I don't know why I am the way I am
The Sanctum was intimidating, Peter noticed, when he was forced to spend time in it longer than a few minutes, and under different circumstances than adrenaline and fear. He was plenty afraid, of course, but it was more of a persistent anxiety, the weight of his predicament rather than one of his own doing.
The high ceilings loomed over him as he leaned back into an armchair, a table with a tea set sitting on it, the only thing between him and Tony, who was leaning forward in his seat. His hands were pressed together tightly under his chin, his eyes analytical but not unkind; warm and tired, looking over Peter with an intensity he had forgotten about.
After they had hugged, Stephen had ushered them out of the open, taking them down a hall and into a tall area, couches and tables squashed around the floor with a huge window behind them. He knew he would return any moment, giving no reason for his disappearance but knowing that he probably had some strange (heh) wizard thing to attend to. He’d given Tony a look before the doors swung shut behind him, leaving Peter and his former mentor alone.
Peter had taken a seat quickly, choosing deliberately the one place where no one could sit next to him. He was sure Tony had picked up on it, but he hadn’t said anything about it yet, so he assumed he was fine.
“So, you’re not a hallucination,” He began, when it seemed like someone should say something. Peter shrugged, helpless, trying to get rid of the pressure behind his eyes. He was still a little uncomfortable, but his shoulders had relaxed and he had to admit, he’d probably needed that hug. Tony’s mouth titled up, slightly, and he continued listing. “Or a ghost. Or an alien. Or a clone,”
“Believe me, Mr. Stark,” He said, forcing the words from his lips, pretending that he didn’t sound a little choked up. “I wish I was a clone. Because that would be really cool. And also, uh, somehow less complicated,” He clasped his hands together, waiting patiently as Tony scrutinized him, something in his skepticism melting, slowly. He didn’t blame him for being cautious, even when he’d been given the okay from Dr. Strange. He was still reeling a little.
“Huh,” He said, in the pause, and Peter looked down at the tea cups. They looked fancy and expensive, but he was really thirsty. Tony sighed, and he dragged his gaze back to him. “So, are we gonna talk about when you thought I wasn’t real?” Peter felt his expression tighten, his teeth grinding. Tony shifted, sitting back in his chair and looking at him with sympathy. “What was that all about?”
Peter avoided his eyes, feigning annoyance, hoping that his anxiety would be less noticeable if he was looking at the ceiling. “I don’t know what you mean,” His voice sounded off, even to his own ears, and Tony continued to look unimpressed, so he exhaled, tapping his thumbs together. “Look, I was freaked out, I was confused, and…”
He pursed his lips, wishing that there was some type of manual about how to tell someone they’re dead. Or maybe a pamphlet. He’d been on the other side of things, and it was not very fun. “You…would you believe me if I told you you’re way less nosy in my universe?” Deflect. He always managed to stumble into deflection.
Mr. Stark seemed to catch onto that, humoring him with a small sort of laugh. “Probably not,”
“Noted,” He knew he could only stall the conversation for so long, chewing on his lip and trying to think of the best way to tell his story without breaking down. “Mr. Stark, I…” He held his gaze, trying to find the right words, and Tony was looking right back, earnest and expectant. Then, he was saved by the door opening. He shifted towards the noise, watching with barely concealed relief as Dr. Strange entered, a plate piled high with food balanced on one hand.
“Peter,” He greeted, amiably, and he nodded his head, trying to keep himself from drooling as the scent of sandwiches reached his nose. He was suddenly hyper aware that the last time he had eaten was almost two days ago, and it was when he shoved two muffins into his mouth before work. “I have news,”
“And the tower of deli meats,” Tony commented, amusedly, and Peter turned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other and praying that he didn’t look as hungry as he felt. His eyes were twinkling with fondness, and Stephen moved the tea set over, making room for the new platter. “Did you go on lunch break or something?” He snarked, and Dr. Strange raised an eyebrow at him.
“No,” He answered, deadpanned, and turned back to Peter. “I figured you’d be hungry. When was the last time you’ve eaten?”
Peter felt flattered, it had been a long time since anyone had ever been that considerate of him. “Oh, um, I’m fine, really,” His stomach, almost on cue, let out a loud growl, and he blushed all the way down his neck. “Maybe I’m a little hungry,” Mr. Stark was smirking at him, and he stamped down the urge to hide his face. “Maybe,”
He dug in as Dr. Strange settled into the seat next to Tony, the couch they occupied making a small noise as the weight shifted. The two of them, however silly the image, looked like parents at a teacher conference. He could almost imagine Mr. Harrington standing next to him, talking about his concern with Peter’s absences, about the slip of his grade in English, or the general sheepish way he would try and recommend that he take a higher level course. The thought made his stomach clench, just a little, which was very unpleasant as he was shoveling food into it.
Stephen moved slightly so that his cloak would settle behind the back of the couch, his hands neatly folded in front of him, observing Peter chew for a moment before sighing. “I’ve spoken with the Sorcerer Supreme,” His face turned a little sour at the title, so Peter assumed he had also been demoted by technicality in this universe, too. “There is a possibility of returning you to your former world, but there is intense consideration that must go into this process,”
Peter nearly choked on a bite, swallowing roughly. “What do you mean?” He asked, his voice thick.
Stephen looked at him, his mouth pulled downwards, his brows furrowed. “Well, for starters, we have no idea where you’ve come from. At this point in time, there is no real way to navigate the multiverse, not without tearing holes and ripping universes in half,” Peter set down what was left of his sandwich. He’d lost his appetite, remembering exactly what it looked like for a universe to break. “We can use you as a type of beacon, waiting for the right place in the multiverse to reveal itself, but it will take time,”
“How much time,” He asked, at the edge of his seat, desperate.
Strange gave him a face of sympathy, running a hand along his goatee. “Weeks. Months? It’s such a complicated process, there is no way of telling how quickly or how smoothly we will be able to clear a path to return you home. We don’t want to make any mistakes, we’ll need to go slow,”
“Slow and steady wins the race,” Tony offered, and Stephen shot him a look. Peter sunk back into his chair, wiping the crumbs from his hands on his pants, thinking. If it wasn’t dangerous to be here, then he would have to wait, wouldn’t he? But what about his own universe? Would they go looking for him? Would the city miss Spider-Man? What if they needed him?
He barely registered as Dr. Strange left the room, patting his shoulder gently as he passed. Peter was shaking his leg up and down, trying not to chew on the skin of his lips, feeling cold and hot all at once. He was never good at waiting, he was never good at the unknown.
The couch creaked, and his gaze snapped back to Tony, who began to stand, his expression pinched with concern and thought. “We’ll go back to the Compound,” He said, less of an invitation and more of a statement. “I still have your room, we rebuilt it since it was on the blueprints. It has some of your stuff, your clothes, but I’ll order you some, it looks like you’ve grown a bit,” He took out his phone, presumably to begin shopping. “We’ll have Brucie look you over, you can hit the showers, the team will be thrilled to have you back for family dinner,”
There was something heavy settling at the bottom of his stomach, and he knew it wasn’t the food he’d just eaten. He watched him go on for a few more seconds before clearing his throat, loudly. “Excuse me,” Peter interrupted, hoping that his face was more composed than he knew it probably was.
Tony looked to him, surprised, his eyebrows raised. “What?”
“Well, I think you’re making a lot of assumptions here, Mr. Stark,” He sniffed, then tugged on the sleeve of his suit, hidden underneath the stolen hoodie. “What if I don’t want to go to the Compound? What if I don’t want Dr. Banner to give me a glorified physical? Or have ‘family dinner’, or sleep in the same bed as…a me who died? What if I don’t want to do any of that?” He knew he was getting worked up, a little, his shoulders shaking and his lungs rattling as the breath drifted in and out of him unevenly.
His mentor, to his credit, looked pained, guilty in a way that only he could manage. Peter swallowed, trying to pretend like he wasn’t about to cry by simply seeing a version of Tony Stark, alive and well, in front of him. Talking to him. Sympathizing with him. He looked down, fiddling with the cushion on his seat.
“I didn’t mean to force anything down your throat,” Tony began, gently, and Peter raised an eyebrow at him, the gesture earning him a small smile. He walked closer, hesitating for a second before placing his hand on the back of the chair, peering down at him from his precarious position. “Do you want to go to the Compound?” He added, once he’d settled, and Peter felt his resolve soften, just a little.
“I just don’t want to replace anyone,” He muttered, exhaling and then putting his head in his hands. “I didn’t want any of this to happen in the first place,”
He could hear Tony shifting, awkwardly, before his hand landed along his back, rubbing the spot just below his neck. “Kid, it’s okay. You’re not ‘replacing’ anyone, you’re just…” Peter peered at him through his fingers, watching a few different emotions flicker across his face, a confusing picture of grief and frustration and sadness. He looked so sad. “However long it takes, I’m gonna be here, and I really hope that you’ll be there with me, at the Compound,”
“Even if it takes months?” He argued, weakly, and Tony laughed, a quick breathy thing.
“Even if it takes months, or years, or decades,” He squeezed his shoulder firmly, twice, his eyes pleading. “Come with me?”
Peter tried to make his jaw unclench, breathing deeply a few times and trying to push aside all of his reservations. He needed a place to stay, he needed to be close enough that Stephen could reach him, if he needed to. He just couldn’t get the picture out of his head, his mentor with a burned arm and dark veins along his face, dust and rubble surrounding him. This wasn’t his universe. This wasn’t his Tony Stark.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth from the hand along his back. “Okay,” He said, and Tony let out a relieved breath.
Peter tried not to feel sick, after all—it would be a waste of good sandwiches.