Pepper unlocked the door with her access code and allowed Peter through. The garage was completely different from the compound lab, of course, but it still has those hallmarks of a Tony lab, which was basically all to say it was a giant mess, Iron Man parts scattered about in what the man calls— called— “organized chaos.”
“The files should be at the back. Thank you, Peter.” Pepper said, “I just... I don’t think I can...”
“Of course, Ms. Potts— I mean, Mrs. Stark.” Peter corrected himself, “I understand. It’s no trouble, really.”
She pulled him into a tight hug.
“You’re a good kid, Peter.”
Peter means to offer a reflexive ‘thank you’, but all of a sudden, those words sound a lot different (“You did good, kid.”) but the arm around his shoulder was decidedly not the same. A lump jammed in his throat, and all he could offer was a nod as he stepped out of her embrace and into the lab, Pepper clicking the door shut behind him.
And then, as her heels clacked away, Peter was alone in the lab.
After a minute of getting his bearings, he noted the cabinet across the room, where the files Mrs. Potts needed were probably located. Slowly, he started to walk across the room, the tapping of sneakers echoing to the (likely sound-proofed) walls. As he walked, Peter glanced back to the side. Against the far wall, DUMM-E had plugged himself into his charging station. He’d done that two hours ago, and hadn’t as much as moved since. For the exuberant little robot to be looking that morose was completely out of place.
Then again, to Peter, all of this seemed out of place. Everything was all wrong.
Apparently, the Compound was gone. This lake house was beautiful and spacious and clearly lived-in, and yet it represented a period of Mr. Stark’s life (five whole years) that he’d never known anything about. He’d never taken the man for a nature-type. But there was a rowboat tied up in the lake and hiking boots by the door, so maybe there were some things he’d just never known, at all. Peter didn’t know why that thought was so unpleasant to him.
Speaking of things he’d never known, undoubtably the biggest shocker for Peter upon getting back was Morgan.
He wasn’t the only one. The little girl who came sprinting from the front door, excitedly screaming for her dad had hit most of the disembarking Avengers like a flash of freezing water. Pepper, in the practiced way of a mother, had deactivated the nanites of her suit and scooped the girl up, whispering softly to her as she carried her back inside, back to her room. The others had lurked outside for a while, waiting for an all-clear.
Peter had sat next to one of the alien women—Mantis— as she shuddered, tears beading up in her eyes, because of course, nobody would account for her abilities still being able to pick up on the anguish radiating from inside the house. They didn’t plan for enhanced senses, either, Peter able to hear Morgan’s every sob as her mother sat her down and tried to explain exactly why Daddy wasn’t coming home.
It took her at least an hour to drop off to sleep. Afterwards, as Pepper appeared on the porch, with a firm warning to ‘keep it down,’ Peter reached over to pull Mantis up by a hand.
Almost the second their hands brushed together she’d burst into tears, her antennae glowing a wispy silver. The rest of her close-knit team had come barreling over at the sound, pulling her away from him, asking her what had happened. With a shaking finger, she’d pointed to Peter.
“H-he mourns.”
Mourning. God, he hated that word. But that’s where he had to be— again— wasn’t it? His parents. Ben. And now Tony.
Peter had gone storming off into the house, past the blankets and stuffed animals and curled up on the end of the couch, closing his eyes tightly. That was where he’d stayed, up until Pepper came to get him.
And now, he was here.
Finally, Peter made it to the cabinet. Remembering the name of the lawyer that should’ve been on the documents Pepper needed, he quickly snagged about three heavy files into his arms, pushing the cabinet back closed. He was turning, ready to go back, when abruptly, his eyes caught on something sitting on the desk.
He knew that picture.
Stepping closer, Peter stared down at the simply-framed photo: himself and Mr. Stark cheesing for the camera, his “Stark Internship” certificate held (upside-down) between them. Mr. Stark had spent an entire lab day making the certificate and taking that picture after Peter had come in one day, frustrated that there was no way to have his classmates really believe his claims about the Stark Internship.
After pulling a few strings, they’d created the certificate together— Mr. Stark constantly trying to sneak in little jabs in the margins, like, “Most Talkative Award 2017-Forever.” But Peter had been determined that the certificate look completely authentic. As was clear in the commemorative photo, though— another essential element— Tony had gotten his revenge in spectacular fashion, by making them both look ridiculous. Peter hadn’t even noticed until he got the photo developed, breaking down laughing in the CVS. He never had shown that photo to his classmates.
Staring down at him, Mr. Stark deceptively-serious as he stared at the camera, Peter felt that old pressure returning to his chest. A cold chill seeped out through his veins as he tried to keep his breathing under control, fists clenching and unclenching as he stared down at the photo.
“I just...” he finally exhaled, “I have some questions, for you.”
This exercise was something that two-month therapist had taught him to do, after Ben. He remembered how she’d explained it, too, in her incense-soaked room. She’d told him, if he had questions, to just ask— because at least then, they would be out in the open, and not rolling around in his head. It was the only thing she ever told him that he actually used.
Of course, Mr. Stark didn’t, and couldn’t answer. But that wasn’t the point. This wasn’t for him. This was for Peter.
“First of all—“ Peter started, wondered if that was too harsh, then decided to keep going anyways, “—who do you think you are, Mr. Stark?”
He paused. The lab space took in those words and accepted them, impassive. But still, he’d never spoken to his mentor so sharply, before, so he did take another moment, just to make sure the lights weren’t going to start flickering in a symbol of some sort of divine aggression.
“I-I mean,” Peter went on, tried to get himself back into the right mindset, “You— you left. Just like Mom and Dad. Just like Ben. Why did you need those stupid stones? You have a family, here! You had a daughter— she’s adorable, honestly— you had Pepper, an’ Happy an’ Rhodey, an’ I mean, I dunno if you would’ve ever wanted to see me again, but you would’ve had me, too! And May!”
Peter knew his breathing was getting irregular. But he was too deep in his mind to stop it, the torrent of thoughts and feelings that had been brewing ever since the battle came to a close finally spilling out to that stupid, silly picture sitting on the desk.
“You weren’t s’posed to leave!” Peter yelled, his hands shaking with frustration, a flush crawling up the back of his neck, “We were both gonna make it out! I’ll have you know that I was already prepared for the lecture of a lifetime, and now you can’t even be here to give it to me!”
“I shouldn’t’ve had to meet your daughter as she came running out of the house, looking for you when you aren’t there! When you’re never gonna be there! I was that little when my parents left, y’know- and if it weren’t for, like, three videos, I would’ve completely forgotten what their voices sound like! S-so... I—I hope you left a video or somethin’ for her.”
Peter brought a hand up to cover his face, his palm cool against the flushed skin.
“Jesus Christ, I’m seventeen years old.” he exhaled, softly, “I am seventeen years old. Why does this keep happening?”
The pressure had grown to a nearly insurmountable level. The back of his eyes were burning hot. His eyes found the picture again— and God, was that stone-faced look even exaggerated?
“Did you ever care about me?”
It came out small and squeaking, nothing like it should’ve. But he could tell that’s this was where he’d wanted to go the whole time. When the silence persisted, even as he knew it would, his eyes hardened.
“Or was it just Spider-Man you wanted?”
He had to let the words sit there for a moment or two, if and only because the lump in his throat had returned, and trying to talk with it lodged there physically hurt.
“I gave you everything.” Peter hissed out after a minute, “Everything, Mr. Stark. I followed you all the way to Germany and got my ass kicked, all for you to prove your point. I tried so hard to be like you. And then all the actual internship stuff started, and we were hanging out on the weekends, working in the lab and doing movie marathons, and- and- and I thought.... shit, I dunno what I thought, exactly.”
That was somewhat of a lie. In his lapse of words, Peter had finally focused on a memory that had been drifting around his consciousness for God-knew-how-long before finally being called upon.
Mr. Stark had invited him over on Ben’s anniversary. At first, Peter had thought of ignoring it— he already took the day off school, and it being only the second time he’d ever had to deal with this day, he wasn’t sure what his reaction might be in mixed company. So, he just hadn’t responded to the text. The absolute last thing he’d ever expected was the man himself coming over an hour later, sandwiches from Delmar in tow.
They did basically the same things they’d always done. And when Mr. Stark had told him that he didn’t expect him to explain, he didn’t need him to open up if he didn’t want to, Peter had felt a wash of complete relief. They’d eaten sandwiches, watched bad daytime talk shows and bumbled their way through a few rounds of Mario Kart. And when Mr. Stark had unexpectedly had to take a business call, going out of the room, Peter remembered only a moment of hesitation before he leapt up after him. He’d already been hanging up by the time Peter stumbled in, all but begging him to stay, because he wasn’t sure if he could be alone right then and he knew he was probably being an inconvenience, he was sorry—
—Mr. Stark had stopped him with a phrase he still hadn’t forgotten.
”I’m not gonna leave you, kiddo. I’ll be here, as long as you want me to be.”
“I was there when nobody else was.” Peter ground out, frustratedly, thinking of a broken shield in the back of the lab, “Why can’t you be here for me?”
Finally, and not unexpectedly, this was when the tears started to drip down his cheeks.
“Y-you promised me.”
And he’d been stupid to believe it.
His knees finally weakened, and Peter really didn’t even try to catch himself as he fell down, probably bruising his knees on the rough floor. At the very least, it was a pain he felt on the outside, rather than the inside. The files fell from his arms and scattered all across the floor, everywhere, and he really just couldn’t do anything right today, could he?
Peter almost made the mistake of thinking that things couldn’t get any worse. But one thing he was learning, gradually, is that, if your name was Peter Parker, things could always get worse.
“Peter?” Pepper called, her heels clicking through the room somewhere close, “Peter, did you find the— oh my God.”
Peter ducked his head, tried not to let her see. Shaking, one hand went to try and gather up the files, but he couldn’t even see which ones were supposed to go in which files, and by that point, his chest was seizing with a sob, and nope, no, he was loosing it, right here.
“Oh, honey,” breathed Pepper, and her heels are getting closer, “I knew I should’ve gotten them myself, oh Peter, c’mere—“
Her arms were warm and solid around his back, and, chin to her shoulder, Peter realized how desperately he wanted May. This was perhaps the worst thing to think about at this moment, as it only made him cry harder, because he had neither, no Tony, no May, nobody. Maybe that was what the world really wanted— for Peter Parker to be alone. Maybe he was cursed: anyone who got too close would die in some kind of horrible accident. His parents had the crash. Ben had the gunshot. And Tony had been practically burned alive, wielding enough power to rewrite the universe itself.
“Shhh, shhh...” Pepper consoled, in a soft way he’d never heard from her before, “It’s okay to be upset. It’s gonna be okay, Peter.”
Peter would never presume himself to know more than the CEO of Stark Industries, but curled in her arms like he was, he felt that distinctive twinge, usually triggered whenever people offered condolences, that little ‘I-know-something-you-don’t.’ He’d done this three separate times. It never got better. Never.
Pepper was still talking, softly. Peter, in no state to answer, could only listen.
“It was all for you, you know.” Pepper whispered, “He solved time travel, Peter. He drove all the way up there to the compound and made amends with Steve, all because he wanted you back. He just wanted to see you again. And I am so sorry it had to be like that, and I don’t understand why, either, but thank God he got to see your face before—“
She stopped, didn’t go on. Peter was grateful for it.
So, that settled it.
He was the curse.
“They just wanted to keep you safe, Peter.” Ben had explained, as a six year old Peter had watched matching coffins descending into the earth.
“He wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, baby. He did it because he loved you.” May had murmured after the ceremony, as they drove their ancient car at the front of the funeral procession, right behind the hearse.
And now, this.
This was his fault.
Tony’s daughter had to grow up fatherless. Pepper had to be alone. What use did he have trying to be a superhero when all he ever did was cause destruction wherever he went? He wanted to help, really he did. And maybe it would be for the best if he stopped trying. But even then, sitting on the floor, trying to dry his tears, Peter knew he could never, ever do that. He needed to be Spider-Man. Being a hero was both his escape, and his atonement.
He finally managed to pull in a few hitching breaths, softly apologizing to Pepper for more than one reason, now. She brushed them off, in whispers, and together, they took a moment of solace before starting to shuffle the papers back in order.
As he stood up, Peter’s eyes locked on the picture, on Tony. His mentor. He thought he might have some sort of moment of clarity, some sort of promise to offer the man he'd inadvertently caused to loose everything.
Instead, he had nothing.
Just questions.