Chapter 4
Going through a magical portal was definitely one way to distract from the nerves borne of having to step back into one’s life five years later and all the chaos that came with it.
The portal didn’t seem like a big deal after the fact, especially after spending the last days watching the successful use of them as those remaining in Wakanda were reunited with family and friends. It didn’t stop Peter’s brain from wondering for a quick second how Wong’s magic worked—if he was really just stepping through or if there was more to it?—Like the transporters in Star Trek. Maybe that ring he’d been wearing contained technology that manipulated the particulate in the atmosphere and—
His train of thought derailed as Mr. Stark finally came through the portal and the circle shrunk and fizzled away into nothing.
“Well,” he announced as he glanced back at the vanished means of entry, “That wasn’t my flashiest entrance, but it’ll do.”
Mrs. Stark rolled her eyes and stepped up to give him a kiss. “Yes, dear, whatever you say.” She teased as she caressed his cheek. “That exit, though...” She gave her husband a playful wink and then patted his face. “The Divine Miss M would be proud.”
Mr. Stark smirked, “Yeah, Wong will definitely pay for that later.” He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her closer then planted a soft kiss on her lips. He mumbled, “I’m so glad we’re home.”
Peter had watched as they did their flirting thing, but mention of home had him looking away pretty quick. He fought to tamp down his discomfort.
Five years ago, Mr. Stark had been freshly engaged and behaving exactly how Mr. Stark was expected to behave, all snark and sarcasm with the occasional emotional outburst.
And Mrs. Stark was, well—she was Pepper Potts, but not just Pepper Potts. She was Ms. Potts; CEO to Stark Industries, #1 on the Forbes list of “100 Most Powerful Women” in 2017, and MJ had just told him—he sighed as he mentally corrected himself, MJ had told him five years ago that she was creeping up on Oprah and Beyonce in terms of net worth. He’d met her a few times when she’d stop by the lab to make sure Mr. Stark was drinking more than just coffee and consuming actual food—not just the mystery smoothies Dum-E would make for him on occasion. She’d been intimidating, but always polite and kind and left the lab with a smile for Peter and a peck on the cheek for Mr. Stark.
And while he’d been stuck in that stone? Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts had gotten married, built a home... moved on, and here he was— Peter was getting tired again just thinking of it.
Five years later was weird.
Peter scuffed his toe against the floor, unintentionally drawing attention to himself.
Mr. Stark straightened the two of them up and turned to him immediately, making sure to grab his wife’s hand. “Yeah.” It was Mr. Stark’s turn to blush. “Sorry about that. I guess we’re all a little relieved to be back, right? We can finally get back to normal?”
Peter chuckled quietly and shrugged as he refused to look up at the pair. “I guess?” He replied, but in his head, he knew better.
“Well,” The pair moved closer to him and Mr. Stark put a supportive arm around his shoulder. “I’m not even going to ask what you want to do, kid.” Mr. Stark stated as he turned Peter around and started walking him through the living room of the penthouse, “but before we figure out when you can see May, I need to know if an in person visit is even in the cards for today. I’ll just pop down to the med bay and have a quick chat with the doctor and—“
Peter didn’t think before he stopped moving and the words fell out of his mouth, all desperate and pleading. “Can’t I just come with you?” Mr. Stark was opening his mouth to say no, Peter was sure of it, so he kept going, “I don’t even need to talk to her! I’ll stay back and out of the way and everything. Please? I just want to see her.”
Mr. Stark couldn’t hide the sadness in his eyes. “Pete, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
But Peter was determined. “But it’s May, Mr. Stark!” He begged. “And you can’t tell me she hasn’t missed me, I mean, it’s been five years for her and I know she’d want to see me—“
“Kid, that has nothing to do with it. I promise. You know what your aunt is like.” Mr. Stark seemed to hunt for his next words, “She’s a beast in the best possible way—but now? She’s not, and the last thing she’d want is for you to see her... less than one hundred percent because then she’ll get upset that you’re worrying about her and then you’ll end up getting upset and none of us want that either, do we?”
Peter tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “No. I get it, that’s cool. Just...” He trailed off before he said something stupid. He understood. He’d heard the doctor only a couple of hours earlier and he knew he couldn’t just go running into the med bay to throw himself at Aunt May. Stuff was going on and he wasn’t going to get in the way of it.
“Let’s give her chance to put on her game face, okay?”
“Okay.” Peter couldn’t have sounded more glum if he’d tried. He hated this.
“Hey, kid,” Mr. Stark pulled him into an awkward side hug as they all started walking again. “I promise you, we’ll get this sorted, but here’s what we’re gonna do. First, we’re gonna get you set up in your room,” they turned down into a hallway beyond the living room, “so you can take a nice, long shower—wash off all of those teenager cooties you’ve been sporting.” Mr Stark ruffled Peter’s hair as he attempted to lighten the mood. “Then, by the time you’re done, I’ll be back with all the information we need so we can make a plan, alright?”
Peter nodded even though he wanted nothing more than to disagree with everything Mr. Stark was suggesting and make a break for the med bay. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. Five years ago, he was supposed to help get the gauntlet and then come home and train with the Avengers after May grounded him forever... and now, even his freaking homecoming was wrong. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to deal with all of this.
Mr. Stark steered him through a doorway and stopped. “So, kid. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Peter blinked, confused. “Um, what—?“
“You’re room, buddy, what do you think?” Mr. Stark gestured into the room they were now standing in. “We tried to make it exactly like your old one... got FRIDAY to...”
Peter tuned Mr. Stark out as he stepped further into what was definitely a space meant for him. Now that he was paying attention, it took a second to know that he was in the exact same room Mr. Stark had put aside for his use before half of the universe disa—
It was like a needle scratching across a record in his brain. NO.
He needed to change the thoughts in his brain—wished it was as easy to do for himself as it was for the schematics laying about the lab... a swipe of the hand and BOOM, a fresh start—the lab he hadn’t been in for five years because he was trapped in a stone.
NO. He scolded himself again and clenched his fists tight; thrust them into the pockets of his sweatpants as he tried to reframe it. He needed to make it something else before Mr. Stark ended up looking at him that pitying way again.
Okay.
It was the same room Mr. Stark had put aside for his use on those nights when they’d goof around with Mr. Stark’s tech until stupid late and then the two of them would fight over whether 80s horror movies were the superior movie genre when anyone with real taste knew that Star Wars and all things sci-fi was where it was at.
Yeah, that was better. He could do this.
He tried to relax his shoulders as he took in some of the details.
Peter was grateful that the room itself smelled as fresh and clean as the last time he’d been in it. The laundry detergent used to wash his bedding was even the same. His posters were on the walls and his books were back on the tiny bookshelf by the desk set up next to the wide expanse of window. The pens, papers, books, and even an unfinished lego project he’d left upon it during his last weekend were sitting in a box, waiting to be unpacked.
It was almost exactly where it was all supposed to be.
Almost.
And then—
Peter remembered an April Fool’s Day when he and Ned had been little. It had fallen on a Saturday, which of course meant a sleepover for the two new friends and, while May and Ben slept on, the boys had decided to be as diabolical as six year olds could be. It had taken all of three minutes, for all of the giggles and impromptu pillow fight, but they’d switched all of the red throw cushions from the couch with the brown throw cushions from the two armchairs in the living room. The cutlery tray in the kitchen was given the same treatment before Peter and Ned were satisfied with their first ever attempt at foolery.
It was insanity, and May and Ben were absolutely baffled at how something so strange could have happened while they slept!
Peter smiled sadly at the memory as he realized this was that moment, except it wasn’t a goofy prank by two silly kids. It was like everything in the room was six inches to the left and Peter was supposed to be confused that something wasn’t quite right—
Nothing was right.
He wondered if this would be the thing that pushed him over the edge.
“Pete?” Mr. Stark asked again, softer this time and laced with an undertone of concern.
He closed his eyes for a moment then pasted a smile on his face. “It’s great, Mr. Stark.” He turned to face him, hoped he’d buy the ruse. “You wouldn’t know that anything was different except that my desk is finally tidy.”
Mr. Stark chuckled, “Look, kid, I know it’s not quite ri—“
“No! It’s absolutely fine!” Peter couldn’t allow him to acknowledge the imperfection of it or he’d lose it. “I hadn’t even thought about... this. It’s just like I left it,” he lied.
Mr. Stark wasn’t convinced. Peter could see it on his face. “Peter? Tell me what’s going on in your head. I can see that something is—“
“No.” Yup. He really needed to not be talking about it, “Everything’s great... this is great, Mr. Stark, thanks so much for doing this for me.” Peter then looked behind him to Mrs. Stark still standing in the hallway. “And you, too, Mrs. Stark. I’ll try really hard to not be irritating while I’m here.” He kept that same fake grin going, hoped for the best.
And then Peter put an arm around Mr. Stark and ushered him toward the door.
Mr. Stark pushed back a little, making his desire to stay obvious. “Pete? What are you doing?”
“Just what you asked, Mr. Stark. I’m gonna jump in a shower now and get ready for the day.” He’d gotten Mr. Stark one step into the hallway when the man pulled free of Peter’s unintentional restraint, turned around and braced himself in the door frame.
“Peter, stop.” He tried to catch Peter’s eye. “What’s going on?”
The question stopped Peter cold in his tracks. He was absolutely not prepared to answer the question. “What do you mean? I just said—“ He glanced over his shoulder back into the room. “Everything’s great.”
“Yeah, Pete, I hear you. You keep saying it. It’s great, but that’s not what I’m picking up here.” His voice held nothing but concern and he stepped closer to Peter. “Do you want to try again?”
And his plan had failed in all of one minute.
Dammit.
An unexpected anger flared, “No, I really don’t.” He hadn’t yelled, but he was a near thing. “Can I please just take a shower now?” He tugged at the sweatshirt that wasn’t his, stalked toward the dresser he’d yet to inspect and pulled open the drawer that thankfully held his t-shirts. He’d hoped it would be enough of a cue that Mr. Stark needed to leave, but that was apparently too much to ask.
“Peter, c’mon. I need to know what’s going on in that genius brain of yours. Do you want to talk? Do we need to change something about the room?”
“NO! It’s already changed enough!” Peter snapped. He grabbed his favourite shirt and slammed the drawer shut with enough force that the dresser hit the wall behind it with a crash.
Mrs. Stark gasped at the outburst, bringing Peter back to himself.
He froze where he stood, his ears flushed with embarrassment at the loss of control-- being caught out. “Shit. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
Mr. Stark stood silent as he waited for Peter to settle down, Mrs. Stark coming to stand beside her husband as the tension hung thick in the air.
And never before had he wanted Mr. Stark to leave him alone so badly.
“I think I need... can I just have a minute, please?” He whispered and fidgeted with the shirt in his hands.
“Peter, I don’t think we should--” his words cut off.
Mrs. Stark put a hand on Mr. Stark’s arm, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “Tony, wait a minute.” She gave Mr. Stark a ‘look,’ “It’s been a long week, and an especially difficult day for Peter. You go check in at the med bay while I check in with the others and give him a chance to catch his breath.” She addressed Peter next. “Does that sound like a good idea?”
Mr. Stark opened his mouth to protest, “But—”
Mrs. Stark didn’t bother to hide her glare. “I’m sorry. Did I pose that as a question to you?”
Even Peter knew from that tone that CEO Ms. Potts—um, Mrs. Stark was coming out to play, so he wasn’t surprised when Mr. Stark grumbled out a petulant ‘no.’
“Good.” She turned to Peter next, spoke kindly. “You take all the time you need, honey. I can’t imagine we’ll be longer than a half hour, but if you need more time than that, then you take it. We’ll meet up in the living room when we all finish. Does that sound good to you?”
Peter nodded a ‘yes,’ though he still refused to look at either of them.
She smiled, like the last minutes of Peter’s tantrum hadn’t happened, then continued. “Perfect. We’ll get out of your hair.”
She made to steer Mr. Stark out of the room, but he again stopped and turned to address his mentee. “Hey—“
But Peter refused to look at the man.
Mr. Stark tried again, “Hey, buddy. Listen to me. No one is mad. Okay?” He seemed to grapple with finding the right words for a second and then went on. “We all know this is messed up and no is going to blame you for not knowing how to react—but you have to talk to us okay?”
Peter couldn’t bring himself to respond.
Mr. Stark sighed, seemingly giving up on the moment. Peter glanced up, thinking he’d watch them walking out the door, but blinked in surprise at Mr. Stark waiting patiently for him to look up.
“If you need anything... if you need me, you let FRIDAY know and she’ll get me. Understood?”
Peter did nod at that, but kept quiet.
Mr. Stark sniffed and then cleared his throat. “Good. Go take your shower, sweetheart. We’ll see you in the living room when you’re done.” Peter thought he’d reach out to hug him, but he held himself back and Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Instead, Mr. Stark grasped Mrs. Stark’s hand, gave Peter a wink and a nod, and the two of them left.
He waited a few seconds, listened for the concerned voices talking about giving him time to fade away down the hall and then sighed in relief.
Finally.
Peter was alone for the first time since, well, he guessed five years ago.
He stopped the thoughts again. It was too much, and he had thirty minutes to pull himself together, so that’s what he was going to do.
* * * * * *
Peter took a couple of minutes to be still and hoped it would be enough to get through whatever came next.
It wasn’t.
He did the breathing exercises MJ had taught the decathlon team before that huge meet against Bronx School of Science.
Maybe that took the edge of a little?
Finally, Peter gave up, realizing that it wasn’t going to matter what he did, at least for now. He just needed to get up and move.
And so he did.
He grabbed the rest of his clothes from the dresser, consciously ignoring the drywall dust on the floor behind it, and stepped into the ensuite.
FRIDAY had already started the shower knowing that Peter’s preferences wouldn’t have changed, so he stripped and stepped under the hot spray. He closed his eyes and counted his breathing again, but now that he’d moved from the quiet of his room, the urgency to get done and get to the living room started pressing on him.
He could do this. Whatever the world had in store for him, he’d manage. He’d done the whole starting over thing before, after all and hiding from it wasn’t going to change anything.
He wiped the water away from his face and grabbed the bottle of shampoo from the shelf, smiling to himself as he recognized the brand and scent on the label. He wanted to be quick, but he sound of the water beating against the ceramic tile and the soothing fragranced steam relaxed him more than he’d anticipated.
Maybe he’d be alright?
After a few more minutes of luxuriating in the heat, Peter finished washing up and stepped out to dry himself off, not bothering to do anything special with his curls. He slipped on his boxers then his jeans, keeping the towel around his neck so his hair wouldn’t drip everywhere. He finished off with one last vigorous scrub and tossed the towel into the hamper behind the door. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, took a deep breath to center himself and caught a whiff of it...
He wondered how quickly Happy had been able to pull his stuff out of storage and how many times his clothing had been washed and washed and washed... all to try and get rid of that musty, unused smell that clings to old, discarded clothing. Except that the clothes hadn’t been outgrown or discarded—and below the layers of wash after wash he could still tell with his stupid enhanced senses that all that Peter was before was that stink of age and neglect.
An unnatural calm settled upon him as he pulled the shirt down from his face and left the bathroom.
He grabbed forgotten socks from another dresser drawer and sat himself on the bed to get them on.
He realized he’d get no reprieve from all of the reminders, and wondered why he wasn’t more upset.
It didn’t matter, though.
He looked at the clock on his bedside table. He’d already taken forty minutes and needed to get out to the living room. Mr. and Mrs. Stark were waiting—
And Peter figured that after five years, they’d waited long enough.