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Peter knew he ought to get some sleep, but between patrolling,working, and studying for his upcoming exams, the thought of getting sleep anytime soon was unlikely. School itself wasn’t bad, he knew he was smart enough to pass all of his classes with minimal studying, but patrolling and working were really taking it out of him.
The vigilante worked under the table jobs, seeing as he didn’t have any physical record of his existence, the chance of getting an actual job was slim to none. So he spent his evenings before patrol working at different dive bars as a bartender.
He didn’t know the first thing about alcohol, but that didn’t seem to bother any of the patrons. In fact, he thought they might prefer it. His guesstimating with how much liquor went into each drink was favorable to the people at the bar, and usually resulted in tips that would help pay at least a portion of his rent.
The generous tips and the below-minimum-wage that the bar paid, however, did not allow for him to stock up on any food aside from protein bars he knew would keep his stomach satisfied for a few hours. Usually he would relent and accept the food that nice people gave him from the carts on the street, but only when he was desperate enough. Unfortunately for him, he did not run into any of those good samaritans tonight, and his body was starting to feel the effects of the lack of food.
It was 4:38 am when Peter dropped his backpack as he climbed in through his window, his spider-man suit wet from the first snow that New York had seen since January. Peter never really had a hard time with the lack of heating in his dingy studio apartment, his fast metabolism kept him warm most of the time. But standing inside the musty space with a soaking wet suit he was shivering in, made him pay more attention to the lack of warmth.
He quickly stripped the suit off and changed into an old t-shirt and sweats before sitting down at the desk in the corner of the apartment. After rereading the assignment guidelines and opening his book, his stomach began to rumble. It had been just over 6 hours since he had last had a protein bar, and his body was starting to feel the effects. Normally he would take another one to hold him off until he went to bed, but he didn't get paid for another week, so that meant rationing what little he had left for patrol nights. He flipped through a few pages, trying to get in the mindset to study.
“Compounds and their function, how fun.” Peter said sarcastically to no one but himself.
He already knew this stuff, his professor knew he knew this stuff, but that didn’t stop them from giving out tests that referenced things only found in the book.
He fished out a pencil from his bag and began taking notes, the paper still slightly damp and crinkled from being kept in a wet backpack. Writing down reiterations of what was in the text book in front of him, he thought about how pointless it all is. If he hadn’t tried to take a shortcut to get him and his friends into MIT, he wouldn’t have to take these stupid classes on subjects he’s already well versed in.
Peter had only been studying for 20 minutes when his eyes began to feel heavy. He felt as though his exhaustion was breaking through his skull and bleeding into his body. His head slowly swayed forward, but was quickly lurched back up when Peter realized. He shook his head and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, willing himself to stay awake. He can do this.
Peter wasn’t exactly sure what woke him up, if it was the smell of something being cooked, or the soft voices coming from outside of his room. He slowly picked his head up and realized he wasn’t in his room at all, it wasn’t even a room, he was at.. a dining table? The avengers compound dining table, to be exact. The one he hadn’t seen in over 2 years… not since-
‘What the fuck?!’ he thought, his eyes wide in confusion and disbelief. The reality of his life felt so far away and distant, becoming more muddled as each second passed.
“Oh good, you’re awake. Stark needs you in the kitchen. He thinks he butchered the recipe. And by the smell of it I think he did.” Natasha Romanoff whispered the last part to him as she passed by. She stopped when she looked into his eyes, teary and wide.
“You ok, Peter?” the dead avenger asked him softly. Genuine concern lacing her voice.
“What’s going on? What happened?” Peter’s voice cracked, he didn’t know why he was upset, but looking at Natasha and hearing her talk about Mr. Stark made his chest ache, and his eyes hot with unshed tears.
“Nothing’s happened, Peter. Tony just needs some help with dinner. He doesn’t want Cap to insult his cooking again.” the redhead said gently, helping the boy to his feet before wrapping an arm around him and guiding him into the kitchen.
“Oh, ok.” he nodded following her, his eyes wouldn’t leave her face for some reason. Tracing every detail as if checking to see if she was real. ‘What is wrong with me? Why am I acting so weird?’ he thought to himself.
“May called, we told her you were staying the night. She’s working the night shift tonight, right?”
“Uh,” Peter searched his memories but came up with nothing. “I think so.”
His chest became unbearably heavy and his heart sank when he walked into the kitchen. Tony stood in front of the stove, stirring some kind of soup in the pot before him while reading something off of the hologram in front of him. Peter could hear his dead mentor humming softly along to the song playing from someone’s phone on the counter.
“Hey, Pete, you finally awake? I need your spidey sense to tell me if I did this right.” Tony said with a glance back at the boy.
He’s lying on a battlefield covered in dirt he’s in front of mr. stark mr.stark is dying and there’s nothing he can-
Peter shook his head to get the image out of head, then stared for a moment before he found his voice, “It doesn’t really work like that, Mr. Stark.” he remarked jokingly as he shuffled forwards. His chest felt lighter now, and he could not for the life of him remember why he had been so upset in the first place.
He took a whiff of the soup and fake gagged, Tony lightly whacking him on the arm at the reaction.
“C’mon, Spidey. I need you to be honest. If not I’ll tell Wanda it was you that massacred her family recipe.” Tony remarked to a cackling Peter.
“That would never be believable, Stark. I know Peter would do my family’s recipe justice.” Wanda commented walking in, giving Peter’s arm and squeeze as she took a whiff of the pot in front of him.
Peter stuck his tongue out at Tony, in a Told you so way as Wanda tore into Tony’s cooking. Critique after critique, reading the recipe back to him and asking him if he did every step, Peter found it hilarious.
“I say we toss it and order takeout.” Natasha suggested from her spot on the couch.
“That’s always your solution, Romanoff” Tony playfully snapped back.
Wanda giggled with a pitiful pat on his back, “You know what, Stark? I’m sure you tried your best. But I think Natasha’s solution is the best one if we want to avoid food poisoning.”
“Oh come on! It can not be that bad,” Tony said, taking a spoon and bringing it to his mouth. Not a second later he leaned over the sink spitting out his disaster of a soup. Peter scrunched up his face in disgust at the sight.
“Wow, was it really that bad? I mean I thought it smelled nasty, but you can’t judge a soup by its smell or however the saying goes.” Steve snarked, walking in the room with Sam and Vision trailing behind him.
“I think it smelled just fine, Stark.” Vision lied, a faked attempt at making his creator feel better.
“Vision, honey, you don’t have a sense of smell.” Wanda gently reminded him.
“Wow Cap, you teaching Vision to lie in those human emotion classes of yours?” Tony, only half jokingly, scrutinized Steve.
“Oooh, Steve I think that sounds like he wants to sit in on one to see what it’s really about!” Sam quipped, elbowing Steve while raising his eyebrows. Everyone knew how boring those classes were. Steve, Sam, Vision (and sometimes Bruce if his schedule allowed it) would sit in a conference room and talk about how to respond when certain situations come up that involve emotions. Sitting through a class was more torturous than hydra ever was.
Natasha half laughed, “Well, lying is an emotion.”
“Only to people like you, Romanoff.” Tony accused, browsing his phone for take out options that he knew everyone would agree on.
“Pizza?” suggested Peter, glancing over Tony’s shoulder at his phone.
“Pizza.”
Peter was surprised at the amount of avengers that, previously uninterested in Tony’s homemade soup, came down for pizza. Bruce came out from whatever lab he was in, Pepper stopped her meetings for the day, and Rhodey had even ended his lecture at MIT early to join them.
He was sat at the table between Tony and Bruce eating his fourth slice of pizza when Stephen Strange walked into the dining area, making a bee-line for the boxes of pizza. And there was that uneasy feeling again. His heart clenched and he felt sick to his stomach. Wanda placed a hand on his arm and gave an are you ok? look towards the teenager. He nodded even though he wasn’t. Lying was easier than trying to describe the way his body was telling him something was seriously wrong, despite everything being perfect.
Strange sat down at the table by Steve and Sam, “We have a bit of a problem,” he started.
“Jesus, can’t a man ever eat his pizza in peace?” Tony interrupted, throwing his hands up in disbelief. Pepper shot him a look and he quickly backed down.
“Calm down, Stark. It’s nothing serious, just a minor containment problem with one of the aliens we fought last week.”
“Then can it wait?”
“Fine.”
Peter watched the interaction between the men, he thought it was funny that two men with such similar personalities could get along as well as the two did. (Well, mostly get along.)
After finishing his fourth slice, the teen started to slightly doze while the others talked amongst themselves. He laid his head in his hands and watched the way the group interacted with each other. Tony listening so intently to the way Pepper talked about her meetings with Rhodey; but still managing to get a word in between Vision and Bruce’s theorizing. How Sam and Natasha bantered so easily, like they had known each other for a lifetime. The way Steve took the moment in, occasionally laughing at the way his friends were bickering, and still holding a conversation with Wanda.
Peter rested his head on the table, and the table slowly lulled into background noise.
“Peter, you ok?” Bruce asked, rubbing his back slightly to arouse him from his sleep.
Peter opened his eyes and looked off into space a small smirk forming on his lips as he quoted in a flat singing voice, “When Cameron was in Egypt's Land, Let my Cameron Go.”
The talking at the table stopped as the group of hero’s stared at Peter, waiting for some kind of explanation as to what the hell he had just said.
After a moment, Vision clarified, “I believe that was young Peter’s attempt at a joke.” Peter gave him a finger gun as he rolled his head face down into the table.
“Oh! That’s a line from that Freddy Butler-“
“Ferris Bueller”
“-Ferris Bueller movie we watched a few weeks ago.” Steve remembered, nodding his head at Natasha in thanks for the correction. The group nodded in realization. Tony gave the vigilante a side eye, trying to figure out if this was just Peter being Peter, or if the boy was delusion-ally tired but wouldn’t go to bed because of his fear of missing out.
“Hey, Spidey, maybe it’s time to go to bed.” Tony said after a moment of deliberation. He stood up and gently helped the boy to his feet by his arms.
“Say goodnight to the grown ups.” Tony stage whispered to Peter while guiding him towards his bedroom.
“Goodnight, Grownups” Peter tiredly sassed.
A chorus of goodnight Peter’s and bye peter’s filled his ears before he reached the bedroom. He smiled at how lucky he was, to have so many people wish him goodnight, and remembered how only a year ago, this would’ve been his absolute dream.
Tony gently sat him down on the bed before covering him up with his Spider-Man blanket the mentor had gotten him as a joke (Peter absolutely loved the thing). He was out the moment his head hit the pillow.
“G’night Pete.” Tony softly uttered as he walked out of the room.
“G’night Mr. Stark, Love you.” Peter said, only half coherently. Tony froze for a moment, his hand passing on the handle.
“Love you too, Pete.” He quietly shut the door.
Peter awoke with a start, pain shooting through his back and a headache already forming. His head shot up as he took in his surroundings. He was not in his bed. He was sitting at… a desk? What the f-
Oh.
Oh.
That’s right.
They’re gone.
Slowly everything came back to Peter. The battle with Thanos, the aftermath. The funeral. Aunt May dying in his arms. Begging Doctor Strange to make everyone forget him. The funeral he wasn’t invited to. Tears filled his eyes and he frantically looked around, trying to convince himself that this was the dream, and that the dinner with the Avengers and May and Tony being alive was reality.
Reality crept in cruelly, reminding him that everything he had was gone, everyone he had was gone. He let his head fall into his hands, and for the first time in a while, he let himself cry.
Halfway across the city, Stephen Strange woke up in the sanctum sanctorum with the strangest visions of a boy he didn’t have any recollection of, and an odd desire to speak with Spider-Man about it.