a minute from home
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 5 — 5:48 AM
Peter is afraid.
He can feel his body where it is—a surface below him, a ceiling above him, and everything hurts—EVERYTHING HURTS—it always hurts, it always hurts, ALWAYS HURTS, THEY’RE GOING TO—THEY’RE GOING TO—his right arm aches something wild, a claw of icy pain scraping across the bone, an ache growing and growing—IS IT OVER?—IS IT OVER?—IT’S NEVER OVER—
But he has time—he has time before they come again , and he holds Cassie against his chest—THEY’RE GONNA TAKE HER FROM YOU—YOU HAVE TO KEEP HER SAFE—KEEP HER SAFE—KEEP HER SAFE—keep her safe. Keep her safe. It’s the only thing he’s good for; it’s the only thing he can do. His body is a thing. His body is a thing and he is not here. Peter is not here. Peter is not here.
But that smell— like hazelnut coffee, like freshly washed hair. Peter pulls himself back, and he finds himself in a room. Walls. Door. The door is closed. Left side—empty. Right side—a man. A man— that’s—that’s—
But this man. He's hair is dark and grayed, his eyes are brown, and he's tall and thin, and his hands are trembling. This man is in his room, and the man is awake, and the man has a beard, and he’s looking at Peter with sad brown eyes.
Peter hasn’t seen this man in a long time.
Stranger. Not a stranger. Grayed beard, brown eyes, smile, smile, smiling… He knows—he can’t think—he can’t think—his mind dips into nothing, into swirling black, and Peter shuts his eyes. Can’t look—don’t look, can’t look, DON’T LOOK—HE’S GONNA—HE’S GONNA—but it’s, it’s the man he knows, and he watches the man, his eyes absorbing every detail. And there he is. The man is sitting down across from him, and he’s looking at Peter, and his gaze burns on his skin. That’s Mr. Stark. THAT’S MR. STARK— AND YOUR PRECIOUS STARK IS GONNA WATCH YOU BLEED—
Yeah. Yeah, kid. It’s me. I’m here.
In front of him is a stranger with a familiar voice, and the stranger is speaking to him—a voice, a word, and he cringes, holding that warmth against his chest—Cassie. CASSIE. Cassie’s here. She’s here, she’s safe, she’s here and he’s holding her. He whispers to her a secret: he doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know where he is—he doesn’t know where he is— he doesn’t know where he is—
But he knows him, the man beside him, and this achy warmth glows in his chest. MR. STARK—MR. STARK—HELP ME—HE’S GOT ME—HE’S GONNA KILL ME—
It’s me. It’s Mr. Stark.
There’s that voice again, and it’s clearer now, hidden by a haze of ever-trembling panic. They’re never going to get out. They’re going to die here. They’re going to die here. They’re going to die screaming and Mr. Stark is gonna watch— YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SCREAMING, PARKER, I’M GONNA TAKE YOU APART ONE BY ONE—YOU REMEMBER THAT FINGER? I’LL TAKE OFF ANOTHER ONE, HUH? YOU’RE SO HUNGRY? SHOVE IT DOWN YOUR FUCKING THROAT—THEN MAYBE STARK’LL LEARN HOW TO DO WHAT I SAY—I WANNA HEAR YOU SCREAM—
Peter.
Peter. Peter. He’s Peter. Peter. Peter Parker. He has to look—he has to look. Peter opens his eyes, and he finds a room. Walls. Walls. Floor. Door. Door. The door is closed. Closed door. Closed door, not cracked. He’s safe. Not safe. Never safe—NEVER SAFE—WHERE IS HE—PETER—PARKER— CRY FOR ME PARKER, GIVE STARK THOSE BABY TEARS, SHOW HIM HOW MUCH IF HURTS—IM GONNA BLEED YOU DRY YOU DISGUSTING FUCKING FREAK—
And the man is looking at him, and he is looking at the man, and he knows his name. Shuddery panic in his chest, and Peter squeezes Cassie close. Tony. Mr. Stark. Tony. Mr. Stark. TONY—HELP ME—HELP ME—Tony. Tony. Tony Stark. Tony.
Yes.
TONY—TONY’S HERE—HE’S HERE—SAVE ME—TONY—
Yes, buddy, yes.
YES—YES—TONY—HELP ME—
STOP—STOP—STOP, CASSIE’S HERE —Cassie— Cassie’s here. Cassie. Cassie. His Cassie. She’s here and breathing against him, warm against his chest, and he hugs her tighter. She’s safe. She’s safe. The door is closed. Peter strokes her warm head, holds her against him. He’ll keep her safe. He keeps her safe. He is here. “I’m here,” Peter whispers to her, and he gathers her closer in her arms, tucks her face into his neck. Here. Here. Door is closed. Footsteps—no footsteps. Who’s coming? Who’s coming for him? SOMEONE’S COMING FOR HIM—
Walls. Floor. Bed. The door. The door is closed. If the door is closed—there’s no one here. No one here. He’s safe. Cassie’s safe. So where is he? WHERE IS HE—is he dead?—HE’S DEAD HE MUST BE DEAD—HE’LL NEVER SEE OUTSIDE AGAIN— YOU’LL NEVER ESCAPE ME, PARKER! YOU’LL NEVER—RUN—AGAIN!
But he’s not in the chair—THE CHAIR NOT THE CHAIR NOT THE CHAIR—he’s in a bed. A bed. Soft and warm and he’s so fucking confused—is he in heaven? Heaven. He thinks of heaven, and it must be like this. White. Warm. Soft. Heaven. Where—where—WHERE—
You’re at the Tower, Pete. The Medbay. You’re in the Medbay.
Tower. Tower. He remembers the Tower. Flakes of memory—a tall, shiny building. A warm smile. He remembers—Mr. Stark said. He said. He said he would always save him. Save Peter Parker. Save Peter Parker. SAVE ME, SAVE ME, SAVE ME, SAVE PETER—but he’s not Peter Parker anymore—he’s a thing, a body, a corpse of a boy—he can’t remember who he is—CANT REMEMBER—CAN’T REMEMBER— LOOK AT THE CAMERA PARKER, OPEN YOUR EYES—OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES OR I’LL CUT THEM OUT MYSELF— they’re coming for him, they’re coming for him, they’re gonna cut him open wide— THEY ALWAYS COME FOR HIM—THEY ALWAYS COME FOR HIM—but Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, they have Mr. Stark. Grayed beard. Brown eyes. He’ll never see Mr. Stark again—MR. STARK—MR. STARK—HELP ME, MR. STARK—HELP US—
You’re safe.
SAFE—not safe, never safe, never safe, he’s never safe—
You’re out of there, kid.
He opens his eyes wide, and he’s so frightened that he shakes—he trembles in his entire body, and he clings to Cassie, warm and soft and here. A room. Walls. White walls. White—white floors.
Peter, you understand what I’m saying to you?
HERE—HERE—here. Peter’s here. He’s here with the stranger, the stranger with the familiar voice. He’s. He. He remembers something—he’s been here before, like this, last time he woke up. This bed, this bed, this bed—he hadn’t sat on something soft like this in so long, so long… Blankets. Blankets. When’s the last time…
We—we got you out.
Before. When they tried to get out. But they don’t try to get out anymore— YOU FUCKING FREAK! YOU’RE NOTHING! YOU’RE NOTHING! YOU’LL NEVER RUN FROM ME AGAIN— he’s a freak, he’s a stupid fucking freak—he’s stupid, so stupid, and they’re never getting out—
But he’s on something—a soft something, a something—it’s familiar. Bed. He’s on a bed. Blanket. His blanket. Warm and soft and his. THAT’S MY BLANKET. MINE. MINE.
Yeah. Yeah, kiddo, that’s yours. That’s all—all yours.
The blanket. His blanket. They lost their blanket a long time ago—Charlie took it—CHARLIE TOOK EVERYTHING THEY HAD—AND HE PUNISHED THEM—HE’S GONNA PUNISH THEM—Charlie’s voice wanes in and out of his sickly mind. WHEN YOU DISOBEY ME—YOU GET PUNISHED—PARKER—LOOK AT ME—I SAID LOOK—
He jerks his eyes open and across the room. Walls. Door closed. Bed. No cuffs. No table. He’s scared. He’s so fucking scared. Where is he? Where is he—WHERE IS HE?
The Medbay. You’re in the Medbay. You remember, Pete? See?
The man’s there—his voice sounds strange, like he’s dangling off a ledge.
Come on, you gotta recognize it, right? You recognize this place, don’t you?
THIS PLACE—YOU’RE NEVER GONNA LEAVE THIS PLACE—YOU’LL NEVER SEE THE SUN AGAIN—I’LL CARVE YOUR FUCKING EYES OUT IF YOU TRY— he hugs Cassie so hard and her warmth presses against his chest. Keep her safe—keep her safe—KEEP HER SAFE—SHE’S NOT SAFE—HE’S—HE’S COMING FOR YOU—HE COMES FOR YOU AT NIGHT—WHEN EVERYONE IS SLEEPING—
I’m sorry. I…didn’t mean to—to scare you, buddy. I’m here.
HERE—HERE—Peter’s vision goes blurry, sideways, and he presses his face into Cassie’s head. He doesn’t want to look—he doesn’t want know what happens—whatever they’re gonna do to him—it’s gonna hurt—
I’m here, Peter. Godfather, remember? Godfather.
Godfather. GODFATHER—help me, Mr. Stark, help me, you said you’d help me—YOU NEVER CAME—YOU’LL NEVER COME FOR ME—BUT THEY DO—THEY ALWAYS COME FOR ME—Pain travels up his arm, wicked like a lash, and he whimpers. No, no, no, no more—NO MORE—HE CAN’T TAKE ANY MORE—HELP ME—
Yes…
Peter hears a sound—a sob— and he zeroes in on the sound. There’s a man in the room— there’s a man in the room— and Peter feels sweat warm to his skin. But the man is familiar, and he’s a couple feet away, and he smells like hazelnut coffee. The man sobs, and sobs again, and Peter whispers his name into Cassie as he holds her. He knows him. He knows him. It’s Tony. It’s Mr. Stark. It’s Tony.
Yes—yes. It’s me, buddy. I got you out. We’re out, Pete. We’re out.
OUT. OUT. OUT. HE’S NEVER GETTING OUT—HE’S—where is he? He finds the room again. Walls. Door. The door is closed. The door is closed. It’s just him and Cassie—him and Cassie, him and Cassie—and the man in the chair. Tony. Tony. Tony, the man in the chair. TONY—HE’S NEVER GONNA SEE HIM AGAIN—HE’S GONNA DIE LIKE THIS— YOU’LL NEVER SEE YOUR FAKE-DADDY AGAIN, PARKER—I’LL KILL HIM LIKE ALL THE OTHERS—AND I’LL MAKE YOU WATCH—
He can hear his own voice as he speaks—and it comes out of him in a whimper: “ Tony.”
I’m here. I’m here, Pete… I’m right here.
Tony. Tony’s here. How can Tony be here? It’s a trick—it’s a trick, and he whispers to Casssie what he knows: it’s a trick, it’s always something, keep quiet, keep quiet—they won’t hurt you if you’re quiet. He’s dreaming—he must be dreaming—
We made it out of there. We’re safe. You’re safe.
The man is crying again, his face shiny with tears, and it’s frightening—Charlie never cries— Charlie never cries— Charlie hates when they cry, when Cassie cries—it’s not Charlie. It can’t be Charlie—
Peter shifts, but his body won’t listen—it doesn’t feel like the drugs—and his arms loop around Cassie, warm; he can feel her heartbeat against his chest. If he’s dreaming—if this is a nightmare, then Cassie knows how to wake him up. Wake me up, Cassie— WAKE ME UP, CASSIE—I DON’T LIKE THIS—THAT CAN’T BE TONY—TONY IS GONE—TONY IS GONE—TONY IS GONE—
It’s me—
And the man moves, and Peter is hit by an anvil of fear, crushing him in a white wave, and he cringes, tightening around Cassie—PLEASE—PLEASE—PLEASE—NO—HE CAN’T—
Just me, buddy. There’s nothing to be scared of, it’s just me.
Peter finds himself drifting away, untethered, his mind going wispy and blank. The fear is in him, like chilled water in his veins, and it’s acidic in his gut, writhing. And when he opens his eyes, the man is still there—Tony. Tony. DON’T HURT ME PLEASE—I’LL BE GOOD—I’LL—I’LL DO ANYTHING—
Another sob from the man in the chair, and that achy warmth returns, pooling in his chestMr. Stark. Mr. Stark—Tony—TONY—Tony, he smells like hazelnut coffee, clean and warm, and Peter always dreams of him. He hasn’t seen him since before, since before, since before—
Peter can’t remember before.
But he remembers Tony.
Tony.
That voice, always there—always there for him, crying for him, telling him— you’re okay, you’re okay, I love you, Peter—I’m here, I’m here— always screaming for them to stop, always begging for mercy—
And it never worked.
But he was always there.
His one—his only good thing in that Chair.
He thinks of the Chair then, of the stink of vibranium, of those cuffs, and he’s shaking again. THE CHAIR—NOT THE CHAIR—NOT THE CHAIR—NOT THE CHAIR— TONY, he chokes out, and his voice sounds so alien, TONY—HELP ME—he wants the man to say something, to whisper to him, to hold him close—
Peter has a vision of himself suddenly, his mind painting it in slow brushstrokes around him: he’s warm, wrapped in white blankets, and his whole body is one massive pain, like he’s laying on hot coals. But he’s wrapped in blankets, and there’s soft bandages looped around his wrists, and there’s a man holding him. Not the way Beck holds him—pinning him down—or the way Charlie holds him—by the throat—but cradling him, holding him gently to his chest.
And Peter is warm, his arms curled to his chest, and he tips his head into the man’s arm. And the man whispers to him, softly, and the voice is not sultry or angry: the voice is kind. And he’s whispering: I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…
Charlie and his crew said a lot of things: but they never said they were sorry.
Peter comes back to himself—to the man in the room. White walls, white floor, white ceiling. White bed. Door. The door is closed. And the man is there still—grayed hair, brown eyes, teary smile.
Tony.
It’s Tony.
Mr. Stark always said he could call him that.
On the phone, too, when Charlie was there: IT’S ME, IT’S TONY, I’M HERE—I’M HERE—I’M SORRY—I’M SO SORRY—
The memory is so fuzzy, like it’s run through a shredder. It’s the only thing he can remember right now—the man’s name. Peter frowns, and holds Cassie to his chest, and he croaks, YOU SAID, and his voice comes out of him like an echo, and the man looks up. Tony looks up. I COULD CALL YOU TONY—
The man’s face breaks into a smile, and Peter cringes away from it. I sure did, buddy. I sure did.
This isn’t real—this can’t be real—but the man is so still. If it was Charlie, he would’ve moved by now, would’ve come after him—HE’S GONNA COME AFTER HIM, HE’S GONNA—HE’S GONNA—no, stop it, stop it, stop it. Tony—that’s Tony. And he’s here—here in front of Peter, and he has Cassie, and he has Tony, and he’s in this white room.
You can call me whatever you want.
The door is closed, not cracked.
For now, no one will hurt him.
Tony. Tony. Tony. He squeezes his eyes shut, and he tightens himself around Cassie, curling his broken knee up to his chest, and it hurts so badly it takes his breath away. It’s Tony. It’s just Tony.
Yes—yes—it’s me. It’s me.
Peter whimpers, and he hugs Cassie, and he knows he’s crying but he can’t stop the tears.
You’re okay. You’re okay, bud. Come on, buddy. Come back to me. You were there—you got it—I’m here.
TONY, he says again.
I’m right here. I’m right here, buddy. Come back to me. Look at me. Look at me, Peter. I’m right here.
TONY—TONY—TONY—IF HE’S HERE THEN WHERE IS CHARLIE—THEY’RE COMING FOR HIM—THEY CAUGHT HIM, TOO—THEY’RE COMING—
No one—no one’s coming. It’s just me, Pete. It’s Tony. You’re okay, you’re okay…
Peter and Tony. Tony and Peter. But if Tony’s here then WHERE IS HE—
You’re in the Medbay. The Tower. Remember, Pete? Avengers Tower. You used to come here, and I’d get you all fixed up… I’d help you, I’d… I’d… Oh, God.
MEDBAY, he whispers, and the word is filled with memories of color. He knows—he knows—but this has to be a dream. It’s always a dream, it’s always a drug-toxic swirl of images on the room’s ceiling, a pain-wracked vision right before he passes out, a dream he has with Casse at his side… Dream… It’s ALWAYS A DREAM, ALWAYS A DREAM…
Not a dream, kid. I’m right here. Just open those eyes for me, buddy. Look at me.
Shakily, one by one— he has to look— Peter opens his eyes, and he finds the man in the chair. Tony. TONY, he says again.
Yes. Yes, Pete, you’re doing so good, so good…
YOU’RE HERE, he chokes out, and the word bubbles into a sob. TONY’S HERE—TONY’S HERE—TONY’S HERE—
He’s here.
He’s here.
Tony’s looking at him, and his face is shiny with tears; his eyes gleam. “Right here, buddy, and I’m not going anywhere.”
DON’T LEAVE ME—
“I won’t,” says Tony, with aching sureness, and he’s inching closer and Peter is crying so hard he can’t see.
He feels surrounded, ambushed, like Charlie’s swarming him and pointing his fingers, like he’s there, cackling, laughing, like he’s gonna scream, GOT YOU PARKER! and rip the curtain from before his eyes. Like the door’s gonna open and there’ll be Charlie, crazed eyes and bearded chin, massive and sweating and holding that fucking hammer— PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME—
“I got you,” he says, and he’s so far away, but Peter’s sure Tony would hurt him if he came any closer—and it’s so fucking scary, like there’s a ticking time bomb in the room, and Peter’s sob comes out of him like vomit, liquidy and violent. “I got you, I’m right here, you’re okay, you’re okay…”
PLEASE, PLEASE… And Peter imagines, then, that Tony is holding him like he did in that dream—cradling him to his chest, warm and swaddled in blankets, stroking back his hair, telling him he’s safe. He chokes on the wish and bows his head, pressing it to Cassie’s. He wants to be safe—he wants to be safe.
Peter wants to be safe—like that day, safe in Tony’s arms again.
For a moment, he looks at Tony—the man in the chair—and he sees him. Grayed hair. Brown eyes. His beard scraggly and too long. His face with that desperate hint of a smile.
Peter's never felt so here, so grounded, and he can feel again the sensation of blanket against his feet—he can almost feel him there, holding him, hugging him, rubbing his back.
He's here. Tony's here. He came for him.