Dear Karma

Tony Stark was stalking a twenty year old. It was the sort of thing he had gotten used to in the many years he’d been alive, doing dumb things, and using his billions of dollars to fund his pet-projects. 

Once upon a time he might’ve scoffed at the idea of spending so much of his time trailing dead ends; searching for a kid he had spent a long time ignoring, and even longer regretting it. Once upon a time he might’ve given up after the first google search came up with nothing, the commonality of the last name Parker making his head spin, and the first name following along in giving him a migraine. An elderly man in a nursing home, a kid barely in middle school, a husband and father of twins. There was no trace of him. There was no easy solution, no Instagram bio or LinkedIn match-up with a half-hour of research under his belt. He felt tired. He already felt like he was running himself in circles, looking for a ghost that he’d hallucinated or was somehow implanted right in the center of his scrambled brains. He felt like he wanted to give up. 

But, he was a different man than he was once upon a time, and he was certain somewhere in his old, mangled heart that this kid was out there, and he needed to find him. So, he closed google, paced around his workshop (with only minor assistance from a cane), and started combing through security cameras in Queens. 

Spider-Man was everywhere. Spider-Man was so active it almost seemed like he was the only damn hero in the entire city. He would swing at odd hours between night and day, straying from his old patrol route and dipping his toes into the further edges past his own turf. Tony watched YouTube clips of him swinging behind police cruisers, beating them to a shoot out or bank robbery. He saw him in selfies with tourists, helping old women with their groceries, petting dogs on sidewalks. His suit looked new; the classic edges and details of the Stark-made one were gone, replaced with an almost metallic blue and wider, expressionless lenses. It made him frown a little, like he was being left behind or something. It made him feel like too much time had passed. 

Pepper made him take breaks, and he spent as much time with his daughter and Rhodey and Happy as he could, an ugly type of guilty nestling itself right between his ribcage. He tried to separate his time, reassuring those who had mourned him that he was back, that he wouldn’t be disappearing anytime soon while also finding himself entirely detached, distracted by the missing piece of his attempt at family. Happy spoke to the Avengers, who promised to keep an eye out for the vigilante, and Pepper made an announcement that he was alive. Everything kept getting bigger, and the world kept spinning, and he couldn’t find his damn kid anywhere. 

At least, not until a single, fogged camera pointed at a convenience store caught the back of a familiar head of hair. Tony had slumped into his chair after putting Morgan to bed, kissing his wife on the forehead and promising that he wouldn’t wake her when he finally retired for the night. FRIDAY was running about four different monitors, all at different points of Queens, spots that Peter had frequented when Happy was still there, picking him up and sending all of his calls to voicemail. It was a long shot, but humans were creatures of habit, and Tony nearly spilled over his mug of coffee when he realized he knew that cowlick. He knew the backpack with the lopsided straps. He knew the duct taped sneakers and the slightly hunched, exhausted posture of a young adult who spent most of his time leaning over a desk. 

“FRI,” He nearly yelped, his voice hoarse and eager. “Follow that kid, the one with the white t-shirt,” The screens shifted, slowly, each in order finding a different angle on the same street. He nearly lost his breath, staggering, when the kid finally looked over his shoulder. His face was sharper, and his eyebags deeper, but it was unmistakably him. “Gotcha.”

Tony sagged in his chair, his hands slack in his lap, just watching for a long moment. Peter checked over his shoulder, looking both ways before crossing the street. He was holding a big bag of laundry, a messenger bag pulled over one shoulder and bouncing against his hip as he hurried forward, off the curb and into the road. He still had the same dingy, white headphones clinging to one ear and half hanging out of the collar of his shirt. He looked older. He looked lonely. 

The next morning, Tony enlisted Happy to drive him to an address he’d found with FRIDAY, retracing the steps of a kid on a laundry trip, painstakingly mapping his path through Queens. Rhodey insisted he tagged along, ‘just in case’, and he didn’t really have much fight left in him to object. All he could think of was getting there, seeing his kid, and hugging the life out of him with his one good arm. 

The city was just the same as it was when he spoke with Sam Wilson, the new Captain America, maybe a week ago. The sky was scattered with clouds, and he clung to the dull gray, giving him motivation to keep his eyes glued to the sidewalks. He was hoping that maybe he would catch Peter on his way home. He didn’t.

The apartment building was squished between an office building and some type of bodega. The elevator was broken, and there were about three people smoking right at the front entrance. Tony took the cap offered to him by Happy, stuck his sunglasses back on, and adjusted his grip on his cane, preparing to trudge up to the fourth floor. 

“FRI,” He said, catching his breath at the exit to the stairwell. “Check again to make sure we have the right room.”

He stopped at an apartment just one door away from the edge of the building, peering up and down the hall a few times, as if Peter would be hiding on the ceiling, watching him twitch with nerves. He fiddled with the master key he’d printed, an exact replica of the landlords, something he’d only spent a little time poking at illegal websites securing. Was it morally questionable to break into the apartment of the kid he was trying to make amends with? Most definitely. He had already stalked him, though, so he took a deep breath and unlocked the door. 

There was a brief moment, one where the hinges creaked and the handle shocked his fingers with a bit of static charge that he realized he didn’t quite have a plan. What if Peter was home? Would he have already heard him? Would he be walking into a fist? What if he wasn’t home? Was he supposed to just find a chair to ominously spin around in when the kid finally walked in? He froze, pushing the door open ahead of him, and kind of choked on his own spit when he realized….there was nobody home. He wasn’t relieved, if the breath he was still holding had any say in it, but it did give him more time to form a cognitive thought. 

He walked in, shut the door behind him, and did what he knew best: he snooped. 

For a cheap studio apartment in the middle of the city, it wasn’t horrible. He clicked his tongue at the dirty ceiling, unidentifiable stains and splatters in places no normal human could reach without a ladder. There was a pile of clothes just outside of the bathroom, rumpled and too small for an entire load of laundry. He opened drawers and cupboards in the kitchen, trying not to judge the plastic silverware and frankly lackluster selection of food. He briefly wondered why Peter was on his own, why he was in charge of his own groceries and rent, why he was in such a dingy apartment with a negligent landlord and the stench of cigarettes clinging to the vents. He wondered why he was all alone. 

He didn’t find his suit; not the one he had made with nanotechnology, and not the new one with bright blue fabric and a homemade quality to the stitching. He checked under the mattress, in his sock drawer, and once he was sure there was no crawl space or corner that he could’ve shoved it into, he sank into one of the two kitchen chairs, sighing at the borrowed textbook with a sticky-note as reminder of the return date. 

“Oh, kid,” He rubbed his hand down his face, and then keys jangled from outside the closed door. He straightened, balancing his cane over his knee and keeping himself from leaning at the edge of his seat, fixated on the soft ‘what the hell?’ from the other side of the thin wooden entrance. 

“I locked this,” Peter muttered to himself as the door swung open, looking down at his keys like they had somehow offended him. “I definitely…” He looked up quickly, squinting at Tony, sitting with his legs crossed at his lopsided kitchen table. The changes in his appearance were more noticeable close up, and Tony found himself drinking in every contrast from the youthful teen he’d known. His jaw was more defined, and he had sprouted a good few inches, his shoulders broader and his hair curling around his ears and neck. He was paler, skinnier, and his eyes were sharp, a frown pulling at his lips as he closed the door without taking his eyes off of Tony. 

He went to speak, to greet him, but a lump formed in his throat, and he could only manage a weak, scratchy, “Welcome home, honey.” 

Peter stayed where he was, his feet planted and his expression flickering. “What are you doing here?” He asked, pointed and emotionless. This was not going at all like he’d expected. No tears, no fierce hugging, no Peter Parker safely tucked into his arms, ready to be whisked away upstate where nothing could ever hurt him again.

“I’ve been looking for you. Who would’ve thought it would be easier to find a spider than a real human boy,” Tony tried to keep his disappointment close, trying for a smile. He was fine with just looking at him, easing back into his chair, desperate to think of a way to make Peter look less skittish. “You’ve gotten better at hiding your suit,” He tried. 

The boy’s eyes flashed, and he looked around the room wearily. “Since I was 14?” His tone was flat, sounding harsh instead of teasing, which made Tony’s heart sink a little. “Yeah, I’ve gotten a little better.” He was still standing near the door, his back straight and his stance defensive, ready to spring into action or flee at a moment's notice. 

“You gonna sit?” He spoke around the lump forming in his throat, and Peter gave him a long look, unreadable in a way that scared the shit out of him. 

“No,” He shifted again, shouldering his bag and moving ever closer to the wall. 

“Okay,” Tony said, putting his hand up in a peaceful gesture. “I’m here to talk to you,” He decided to say, simply, as if it weren’t completely obvious. 

“I know,” Peter replied, just as slowly, as if he were talking to a child. Tony didn’t like it very much, and found himself biting his tongue. “You broke into my house. Either you’re here to talk or…rob me. I figure the latter is counterproductive.”

Tony rubbed at his face, feeling as if he was going to start crying, checking off one of his expectations finally. “Kid, you…I wanted to…what happened?”

“Shit,” Peter crossed his arms, staring at him in the same way he had since he’d walked through the door, like he was a bomb with a timer near zero. “A lot of shit happened.”

“What shit,” He nearly yelled, growing frustrated. He immediately regretted it, when Peter took a full step away, his face stony and his eyes cold. 

“Mr. Stark,” He began, his voice low, threatening. “I know you’re here to have a heart-to-heart, or whatever, but I’m not really in the mood to talk to a dead man. Especially not one who should have no idea who I am, or where I live. Excuse me if I’m a little tense, sir, but you broke into my house, have an Avenger in your car downstairs, and you’re asking me very personal questions,”

Word after word, Tony felt as if he were being struck, his heart clenching and his body involuntarily straightening, appropriate for the reprimanding he was receiving. This obviously wasn’t the same kid he had seen turn to dust five years ago…longer, now. Gone was the Peter he knew, with soft smiles and bright eyes. This was a kid who had bloody knuckles and bared teeth. He had gone and died on a kid who had then gotten beaten to shit by the world, and now he was just expecting everything to go his way. He swallowed thickly. 

“Peter,” He started, his voice unsteady, his eyes feeling a little wet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…I just don’t know why no one else remembers you. I came back, and all of a sudden three years have passed, and you’re nowhere in sight, and Pepper, Happy— no one knows you, kid,” He exhaled shakily, and he felt Peter’s eyes on him, emitting unease as he shifted from foot to foot. His face was less guarded, he realized, hopeful. “I came to see you. I didn’t mean to scare you, or to force you to come face to face with a ghost—God, I’ve had enough of that with Pepper and Rhodey…but I had to see you,” He said, unsure. “I had to know my kid was okay.”

Peter didn’t say anything for a long time, his mouth pulled into a frown, his eyes stormy. Tony had given up on him speaking at all when he suddenly sighed, years of torment and responsibility weighing on his lungs with the exhale, and he looked back at him, exhausted. “Mr. Stark…you said it yourself. It’s been years,” He emphasized, and Tony nodded. 

“Let me guess, shit happened in those years?” His tone fell flat at the wobbling of Peter’s lips, and he nearly shot out of his chair, leaning forward. “Pete?”

It looked like he was fighting an internal battle, and had lost, a tear slipping down his cheek quickly, his face red. “No one knows who I am,” He whispered, nearly choking on an inhale, his shoulders shaking. “I don’t even know how you know. I don’t know how you’re alive,” He pressed himself against the wall as Tony stood, afraid he would fall. Peter hid his face in his hands, his entire body trembling, painfully trying to keep the worst of the sobs at bay. “You died.”

He cried, and Tony lurched forward as Peter tumbled to the floor, the wall easing him to the ground. He sat down heavily, and Tony gathered him into his arms, tentatively, but Peter just let it happen, weakly leaning into him. 

“You’re okay,” He said, not really believing it himself, pulling Peter closer, rubbing his back and holding him tighter. “It’s okay, now.”

The kid cried, heaving as the grief overwhelmed him, the sound ugly and choked and miserable. Tony held him, and wondered what the fuck had happened to destroy him like this. He had a lot of catching up to do.