String Theory

Chapter 1

She hesitates for a moment. "My... facial recognition systems have been corrupted. I cannot confirm that you are Tony, but... you woke up here, and you are wearing two sets of Stark technology. My command system registers to Tony Stark and one anonymous user. I can only assume that you are Tony Stark."

Peter scowls, and lets that sink in for a moment. "...What's your name?"

"I'm Karen," she says happily.

"Okay— okay, cool. Karen. I, um- Karen, I need to get out of this stuff. I gotta shower, or something, 'cause," he pauses to inspect the dust again, "there's this... dust on me, and I think— I think I'm gonna puke."

"Your bedroom is upstairs. There should be a shower and amenities there."

"Great. Can you— take me there? Give me directions?"

"Of course. Go out the door and up the stairs. I'll be there, too."

He can't remember anything . The paralyzing feeling of amnesia is enough to make him want to lay back down on the floor and cry. Despite this, he takes a few hesitant steps forward, trying to regain his balance. It takes him a while to get up the stairs, but as he walks, he's beginning to process everything.

"Karen, I can't remember," Peter says flatly. "I can't remember anything. I — I don't even know who I am. What happened? Why can't I remember?"

"...I don't know, Tony. My memory banks have been wiped. I'm trying to recover the lost data, but — turn right, go to the third door on the left. All my backups have been corrupted. I'm... not even sure how I'm online. The worldwide satellites are all down."

"They're all down?" he murmurs. "How can they all be down?"

Karen speaks softly. "I don't know. Something happened."

He knows. He can't remember it, but he knows it happened, and whatever it was, it ruined everything. By now, Peter's in the room. He goes straight for the bathroom and throws up until his chest is aching and he can't breathe anymore. Karen talks him through it again. He barely has the energy to shower, and when he rummages through the drawers after he's done, he's surprised to find that all the clothes are a few sizes too big for him. He throws on a suspiciously oversized sweater, and crawls into bed, too exhausted to dry his hair. The sweater is Tony's, though he doesn't know it, and so is the bed. Peter falls asleep almost instantly.

He dreams about a planet that's warm, with a balmy breeze that's kicking up dust-filled flurries. On that planet, there's massive monuments of destruction, cropping up in heaps of orange and red and black, with cobwebs of old wiring and metal framework. Titan , something tells him, and he wants to leave. He's with a man in one of those suits from earlier, a man with kind eyes and blood tracing the edges of his neatly trimmed beard. Iron Man. Peter recognizes his childhood hero instantly, but something about the man's posture makes Peter a little sick to his stomach - he's favoring his left side. He's injured. Peter wants to go home, to the woman with the long brown hair and the warm smile, who's calling him sweetheart and handing him a lunchbag — who is she? He wants to take the man in the suit, too, back home where they'll be safe. All three of them will be safe at home.

Let's go home, please. I just want to go home.

But he doesn't go home. Instead, his hands start to tingle, and then the tingle turns to an ache, and the ache turns to a thousand freezing cold pinpricks that are chewing up the lengths of his legs, and his arms, and suddenly, Peter feels like this might be his fault. "I don't feel so good," he says, trying not to cry, and the man's stepping forward to catch him as Peter's legs turn to dust beneath him. "You're alright," he promises, and Peter can already feel the cold starting to eat at his heart. He begs Iron Man to save him, twice, but he doesn't. Not his fault, Peter thinks, it's not his fault, he can't stop this. The realization strikes him that now, Iron Man's going to be alone here, and he's hurt, too. He's going to die here. "I don't want to go," Peter sobs, over and over. I don't want to leave you. He's cold. He's so cold, and it hurts. It hurts more to think that his hero's going to die alone.