Dear Karma

The first thing Tony Stark became aware of was the fact that he was very, very hot. Enough so that sweat dripped down his forehead and his shirt stuck to his back in all the wrong places. The second thing that he became aware of was the all-encompassing, searing pain shooting up his arm. Or, what was left of it. There was a series of confusing, dizzying moments where he didn’t understand what was happening or where he was or even what his middle name was (or if he even had a middle name) (which he now realizes he does) (Edward would not be his first choice, personally, but it wasn't up to him). 

Then, he woke up. 

His mouth tasted like ash and bad coffee, and his eyes couldn’t seem to open long enough for the room to stop spinning around him. He could hear his own heartbeat displayed on a monitor, mechanical and constant from the sensor on his fingertip, and he could feel a stiff, lumpy mattress under his back. There were a lot of sensations he got used to, slowly, as he tried to breathe through his nose and found the overwhelming stench of disinfecting wipes and rubbing alcohol. He wiggled his toes, then his fingers, then jerked his eyes open when he realized he only had five of them to move. Five fingers, one bandaged stump. Five fingers, being squeezed so deathly tight that it was a wonder he hadn’t noticed the weight before being visually aware of the person gripping them. 

“Hey, Peps,” He rasped, and it sounded like he had been gargling rocks. Felt like it, too. “Have I ever told you how ravishing you look at hospital bedsides?” 

“Oh, Tony,” Pepper’s voice was soft, thick and aching. Her hair fell around her shoulders, and her eyes were wet and flickering. “You lucky bastard. I thought you were dead.” 

After a bit of struggle and a lot of tears, it seemed that it had been almost three years since that night in 2023 when he had sacrificed himself for the sake of the world. He had snapped his fingers, Thanos’ army had vanished, and he had…died. He knew that, almost as if it were written on the back of his eyelids. He knew that he had died; that he had held the balance of the universe within his veins for a few moments and it had broken him beyond repair. He also knew, in the same internal mindfuck, that he was now alive. Sitting up in a hospital bed at the Avengers Compound, an IV in his left wrist, breathing and seeing and feeling everything around him. 

There was no real explanation as to why he was back, or really how for that matter. Apparently there had been some instability in the ‘fabric of the universe’ and when Stephen Strange and his coven had tried to poke at it, he had sort of come tumbling out. Well, that’s how he had interpreted the solemn news from the wizard; the man had used a lot more words and a lot more ‘it is uncertain’ s and ‘we still aren’t sure what caused this’ s.

He was more curious to know how exactly one would sense anything from the universe itself, and how you manage to conjure up an entire dead person from it. He also wondered exactly what had been so wrong that two dozen sorcerers had to try and fix it, but it seemed like everyone around him was content to just ignore the details. Tony was okay with that, in a sense, as long as he got to stay in the mortal realm. 

He saw so many people that it was almost a blur, moving his mouth to answer the questions the doctors fired at him and moving his arm to hug back his daughter when she very carefully launched herself directly into him. He saw Happy, kissed his wife, and finally started to gain more control over his migraine just as Rhodey was getting up to leave. 

“Peter,” He gripped Rhodey’s arm, forcing him to stumble back towards the bed. “I need to speak to Peter. Where is he?”

His friend looked puzzled for a moment, a slow kind of confusion blending into the lines around his mouth. He still had tear tracks down his cheeks, and he was moving slowly and carefully around him. “Peter?” He repeated, and Tony nodded, tightening his grip enough that his arm shook, muscles exhausted from the effort of merely lifting his arm. “Uh, I guess we can give him a call?” 

“Yes,” Tony insisted, wondering why the kid wasn’t waiting outside the hospital room with Morgan. It’s been years, he reminded himself, he could be anywhere. “Call him. Email him. Fax him. I don’t care. I want to see him.” 

Rhodey laughed, and nodded, and only then did he loosen his hold. “We can try to get him to video call as soon as…” He looked down at his watch, then sighed. “Well, in a little bit. We have to get Cho in here, and Bruce wants to check your vitals. Because your arm,” He gestured towards it, as if Tony was somehow unaware of the condition of his amputated limb. “But after,” He reassured, and then, almost under his breath, he muttered, “Didn’t know you two were that close.” 

Before he could retort, or question the comment, a fresh wave of medical professionals flooded in, and he was once again trying to stop everything from swaying in and out. Eventually, he spoke with Bruce, and he was cleared for very minimal physical movement. He wanted to joke about doing cartwheels, but he wasn’t sure the hulking ( get it? ) green man or his own stomach would appreciate it. So he nodded along, cracked a few jokes, and called his family back in as soon as he was helped into a sitting position. Pepper left Morgan outside with Happy, and Rhodey shut the door behind them, tapping away at a tablet that would presumably bring him his last visitor.

He eagerly reached for the device, making grabby motions with his hand and trying to make sure his face was bright enough to greet his mentee. He was trying to decide whether or not he should be smiling when the call connected; he remembered the last time Peter had seen him, on the battlefield, saying his goodbyes. His body, folded down in front of him, clutching at his suit and reassuring him that they’d done it, that they’d won. He’d called him by his first name, he remembered, and found himself swallowing thickly as Rhodey approached his side. 

The screen was placed in front of him, a room made with sharp metal and blinking consols framing the shot, and Tony steeled himself, peering in to look at… 

“Who the hell is this?” He demanded, squinting at the vaguely familiar adult man scowling at him through a tablet. 

“Peter,” Rhodey said, that same puzzled expression back on his face. Pepper also seemed to be watching him carefully, leaning forward to readjust the screen, as if that would somehow clear his memory. “Peter Quill. I…” He frowned. “I’m not sure why you wanted to speak to him, but this is Peter.” 

“Nuh-uh,” Tony gaped, swiveling his head to his wife, then to his best friend, and then back to the stranger. “That’s not Peter.” 

“It’s not?” Rhodey said, at the same time the man said, “I literally am.” 

“No,” He shook his head, crossing his one arm over his stomach and huffing. “You might be a guy named Peter but you’re not Peter!” He turned to Pepper, ignoring the exasperated noise both Rhodey and the other man made. “C’mon, sweetie, where is he? Why are you punking me? Where’s Peter?” 

She stood there, frozen, something so carefully composed about her face. He knew she was trying not to show something, her jaw tensed ever so slightly. It was like she was scared. Scared of him? Scared of… Peter?

“I also go by Starlord,” The random man on a video call commented, amiably. “Starlord is kind of different from Peter,” He chuckled awkwardly. “I don’t know if this is helping.” 

She reached out, her fingers light against his skin, and leveled with him. “Tony,” She began, and he immediately felt alarm bells going off just behind his ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who you’re talking about.” 

He blinked at her. Then he blinked again. “What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” She held his gaze, her voice steady, and something deep inside his stomach dropped. “This is the only Peter I know. This is the only Peter that I know you know. Can you explain to me…who the right Peter is?” 

He sort of laughed, then inhaled sharply, whipping around to look at Rhodey, who was ending the call with the idiot from Missouri. He had no indication of recognition, staring right back with the same tight line of his mouth. He tried not to choke on his exhale. 

“I want to speak with Peter Parker,” He waited for a beat, and when neither of them reacted, he continued, waving his hand vigorously through the air. “The kid? Underoos? My intern? My…” He pulled at the sheets, feeling worn out and sore from all the movement. “Spider-Man?” He tried, nearly shouting. 

“Spider-Man?” Pepper echoed, surprised, and he snapped a finger towards her. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” She still didn’t seem to get it, didn’t apologize for her momentary forgetfulness and laugh it off that she could’ve possibly forgotten Peter. She did seem to know the name, though, which he took as a small victory. “He’s that pajama-footed crime fighter. That’s Peter. Where is he?” 

Rhodey cleared his throat, and stepped back towards the bed. “No one, at least not in our records, knows the true identity of Spider-Man. He’s a wild card, a vigilante—” He seemed to try and find the right way to phrase something, pausing and pursing his lips. “You’re saying that…you know his identity and you want to…see him?” 

“Know him?” Tony scoffed. “I built his suit! He built it with me! We–how do you not know him? How does…” He clicked his tongue. “Wildcard. You make it sound like he’s crazy. He’s just a kid,” He shut his eyes tight. “Where is my kid?” 

His wife and his best friend exchanged a look, and Rhodey whispered to her, “They said he might have moments of confusion.” 

“I know,” She responded, tightly, and he realized she wasn’t scared of him. She was scared for him. “They said his scans looked fine, that his brain was fine. They said—”

“That my ears work perfectly, too?” He interrupted, and they both gave him identical looks of pity. “I’m not crazy. This isn’t an issue with my brain. This is…this is an issue with everyone else’s brain!”

Pepper grabbed his hand, smoothing her thumb over his palm. “Hon…” She started, gently, and he made a noise in the back of his throat. 

“I’m not crazy.” He said, firmly, and she searched his expression for a long moment. “I don’t know why you don’t know him,” He added, and a bit of his worry finally seeped into his tone. "But it's not my brain."

“I believe you,” She told him, and squeezed his hand. He smiled, lifting one corner of his mouth quickly in a gesture of affection and adoration. She considered him for a moment, looking at their hands and then towards Rhodey, who did not seem so easily convinced. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and shrugged. “Let’s find Spider-Man, then.”