Peter made no complaint in following Tony to the room of gifts, but he was definitely a little nervous, despite his attempts to hide it. He didn't want to see everything that had been given to him, didn't want to know how much people adored him, mostly because he didn't know what to do with that. He was used to doing quiet acts of service that only a few individuals actually appreciated, but this was on such a massive scale that it was overwhelming, and frightening.
Tony led the way, while Ned and Hope stayed by Peter's side, and May brought up the rear, surrounding him and offering their comfort wherever they could, though Peter brushed it off and kept walking, tucking his hands into his sweatpants pockets.
Walking to the room didn't take as long as Peter would've liked, and Tony certainly didn't waste any time in drama, instead just swinging the door right open.
Peter's eyes went wide.
That was a lot of stuff.
Not just stuffed animals, and containers, but clothes, blankets, food, decorations, crafts, drawings, and a dozen discs that had mini holograms with messages and pictures and videos popping up out of them, so that the room was not only filled with stuff, but noise, and light as well--all of which a little overwhelming to Peter and his sensitive senses, who didn't bother to step into the room.
Tony's hand landed on his shoulder. "You alright, kid?"
"That's... a lot of stuff," Peter said, feeling but not really caring that his feet started sticking to the carpet, because he didn't intend to go in. "This is all for me?"
"Yup." Tony stepped aside to let him forward, though Peter didn't move. "Wanna take a look?"
"I... yeah," he made himself say, forcing himself to unstick, and step tentatively into the room, leaving his family behind as the stuff quickly swallowed him up, his 'bodyguard' following.
His enhanced hearing helped him catch the sound of repulsors firing. Peter looked up, and watched as another ILS flew in with another armful of stuff, quickly followed by another.
It was a constant stream of ILS's, coming in with armfuls of stuff, then flying back out as another on came back in.
"All for me," Peter repeated back to himself softly, unsure if he was overwhelmingly grateful, or overwhelmingly guilty.
He looked around, and locked his gaze on one disc where two kids were chatting excitedly with each other, then looking at the camera and saying something, before stepping aside to show off the wall they had painted Spider-Man on. The time and location stamp showed that it was a video sent two days ago, from Israel.
Peter touched it, tracing the edge of the disc with his fingers, before picking it up. His ILS waved his hand, and all the other messages fell silent, so he could hear the one he was holding.
The two kids were speaking Arabic, but something was translating as they went.
"Is it working?"
"Yeah, I think it is--go, go on! It's rolling!"
"Oh! Right, um, hi, Mr. Spider-Man, sir! My name is Adi, and I'm a Palestinian!" said one.
"And I'm Abram!" said the other. "An Israeli!"
"We just wanted to thank you," Adi said, now humble and nervous, "for... you know, like, saving the world, and stuff? I... I woke up away from home, in an Israeli neighborhood, and Abram's family helped me out. We're now best friends." Adi grinned a little. "I used to think I could never accept an Israeli, but then I realized that we're all just human, and now my bestest friend is an Israeli!"
"We made this for you, sir," Abram said proudly, before looking at Adi, and stepping away to reveal the wall behind them.
Spider-Man, in his battle pose, was painted on the wall.
The art was no masterpiece, but it wasn't bad either, and it was certainly flattering to the real image of the real person.
"Thanks for saving the world."
Peter clicked the message off, partially stunned, and reached for another.
And so it went on.
A slideshow, comprised of pictures of friends, family reunited.
Art of him.
Tributes to him.
Gratitude and praise for him.
Messages of support.
Pity, and guilt, that he had to fight through being the last one in the world.
He looked around, half wondering where all the negative stuff was, because surely there was someone who thought he could've done something different, he could've done better; though maybe it was just that the ILS's weren't taking those messages, in order to keep him as upbeat as possible.
Peter almost laughed at the thought, because there was no way he was going to avoid the trauma. Not after this. At least he was lucky to not have let everything really settle yet. Not enough to have a panic attack or an anxiety attack over it.
Not yet, at least.
*****
"What did I tell you about staying out of my way?!" Tony snapped at someone, Peter raising his head from where it had been resting on the kitchen table.
Captain America looked mildly annoyed as well from where he was standing in the doorway.
"I told you to stay away from us!" Tony said.
"Mr. Stark, please stop," Peter sighed, already getting tired of the constant head-butting whenever Steve was around.
"It's not like I have a tracker on you, Tony. I don't always know where you are," Steve sighed calmly, "And this time, I'm not going to leave."
"You'd better, before you start a fight, and the kid has to be brought into this."
"Mr. Stark, you're being silly," Peter said, standing up and looking at his mentor. "Mr. Rogers hasn't even done anything and--" he put his hand up when Tony stared to argue, "--I know he hurt you, but this is really just getting ridiculous."
"I'm trying to protect you," Tony said.
"Yeah? This is overboard, Mr. Stark. I'm fine," Peter insisted. "I'm not helpless anymore, and he--" he gestured to the captain, "--is not going to attack. He's said it multiple times, and he's said he's sorry. Can't you just hear him out?"
Tony fixed Peter with a hard stare, as if shocked and betrayed Peter wasn't taking his side. Steve, mercifully, stayed quiet, silently observing the staring contest.
Peter won.
"Fine," Tony sighed, sitting back down in his abandoned seat.
"C'mon," Peter said, waving Steve over with a victorious grin. The super soldier hesitantly came over, giving Tony a wide berth, and finally settled himself as far away from Tony and Peter as he could at the table.
Then, Peter folded his hands, and put them on the table, straightening his posture and taking on a serious look. "Alright, time for your first therapy appointment! First, we'll introduce ourselves, our names, superhero tag, age, and something about ourselves. Who'd like to go first?" He raised his hand, "Ooh! Ooh! I would! I would! Great, thanks. Okay!" He stood up. "My name is Peter Benjamin Parker, I'm Spider-Man, I'm seventeen years old, aaaannd... I have so much trauma." Peter grinned at the two superheroes, who just stared at him, unimpressed and tired.
He plopped down in his seat, crossing his arms, gesturing to Steve and Tony.
Neither of them said anything, so Peter sighed.
"Okay, I guess couple's therapy could--"
"No!" Tony exclaimed, looking appalled, "Absolutely not!"
Peter sniggered, despite himself, then fell serious again, "Well, we've still gotta figure out whatever the heck's going on, so..." he gestured to them again, inviting them to speak. "Mind your tempers, remember not to yell," he reminded them.
Tony glared at him, warning him that it wasn't his place to order them around, but Peter couldn't care less at this point.
"Go on," he prompted, returning the hardness of his mentor's gaze.
Tony stared for a few more minutes, before giving up and getting straight to the point. "Why'd you chose the psycho over us?" he asked, head swinging over to look at the super soldier, who looked vaguely surprised.
"He--he's my friend," Steve said carefully, watching Tony warily. "Has been since I was a kid--"
"Yeah, but why--"
"Mr. Stark," Peter scolded, "let Mr. Rogers finish."
Steve waited a beat, before looking at Tony and taking a preparatory breath. "Bucky's been there for me my whole life, to help me through the highs and lows. Heaven knows what he's been through, a lifetime of torture. I thought..." he sighed, and looked away, "I thought maybe I could help him through this in payment for everything he's done for me."
Tony raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to hold his temper back. "You done?" He waited for Steve to nod before continuing. "He was going to get help, Rogers. The government would've gotten him help, if you hadn't taken him away."
Steve shook his head, "No, that's not the way I saw it."
"Of course not! You--"
"You didn't let me finish," the soldier said softly, keeping his tone patient and gentle. "They were going to shoot on sight--they were going to kill him. If I hadn't stepped in, he would be dead right now, and I would be truly alone."
"Was that a problem when you came out of the ice? You were alone then, you seemed fine before Barnes showed up, and then you flipped out," Tony said, hands fisting.
"Lots of things change when you find something out--something big like that. What you don't understand, Tony, is that even before I met you, I was struggling. You saw Captain America, a symbol that never faltered, but you didn't see me, Steven Rogers, who came from a tiny home during the Depression, with a sickly body, and only one friend who stuck with me through thick and thin. You didn't see me, how I struggled.
"I did make a mistake, I will admit that," Steve said, "I was clingy, I was desperate to have someone familiar back, someone I thought was dead for decades. I wanted a real friend, when everyone else was gone."
"But what about us?" Tony asked. "You had me, you had Natasha, and Clint, Thor, Banner, you had the Avengers, we were your friends. We were your family, and then you went and screwed it up."
"You're right. I did have you guys. I was foolish by prioritizing Bucky over everything else, but what was I supposed to do? Was I just supposed to let him die?"
"Yes!" Tony threw his hands up, "He's been killing, assassinating, and spying for the last century! His brain was messed with, he was tortured! Maybe it would've been best for his suffering to end! What do you do with a incurably sick animal?"
"Bucky is not a animal!" Steve yelled, slamming a fist down on the table, shooting out of his seat. "Don't you dare treat him like an object!"
"Mr. Rogers!" Peter exclaimed, on his own feet in a blink, ready to defend his dad. "Temper."
Steve's blue eyes flicked to him, and he huffed after a moment, slowly sitting back down.
Tony was just sitting there silently, shaking not out of fear, but restraint, looking ready to throw hands even without a suit.
"He's not 'an incurably sick animal,'" Steve said, voice low and dangerous. "He's a human being, and it is possible to cure him. Before the virus infected everyone, he was getting better. The control words are almost out of him now, just a few more weeks, and he'll be stable enough to lead a solitary, peaceful life."
"But instead, he's here, in the States," Tony argued. "He's in my home, around my people, who probably have their trust in me hanging by a thread. I've got politicians and officials at my back at every corner for even associating with you in the first place."
"I know, and I've been working to get him out discreetly, without using your stuff, and without using public transport. I'm trying to keep him from everyone, because that's what's best for him, and everyone else. I chose Bucky because I want to help him, and if I can keep everyone else safe while I'm at it, then great. I'm not willing to put anyone incapable of handling him at his worst in danger. As much as I love him as a friend, I acknowledge that he is dangerous. The authorities were going to kill him, and in my attempt to save him, everyone thought I was the bad guy, because I was trying to keep him--and everyone else--safe." Steve practically slumped against his chair, staring at Tony. "Believe me, Tony, this whole thing hurt me just as much as you, if not more."
Tony fixed him with a hard glare. "Bet."
An uncomfortable silence fell for a long minute, but after said silence, Peter spoke up, looking at his mentor.
"What about you?" he asked.
Tony looked at him, expression unchanging.
"There are two sides to a fight, Mr. Stark, and normally, mistakes are made on both sides, and I know for a fact that you're not entirely faultless in this instance. So, because you've got more authority," and because I love you, he thought, "I'm going to let you take the adult step and recognize where you made a mistake."
His words were met with an unreadable face, and though normally he would've been intimidated, he just stared right back, silently challenging him.
Tony sighed. "Fine." He looked at Steve. "I didn't see if from your point of view, I didn't see what you were trying to say--I still don't see what you're trying to say." He leaned back in his seat. "You're trying to protect someone you love. I get that," he said, glancing at Peter, before his gaze returned to the super soldier, "but what I don't get is why you'd prioritize him over us--though I guess you just said why." He paused, then sighed. "I tried forgiving you, Rogers, and I tried to forgive him, but..." his hand tightened into a fist. "He killed my mom--and he knows it, as do you, yet no one bothered to tell me. No one bothered to tell me that some maniac killed the last person alive who loved me, truly, as I was and am."
"I thought you would get mad," Steve explained, "but as I explained this to you in that letter, I realized after our fight that I was hiding it from you to protect myself, more than for you, or Bucky. I was worried it would tear the team apart."
"Well, you did a bang-up job of doing that yourself," Tony spat bitterly, earning a hard look from Peter.
"It wasn't just me--" Steve started, but Tony cut him off.
"Oh, really?" he said sarcastically, "Because, last time I checked, I was willing to help you, I was willing to make amendments to the Accords, and then you had to go run off after him."
"Hey, it wasn't my fault that doctor got in there," Steve said. "It's not my fault Hydra ruined Bucky, but those words in his head. It's not my fault the doctor got to him, I was only trying to save Bucky and help him! I would've brought him back, but then they really were going to kill him!"
"I would've stopped that! I could've shot him, didn't you notice that? I could've killed him, but I didn't. I was trying to incapacitate him so we could get him back under control, and then he got away."
"Hit the pause button. Can we agree that was no one's fault? It wasn't my fault he got away from you, and it's not your fault he got away from you, it's just that he's got some skills we don't have and couldn't countermeasure."
Tony folded his arms, then nodded silently.
Steve seemed to relax with relief a little, some of the remaining tension leaking out of his posture. "Okay," he breathed.
There was more silence.
Peter broke it, again. "So... are you good now?"
Silence met him once again, and he sighed.
"I'll take that as a no, but can we get closer to being good?"
Tony looked at him, something shifting slightly in his eyes so that he nodded.
They both looked at Steve, who didn't hesitate in nodding.
"Okay," Peter said, breathing another sigh, though this time it was in relief. "Good."