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Peter’s not sure when the agonising hollowness started.
When everything started to go from aching sadness to an echo chamber of all the bad that he can’t find it in himself to describe.
There’s too much there, no matter how far he reaches within himself—clawing and grasping at straws to find some semblance of hope, balance, peace, just something to bring him some sense of normality.
But there isn’t, and there won’t be.
Because nothing’s normal, nothing’s okay, and considering he’s one of the most beloved superheroes in all of Queens, he has never felt more utterly alone.
Tony’s dead, May’s dead, Ned and MJ might as well be dead.
And Peter? He’s alone, in a cramped one-room apartment with no company besides the rats that skitter around the floorboards in the ceiling.
So when news breaks that Tony Stark is alive and well and recuperating in Stark Tower, Peter can’t find it in himself to care.
Caring means unleashing all the hurt and anger he has leftover from Titan, it means allowing himself the chance to grieve and to scream about how unfair all of this is.
Because he held Mr. Stark, he heard his heart stop and watched firsthand as Pepper broke down holding the charred remains of her lover before being pulled away by a distraught Rhodey who couldn’t even find it in himself to look at his best friend’s body at the time.
After that, it’s all pretty much a blur. Peter doesn’t remember getting off of Titan, nor the next couple of months, and some part of himself can’t help but feel grateful for the fact.
Because he’s sure that Mr. Stark doesn’t remember him now, the same way Morgan and Pepper don’t. Because Dr. Strange made sure of that, and Peter is simultaneously relived and…so, so sad about it.
So he goes to work, comes home. Avoids mirrors like the plague. Goes out as Spider-Man for hours, comes home. Tries to eat, can’t, then sleeps.
Peter Parker’s days are very monotonous until it’s announced that Tony fucking Stark is back from the dead.
Now, Peter has to deal with visitors .
The first time Peter gets a visitor, he’s at work. Scrubbing the floors at Delmar’s and wishing for the comfort of his mattress because he’s barely scraping by and can’t afford a bed frame alongside making rent.
His shift lasts for another four hours before he clocks out and walks towards his apartment. The sun is just about to set, and Peter thinks he’ll be able to squeeze in a couple of hours of patrolling before his next shift.
While contemplating how much sleep is too little, he’s greeted by a sticky note slapped on his apartment door with handwriting that makes his heart stutter in his chest.
He blinks, once, twice. It’s still there.
He grabs it hastily before making his way into his apartment, breathing laboured as he shuts the door as quickly as he can.
Peter,
Come to the tower ASAP. I don’t know what’s happened, but something’s wrong. Nobody seems to know who you are. I had to threaten to fire Happy just to get this delivered to you.
We have a lot to talk about, Underoos.
Call me,
T.S.
Peter chokes back the bile rising in his throat, his body rejecting the warmth and comfort radiating from the noticeable scrawl and signature on the note.
Peter crumples it up just as quickly, taking a deep breath and holding back tears as he chucks the paper in the bin.
He makes it two steps before he’s rustling through the trash, grabbing the paper before placing it in all its crumpled glory under his mattress.
The second time Peter gets a visitor, it’s on his way home after patrol.
Decked out in his new suit since Mr. Stark’s AI no longer recognises him, he’s ambushed by two super soldiers.
They’re dressed inconspicuously, well as inconspicuous as two 6-foot muscled super soldiers could be.
Steve and Bucky corner him in an alley, and Peter freezes as his senses alert him of their presence.
“Spider-Man?” Steve’s Brooklyn accent has Peter’s lips upticking slightly in recognition.
“Hey man!” Peter fakes a cheerful greeting, his tensing as he watches Steve walk towards him. Bucky chooses to watch from the sideline, as brooding as always.
“You’re a hard guy to track down.” Steve muses, smiling softly, and Peter shrugs noncommittally.
“Comes with the territory of being a masked superhero; anonymity is kind of a big part of that,” Peter jokes and watches as Steve nods, huffing a laugh.
“What can I do for you guys?” He quickly questions, hoping to get out of this interrogation as quickly as possible.
“We’re doing a favour,” Steve admits, and Peter freezes.
“Oh yeah? Well, what do you need me for?”
“A friend of ours is looking for you,” Steve says, his gaze calculating as if he’s dissecting Peter before his very eyes.
Peter laughs nervously, “Well, you can tell your friend I’m not really interested in Avengers business; I’m pretty good at sticking to just being a friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.”
“This isn’t Avengers business, kid,” Bucky says, his voice hard and echoing through the alleyway.
Peter’s eyes widen; he hasn’t interacted with The Winter Soldier since Germany, and it seems Bucky hasn’t forgotten that either as he watches Peter with a dark gaze.
“Uh, well, it’s getting pretty late, so I should probably be making my way home,” Peter says hastily, walking quickly down the alleyway.
“Iron Man wants to know your whereabouts,” Steve’s voice stops him in his tracks.
Peter doesn’t look back; “Tell him I don’t want to be found.”
He launches a web across to one of the buildings before swinging home; he makes sure to take detours and the longer way home before his senses are unable to detect the super soldier’s any longer.
The third time is more complicated.
Peter is walking out of the public library, headphones on as he walks to the bus stop before he’s paralyzed by the noticeable black Audi parked on the curb.
The owner stands in front of it, arm in a sling with sunglasses and a baseball cap perched on his head although the unmistakeable goatee and presence of Tony Stark is evident enough that Peter can’t ignore him.
Though he tries, he hikes his shoulders up to his ears and tries to scurry into the masses of people within the streets of Queens.
“Don’t you dare make me run after you kid.” Tony’s voice is hard but worry coats the words.
Peter goes rigid, eyes darting back to his past mentor who watches him carefully as if waiting for him to dash at the slightest chance.
When he realizes Peter isn’t about to run, he walks over—smooth and suave the way one would only expect Tony Stark to perfect.
He’s unaware of Peter’s internal struggle, of the war raging on inside his head—begging and pleading for him to turn and run and never look back.
But he stays, because he can hear Tony’s heartbeat again and he’s smelling his cologne again and all Peter wants to do is to run into his mentors arms while he sobs and wails like a wounded child.
But he can’t, so he doesn’t.
Instead he waits, heart thumping and eyes wide and fearful and Mr Stark stands in front of him, plenty of grey hairs and wrinkles from the last time Peter had saw him and arm covered in a sling and long sleeve shirt.
“You’ve taken me on quite the hunt Pete.” Mr Stark says, tone soft and placating and Peter squeezes his eyes shut.
“So I’ve been told.” Peter shakily responds back, heart aching
Tony hums, scanning the streets before turning to Peter, “this isn’t the place to have this conversation, you want a burger?” Mr Stark asks, already walking to the car.
Peter can’t help but follow, legs dragging behind him as he stumbles his way into the Audi.
Mr Stark takes him through a drive in, one hand on the wheel and Peter tries to calm himself down but can’t seem to stop the shaking in his leg nor the clamminess of his hands.
“You’ve been dodging me.” Mr Stark starts and Peter hums in acknowledgment.
Tony huffs.
“You wanna tell me why? ”
“Not particularly, no” Peter admits in a whisper.
Tony groans, “Kid please. I-I wake up from a medically induced coma right—that’s enough of a miracle by itself—with a charred arm and people that won’t tell me where you are—telling me that I-I’m crazy for thinking I know you? Kid c’mon you gotta help me out here.” Tony pleads desperately.
Peter wheezes out a breath, shaking his head and clenching his eyes shut.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” Peter whispers brokenly, sniffing harshly.
“You-you died okay? And I was here—I was alone and nobody came to check on me and I don’t even remember coming back from Titan but I remember your heart stopping and, and then May, she—and and, the portals and Doctor Strange said he could fix it! ” Peter says harshly, scrubbing his face as tears fall down his cheeks.
Tony is quick to pull Peter into a hug, letting the teenager sob harshly into his arms as he rubs soothing circles through his shirt through his muttering “ you’re okay now Peter, you’re alright. I’m right here buddy, let it out cmon that’s it ”
Peter pulls back harshly, launching himself at the car door and Tony winces at the sound of his head hitting the window.
“How do you—you’re not supposed to remember me, the spell is supposed to make everyone forget me and if it’s not working that means they’re all gonna come back—oh god Mr Stark you’re gonna be in danger, I have to find Dr Strange—oh god Ned and MJ!”
“Peter, Peter hey kid, kid! Look at me!” Tony’s desperate voice has him launching back into reality.
Tony’s expression is distraught, “god kid, what happened?” He whispers, voice breaking as he watches Peter’s shaking and distressed form.
So Peter explains, he explains Mysterio, he explains Peter 2 and Peter 3 and… May, Dr Stranger and the spells.
Tony grows more and more angry with every passing word, his expression growing stormy and his teeth gritting in anger as he listens in silence.
Although after the end, Peter expects Tony to start lecturing him, he’s surprised when he’s pulled into another hug, this time with Tony pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.
“Oh Bambino , I’m so sorry” Tony mutters, hugging him tightly to his chest.
Peter hugs him back just as tightly before Tony pulls back, grasping Peter’s face in his uninjured hand as he stares resolutely at his young protégé.
“I’m gonna fix this okay? Everything’s gonna be fine—you’re coming to the tower ah! No buts and you’re gonna let me fix this okay? You don’t have to do this alone.” Tony says, his expression soft and adoring as his thumb runs softly over Peter’s cheek.
Peter sniffs, giving a small nod which has Tony smiling down at him fondly.
“You don’t have to do this,” Peter whispers into the silence of the car.
“I didn’t have to create time travel to get you back either, but here we are.” Tony smiles, though it’s bittersweet.