When Peter. B. Parker finally fell home, he knew something was wrong. For one, his spider sense was going haywire; had been ever since he had crashed into Miles’s universe face first. It was like a constant buzz in the back of his head yelling at him that he does not belong. That he needed to leave, and fast. Perhaps it was the warning bell that all three trillion of his atoms were literally trying to make a break for it, that he’ll fall apart at the seams if he doesn’t high-tail it outta there immediately.
So, naturally, he was on high alert when he crashed into his sad studio apartment. His back throbbed as he landed on his floor mattress, tail-bone first, and squished the week old pizza left out. Gross.
He clambered up, ignoring the twinging pain in his ass, and looked around. The room was like a tornado had swept through. Papers scattered across the floor, clothes crumpled and dirty as Peter picked his way to his bathroom. He really needed to pee, and considering his age, kidney failure was not on his bucket list.
At least the bathroom was untouched, if a little grimy. He glanced at himself in the mirror and frowned. His stubble was thicker now. Miles was fourteen and clearly didn’t need access to any razors in the house, and Peter wasn’t exactly taking care of himself, so his chin was starting to get overgrown. And not in an attractive way. He sighed and went about his business before zipping up and looking at himself in the mirror again.
Despite the short amount of time in the other universe, Peter had lost weight. Not a lot, he still had his belly and lack of abs. But, his face was thinner, almost gaunt, and he could see the returning of his arm and shoulder muscles that had slowly faded away during his depressive episode. He still looked awful though. Like someone who used to eat a lot, but couldn’t afford to anymore.
“Jesus Christ” he muttered, leaning forwards and pulling at his wrinkled skin “I’m so old”
His eye bags looked like makeup. When was the last time he had proper sleep?
Then the glitching started again. It was small, just a flare up in his hand. But the pain was enough to have him hunched over the sink, gasping through his teeth as his hand spasmed and pulled apart. It was over in seconds, leaving him cradling his hand and really fucking confused. And a little afraid. It was supposed to have stopped, he was back home, in his own universe. His atoms were home, they shouldn’t be trying to run away anymore. So why was he still glitching?
He wanted to just lie down for a long time. But he knew he had to fix the problem now, or he might end up smeared across the walls of his room. Which wasn’t a pretty sight for anyone to see. He groaned in annoyance and dragged himself back into his living space. Slowly, he peeled off his suit, wincing at the small cuts along his body. His healing factor wasn’t as effective as it used to be, but he could see the shallower ones knitting themselves together gradually. Once the suit was on the floor, he began to dress in his normal clothes, glad that the chafing had been minimised with the help of baby powder. Crap, he forgot to tell Miles that trick. Hopefully one of the others had remembered to tell him.
When ready, he couldn’t help but glance down at his phone. Five notifications. Four from MJ (shit, he completely forgot that he was going to make it up to her) and one from… Tony Stark. He paused, before clicking on the text message. It was only three words:
‘Where are you?’
Peter frowned. Tony could help. He was a genius. But… they weren’t exactly on the best of terms, not after Peter bailed on the Accords… Christ, twelve years ago. He was so gosh darn old. Almost hesitant, he replied:
‘I need your help’
Tony texted back instantly.
————————————
When MJ first came to Tony in tears, she told him Peter had broken his back. The second was when she told him they’d separated, and had Peters stuff delivered in a box. She didn’t know where he lived anymore, so Tony was the last resort. He still had Peters box somewhere, when the hero hadn’t bothered to come and pick it up.
Tony hadn’t talked to Peter in years, only really hearing about him through the grape vine. After he’d saved the city again, or he’d defeated yet another villain. There was no need for Iron Man when Spider-Man was around. So Tony just watched from the sidelines, unable and unwilling to help. Peter never called for help, and Tony, bound by the government, never gave him any. The avengers disbanded, after a series of incidents where they were left powerless to help people, just because the government had denied any attempts to even do humanitarian relief to suffering people. When it happened, Steve just looked tiredly at Tony and shook his head, as if to say ‘I told you so’.
Iron Man became a myth after that. Stark industries went from focusing on the next Iron Man suits and turned its full effort into economic and environmental energy. Money pored in. Tony became richer and richer. And he had never been sadder. Because even Pepper couldn’t even look him in the eye anymore. He didn’t show up to events, didn’t throw party’s, never went to interviews. Iron Man was dead, the Avengers gone. And what was left was a sad, old alcoholic with too much cash and too much brain.
Then MJ walked in one evening, just as he was opening his first bottle of the night.
“Michell Jones!” Tony said, surprised at the visit “what brings you here?”
Her red hair was still fiery, if not slightly peppered with white. Her eyes were bright and her forehead was crunched tightly, showing her wrinkles. Her face was tight, tense. Tony stood up and walked towards her “are you alright?”
She just sighed and went to sit down “Peter’s missing”
Tony froze. Spider-Man hadn’t been sighted for a few days, but that wasn’t unusual now. Everyone knew Spider-Man must be getting old, he’d been doing the same thing for the past twenty years, a few days off to recover was almost expected. The people of New York knew to be extra careful during Spider-Man’s off days, but it was widely accepted. Even hero’s needed rest.
MJ rubbed her temples “I tried to call him and he didn’t respond” she sighed. That wasn’t unusual either, Peter often ghosted calls.
“When I went looking for him… no one’s seen him” she glanced up “not the paper, not the corner shop, even the shawarma place he likes hasn’t seen him in a few days”
Tony sat down “and no one’s… found anything?” Like a body. MJ shook her head and looked down again. They both knew the risks of the job. How many times had Peter, still young and fresh, stumbled into the tower half-dead on his feet? How many hours had MJ spend worrying over the safety of her husband?
“I’ll look into it” he’d told her. He could find where Peter lived, check in on him, make sure he was still kicking. She looked at him, said thanks, and wandered off into the night. Tony texted him that night. No response.
Three weeks later there was still no sign of Peter and Tony was just about ready to hack into every camera in the city to catch even a glimpse of him. Everyone was nervous, even the criminals, who glanced over their shoulder wandering when the hero would finally reappear. He never did.
Vigils were held in his name. People took a day off work to mourn. Criminals were getting restless, more daring, no longer scared of the vengeance that could be enacted.
Even Daredevil had taken to patrolling outside Hells Kitchen. The two Hawkeyes picking up the slack.
Tony was scared shitless. He didn’t hate Peter, even understood why he’d had to leave the accords, but he knew Peter liked his space. It had been twelve years since they’d properly sat down and just… talked. Twelve long years. Clearly that wasn’t the right move.
Then Peter replied to his text.
His heart practically leapt out of his chest. He quickly responded to the text.
Peter needed his help. He could give it.
About half an hour later Peter arrived at the tower. No one knew Spider-Man was back, but Tony did. Tony was going to fix whatever was wrong and make up for the last decade of distant contempt. He was going to fix everything; their relationship, Peters hurt back, MJ and his relationship. Then everything was going to be okay.
Then he saw Peter and those thoughts washed away. He looked sick, pale and… well not thin, but shallow. His eyes shrunken in, his chin a grey patch. And so tired. Tony stood up and they stared at each other for a few seconds.
“Hey Pete” Tony said eventually
The hero’s eyes swept up and down Tony. He was old now, hair almost entirely white, wrinkles and greyish skin, hidden underneath hideously expensive tailored suits. He was far from the playboy he once was.
“Tony” Peter said, hands in his pockets. He didn’t look hurt, except a small cut across the bridge of his nose that was already healing.
Tony reverted to his nonchalant personality, walking behind the bar and pouring a drink “want one” he offered. Peter didn’t move and Tony shrugged and knocked back the scotch. He wiped his mouth and leaned over the bar, putting on a sleek smile “what do you need help with?”
Peter inhaled deeply before walking forwards and sitting down. Tony raised an eyebrow “got the mob after you?” He asked.
Peter tweaked a smile but shook his head. Tony frowned
“Then where were you for… I don’t know… the past three fucking weeks” he hissed, suddenly angry. How dare Peter show up like this, like nothing was wrong, like nothing happened. How dare he ask for Tony’s help after years of no contact. How dare he abandon the city like he did. Did he expect everyone to just forget the days of fear, of mourning, of paranoia while Spider-Man… what? Took a vacation?
Peter just blinked at the anger “something came up” was all he said.
“Bullshit” Tony deadpanned. He leaned back and scowled, opening his mouth the tell Peter exactly what he thought of the situation when Peter began to… freak out. He contorted over the counter, his arm glitching in and out of reality, his body turning different colours as he writhed and yelled in pain.
Tony forgot about his anger. Rounding the counter, anxiously looking for anyway to help. Peter was on the floor, now seizing, parts of his body removing then reappearing. He was thrashing and Tony, still lost on what to do, ran forwards and tried to hold him still. His hands passed straight through Peters shoulders.
Then the seizure stopped and Peter was fine.
The hero groaned and curled up into a ball, holding his head
“Ow” he murmured. Tony stared in disbelief.
“What the fuck was that?” He practically roared, adrenaline rushing through his head. It was the most excitement he’d gotten in years, and didn’t like the feeling. Peter pushed up off the floor and stumbled to a couch. Tony trailed after him, hands up like he was worried he’d start up again.
“That” Peter wheezed “was three trillion of my atoms trying to rip themselves apart” he winced.
What the fuck.
“Can I have a better explanation” Tony stressed, eyes tight “is this a Spider-Man thing? Cuz if it is then that sucks”
Peter seemed to have recovered enough to roll his eyes “it’s not a Spider-Man thing” he says, then trails off “well… maybe. Depends”
“Tell me everything. Now” Tony wasn’t happy with this.
Peter sighed “Okay. Let’s do this one last time…”