"Mr. Stark, I don't feel so good...
I don't wanna go."
Peter Parker shot up violently in bed, gasping and reeling from the nightmare. The memory. In an effort to calm his racing heart and tingling body, still trapped in the painful aftershocks of the memory of turning to dust, he stumbled off his bed and curled up on the floor. The cold wafting up from the wooden surface was enough to keep him grounded, to keep him present.
As he sat there, huddled in the corner of the room trying to name things he could touch, hear, see, smell and taste, the pain of dusting was replaced by one Peter was all to familiar with. Grief. Loss. Mr. Stark was the third figure in his life Peter had considered a father, someone he admired, someone he wanted to make proud, someone he loved. Mr. Stark was the third father figure he'd lost, the second he'd watch die and the worst funeral he'd ever attend.
Ben's funeral had been rough, terrible even. The guilt hanging over him, staining his hands, had been almost too much for Peter as he stood there in the chilly New York morning, holding Aunt May as she fell apart. Ben was the love of May's life, but this was the only time since he died that Peter had seen May truly grieve. This was the only moment, it seemed, May would allow herself to fall apart. So no matter how suffocating the guilt, he would stand there and bear it. He would continue to shoulder May's weight and her grief. Afterwords, she locked herself in her room. But thin walls and enhanced senses allowed Peter to hear her rustle through papers, photos and memories. It also allowed Peter to continue to hear her small sobs, hiccups and tears. He fell asleep that night wondering why he hadn't done something. He'd been right there. Why hadn't it been him?
The next morning, May was back to a semblance of normal. She was still more quiet than usual, but she greeted Peter when he emerged from his room to eat the breakfast she had made. She had kept up conversation throughout breakfast, and she told Peter that by the end of the week she would be back at work. She hugged him tight on his way out the door, and promised him that they would be ok. It was them against the world.
Now, looking back, Peter had no idea how May had managed to be so strong. Ben raised him. Ben was more of a father than his own father had been. He had died when Peter was 6, and even before that, his parents had often needed to go away because of their research. So, truly, Ben was the only real father Peter remembered. But he was Aunt May's husband. The love of her life. They'd been together more than 15 years. Longer than Peter had been alive at the time of Ben's death. Peter was weighed down by a combination of guilt and grief, but he couldn't begin to imagine how May had felt.
Today though, today was worse. He swore to himself after Ben and after Spider-Man, he would never allow someone he cared about to die if there was something he could do. But, on that battle field and in that chaos, overwhelmed with being alive again so suddenly after disappearing so painfully, he'd passed the gauntlet on. And it had ended up with Mr. Stark. Once again, Tony Stark saved everyone. Once again, Tony Stark was ready to sacrifice himself for Earth. Only this time, he did. And he wasn't coming back.
Peter thought nothing would feel worse than losing Ben, than being responsible for Ben's death. But he was wrong. This grief, this pain, this guilt was even worse. Not only had he lost someone he had admired since he was three years old, his hero, but the world had lost their greatest defender and a little girl - who Peter didn't learn about until long after the dust of the battle settled - had lost her father. Now Morgan, so much like Peter at that age, would have to grow up without her father. Peter would have to burry his third. And it was his fault.
Suddenly the floor he was curled up on was too cold. There was a chill, an emptiness that spread into his bones and now all he felt was that he needed to get away. Peter couldn't be sure if it was the turbulent emotions or the remnants of the nightmare, but he needed to move, to get away from the corner he had curled up in. So, he grabbed some clothes and stumbled his way into the bathroom. He knew it was far too early to be awake, but he also knew he couldn't go back to sleep. The only thing more painful than reliving his own death in his nightmares, would be reliving Mr. Stark's only to wake up and realize that it wasn't only a nightmare.
"We did it Mr Stark!"
The urge to vomit hit him so forcefully and unexpectedly he almost didn't make it to the toilet in time. As he sat there, curled over the toilet hearing his own voice echo in his ears and feeling the heaving of his stomach, Peter couldn't help but feel like maybe this was his punishment. Ben's death had been his fault. And Mr. Stark's death, while the cause may not have been Peter's fault, the outcome certainly could have been prevented. Peter knew HE could have used the gauntlet. He may even have survived doing so. But in the moment, he was so overwhelmed and everything was so chaotic that he had wanted nothing more than to pass the responsibility on to someone else. And that someone else had been Mr. Stark. So these nightmares, this pain, and the never ending upheaval in his stomach causing him to be so violently sick, this was his penance.
By the time his stomach had nothing left to expel, Peter was exhausted. He was shaking, he felt cold and empty but he knew that his skin was hot. He moved to stand and his legs began to tremble so bad that he nearly collapsed right back on the floor. When was the last time he'd eaten? He didn't know. Couldn't be sure. After watching, hearing, Mr. Stark's heart stop, everything else seemed to blur and become unimportant. He knew it had been a few days since the battle, but he didn't know how many. He also wasn't sure when he last ate or showered. It's like his body was on autopilot but his brain was underwater, trapping him in the nightmares. The memories.
As he gripped the side of the sink, Peter drug his eyes up to look in the mirror. He looked terrible. His skin was pasty pale, but his cheeks were brightly flushed (likely from all of the vomiting), and his hair was greasy and flat. His eyes though... If Peter was being honest, his eyes scared him. There were circles so dark under them they looked like bruises. But as Peter looked into the mirror, staring at his reflection, he had to admit that the thing that frightened him the most was how glassy - how empty - his eyes looked staring back at him. The urge to vomit hit again but he knew there was nothing left. So, he jerked his eyes away from his hollow reflection and clenched his teeth in an effort to control his breathing, ground himself and not start another bout of dry heaving.
A shower, Peter decided, was what he needed. So, he turned the water up - likely much hotter than it needed to be - and got in. He went through the motions without really thinking about them, but as he stood there rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, Peter's mind began to wonder. It had been 5 years. Did his friends get dusted too? How was everything going to work now that everyone who had been dusted, suddenly came back? Mr. Stark had a family. A daughter. Why had he participated in the fight at all? Peter knew there was more to it. He was missing something. He knew Mr. Stark, better than most gave him credit for. He knew he wouldn't just risk everything if he hadn't thought it was worth it. He wouldn't have been so willing to lose if there wasn't something equally as important to gain.
He knew today of all days wasn't the day to demand answers, but everyone had been avoiding him since the battle. Some with their own grief, like Pepper, and others for completely unknown reasons. Today was the first time everyone would be together since everything happened, and he didn't know if it would be the last. This may be his only chance to find out why.
Several hours later, Peter had yet to leave his room. Once he had decided he was going to try to get answers he'd wandered back from the bathroom to his bed where he'd curled up. That's where he still was. His brain was still anything but calm, but his body remained in the same position he had taken up after his shower. This was yet another moment he found himself wishing he could go to Mr. Stark. One of the things they had in common, both really struggled with at times, was the inability to shut their brains off. If Peter couldn't sleep or his brain wouldn't quiet down, he could always count on Mr. Stark being awake and likely in the lab as well. He could call or swing by and they could either talk, which was not as common, or tinker with various projects of Mr. Stark's until they either fell asleep or got hungry and had to leave the lab for sustenance. But that was five years ago. And Mr. Stark was gone. So Peter remained folded up in bed with his racing thoughts.
By the time the mid-morning rolled around, Peter knew May would be knocking on his door soon. That meant it was time to get ready. Time to say goodbye. This would make it all real. Peter didn't think he was ready for that, but he needed answers and he owed it to Mr. Stark to be there. Even if this would be the worst funeral he'd ever attended. Gathering up the pieces of his suit, Peter's mind flashed back to Mr. Stark buying this suit for him in the first place.
"Mr. Stark, I really don't see why I need this."
"Kid, when are you going to call me Tony? I know we've talked about it. And the suit is for all of the events I may or may not need to drag you to as a Stark Industries Intern."
While the tailor continued to take Peter's measurements, he was overcome with several emotions, including disbelief and gratitude.
"But Mr. Stark, the internship isn't real."
"Oh didn't I tell you? You're a genius. And I figured your aunt would appreciate some authenticity, so I made it real. Sent the paperwork to her for parental signature last week. You officially work for me. And you have a direct deposit account set up for your paychecks."
"Paychecks?? Mr. Stark you don't have to pay me! Besides, this suit you are forcing me to wear has to cost more than May makes in a month."
"That may be true, but I pay everyone who works for me, no matter their position in the company. So if you work for Stark Industries, even as an intern, you get paid."
While Peter couldn't believe his luck, and he didn't know how he managed to stumble into an opportunity as amazing and rare as this, he couldn't help the sting Mr. Stark's words caused. Does that mean that Mr. Stark only saw him as an asset?
As if reading his thoughts, Mr. Stark lowered his voice so that the tailor wouldn't overhear.
"Kid, you're here because I like you. Not because you're Spider-Man, although that's how I found you and not because you're smart, although that makes you a great fit with my company. I'm here because you're special. And because Pepper says I need to form healthy attachments."
Healthy attachments. That was the first time since Germany, since Siberia, that Mr. Stark had ever attempted to really define their relationship. Peter knew that Mr. Stark was a guarded person, but in that moment in the suit shop, Peter finally felt like he understood where he stood with Mr. Stark and that he wasn't alone in how he viewed their dynamic. Mr. Stark had been his hero since he was big enough to understand who he was, and he had been his mentor since Germany, but that April day Peter felt like he and Mr. Stark were something else. Maybe not father and son, but not quite mentor and mentee either.
After that, Mr. Stark did take him to a couple of events. But that wasn't what Peter remembered. That wasn't what mattered. What mattered was that Mr. Stark cared about him. Enough to make his internship real, to open doors for his future, to give him an outlet for his creativity and never ending thoughts, to give him guidance. But most importantly, it proved that Mr. Stark cared about him. His thoughts, his goals, his dreams, his safety. While it was the suit his was going to wear because it was the only real suit he owned, Peter felt it was even more special to wear the suit for this because it was the first tangible thing Peter had gotten from Mr. Stark that proved Peter Parker mattered as much as Spider-Man. Mr. Stark had given Spider-Man several suits and they constantly made improvements to them as well as occasionally fiddling with other inventions and designs Mr. Stark had made. But this suit, this was for Peter Parker.
Just as the memory caused tears to gather in his eyes, he angrily yanked the tie he had been attempting to tie off his neck and threw it on the ground before collapsing on his bed again. He'd been to funerals before. He'd lost two father figures already. Why was this any different? Why was putting on the suit Mr. Stark got him, preparing for Mr. Stark's funeral, so hard? Before the thoughts could carry him away, there was a knock on his bedroom door.
"Peter"
It was Aunt May. Coming to collect him to say goodbye to his hero.
"Peter, can I come in?"
His voice was scratchy, rough and painful sounding (even to his own ears) from disuse, but he managed a small "yes." Slowly the door opened and May stepped in, dressed in her nicest black dress. She took one look at him on the bed, staring into space and then down to the tie he had angrily thrown on the floor before saying softly, "oh Peter."
He didn't respond, but she calmly walked into the room, picked up the tie and moved to sit beside him on his bed. The bed Mr. Stark had bought him when they redesigned his room, together, a few months after he bought Peter the same suit he was wearing. Memories of Mr. Stark, once happy and warm, were suffocating now.
"Here, let me do the tie. You always were hopeless at tying ties" May said, with a small chuckle that sounded far too sad. Again, Peter said nothing. But he let her manipulate him however she needed to get the tie on and tied. One she was done, she smoothed down the sides of his jacket and straightened everything out. When he still said nothing, she sighed but stood and turned to face him.
"Come on. We don't want to be late."
Together, they walked out of the bedroom and the click the door made behind them sounded far too final for Peter. As if a chapter of his life, hell a whole book, was closing forever. There would be no going back. This change was permanent.