or very questionable pharmaceuticals.

But they paid him in cash, no questions asked. Which was more than anyone else had been willing to do. No ID, no work history, no references. It was a chance too good to pass up, so he was turning a blind eye to any dodgy business provided no one actually seemed to be getting hurt. He'd shut it down the moment he found someplace better, but until he managed to forge some documents, it was his only means to a roof over his head and three meals a day, even if they were measly meals.

He landed in an alley two blocks away, stripped out of the suit, and changed into his “uniform”—a grease-stained polo that smelled perpetually of fry oil. He jogged the rest of the way, muttering to himself as he went.

He pushed through the employee entrance, forcing on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His manager barely glanced up, muttered something about the fryer needing a reset before he started serving customers.

Peter simply nodded.

He could keep up the quips as Spider-Man, but he didn't see the point in them when he was simply Peter Parker.

Spider-Man may be a hero, but Peter Parker was a nobody.

 

---

 

Tony secretly loved car rides.

Not because of the quality time with Happy, or the fact that they regularly hid him from the press, but because car rides gave him thinking time. And right now, “thinking time” was exactly what he needed.

He leaned back against the seat, one arm stretched lazily across the backrest whilst the other curled around Pepper. It had been the only way to make her release the death grip on his hand, which she'd clutched desperately the moment she saw him, as though to prevent him from disappearing.

He didn’t blame her. Honestly, he was secretly terrified that the same force which had pulled him from death would shove him back in.

Pepper had been silent for a few minutes now, the whispered 'Oh Tony' and sobs had tapered off into stunned silence. Happy seemed just as much in shock as she was, staring out the window from the passenger seat, stock still.

“So,” he broke the silence, voice pitched with fake casualness, “Is this the part where I get grounded?”

Pepper’s eyes flicked to him, still glassy. She had that look she always gave him when she was deciding whether to strangle him or kiss him.

From the front seat, Happy snorted. “She’s gonna do both.”

Pepper finally exhaled through her nose, shaking her head.

“You've been dead eighteen months, Tony. Do you have any idea what—” Her voice cracked, just for a moment, before she smoothed it out again. “Until we sort this out with the necessary legal systems - with S.H.I.E.L.D. most likely - you'll need to stay out of the public eye.”

"Ah, so I am grounded." He replied with a soft snort.

"I'll start working through everything the moment we reach the Lake House and -"

Tony shifted his hand from her shoulder to his knee, squeezing it gently, "Pep, you can start tomorrow. It's late. We're all pretty shaken up. Take the evening off."

"But it will take longer-"

"It will all be fine," Tony replied. "I'll do my best to avoid crowded places and all that. It's not like it will be too hard. I barely go out in public anymore anyway."

Pepper smiled, nodding.

"Although I do need to arrange a meeting with Strange. If anyone can tell me how I'm back, it's him." He added.

"Okay," Pepper replied, her smile faltering.

He could see the panic creeping into her eyes at the idea of him doing what she likely considered 'superhero things'. Which wasn't a good sign, because whilst Tony could lie low, he could not ignore the fact that Peter needed him, and no one would be able to convince him to delay searching for the kid.

“Oh, and we need to make a pit stop.” He added, quickly changing the subject.

Pepper blinked at him. “What?”

“I’m starving.” He replied.

She stared at him, mouth hanging open.

“What? I haven’t eaten in eighteen months. You people ate while I was gone, right? I think I’m entitled to a cheeseburger. Or twelve.”

Happy glanced over his shoulder like he’d misheard. “You… want a cheeseburger?”

“Yes, Harold, a cheeseburger. Don't tell me you've never heard of a cheeseburger before." He said with his staple grin. "Hey driver, pull over at the first joint with a flickering neon sign.”

Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tony, we can eat when we get home.”

“No, Pep. You can eat when we get home. I haven’t eaten since Thanos.” He jabbed a finger at his chest, then spread his arms dramatically. “That’s a hell of a fast, and I’m telling you right now, I've not felt so starved since Afghanistan."

Pepper flinched at that, for which Tony did feel bad, but at least she knew he was being serious now. For all his jokes, Tony never joked about his time in Afghanistan.

A few minutes later, the car slowed beside a dingy fast-food place whose sign claimed “Best Burgers in Queens” but was missing half its bulbs.

“Perfect,” Tony announced. “Michelin star or not, I’m sold.”

Pepper gave him a look. “You can’t go in.”

“Obviously. Do you know how fast TMZ would have me trending? ‘Tony Stark, back from the Dead and ordering Fries.' They'd never let me live it down.”

“Then you’re staying put,” she said firmly, already unbuckling her seatbelt.

Tony grinned at her retreating.

“Don’t skimp on the ketchup!” he called as she shut the door.

The second she was gone, the air in the car shifted. Happy leaned an elbow on the window frame, eyes still fixed out at the parking lot. His voice came low, quieter than usual. “Please don't start asking her about Peter.”

Tony’s smile faltered. “Why? You worried about feeling left out when she knows exactly who I'm talking about?"

Happy finally turned, gaze heavy. “Please, just… don’t.”

Tony sighed, shaking his head. “You don't get it. You knew him, Happy. I need to find out what's happened to make you forget."

“I didn’t forget,” Happy said, but his tone had that stubborn edge Tony was familiar with. “I just think you’re just… a little shaken up. War can mess with your memories, and you’ve been gone a long time. Things—” he hesitated, like even saying it out loud might unravel something, “—things are complicated.”

Tony stared at him, unblinking. “Complicated, my ass. The kid was real. I know what I know.”

Happy shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I’m not saying you’re definitely wrong. I’m just saying… let Pepper breathe. She’s barely holding it together as is. She just got you back. Let her enjoy that for a while before you present her with a new problem."

For a long moment, Tony didn’t reply. He just sat there, thumb rubbing against his wedding band, watching Pepper through the smeared glass as she waited at the counter inside.

"Fine." He said, eventually, tone firm. "But don’t you dare tell me this is just the war messing with my head. It was dreadful, but it takes more than that to send me insane.”

Happy held his gaze for a beat, then sighed, turning away.

"I don't think you're insane." He whispered.

Tony could tell at least that much was true.

He leaned back, stretching out in the seat again, slipping his mask of arrogance neatly back into place. He even smirked a little, like nothing heavy had just passed between them.

If Happy wouldn’t help him, fine. If Pepper needed time, fine.

But if May was dead, then Peter Parker was his responsibility. And if no one else remembered the kid? Then Tony would just have to carry that truth alone.

 

---

 

Peter was still rattled.

It was one thing seeing people from his old life when he expected it - like MJ and Ned at the coffee shop or Happy at May's grave. But seeing Pepper Stark mid shift? That was the last thing he'd expected.

He'd been half asleep, sat at the counter, dead-eyed and trying not to inhale too much fryer smoke, when suddenly he was looking up at her. She'd ordered an insane amount of cheeseburgers with a perfectly straight face, like it was a normal thing to do. In fact, she'd acted like the whole situation was normal, because to her it probably was. But it was anything but to Peter.

He’d frozen and just stared. Like some dumb kid who’d never seen a billionaire before. Which wasn't even true because he'd been mentored by Tony Stark before his death and he'd bumped into Pepper several times at the tower. She'd even cooked him dinner once when she found him working in Tony's lab whilst Tony lay fast asleep at his desk, having passed out mid-session. She'd smiled at him then. Except that smile had been kind and genuine, whereas the smile she'd given him at work had simply been polite.

He’d barely remembered how to breathe, let alone how to function, until his manager barked his name across the counter. After that, the shift had dragged like slow torture, every order blending into grease and guilt until he clocked out and bolted.

Now, swinging over the city, the air cool against his skin, he tried to let the rhythm of another patrol burn the memory away. But his chest was tight. Seeing her—it was like brushing against a ghost he couldn't touch.

“Focus,” he muttered. “Eyes on the job.”

He caught motion below—a hooded figure sprinting out of a corner store, arms clutched tight around something bulky. The shopkeeper’s shout followed: “Thief!”

Peter dove. One quick web-line snapped against the thief’s ankle, yanking them sideways and sending them sprawling hard onto the pavement. A box of snack cakes tumbled free, skidding across the sidewalk.

“Alright, buddy,” Peter said, dropping down in front of them. “You throwing a party or something? I gotta say, I love cake as much as the next person, but that doesn't mean I'd ever steal it."

The figure scrambled, trying to yank the webbing off. Their hood slipped back, and Peter froze.

He was staring at a boy. Maybe nine, ten at most. He was tiny, with gaunt cheeks and a face streaked with dirt. His hoodie was torn at the cuff and hung off his small frame limply.

Peter’s heart sank

The kid glared up at him with a feral look in his eyes.

He raised his hands, palms out. “Hey. Easy. I don't want to hurt you.”

The kid took a quick step back.

"What's your name?" He asked.

“Fuck off,” The kid snapped, voice cracking as he did so.

Peter swallowed. He could see the desperation in his expression. The hunger.

His first few days after the fight at the Statue of Liberty, he'd had nowhere to go. He'd spent the time either patrolling or wandering aimlessly through the city. Eventually, he caved to the hunger and started searching through the trash for anything that passed as edible. It wasn't that bad now he had a job and a roof over his head, even if both were far from ideal. But he knew what it was like to have nothing to your name and no one to turn you. He couldn't imagine how hard it would be for a kid so young.

He crouched down, keeping his voice soft. “You hungry?”

The kid’s glare sharpened, lips pressed thin like they were about to spit venom again.

Peter tilted his head to the side curiously and shuffled back slightly, hands still raised to show he meant no harm.

Their kids' shoulders slumped.

"Yeah." He whispered.

Peter nodded. "How 'bout you wait here. I'll return the cakes and grab us both a sandwich while I'm at it?"

The kid frowned, looking down at his feet to hide the flush of his cheeks. "Why would you do that?"

"Cause I could also do with something to eat, and Mr Delmar sells some of the best sandwiches in Queens."

The kid’s frown deepened, suspicion flickering in his eyes, but Peter just held the stare patiently.

Eventually, the kid gave the tiniest shrug, muttering, “Fine. Whatever.”

Peter offered him a small, lopsided grin, then turned and scooped up the box of snack cakes and quickly ducked inside the shop, hoping the kid didn't decide to bolt whilst he was busy.

Mr. Delmar glanced up from the counter as Peter approached, a grin spreading across his face.

"Thank you." He said as Peter dropped the box on the counter.

"Don't mention it," Peter replied. "Hey, can you throw together two sandwiches? Whatever’s quickest. I've got cash.”

"Don't worry about that, it's on the house." Mr Delmar replied, his smile only widening.

"That's not necessary," Peter replied.

Mr Delmar shook his head as he started wrapping up two sandwiches, "Just think of it as a thank you for everything you do."

Peter hummed, "You'd think I only do this for the free food."

The kid was still there when he left, although he was now sitting on the curb rather than standing, head in his hands.

Peter sat beside him, handing a sandwich out. “Peace offering.”

The kid snatched it up quickly, as though terrified Peter would change his mind, and quickly tore through the wrapper. But he chewed it cautiously, glancing at Peter out of the corner of his eye.

Peter tugged up his mask just enough to take a bite of his own sandwich.

“I'm Spider-Man,” Peter said after half a minute of eating in silence

The kid gave him a side-eye, mouth still full. “No shit.”

Peter snorted. “Wow. Guess I’m not as mysterious as I thought.”

Another silence. Then, quieter: “Eli.”

Peter blinked, turning his head. The kid was staring down at the half-eaten sandwich like it might betray him.

“Eli,” Peter repeated gently. “That’s a solid name. Strong.”

The kid shrugged, but there was the faintest hint of pride in the set of his shoulders.

Peter chewed thoughtfully, then added, “Look, Eli… you don’t gotta tell me your whole life story. But I’ve been where you are. I know what it's like.”

"You do?" Eli whispered, staring up at him with large eyes full of amazement.

Peter nodded. "You got anyone who can help you?" He asked.

Eli’s gaze dropped immediately to the pavement, fingers fiddling with the edge of his torn hoodie. “No… not really,” he muttered, voice barely audible.

Peter’s chest tightened.

“Well…” Peter started carefully, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I know a good shelter on Main Street. They don't ask questions like most of 'em do. They'll be sure to give you a bed and a good meal. Better than that sandwich, although don't tell Mr Delmar I said that.”

Eli’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't want to go to a shelter."

Peter shrugged, trying to look casual even though his heart was hammering. “I'm not going to force you, but it's good. I knew the lady who set it up. It's run by good people, unlike a lot of the other shelters out there."

Eli didn’t respond immediately, just stared down at the sandwich in his hands. Finally, he mumbled, "I’m better on my own.”

“I get it,” Peter said softly. “But maybe you don’t have to be. Think about it.”

Eli glanced up at him, eyes wary, searching for any sign of deceit.

“Okay,” He whispered finally. "I'll think about it."

Peter smiled under the mask, relieved.

He stayed with Eli for a while longer, even after they'd both finished eating. He could tell Eli appreciated the company, and the truth was, Peter did too. It had been so long since he'd simply been able to exist alongside someone. He'd started to patrol more often because he craved the interactions with others it brought him.

Sometimes he wondered if he was a hero anymore, if his intentions were selfish.

Sometimes he didn't care.

So what if Spider-Man needed the city? The city needed Spider-Man too.

Notes:

Thanks to everyone who's left comments and kudos, they encourage me to keep posting ❤️

Chapter 3: In which a Wizard is unimpressed

Summary:

"Do you know a Peter Parker?" Tony asked quickly, before he could change his mind.

"Should I?" Strange asked.

Notes:

Not me suddenly realising it's Friday and I haven't posted yet 😬

The lakehouse smelled faintly of cedar and another scent Tony didn't recognise. Some of the furniture had changed in the time he'd been gone, and the whole place looked tidier than he ever remembered it being. It made sense; he'd been dead for over a year, and it wasn't a surprise that Pepper would change some things, but it threw him off. Until he'd arrived home, it had been easy to ignore just how long he'd been gone, but now that was impossible. Especially when Morgan was curled up on the couch asleep, a small blanket tugged around her shoulders, but doing little to hide just how big she'd grown.

She was blissfully unaware that the man she'd called “Dad” had returned. They'd returned to find her already asleep. Pepper had entered the house first to dismiss the babysitter, only returning to let Tony and Happy in once she'd left. They didn't want the news of Tony's return spreading before they were ready.

Pepper kept glancing at Morgan, pacing back and forth between her and where Tony was sitting at the dining room table.

He was half-reclined, one sleeve rolled up as Dr. Cho examined his arm. Scorch marks traced faintly across his forearm, a clear reminder of the battle he felt like he'd only just left. Fighting Thanos felt like it had been merely two hours ago, and every injury that littered his body would suggest that to be the case. So how had he ended up here? Alive again when he'd been gone for so long?

“So,” Dr. Cho began carefully, voice measured, “We’ll start with the basics. I assume your injuries are from fighting Thanos. Can you tell me what you remember experiencing?”

Tony draped his arm lazily across the table as if the situation was nothing but casual, though his jaw was tight. “You mean the part where I died? Or the part where I came back?”

Dr. Cho raised an eyebrow, jotting something down. “Both. It’s relevant to your current neurological and musculoskeletal state.”

Tony let out a humourless snort. “Well, let’s see… I made the heroic decision and sacrificed myself using the stones to stop Thanos. That... uh.” He faltered slightly, losing the humour for a moment. "That burned. A lot. Everything disappeared, and the next thing I know, I'm being dragged to New York."

They all stared at him. Tony felt the sudden need to lighten the mood.

Tony cleared his throat, "I mean, New York is great and all, but I don't know if it's worth giving up the afterlife for."

Pepper rubbed her temples, trying to stay composed. “Tony, can you try… I don’t know… not joking for two seconds? Please.”

Tony’s grin softened. “Two seconds, Pepper. That’s a high bar.” He lowered his voice, more earnest. “But yes… there’s a lot you don’t know, and I’m not sure I can explain it all without sounding insane.”

Happy's head snapped up, and their gazes met for a moment. Tony could tell he was thinking about Peter. About how absolutely crazy Tony must have sounded when he first found him. Whilst Tony was so unbelievably frustrated that Happy didn't believe him, he was grateful he didn't mention anything about it just then.

Dr. Cho leaned forward, fingers poised over a digital pad. “Your body shows significant strain. Some of your bone and tissue states are inconsistent with normal healing. Your metabolic and neurological scans—if we ran them—would likely indicate extreme trauma followed by some form of regeneration. I need details. How did you… return?”

Tony hesitated. “Look, I don't have the science-y answer for that one. I think it was magic. No, it was magic. I could feel it. I just don't know what sort of how it worked."

Dr. Cho’s pen paused. “And the injuries—pain, residual weakness, any chronic effects?”

Tony flexed his fingers experimentally. “Yeah. All of it. I feel like I... well, like I died."

Pepper stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder, still tense.

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m fine. Just… need a little maintenance. Nothing that can’t be handled.”

Happy cleared his throat, shifting uneasily in his chair. “He’s… he’s been through a lot, Doctor. We just need to know none of his injuries at at risk of getting worse."

Dr. Cho nodded, turning her attention back to her notes. “We’ll run a full physical and neurological assessment, and I’ll need repeated monitoring. But, for now, his vital signs are stable and his mental state surprisingly coherent, considering the circumstances. Although I would still recommend therapy, as per usual."

Tony scoffed, "I don't need therapy."

"We'll look into it," Pepper replied, ignoring him.

Dr. Cho gave a small smile. "Good. And I don't want you doing anything physically strenuous or dangerous until this is all cleared up."

"Me? Doing something dangerous?" Tony grinned. "Don't be ridiculous."

Dr. Cho packed up her instruments and gave Tony one last pointed look. “I know what you're like. No heroics, Mr. Stark.”

Tony saluted with a mock-serious expression. “Yes, Doctor. No world-ending battles."

Pepper let out a soft laugh, shaking her head.

Dr. Cho smiled faintly and stood. “I’ll be back tomorrow for a full evaluation. In the meantime, take it easy.”

Once the door closed, Pepper turned to Happy. “You’re welcome to stay in the guest bedroom tonight. We’ll work through the legal side of Tony being alive again tomorrow.”

Happy exhaled, relief washing over him. “Thanks, Pepper. I… I’ll be out of the way. Just want to stick around to make sure he doesn’t do anything reckless tonight.”

"I'm right here." Tony protested, but he was only half paying attention as he moved over to Morgan, gently lifting her in his arms. “Bedtime, little one,” He murmured, smiling softly as he carried her out of the room to put her to bed.

Once there, he sat on the edge of Morgan's bed, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead and tucking her duvet around her. For a moment, he just sat there, watching her sleep, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing, feeling the weight of having her back safely in his arms.

His little girl had grown so much. He could see it in her face. In the new drawings - better drawings - on the wall of her room. In the books on the shelves that she wouldn't have been able to read eighteen months ago. He was so proud - so happy, to see her doing well - that it was almost enough to make him forget about his other kid. Almost, but not quite.

Eventually, he rose and made his way to his room, where Pepper was already waiting, leaning against the doorway. Her eyes were shiny, a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and joy.

“I missed you,” she admitted softly.

Tony stepped closer, closing the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“You’ve got me all to yourself now,” he said, voice gentle.

She laughed, a small, bittersweet sound. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

Tony grinned, lifting his head so it was mere inches from hers. Pepper leaned in, their lips meeting, moving slowly against each other.

When they pulled back, Pepper rested her forehead against his chest, exhaling a shaky breath.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered. "It was so... so painful."

Tony wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

They changed quickly and quietly, slipping into bed. Pepper curled into Tony’s side immediately, hands gripping him as though letting go even for a second might make him disappear.

Tony’s arm came around her, holding her equally as tight. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, basking in the simplistic comfort of the moment.

Pepper clung to him, as though she was afraid to let go, afraid to wake up to find the impossible had reversed itself. But Tony was there - alive, present, and for the first time in too long, home.

They drifted into sleep, tangled together. Pepper likely dreaming of a future she'd regained. Tony dreaming of the boy he needed to find.

 

---

 

Tony stirred faintly at first, shifting against the pillow, but he refused to leave the warm cocoon of sleep.

For once in his life, he'd slept without dreaming. There had been no replay of his mistakes or past traumas. Simply deep and consuming sleep. It had been blissful, and he wasn’t ready to let it go.

However, the small hands shaking his shoulders seemed to have other ideas.

“Daddy. Daddy. Wake up.”

He groaned, keeping his eyes shut tight. “Nope. Wrong number. Try again after ten a.m.”

A giggle broke through the morning hush. “Daddy, you can’t just sleep forever.”

Tony cracked one eye open and found himself staring into a pair of bright, mischievous eyes.

Morgan was perched on the edge of the bed, hair sticking out in every direction, still in her pyjamas. Her grin was wide. Her tiny hands continued to shake his shoulder.

“Morgan.” He whispered, sitting up slowly, rubbing his eyes, and tugged her onto his lap.

“It’s morning,” she said proudly. “And you missed breakfast.”

Tony had a feeling he'd missed an awful lot more than breakfast. Now that Morgan was awake, it was even more obvious how much she'd changed in the space of eighteen months.

Tony gasped, feigning horror. “Missed breakfast? You mean you didn't wake me?"

"I didn't know you were here," Morgan replied, suddenly sullen. "Mummy didn't tell me till breakfast."

Tony swallowed past the lump in his throat. This had to be so confusing for Morgan, who had been too young to understand how he'd died and was still too young to understand how he'd come back.

Morgan's expression shifted, the hint of sorrow being replaced by a cheeky grin.

She giggled again, hands covering her mouth. “You know what happens to people who miss breakfast?”

Clearly, Morgan had inherited her his habit for hiding the pain behind humour. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. But it had the potential to be very entertaining when she grew older.

Tony lowered his voice into a dramatic whisper, leaning close. “What?”

“This.” She attacked his sides with tickling fingers.

Tony threw himself back, laughing, even if most of it was put on for the sake of Morgan's entertainment.

"That's it." He said after a moment, grabbing hold of her and tickling her in return.

Morgan squealed and writhed in his arms. Her laughter filled the room. Tony couldn’t stop grinning as he let her flop back onto the blankets, breathless.

“Daddy, stop!” she pleaded between fits of laughter, though she was already reaching for him again.

“Alright, alright,” Tony relented, scooping her up and setting her against his hip as he stood. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s go look for leftovers."

Together, they made their way downstairs, Tony’s hair sticking up nearly as much as Morgan’s.

The low murmur of voices met him before they entered the kitchen. Pepper was at the counter, hands wrapped around a mug of tea. Across from her stood Doctor Strange, his cloak draped casually, his expression unreadable as always.

Both of them looked up as Tony and Morgan appeared.

“Morning,” Tony drawled, shifting Morgan higher on his hip. “Please tell me there's some food left. I'm starving."

Strange arched a brow. “Stark. Glad you could finally join us.”

Morgan wriggled until Tony set her down, then darted straight for Pepper, wrapping her arms around her legs.

"There's some bacon in the fridge. I'll make up some sandwiches." She replied, running her hand through Morgan's hair.

Strange cleared his throat.

Tony sighed. “Right. The wizard wants a word.”

Pepper glanced up, her expression tight, but she didn't stop him.

Tony led Strange out of the kitchen and down the hall, away from the smell of coffee and bacon and into the quieter stretch of the house. They ended up in the living room, sunlight cutting across the floorboards and illuminating the sheer amount of dust in the air.

“Alright,” Tony said, dropping onto the couch with exaggerated nonchalance. “I assume Pepper explained the situation."

Strange frowned, "She told me you were alive and wanted a word. I didn't get the impression she understood the situation."

Tony sighed, "Yeah, neither do I. All I know is that some magic force pulled me out of death and dumped me in a trash can."

Tony noticed Strange working to conceal a smirk. He could also see the confusion and concern in his eyes.

"There is no magic that can simply reverse death," Strange replied.

"But there's magic that can complicatedly reverse death?"

"Indirectly, yes."

"You mean whoever brought me back didn't actually intend to do so?" Tony asked.

How could one be accidentally resurrected? And why was Tony the lucky bastard to return?

"Currently, we don't even know if this magic was cast or a pre-existing force. I will look into this, but I wouldn't  expect to get answers quickly."

"But you think you can work out what happened to me eventually?"

"I will try my best." Strange paused. "If anything else... happens, you need to contact me immediately.  I can sense the magic. It's still wrapped around you. It feels dormant for now, but it's unlikely to stay that way."

"Do you think it could kill me again?" Tony asked, feeling himself pale.

"I wouldn't expect so, but I cannot be sure."

"When you say if anything happens, what sort of thing are you thinking of? Because a lot of strange things tend to happen to me, magic or not." Tony asked, trying to shift the sombre mood.

Strange's gaze hardened, seeing straight through him.

"Something has already happened? Hasn't it?"

Tony considered for a moment how much he should reveal. He didn't want to put Peter in danger. There was a chance no one remembered him for a good reason. But he also didn't want to pass up his one chance at answers.

"Do you know a Peter Parker?" He asked quickly, before he could change his mind.

"Should I?" Strange asked.

Tony felt himself deflating at the words. He'd hoped, by some strange miracle, that it was just Happy would couldn't remember. But it should appear this was as big a problem as he'd feared.

"Bearing in mind you fought Thanos alongside him, I'd say so." Tony retorted. And then added, "How about Spiderman?"

"What about him?" Strange asked, expression hardening in confusion.

"Do you know him?"

"Of course I do." He replied matter-of-factly. "What is this about?"

"When I... arrived in New York, I found this." He pulled the newspaper from his pocket, handing it to Strange. "Most of the hero community knew his identity, but it looks like it was exposed to the whole world only a couple of weeks ago."

Strange studied the paper.  First, reading the article on Peter and then flicking through the rest.

"Which is strange, bearing in mind no one seems to have heard of him," Tony added.

"You think this is connected?" Strange asked.

"Maybe. I don't really care. I just want to find out what happened to Peter. Possibly more than I want to find out what happened to me." Tony said. Entirely serious for the first time during the conversation.

"This is surrounded in magic, too," Strange said, staring at the paper.

"So it is connected?" Tony asked.

Strange shook his head. "I don't think so. The magic on this is weak and not entirely attached. I'd guess it's managed to slip through a spell. It's not unheard of for memory spells to miss small objects. However, I've never heard of a person remaining unaffected."

"If I wasn't alive when the spell was cast, would that allow me to remain unaffected?" Tony asked.

"Whilst I've never heard of this happening before, that seems the most likely answer," Strange replied. "Although that doesn't explain why the spell was cast."

Tony frowned. Based on that article, he could make a pretty good guess.

"Peter knew you. When his identity became public, I suppose it's possible he may have..."

"Come to me for help." Strange filled in. The lack of surprise on his face suggested he'd already come to that conclusion. "It's possible. I've cast the spell before and would be capable of creating it on such a large scale. But I'm also capable of making the general public forget his identity and leaving those who knew him unaffected."

"Maybe you messed it up."

Strange's expression hardened. "As I said, I am perfectly capable of performing that spell."

Tony hummed noncommittally.

"Are you sure the entire world has forgotten Peter Parker?" Strange asked. "Perhaps he decided he wasn't interested in the superhero life anymore. It's heavy on all of us, I'm sure it must be even harder on a teenager."

"Peter wouldn't do that," Tony said firmly.

Peter had been obsessed with every Avenger he'd met. Even when he'd met Cap as an enemy on the battlefield, he'd been entirely in awe. Not to mention, Peter was driven to help people. In fact, personality-wise, he probably made a better hero than Tony.

And yet... he couldn't be sure.

He'd not had the time to get Friday on the case yet. Until he did some digging, he couldn't be certain that the whole world had forgotten Peter.

"I'll look into it." He said after a moment.

"Let me know what you find." Strange said, his hand moving in a circular motion as he opened a portal.

"Of course," Tony replied.

"Oh, and Tony," Strange said.

"Yeah?"

"It's good to have you back."

Tony grinned. "You sure you didn't bring me back yourself, cause you missed me so much?"

Strange rolled his eyes and stepped through the portal.

 

---

 

Every Friday, just past noon, Peter pushed through the door of the small coffee shop on the corner of Bleecker and Mercer. The bell above the frame chirped the same tired note, like it was frustrated to see Peter once again.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, staring as he always did.

And MJ, as always, was also there.

She was standing behind the counter, hair tucked messily under a cap, her face tilted down toward the register. The shop wasn't particularly busy today, likely due to the poor weather. An elderly couple were sitting in the corner talking softly enough that he could hear MJ's quiet humming over the sound.

He moved forward, pausing before the counter. The movement clearly caught her eye because she quickly looked up at him with the same practised warm expression she gave everyone whilst at work.

"Peter, right?" She asked, glancing up at the clock. "You're late."

"What?" Peter asked, gaping at her.

"Fifteen minutes late." She replied. "You normally enter every Friday sometime between four and five. It's currently five thirty."

"Oh," Peter replied numbly. 

Somehow, he'd let himself hope in that strange moment that maybe she'd remembered. But that was ridiculous. Of course, MJ didn't remember him. Just as Ned didn't, or Happy, or Pepper Pots. And if by some strange stroke of luck she did remember, he wouldn't be able to let it last. There was a reason he'd convinced Strange to cast that spell. The world was safe not knowing who Peter Parker was.

"Large hot chocolate, like usual?" She asked.

Peter nodded.

He hadn't realised he'd become so predictable.

Before everything that had happened, it would worry him that his routine was so repetitive. If someone had discovered his identity, it would have made him an easy target while a civilian. But he was hardly at risk from people tracking him as a civilian now.

MJ turned, reaching for a cup.

Peter stood there, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, fighting the urge to say something stupid. Something that would make her pause just long enough to look at him differently. But there was nothing left he could say. Every Friday, he proved it to himself: he was just another stranger to her.

She set the hot chocolate on the counter, the faintest wisp of steam curling up between them. “Here you go. Careful, it’s hot.”

He nodded, sliding the bills forward, and their fingers brushed when she reached for them. Too brief to mean anything. Too brief to hold onto.

Peter carried his drink to his usual table by the window, the one with the chipped paint on the sill. He sat, listening to the low hum of the heater and the rain tapping against the glass. The elderly couple in the corner gathered their coats and left, the doorbell chirping again.

He stared at MJ when she wasn’t looking. He always did. He told himself it was enough, that this small routine kept him tethered to something human. But today, that thread felt thinner than usual.

He thought of the coming months. MJ would start at MIT, and then she wouldn't be working here each Friday, nor would Ned drop by occasionally to see her. He wondered if he'd ever see them again after they left.

He sighed, shaking that thought away and focusing on the things that really mattered. He needed to fabricate a legal identity, then he'd be able to find a better job and a better apartment. He had a whole life ahead of him, one he needed to start planning for.

Despite his best efforts, he couldn't shake his friends entirely from his head. He should be starting at MIT with them. Or at least heading to college. But there would be no college now, just Spiderman and Peter Parker - a high school drop out with nothing to his name.

Notes:

Things get a little heated in the next chapter 😬