Left Behind

The clock strikes ten, and Peter has no recollection of waking up that morning. But, hey, here he is- sat next to Ned in their English class. He blinks and looks down at his hands, puzzled as to why he feels all fuzzy. What's the matter with him? Did something happen last night? He... he can't recall anything? Rubbing his forehead while his teacher speaks, he hopes to dislodge any memories that are clearly buried deep, deep, down. When he looks across at Ned, his heart beats erratically. He feels as though he hasn't seen him in a long time. But that's not correct... Right?

Ned nudges him, making Peter notice that he’s the only one who is still seated. The bell has rung, the class has ended, and he is still looking off into space as if trying to figure out his life. Peter looks up and smiles at Ned to make sure his friend isn't too concerned, then collects his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder and racing after his best friend as they try to beat the crowds to lunch (spoiler alert: they don't).

Peter can't help but gaze out the windows while waiting in line to buy his lunch. His entire body seems out of place, and there's a heavy anchor on his ribcage that tells him he's missing something. Someone? He has no idea who it is, but the emotion is painfully intense, and he can't ignore it. It's not like his spider-sense, but it's still distinct. It's deeper in his gut. Nothing like a hair raising on his arms- it’s his heart breaking into a million pieces as he breathes. The second half of him is missing, but he has no idea what it could be. He feels lonely, even if he’s surrounded by his two best friends, and it makes him feel as though he’s not even here right now.

Peter chews his lip and accidentally draws blood while staring intently at the shoelaces on his trainers. Nonetheless, he stays unmoving. He remains there, tracing the various colours as he urgently grasps at anything that could reveal what he's missing. His brow furrows as everything becomes white. His breathing is shallow, and his thinking is a jumbled mess. Flashes of working with fancy computers, a silhouette telling him that he's doing an excellent job, they're all like missing puzzle pieces from different puzzles that will never fit together.

A senior's sudden shove takes him out of his thoughts. When Peter eventually recovers, he realises that both MJ and Ned are looking at him, their faces flushed with confusion. Peter shrugs, chuckles, and steps back into the line in front of his friends to avoid their stares. It's not like he can tell them what's wrong since he doesn't know himself! Peter grabs the first thing he sees to get out of the line as quickly as possible and hurries to the farthest table in the distance—something far away from anybody else. He is unable to be around people now... except Ned and MJ, of course.

Peter listens to Ned and MJ talk through lunch, eating his own food and scrolling through his phone to see if he could figure anything out but nothing restarts his memory. Deciding it’s obviously something he’s being dramatic about, he wonders if he should just forget all of it. So, he tries his hardest to do so. He adds a single comment into the conversation and tries not to roll his eyes when they both raise their eyebrows in shock simultaneously.

He talks and talks, and it appears that the thought has drifted away for just a moment. Of course, this is not the case. Because it hits him like a truck when he sits in history class and sees Tony Stark's portrait on the board. What is it about that face that makes it feel so familiar? It wasn't because of his notoriety; rather, Peter felt as if he knew him personally. Like they spent so much time together.

A sensation shoots up his arm, telling him to go to Stark Industries. 'Go,' it says, 'he needs you,' like a whisper in his ear. Peter shakes his head, and wants to throw up from how anxious it makes him feel. He feels it tighten up in his gut like a chain, and before he starts freaking out amid class, surrounded by his peers, he leaps up and dashes out, forcing the door open as he fell to the ground. His head is between his knees, and he has no idea how quickly it all went from the minute he stepped into class, but he's now in the middle of his school's corridor, trembling back and forth out of sheer panic. It’s all jumbled- and it’s scaring him so much.

“Peter?”

Peter groans, shakes his head and curls up deeper. He squeezes his eyes shut. “No, no- stop it,” he says to himself. He tightens his hands and wills this feeling to go. He needs it to go, now. He can’t focus. Can’t breathe. Whatever he’s missing must have meant the world to him, “I don’t know what’s happening. Please.”

“Peter? Sweetheart, I can’t help if you don’t look at me,” his teacher says.

“No,” he whispers, even as he comes down from the panic. He doesn’t want to move. A part of him feels far too embarrassed to do so.

He saw the teacher kneel beside him and place a hand on his shoulder. Not on him because, presumably, she realises that it would have made him jump out of his skin. Peter raises his head, and she looks at him with concern. The annoying part was that her face—the way it seemed as though she cared so much—could be someone else's. He blinks and a man is looking back at him- a distinctive beard and sunglasses over his face- and then when he blinks once more, she’s back there like nothing happened.

“I’m going to be sick,” Peter says.

He sits in the nurses' room for ten minutes, waiting for May to come and take him home. He is sitting with a brown paper bag in his lap and a crushing discomfort pressed against his skull. Is this a new ability he gained from the bite? Delusion? Whatever it was, Peter hopes he can sleep it off since it's driving him insane. He taps on the edge of the outdated, plastic, blue chair, which is barely holding on, trying to recall recollections from the previous year, but he comes up short. He can't recall anything save for a few fragments that feel fake.

May comes in dressed in scrubs. Weirdly, Peter can’t believe his eyes that she’s here. Why did this feel like a miracle? He goes up to her, hugs her, and smiles gently when she looks at him with a weird face. As they go back to her car, she grabs his hand and turns him around before he can get in it.

Her hand cups his face, squeezing it gently. “Honey,” she says softly, “what’s up? You’re worrying everyone.”

Peter leans into her touch, his eyelashes fluttering as he takes it in. There’s something precious about this. He feels like he shouldn’t have it. He should be alone- nobody around him to keep him optimistic as his world crashes around him daily. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whispers, truthfully.

“Okay, sweetie. That’s alright. We’ll figure it out.”

Tony

Tony sits down in his lab, staring at a glass of water Steve brought him last night. He still can’t believe they’re here- walking around him like nothing’s changed. Like it never happened. They have no idea what’s going on in his head, or who he’s missing. It’s like an entire chunk of him has been ripped out of his body. Every time he looks at his penthouse all he can see is Peter and he can’t stop the pain that follows.

Walking upstairs, he stares at his cabinet of drinks that Bruce has obviously locked. Tony’s not stupid, he could easily get in there. But he gathers that his team is aware of that. Perhaps it’s just that they’re trying to trust him. A lovely thought, but it makes this whole process a lot harder. He hates that they’re watching him, waiting for him to trip (which, to be fair, it feels like fate that it’ll happen- so they’re just getting ready) so they can be there and catch him.

“Tony?” Clint asks, watching him closely as he sits on the kitchen cabinet with a mug in his hand. What’s he drinking? Whisky? No, it’s only… well, it’s 9pm. He must’ve spent all day downstairs. Again. “Tony, man, you okay? We’re having move night downstairs- if you, well- if you wanna join?”

Movie night… he hasn’t heard that in such a long time- not with the team. Hitting that urge to cry, he fiddles with the end of his sleeve and digs the end of his fingernails into his palm. Clint’s waiting for him to reply. He’s staring. Should he crack a joke? Should he say yes? No? What should he do? He takes a deep breath. Blinking, he looks up at Clint who’s frowning down at him. The mug is now on the kitchen counter, ignored.

“…Um, I wouldn’t want to bring the mood down. Plus, I gotta look at your arrows and armour. Can’t have you getting hurt - so I should- well, I need to get back to wor-,”

Clint and Tony are the clowns of the team; they spent most of their time annoying everyone else when the Avengers first became a thing. However, when they're alone in the room, they never look at each other and never openly discuss their feelings. It's unusual for them to be emotionally present for one another. Therefore, Tony is puzzled when Clint's mouth twitches into a scowl and he shifts slightly in his seat. He's staring at him with huge, dilated eyes, attempting to engage in a discussion as if he's read up on how to encourage the fearful, lonely, guy trapped in his own head to take a break and stop worrying. Keyword, try because it’s making Tony feel embarrassed and hot at the collar- like he needs to get out as soon as possible. But then, as Tony makes a beeline for his drinks in a moment of weakness- Clint grabs his wrist and winces almost apologetically.

“Come downstairs, Tones.”

“…Okay,” Tony replies, his voice barely a whisper.

Tony walks down to the games room with Clint trailing behind like a last-minute guest at a ball. All the eyes are on him. As much as he used to love attention, the need has gone with age. For now, he wants to be left alone with a bottle of drink and Peter- oh… Peter. He’d love all of this. Games, films, and the rest of the Avengers alive and by his side… Tony yearns heavily to have him back.

Realising he’s standing by the sofa looking into the distance, Tony pretends like he was just trying to find a seat. Squeezing in between Natasha and Steve, he’s immediately cuddled into both of them with a blanket thrown over the three of them by Thor (who’s not normally at these things).

Is it narcissistic of him to think they’re doing this as an intervention for his weird behaviour recently? Tony doesn’t want them to know why he’s upset. If he did, they wouldn’t believe him anyway. You all died, and I almost drank myself to death and was only saved by a kid who no longer believes me as he used the stones and forgot about everything we’ve been through. Oh, and I’m still trying to get used to having you around. Every time I see your faces, I imagine you turning to dust all over again. Yeah… they’d probably take him to the hospital to check for a concussion… again.

As they argue about what film to watch, Tony stares at the static on the TV and remembers the familiar moment he had when Peter forced him to watch all the Star Wars. Sat on this exact sofa, cuddled up, probably in the same blanket, and forgetting about the fires around them. People screaming, crying from all their loved ones gone. But only him and Strange even remember that time- and now it’s like must be normal when he doesn’t know-how.

A breath runs through him. Clenching his fingers, he tries to remain calm. It’s hard, however, because they shouldn’t be here right. Sometimes it’s like he’s in a deep, deep, sleep and all of this will be some fever dream. There’s a film on the screen now. He has no idea what it is, or who’s in it, or even who’s choice it was. But he stares. He doesn’t ask questions. Speaking over the film as he’d usually do is a no-go. It’s all so weird.

Halfway through the second act, his eyes shut. His head drops onto Nat’s shoulder, his legs curling up and intruding on Steve’s personal space. Surrounded by such a dedicated support system, he feels like he’s asleep on clouds- but they’re grey and filled to the brim with water. One shift, one more deep thought, everything will drop and fall.

His mind won’t leave him alone as he tries to sleep. Peter. Dust on his fingers. Pain in his heart. Whiskey on his tongue. It’s too much- everything is too much. Too loud. Too painful.

He wakes with a gasp, making everyone look over. He’s clawing at the blanket and trying to get out before it’s too embarrassing, but he’s gently held back by Steve who’s already paused the film (Were they seriously watching ‘Marley and me’?! did they want him to cry?). Bruce is by his side, Natasha’s holding him steady, Steve, Clint and Thor are staring and is it him or is it getting stuffy in here?

“Please- step back- I can’t-“

Bruce’s face drops, and in a second, he’s pushing everyone to the side and sitting Tony up comfortably and helping him through some breathing techniques that they’ve done before. Pre-snap and post-failure of his first attempt at sobriety, the doctor was there for them when he felt completely alone. And as he takes a deep breath in, he’s reminded of it all again. Ten breaths in- and out-and in- what can you name? Taste? See?

Ten minutes later, he’s breathing steadily and he’s less likely to burst into tears if someone looked at him funny.

“Sorry,” he says, waving his hand in the air as he tries to bypass this whole thing. He knows it’s wishful thinking but... still… he tries. “This is why I wanted to stay in the lab,” he says, adding a chuckle as he hopes they laugh it off. “I just ruin everything… I’ll go.”

“You didn’t,” Steve says, looking over at Tony with those big doe eyes that make Tony feel bad. He looks so sad. Depressed, even. He doesn’t want Steve to feel bad about things he can’t even control- it’s not his fault (well, partly, as he was one of those that turned to dust but he didn’t choose to go, so Tony’s not blaming him here), but here they are. “Honestly, Tony. We’ve all been there. But you’ve got all of us. So, whenever you’re ready to tell us what you’re going through… then we’ll be right here.”

Tony nods, having no idea how to reply. Maybe one day he’ll tell them, but like he’s said before- would they even believe him? So, he makes everyone move on. They finished watching the film. Other people start crying because of non-dust related reasons and because of the incredibly sad ending to the film instead. But, hey, at least he can rely on the film to hide why he’s actually sobbing.

Later in the evening, he’s changed into his silk pyjamas and wearing his hair all scruffy. Looking through his phone for the first time since everyone came back, he looks through his photos and doesn’t recognise who’s looking back. Picture after picture of himself smiling with his team. Is that a medal? It’s not fair that he can’t remember any of this. It’s not fair that every time he closes his eyes, he sees memories that nobody else can relate to. A part of him wishes the spell just took him like they agreed to.

Not knowing what to do he calls Strange.

“Tony?”

“Stephen, hi. Sorry for the late call.”

“It’s okay. We saved half of the universe together, I don’t mind a call from you after… hm, what time is it? Ten pm? It’s barely late,” he says, and Tony can hear that he’s using a softer tone than usual. Is he trying to be nice? He understands what he’s going through, after all. “So… what’s up?”

“I-I was just wondering if you could- well if you could wipe my memories? Of Peter? Or… of all of it, really. I’m trying to keep going but I just- every time I close my eyes it’s all I see and it’s really driving me crazy. As hard as this is to say, I need your help. Again,” Tony explains.

The line’s silent for a while. “No.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t think that’s what you really want, Tony,” Strange says. “Plus, you never know what’s around the corner.”

The call ends abruptly, and Tony is left looking at the screen. He's at a loss for words. His eyes strain from the brightness of the display against his eyes, and he stares long enough that the screen shuts off in his hands. How can Strange just say no like that? Maybe he’s trying to help him. All his memories with the kid keep him warm and help him remain afloat... Despite this, they are a big part of why it hurts so much to keep going. How is he supposed to keep them?

And it is what he wants! He does… but, hey, it’s not like he can do much about it now.

He’ll just have to grab a drink and forget about it. But that’s not what Peter would want him to do, right? So, he calls Steve instead.

“I need your help,” he says.

Steve’s there in one minute, dressed in some boxers and a vest. He’s out of breath like he’s sprinted here, and Tony would’ve laughed in his face and how serious he looks if he wasn’t so desperate for some whisky. As soon as Steve sees him, he rushes forward and traps him in an embrace. Tony rests his forehead against the man’s chest, taking a deep breath in.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“I haven’t done anything yet-“

“You are, Steve,” Tony says, “just by being here. Thank you.”

“…Tony and I don’t mean this is in a derogatory way, but have you been drinking? It’s fine if you have, honestly. We can help. I just want to know,” Steve says, pulling back and looking down at his friend. He’s smiling softly but there’s fear in his eyes. “Tony?”

“No, no, I haven’t,” Tony says. “I want to. I really do. There’s this itch and, god, it’s hard not to scratch it.”

“I’m proud of you for restraining, Tony. I really admire that you’ve called for help, I imagine that’s hard,” Steve says. “Would it be useful if I got rid of every drink in the house for you? Or would that make it worse?”

Tony thinks it through. “…Yes, if you would.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to.”

“Thank you, Steve,” Tony whispers. He looks down to his feet and sighs, clenching his knuckles and biting his lip hard. When he looks back up, Steve’s staring at him and running a hand through his hair to style it like it usually is. He’s softly smiling, and it makes Tony realise why it hurt so much that they all left. “God, I missed you.”

Steve’s brow furrows. “Missed me? Tony… nobody ever left? We’re still here for you, even if you’re away more with Morgan- I mean, Clint completely gets it. If you ever feel bad for leaving her for a few days, I’m sure he’ll talk you through how it feels-“

Morgan... He hasn't come over to visit her since they all returned. He has no recollection of her and only knows who Steve is referring to based on context and images on his phone. How bad of a father is he? That young girl is deserving of so much more than he is. A flood of shame he didn't realise he had rushed through him. And then there's Pepper... oh, Pep. He's been so cruel to all of them, too preoccupied with his own mental anguish to see he's causing it to others.

“Oh, Tony. Don’t feel bad- I’m sorry- I probably shouldn’t have brought that up.”

“No, no- you should’ve. I forgot- I actually forgot about my girl and-“

“Tony,” Steve shakes his head. Kneeling and grabbing one of his hand’s, he stares into his eyes and hopes to make him feel better. “Listen to me. Whatever you’re feeling right now, it’s valid. I don’t know what’s happened-“

“You all died, Steve.”

“I remember you saying that,” Steve says. “Is this a nightmare? Something you think happened? Help me understand what’s happening with you.”

“It happened. I just- right, okay. You remember the fight with Thanos, right?” Tony says, squeezing Steve’s hand as he tries not to remember it too harshly. Steve nods. “Okay. We didn’t win. All of you, par me, turned to dust and I was just left there- alone. I had to deal with that, Steve. By myself. I drank myself to death, had suicidal thoughts, but then- then this kid came into the picture, and he saved my life. He got me up and forced me to live again- and he led me to this spell that took us back in time. We changed the outcome of the battle and then- suddenly- I’m back here and so are you… but the kid now doesn’t remember me- and I’m having to struggle with coming back and not knowing who I am-”

Steve looks at him for a while, taking in this story. “Okay,” he says, “I believe you. Where’s this kid? Even if he doesn’t remember what you went through, you can make a new life. Right? And we’ll help you through this, Tony. I have no idea how. I’m not even sure if I fully comprehend what you just told me- but I’ve always said I’ll be here for you. And I’m no liar.”

“You believe me?” Tony says, tilting his head to his side. He blinks once. “Really?”

“Yes, of course.”

“But you have no reason to do so.”

“I don’t, that’s true,” Steve nods. “But it’s coming from you, the smartest man on Earth. Tony Stark. One of my closest friends. It’s hard not to trust you.”

“…His name is Peter Parker,” Tony whispers, ignoring how Steve’s harsh trust makes his heart stammering in his chest. Steve’s loyalties have always baffled Tony- since, of course, they had a bit of a rocky start in their relationship... But now, it’s all brilliant and Tony’s missed him horribly. “He’s fifteen- brilliant- smart, kind- and he’s better off-“

“Nobody’s better off without you, Tony,” Steve interrupts.

“Steve- you don’t know that…”

“I do. Of course, I do,” Steve says, quite stubbornly.

“Even if he does, I don’t know how to approach him. Do I pretend that I know him? Give him a job? He is pretty smart, it would make sense,” Tony says. “Maybe I can get Strange to figure a way out to give him his memories back- or not- they were bad memories. He probably wouldn’t want them back.”

“It sounds horrible, but I bet he loved getting to know you,” Steve says, “It’s a hard choice to make. But I bet he never wanted to leave you behind. Maybe both of us could go to his school for a ‘talk’ and see if anything happens?”

Tony thinks it through… what could he lose?

“Sure,” he says, “Let’s hope it works.”