String Theory

Chapter 1

In his sleep, Peter murmurs an apology aloud, and a tear drips to his pillow. Karen raises the lights, thinking he's awake, but he keeps sleeping, so she lowers them again.

Now, Peter sees the same man, suitless, standing at a headstone.

I'm sorry, kid. I'm so sorry. I'm gonna bring you home. No matter what it takes.

Peter jerks awake. Sunlight is pouring in through the panoramic window, and he sits straight up, catching his breath. His heart is pounding in his ribcage, and he swallows dryly. He fumbles his way out from under the covers to stagger to the bathroom and turn the faucet on, cup his hands under the running water. He gulps it down as fast as he can, and repeats this until his throat stops burning, and leans on the counter, heaving for breath.

"Good morning, Tony," Karen says softly, and Peter gives a start so hard he nearly slams his head on the cabinet.

"Holy f- oh my god, Karen, you scared the crap outta me. Can you, like- can you beep at me next time? Warn me or something?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Would you like me to warn you every time I speak?"

"No— no. Just... just when I wake up." Peter groans, and presses the heel of his hand into his eye. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Seventeen hours and forty eight minutes."

"What!?" His voice pitches up in alarm. "Why did you let me sleep that long?"

"You were in shock. I was monitoring your vitals— don't worry. I would have woken you up if you had started to fade."

Peter says nothing. The events before he passed out are coming back to him, and he feels sick again, so he rests his head in his hands for a few moments, focusing on his breathing. It's fine. Everything's fine, Tony. Don't freak out. Freaking out isn't gonna help anything.

After he uses the restroom and puts on a pair of sweatpants, he tips his head towards the ceiling.

"Is there a kitchen?"

"Yes. Down the hall and to your right. Next to the living room. Are you going to eat?"

"I, uhh," Peter hums, "I don't know, probably. If there's something to eat, yeah, sure."

Peter takes his time getting there. The floor is cold against his bare feet, and the warm morning sunshine doesn't do much to fight the heavy, almost ominous chill that's settled over his shoulders. He opens the fridge and peers inside, talking absently as he rummages around for breakfast.

"This house— is this even a house? This place is huge. Is anybody else here?"

"This is the Avengers training compound. It's also home to Stark Industries. You're alone here."

He swallows at that. Alone. Great.

After pouring himself a bowl of cereal and a glass of milk, he sits himself down at the kitchen's bar, and rests his elbows on the countertop, munching quietly. It's eerily quiet in the house, and he can't help the anxiety that's sitting in the pit of his stomach. Yeah, this place looks familiar, but it sure doesn't feel like home. The gut feeling is something he knows he should trust. This is.. maybe a friend's house, or somewhere he'd stay over the summer. Maybe a second home? Then again, it could be the memory loss. Maybe this is his home.

Through a mouthful of cereal: "Karen, you said Avengers. What's an Avenger?"

"The Avengers are an autonomous, worldwide protection group that mobilizes to deter international threats and protect the Earth. —They're superheroes, Tony. You're one."