Breathing out
Rhodey was standing with Mr. Stark as they reached them at the Compound entrance, and Peter briefly wondered if they should have a tearful reunion before he was obliterated by his mentor’s wrath. The man seemed to have a similar line of thinking, his gaze on Peter, softening as Tony silently turned and walked further inside, probably only standing and waiting for them for the dramatics of it all.
He patted Peter’s back when he got close enough, then seemed to hesitate, so Peter forced his feet to move, and he nudged his way into a sideways hug. “It’s good to see you, Pete,” He said, sincerely, and they walked in together, trailing a good distance away from Tony, who seemed to be heading towards one of the common rooms. “Would be better under different circumstances,”
“He’s really ticked, huh?” Harley piped up from just behind them, and Rhodey just sighed, letting Peter slip from under his arm.
“You really have got to stop doing these crazy things, kid, we’re all sprouting gray hairs,” Peter decided not to mention that he didn’t have any gray hairs, his closely shaven scalp still dark as ever. He also decided not to say anything, afterall, because as soon as the door shut behind them, Tony was whirling around, his eyes ablaze.
“I thought that maybe if you didn’t have your webs, that would deter you,” He scoffed, his arms crossed and his suit jacket rumpled. “That didn’t stop you last time, though, can’t believe I forgot that,”
“And I almost forgot what it’s like to be yelled at by you,” Peter said before he could stop himself, biting the inside of his cheek when three pairs of eyes snapped to him. “I think we both get a pass,” He muttered, and Harley coughed into his hand, disguising his laugh.
Rhodey was giving him the most curious look, but Tony just sighed. “I expected better of you,” He turned to Harley, narrowing his eyes. “You, on the other hand, not so much,”
“I’m a bad influence,” The boy whispered from behind Peter, sounding unbelievably excited about it, and they shared a look.
“Did anyone see you?” Rhodey interrupted, ever one to stay on track. “Anyone recognize you?” He corrected, and Peter wondered if he had miraculously become better at lying. Harley, it seemed, was equally as bad at it, because his face turned sour and he looked apologetically towards Peter.
He sighed. “One person,” He admitted, slowly, trying to place himself further away from the memory than he was. He didn’t want to cry in front of Rhodey. His phone felt unbearably heavy in his pocket. “It won’t cause any trouble,” He promised firmly, when he caught the ending of a glance between Tony and Rhodey. The two men looked at him, both parts surprised and concerned. The difference is how Rhodey’s expression was kind, understanding, while it looked as if Tony was trying to hold on to his frustration, his brows furrowed.
“You can’t know that,” His mentor said, briskly, barely concealing the hurt and worry at the edges of his tone. “You were irresponsible, and you of all people should know the effects of having your identity out without any preparation,”
Peter felt the words hit him like a truck, their conversation from days ago resurfacing. He had admitted the worst mistake of his life, and it was being thrown back in his face to make a point. He felt himself shaking. He didn’t notice Harley’s hand on his arm, he didn’t notice the look of immediate regret that overtook Tony’s features.
He barely heard him begin to backtrack. “Peter,” He was saying, through the ringing in his ears. “I didn’t mean it like that,”
“Okay,” He said, and his voice sounded strange. Harley’s grip on his elbow tightened.
“I just wanted to…” He inhaled sharply, looking lost and guilty. “I was really worried about you when you left, and…I just don’t want…I can’t protect you when I’m not there,” He finished, lamely, and Rhodey stepped forward.
“We’re doing everything we can to legally bring you back, Pete, for the time it takes for Doctor Strange to sort all of this out,” He had a hand in his pocket, the other moving with his words, almost nervously. “Even if it's only for a little while, we want you to be able to exist without…complication,”
He felt his blood rushing, his ears pumping with the movement of his heart, distant from the moment he was in. He was back in the bar, looking at Beck, spilling his deepest insecurities and being met with the perfect mask of sympathy. Empathetic, he had been, to be so unfamiliar in the world, to have lost so much, to not want to take responsibility. He had been so kind, it seemed, so humble to accept the technology that would help him destroy lives, even his own.
He was there, in New York, watching as his face flashed across every screen, every billboard, every phone. He was a menace, a liability, a killer.
He was in the crypt, finally receiving help without complication, only to be met with sparks and stars. Doctor Strange was yelling at him, he was yelling, the ground was gone from beneath him, and he just wanted to keep a few people in his life, to have his friends remember him.
He was in the rubble of an apartment building, his ribs aching and his lungs filled with smoke and plaster. He was stumbling, reaching for May. She was alright, and then she was falling. She was catching her breath. She was…
“Peter,” Harley whispered, his nails digging into his skin, shocking him back into his body, three pairs of eyes glued to him, watching him carefully. He realized his eyes had been welling with tears. He was trembling, his hands balled into fists, his jaw clenched and his head bowed. “Are you alright?”
No. “Yeah,” He breathed, shakily, finding it harder than he realized. His chest was tight, and his arms were still weak. He was angry, he knew, and he couldn’t do anything about it. “I’m fine,”
“You don’t look fine,” Tony said, as gently as he could, but all Peter could hear was his voice, mocking him. You of all people should know…
“I’m fine,” He forced between gritted teeth, inhaling through his nose and looking at Harley, knowing his gaze would be the easiest to meet. “Thank you, for helping me, for coming with me,” He said, quietly, making a conscious effort to relax.
Harley smiled, carefully, and squeezed his arm. “I’d do it again,” He promised, then glanced over to Tony, almost sheepish, before meeting his gaze again. “It was a lot of fun. You’re a lot of fun,”
He turned back to the two adults, staring at him with varying levels of concern, trying his best to stop himself from shuddering. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” He managed, through his tensed jaw, grinding his molars. “I…I’m gonna use the bathroom…” He gestured down the hall, not even entirely sure if that was where it was, his eyes feeling hot and his head pounding.
Rhodey almost tried to stop him as he jerked away, nearly pitching sideways as he made a hasty retreat, trying to keep his pace steady until he was around the corner, then he caught himself on the wall. His lungs were too tight, too full, yet empty at the same time. Oxygen tasted like dust, and he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his way blindly towards the bathroom.
The door shut heavily behind him, and he clicked the lock, throwing himself towards the sink and trying not to heave into the drain. He felt like he was floating, and at the same time he felt incredibly stuck, inconsistently aware of how real he was and how much his head pounded. His body ached, and his throat constricted as he cried, his stomach churning and his skin hot against the air.
His head was spinning, trying to keep him in the moment, but hating how it felt. He didn’t want to think about everything that had happened, he didn’t want to think about what was happening. He hated that every time he closed his eyes he was back in that building, smoke and ash in his lungs, a corpse under his fingertips. He hated that he couldn’t save her. He hated that he couldn’t forget it.
He didn’t know how long he spent there, hunched over, his weight on his forearms and he stared at the porcelain. He didn’t know how long it took him to finally inhale without complication, breathing through his nose, a hand still clamped over his mouth to muffle himself. He splashed some water on his face, catching a glimpse of his puffy eyes and red cheeks before he stepped back into the hall, his head a little clearer.
He walked without real purpose, avoiding any noises that might indicate someone else, finding himself stepping outside and slumping on the steps leading towards the uneven field. He knew this was where the battle against Thanos had taken place, craters and slopes too severe to be paved over. It was the same in his world, even when he hadn’t spent more than half an hour at the new Compound, the weight of the building without Tony Stark’s influence still too heavy for him to handle.
He wondered if he would have a place there, if they followed the same blueprints, even after the memory spell. He wondered if that was just another thing that no longer existed.
The door opened behind him, and he knew exactly who it was, even without using his enhanced senses.
“Betty’s not going to blab,” He said, refusing to turn around, confident in his friend and her promise. “If that’s what you’re worried about. You don’t have to track her down and force her to sign an NDA or whatever,”
Tony sighed as he took the seat next to him, lowering himself carefully to the stair, holding onto the railing as he maneuvered his way down. “You know I don’t really care that much about Betty, right?”
Peter lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, keeping his cheek pressed to his arm. Tony looked out at the grounds, something distant in his eye, as if he was seeing something that wasn’t there. Peter knew the feeling.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” He said, quietly, afraid to disturb the wistful edge to his mentor's face, but knowing he needed to begin somewhere. “I knew it was dumb, and impulsive, but I just…” He flexed his fingers, watching his tendons tense and relax. “I feel awful all the time here. It’s not anyone's fault, it’s just circumstance. I’m really trying, Mr. Stark, but I just…I got used to being on my own. I miss the city, I miss the freedom. I feel like I’m not making any sense but I just…”
“Kid, you don’t have to explain yourself. I was wrong,” His head swiveled, surprised, to where Tony was hunched, moving his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t want to listen to you when you suggested it, because I was scared, and shit, I think I have a reason to be,” Peter felt himself hum, quietly, in confirmation. “The things you’ve told me, the things that’ve happened to you? I had this misplaced sense of responsibility—this stupid idea in my head that if I can just keep everyone I love in this tiny metal bubble that I can see and care for and save…but that’s no way to live,” He sighed, heavily, and Peter blinked at him, dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, Pete,”
Peter felt something swirling in his gut, hot and sharp. The overwhelming relief of being understood, almost immediately outweighed by the debilitating misery that followed. He felt guilty for causing him so much worry, he felt angry for having to push so hard to be heard. He felt so lonely, unfamiliar with a Tony Stark who would admit he was wrong, who would say he was sorry.
He felt blood in his mouth, and he realized he had bit down, hard, on the skin inside his cheek. “I’m sorry, too,” It felt right, involving all of the emotions swirling in his chest, pushing them aside just the same. “I should’ve talked to you before I left. I was just so angry, I think,”
“Are you still angry?” His mentor asked, slowly, as if worried he might be overstepping.
Peter thought about it for a second, thought about how cold he had felt, how rage had gripped his lungs and forced him to move, to run away. He didn’t feel much of that now, just a defeated kind of acceptance. He was tired. He didn’t want to be angry. “No,” He answered softly, and Tony hummed, and they both fell into silence together.
Tony scooted closer, and Peter watched as he hesitated before brushing their arms together, an invitation. He moved his arms close to his knees, leaning against his shoulder, relaxing when he swung an arm around his back. It was stiff at first, but then they maneuvered into a more comfortable embrace, and he let himself breathe.
“Our problem has always been communication,” Tony said, just over his head, the syllables brushing the tips of his ears. “I think I know what's best, you prove to me that I’m wrong, and you scare the shit out of me while doing it,”
Peter wondered, not unlike he had been the past few days, if Tony was looking at the same memories he was, referencing the same events and interactions that had long since passed. He wondered if he had tried to stand up for himself after the ferry incident, if he had also turned down being an Avenger right before he was expected to announce it to the world, if he had clung to him during his last moments on Titan. He felt himself smiling, slightly, thinking back to his most reckless moments when he was just barely fifteen, trying to prove himself to someone who wasn’t interested.
He let his head fall against the man’s collarbone, hunching his shoulder so he fit better in the space between his side and the railing. “I’ll have to stop doing that. You do have a heart condition,”
Tony laughed, then, loud and startled, like he had been expecting something else, or maybe nothing at all. Peter felt himself crack, a little bit of his tough skin mellowing, his chest loose as he snickered.
“Here,” Peter startled, blinking towards the hand just before him, his web shooters sitting plainly in Tony’s palm, just the same as they had when he’d given them away. He felt an odd rush of relief, not sure if he expected them to be ‘upgraded’, damaged or changed in a way that would push him over the edge. “I shouldn’t have taken them in the first place. What’s a spider without his webs, right?”
Peter felt a sting in the back of his throat, touched at the gesture, the final piece of his apology. “Thank you,” He took them gingerly, tempted to snap them back on immediately, but he paused. He was sitting with Tony, tucked into his side, settling into forgiveness. He was surrounded by calm, to the familiar and mechanical way his mentor's heart whirred, to the feeling of the sun hitting the top of his head, just beginning to set. He was content in a way he hadn’t been in years. He was safe, wasn’t he?
He stuffed the devices into his pocket, knowing that they were close, but out of sight for the time being. He wasn’t completely convinced that he wouldn’t need them at the drop of a hat, and he knew as soon as he rolled himself into bed that night, he would sink into anxiety and anticipation. He knew he would want them later, but for now he was fine. He wasn’t going anywhere, at least not anytime soon.
“Ready to check off the final thing on the list?” Tony asked, and Peter raised an eyebrow, then thought better of it, knowing he couldn’t see it.
“What list…?” He asked, at almost the same moment it hit him. Coming back to the compound, seeing Dr. Banner, hitting the showers. There was one more thing? Oh no.
“Family dinner,” Mr. Stark said, barely containing a laugh when Peter groaned. “C’mon, I’m sure the team will be happy to see you. They’ll finally stop bothering me about it,”
“And they’ll start bothering me,” Peter mumbled, but accepted the hand Tony offered to him.
The older man smirked, a spark of mischief behind his glasses. “Now you’re starting to get it,” He did laugh, that time, when he grumbled under his breath. Peter didn’t have it in him to stay annoyed—he had already forgiven him.