“Where to, sir?”

Pepper buckles her seatbelt. “Take us to the hospital please, Happy.”

“Nope,” Tony says.

“We have to- What do you mean, ‘no’? You need to see a doctor.”

“What I need is a cheese burger. Hogan, drive.”

He can still feel the desert sand between his toes, though that’s probably his imagination. He needs something mundane and American and just this side of gross. To really feel at home again.

Pepper grumbles and rolls her eyes so much that Tony low-key worries that she is having a seizure. But she orders a cheeseburger too, which Tony has never seen her do. And she doesn’t ask him anything about the abduction, about the imprisonment, about his feeeeeelllingsss, and Tony is grateful for that at least.

They drive home, where he crashes on the couch and falls into a deep sleep.

-

He wakes up in a room with white ceilings and blue plastic curtains. The smell of hand sanitizer. The sound of a ventilator. Med wing, without a doubt. So Pepper got her way after all, like she always does.

His memory is strangely foggy, as if yesterday happened ages ago. How did he end up here? Did he become unwell? Did he pull a Tennessee fainting goat? Pepper probably chloroformed him last night and then dragged him in here all by herself. He wouldn’t put it past her at all. And to be perfectly honest, it’s exactly why he hired her.

It might have something to do with the dull, throbbing ache in his right arm. Or it might have something to do with that constricted feeling in his chest, as if there is something heavy pressing down on it.

Then he realizes there is something heavy pressing down on it.

Tony blinks down at the human being currently using him as a pillow. It’s one of the smaller ones, of the teenage variety. With brown hair and a dark green MIT hoodie. His mouth is slightly open as he snores softly, one cheek pressed against Tony’s chest.

The situation is utterly alien to Tony, and he is unsure how to proceed.

“Hello,” he tries, pushing slightly against the intruder’s shoulder with his good hand. “Excuse me, you’re in my personal space.” It does nothing, the boy is completely conked out.

A door nearby slides open and Tony is relieved to see Pepper step inside. She is wearing sweatpants and a woolen sweater. Tony has never seen her dressed so casually. “Pep,” he says. “Someone has faceplanted on my chest, get it… get it off.” He squints at her. “Did you get a haircut? You look…”

“It’s all right,” she says in a gentle voice, and she leans in to pinch the sleeping teenager. “Peter, sweety? Wake up.”

The boy’s eyes crack open, only slightly. He blinks sluggishly. He locks eyes with Tony for a second and then, realization dawning on his face, quickly lifts his head. “Hey. You’re awake.”

“Sure are,” Tony says, running a hand down his chest. His hospital gown is warm where the boy’s head had been.

“How are you feeling?” the teenage mystery asks him, his gaze intent.

“Good,” Tony says. “Good. Who are you?”

The boy throws Pepper a helpless look.

She perches on the edge of his bed. “What is the last thing you remember?”

“I remember really liking that burger. Cheeseburger.”

“Which one?”

“We had cheeseburgers last night, yes? Pep, did you chloroform me? That would be, uh, equal parts horrifying and commendable.” Pepper and her infinite wisdom. So many things she just knows. Like when it is the perfect time to cut into an avocado. Tony always gets it wrong.

She lays a warm hand against his shoulder. “You’ve suffered some memory loss, Tony. Don’t worry – the doctors are pretty sure it will all come back to you. Just try and be precise. What do you remember, besides cheeseburgers?”

That… sounds like something Tony should be worried about. He has always been terrified of losing control, and losing control of your own mind is the worst possible scenario. There must be something wrong with him, that he only feels strangely peaceful and content as he blinks up at Pepper. She looks different, but still pretty. With a certain softness around her eyes.

“Tony?” she repeats, brushing some hair out of his face. “The last thing you remember?”

“I got back from Afghanistan. We had cheeseburgers together. You ate yours with a knife and fork, which is essentially sacrilege.”

Her hand drops away, and a wry smile appears on her face. “That certainly narrows it down. All right, Tony. You’re doing well. You’ve already woken up a few times before. And each time, you remember more. You’ll be okay. But you injured your arm very badly. The doctors did what they could, but you probably won’t regain full mobility. Keep that arm resting. You’re on painkillers right now.”

That explains his lack of anxiety. “Okay,” he says. “Keep giving me the good stuff, because this all sounds messed up, and I’m pretty sure that I’m going to panic if I’m not high as a kite, got it?”

“Got it,” she confirms.

“How much did I forget?”

“Since you returned from Afghanistan? Thirteen years.”

“And you’re still here,” he says.

“Surprised?”

“Very. I thought you had more sense than that. Uh. Pep. There’s a teenager sitting right over there and he’s staring at me. You see him too, right?”

“This is Peter,” she says, reaching over to pat the boy on the knee. “He’s your intern.” And then she asks: “Do you want some soup?” in a tone of voice like she just sufficiently explained everything.

“Why would I get an intern who is not a pretty blonde thing of legal age? This one doesn’t tick any of my boxes.”

“I can leave if you prefer,” the boy says, raising a single eyebrow.

“No,” Tony says. “You, stay. I’m gonna dictate, I need someone to write everything down. I have, uh, ideas. I don’t have time to lie around and do nothing.”

“You don’t have to stay,” Pepper tells the boy. “He’s still a handful, as you can see. It might be a while before we get a more reasonable version of him.”

“I’ll stay,” Peter says, in a tone like he is doing Tony a favor.

Tony blinks a few more times and Pepper is blinked right out of the room, and it’s just Peter sitting there, in that dark green hoodie.

“I think I have a sweater just like that.”

Peter glances down and plucks at the sleeves. “This one is yours.”

“Huh. So who are you again?”

“I’m your intern, Mr. Stark.”

“You were sleeping on top of me.”

“I was, ah, checking your heartbeat.”

“And you’re wearing my clothes.”

Peter’s lips twitch. “I figured, since you’re in the med wing, what better time to secretly steal your stuff?”

“You are fired,” Tony says.

“Okay,” Peter says. “Shall I write down your ideas anyways, or just leave?”

“Yes. My ideas. Get a pen, kid. This is going to blow your mind. You’re still fired, though.”

Peter turns away and rummages through the drawer of Tony’s nightstand. “If I had a penny for every time you fired me…”

“…you’d have one penny, drama queen.”

“Actually, eleven. You’ve woken up twice before, last night and this morning, and you were an even bigger asshole both those times.”

“You’re so fired,” Tony says.

“Twelve.” Peter crosses his legs so he can lay his notepad down on his lap. He clicks his pen. “Let’s hear your ideas. Spoiler alert: you may already have had the exact same ideas in the thirteen years that you forgot.”

“This mind,” Tony says, and he presses one finger against his forehead, “this mind is a planet. A planet super computer. Deep thought. I couldn't think as slow as you if I tried. It’s like monkeys on a keyboard. The same pattern never repeats. My ideas are snowflakes. They are always unique. And the mice are in charge of everything.”

“Should I be writing any of this verbal diarrhea down?”

“Write this down,” Tony hoists himself up a little higher in the pillows, his right arm uselessly flopping around inside the sling. “You know how people have pet rocks?”

“Uhuh.”

“No one is manufacturing treats for pet rocks. We have treats for cats and dogs, but nothing for rocks. We need to get a patent, so we’re the only ones producing it. Are you listening?”

“Yes, I’m writing it down!”

“Are you actually writing it down? Because you look like you’re just doodling.”

Peter sighs and scribbles something down, then turns the paper over to show pet rock snacks.

“Good.”

A blonde woman enters, carrying a bowl of soup. It’s not Pepper, and it’s not a doctor, judging from the casual black yoga pants.

“Tick, tick, tick,” Tony says. “All the freaking boxes. Does this one work for me?”

“No,” she says. “You work for me. Can your fragile ego handle that?”

“And who are you?” Tony drawls.

“Please be nice, Natasha,” Peter says. “He helped save half of humanity. Plus he’s basically brain damaged.”

“You’re fired,” Tony tells him.

“Yeah. I forgot he used to be like this,” the woman says. “Like a turd, but less appealing. And more ignorant. But we’re all works in progress.” She sets the bowl of soup down. “Is he being nice to you?”

“He’s tolerable. Kinda funny, sometimes. I’m fine, Nat, don’t worry about me. I’m happy to sit with him. You’re all busy enough as it is.”

“Remember to take care of yourself, too,” she says. “It’s been one hell of a five years for us. But it’s been one hell of a week for you.” She leaves.

“All right,” Peter says, and clicks his pen again. “What would be a proper diet for pet rocks? I’d suggest lots of protein.”

Nothing makes you hungry like saving the world from evil aliens.

The shawarma-place Tony finds them is barely still standing. The windows are cracked and the floor is covered in a layer of dust, splinters of glass, and bits of plaster. But the owner is happy to welcome them. Finds them some chairs that aren’t broken. Serves them piping hot shawarma with fresh bread.

They eat in utter silence, exhaustion clearly written in the lines on everyone’s faces. Happy picks them up in the limo, and Tony is asleep before they reach the tower.

-

He wakes up in a room with white ceilings and blue plastic curtains. The smell of hand sanitizer. The sound of a ventilator. Med wing, without a doubt.

It must be food poisoning from the shawarma. Or the aftereffects of getting nuclear-blasted through a wormhole. Potato, potahto.

There is a dull, throbbing ache in his right arm and he can’t move his fingertips. With considerable effort, he lifts his head to glance down. His arm is in a sling, and wrapped in bandages from shoulder down to the finger tips.

“I’ve never seen shawarma do that,” he tells his nightstand. “Gotta go… Gotta go back and show that shawarma who’s boss.”

He tries to push himself up, but the blankets are being remarkably uncooperative. Blankets are always assholes to him. They are too hot, or too cold, and they slide off him when he wants to sleep in, but weigh him down when he wants to get out.

“No, Mr. Stark,” a voice says, and an entirely random teenager appears from behind the blue curtain. “You can’t get out of bed, you need to rest. Everything is fine. Everyone is fine.”

“Everything is not fine,” Tony informs him. “My arm hurts like a Brother Tucker. How’d that happen?”

“You fought this big purple alien,” the boy says. “A really big purple Brother Tucker.” He reaches over to press a button near Tony’s head.

Tony frowns because he doesn’t remember any of them being purple. “Did I win?”

“Yeah, Mr. Stark. You won.” The boy pulls out a chair and sits down, his gaze on Tony intent. “Do you know who I am?”

“How should I know who you are? You just appeared from behind that curtain like David Fopperkield. Is anyone going to give me meds or what kind of doctors are these? The ceiling is all fuzzy.” He blinks, and blinks again.

“You’re already on meds, Mr. Stark,” the boy says. “But I called the doctor. Maybe they’ll up the dose a little if the arm is bothering you that much.”

“I’m not on meds. I’d know it if I was on meds. My mind is clear. My mind is so clear, I can see into the fucking future.”

The doctor arrives with someone else in tow and Tony heaves a sigh of relief. “Pepper. Thank god, someone competent.” She is wearing sweatpants and a woolen sweater. Tony has never seen her dressed so casually. He squints at her. “Did you get a haircut? You look…”

“It’s all right, honey,” she pats him on the head. “What is the last thing you remember?”

“I remember having some great shawarma.”

“Your memory is oddly linked to food,” she says. “Can you be more specific? What happened before you had shawarma?”

“Someone stole my parking space. I finally watched the last season of Ghost whisperer. I flew a bomb into an alien spaceship. More or less in that order. I love you Pepper. You’re sweet, but tough. Like rock candy. With boxing gloves.”

She rubs his cheek with her thumb. “You’re suffering from some memory loss, Tony, but you’ll be fine. Just try to rest as much as you can.”

That’s all very well, but Tony has different concerns right now. “Hey Pep. There’s a kid over there. The one whose hair looks like it was attacked by a bird with a hedge trimmer.”

“I’m Peter,” the boy says, raising a hand to attempt to flatten his hair.

“He’s your intern,” Pepper says. “He has been looking after you. So be nice.” She pokes Tony on his good arm. “Can I get you anything?”

“Coffee,” Tony says immediately. “Coffee, Pep. The most important meal of the day.”

Pepper looks to the doctor for confirmation. The doctor shakes her head. “No coffee yet. Start with tea or juice.”

“You’re fired,” Tony tells her.

Pepper drops a kiss into his hair. “I’ll send someone up with a cup of tea.”

She leaves and the doctor starts asking him questions, despite the very irreversible fact that Tony just fired her. Sacked. Canned. De-hired. Promoted to patient.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says with a hint of impatience, “just answer her questions, they’re important.”

“You’re fired, too. You people are bullying me. And I’m not even wearing my glasses. Why are you my intern? I don’t do interns.”

Peter scoots a little closer and leans one elbow on his mattress. “I’m living with you at the moment.”

Tony stares at the boy. “Wha— Did I sell my house to you? I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t sell you my house if you were the last man on earth.”

“I wouldn’t need your house if I were the last man on earth,” Peter points out. “And anyways, I’m sort of an Avenger, too.”

“Oh. You’re… you’re a superhero.”

“Yeah.”

“Like in the bible.”

“Uh.”

It all makes sense now. “So you’re a, ah, confidant. You’re my main g.”

“Does his arm still hurt?” asks the doctor.

“Does your arm still hurt?” asks Peter.

“Uh,” Tony shifts against the pillow. “It tingles. Where’s Happy? You know, Haps. Hapsies. The Hapmeister General.”

“Call me back in if he seems to be in pain,” the doctor says, and moves away.

Peter’s eyes track her until she left the room. He turns back to Tony, a more solemn expression on his face. “Happy’s pretty busy. Everyone is busy. There’s… a lot to be dealt with. You see, five years ago, a lot of people died—"

“Which happens. People die. No need to be a pussy about it,” Tony says. “Here’s what I need. Get a pen and paper. I need you to take some notes on my new invention, before these meds start working and my brain gets mushy.”

“Yeah, God forbid,” Peter says. But he dutifully gets a pen and paper from the drawer in Tony’s nightstand. “All right, Mr. Stark. What’s your new invention?”

“Picture this,” Tony says. “The smell of fresh air.”

“You want me to picture a smell?”

“Shut up, you’re fired. Sum- Summarily dismissed. Get me someone who appreciates my genius.”

“No, no,” Peter says. “I’m picturing it. I am. Continue.”

“People need fresh air to live. But we don’t have enough of it. Because of all the carboxide. Carbon oxide. We need the other stuff, uh, oxygen. We need to produce it. But how do we get it into the cities and the homesies? Well. Think of the one thing you find on almost every street corner. Trees. We need to. Need to inject the trees so they produce oxygen.”

“You,” Peter repeats, “want to genetically modify trees so they produce… oxygen.”

“Maybe use solar power to— Write it down!”

Peter starts scribbling away. “I’ll make a drawing, too,” he says. “That’ll illustrate it better.”

“Yes. Good.”

A woman with long, red hair enters, carrying a steaming cup. “This is tea,” she proclaims as she stares straight into Tony’s soul.

“And who are you?” Tony drawls.

“Thank you, Wanda,” Peter makes some room on Tony’s nightstand. “He doesn’t remember you. He’s caught up to the wormhole thingy by now.”

“Yes,” her eyes still bore into Tony’s. “I can see it. For the first time in his life, he accepted his own mortality. The endless unknown of death.”

“You should get a job writing birthday cards.” Tony says.

She sets the teacup down and drifts away.

“Okay. We just need a name for your invention,” Peter says. “Have you considered calling it… photosynthesis?”

I don’t wanna go.

The Benetar Milano drifts through the boundless void. Inoperable. Just an empty can with no juice.

It all feels extremely hopeless and even more pointless. They won’t make it back to earth. And the devastation he would find there if he did… He doesn’t even know if Pepper is still…

I don’t wanna go.

He should probably get some more sleep. Waste less oxygen that way.

-

He wakes up in a room with white ceilings and blue plastic curtains. The smell of hand sanitizer. The sound of a ventilator. Med wing, without a doubt.

That means he made it back to earth, somehow. His arm is throbbing, but the raw pain in his chest is a thousand times more unbearable. A choked sob escapes him.

“Tony.”

There’s Pepper, right next to him, warm and steady and soft. She’s alive, she’s okay.

“Hey, sweetheart, what is it? Are you in pain?”

“I lost the kid,” he whispers. “I was— I was holding on to him, Pepper.”

“Oh, honey,” she breathes, “Tony, listen—”

“He slipped right through my fingers, I couldn’t—"

“—Tony, listen to me.” She enunciates slowly. “You’re in the medical bay because you were injured. You suffered memory loss. It has been five years since that happened, Tony. The doctors say your memory will come back to you, but the important thing is. Peter is okay.”

“I don’t,” Tony says. Pepper just said some things that seem important, but he’s having trouble connecting the words. “I lost the kid, Pepper.”

“FRIDAY, send Peter down. Give him a heads-up that Tony is distressed.”

“I’m not distressed, I’m… I’m chafed. It hurts.”

“Does your arm hurt?” she asks.

“No. Life. Life hurts. I was holding on to him, Pepper.”

“Peter is okay, Tony, he’ll be here in a second.”

“No,” Tony says, his frustration growing. “You don’t get it.” Why doesn’t she understand what he is saying? She always understands.

Footsteps thunder down the hallway and a teenager with messy hair and a dark green hoodie tears into the room, coming to a screeching halt at the foot of Tony’s bed. Tony has to blink, and blink again.

The kid takes a step closer and squeezes his arm. “Mr. Stark?”

“You. You died.”

“I’m here, Mr. Stark. I’m okay. I’m right here,” Peter says. “Look.”

And Tony looks. It really is Peter. That slightly nervous smile, the wide brown eyes. “I… I don’t u-understand.”

Peter squeezes his arm again. “You saved me, Mr. Stark. You saved everyone. Everyone who disappeared, you brought them back.”

“Yeah?” The tightness in his chest loosens. “That… That sounds like me. Good job, me.”

Peter lets out a single chuckle, and then climbs on top of his mattress and curls up against Tony’s side. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” he murmurs. “That’s an awful memory to wake up with.”

“Yeah.” Tony tugs at Peter’s MIT hoodie. “Is that mine? If you wear it, you know you’re contrac— contractullally obliged to go there.”

“Hmm.” Peter smiles. “We’ll see.”

“Do I really have memory loss? That’s so gauche. Can you just reset me? Do I have a tiny hole somewhere where you can poke a paperclip?”

“You’re missing about five years,” Pepper says in a gentle voice. “You’ll get them back, bit by bit.” She looks from Tony to Peter and back. “I’ll give the two of you a moment, okay?” She leans down to kiss him on the cheek, then moves away, her footsteps echoing down an unfamiliar hallway.

“Am I dreaming? It feels like…”

“No Mr. Stark,” Peter says, and squeezes again. “That’s me. I’m here. You’re just a little fuzzy right now.”

Tony hauls the kid closer with his good arm, his fingers digging into Peter’s shoulder. Real human being. Not dust in the wind. “I just. It feels like it happened yesterday.”

“Pretty much feels that way for me too,” Peter says. “I blipped away and then blipped back and it felt like no time had passed, but there were five years gone. It’s been three days since I came back.”

“Yikes, kid. Yikes. Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be with aunt hottie?”

“May is here,” Peter says. “For now. She blipped, too. We’re just waiting for the government to sort everything out, you know. Once we’re officially… un-dead again, she can get her job back and find an apartment.”

“I’m gonna make you a new suit that is impenetrable, so nothing can ever hurt you ever again.”

“Mr. Stark. You’d have to, I don’t know, make it out of mithril.”

“Okay. Go… Go get some mithril.”

“Mr. Stark…”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“I’m afraid this is one thing even your money can’t buy, genius.”

“Hey. Respect your parents. I raised you.”

“You definitely did not.”

“I carried you in my womb for nine months.”

“Gross!”

“Where are we anyways?” Tony asks. “Is this. This is not the compound.”

“The compound was smashed flat like a pancake. Nat moved us all to this new building across town.”

“Flat like a pancake. Damn. I just bought a new cactus. Hey kid,” he pulls the blanket up around both of them. “I’m glad you’re here. We need to get working on my. My next invention. We gotta go to, uh, Walmart and get supplies.”

“You can’t drive, Mr. Stark. You’re high on painkillers.”

“I can too drive. I have the speeding tickets to prove it. And you need to call me Tony. It makes me sad when you say ‘Mr. Stark’.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “I don’t want to make you sad, Tony. What’s your new invention?”

“Shoes with umbrellas. So your feet don’t get wet when it’s raining.”

“That,” Peter says, “is the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“You,” Tony says, “are so fired.”

A man hops into the room. Ant-Man, Tony remembers. He only met the guy a few times. Most notably, a memorable first meeting in super-hero underwater prison. The man still has that same ‘human golden retriever’-vibe. “Hey there! I brought some freshly squeezed orange juice.” He carefully sets it down on the night stand.

“And who are you?” Tony drawls.

“C’mon dude,” Scott says. “That won’t work on me. I know you remember me by now.”

“What he means is ‘thank you, Scott’,” Peter says.

The man huffs and leaves the room.

“So,” Peter says. “What supplies do we need to get from Walmart for your shoebrellas? I suggest toothpicks and gum.”

Peter squashes his sandwich real flat, the crust crunching under his hands, and takes a big bite.

It’s crazy that in his head, it has only been four days since he was just sitting on the bus on his way to MoMa, joking around with Ned.

Compare that to the shitstorm they are currently dealing with.

But everyone is pulling together, and it’s nice, and hopeful. Peter hasn’t been outside much, but he sees it on TV and on social media. The determination in people’s faces.

Everyone is running in and out all day. Pepper, Nat, May, Happy… The whole team, really. Setting up shelters, support groups. Peter is happy to leave it to them. He just wants to sit here, and eat his sandwich, and check on Tony every now and then. Tony’s right arm was so damaged from using the gauntlet that it will probably never get back to fully functioning. But Peter’s main concern is whether the memory loss will be wholly reversed.

“Where is Morgan?”

He drops his sandwich to his plate and whirls around to see Tony standing there in his hospital gown, eyebrows dipped into a slight frown.

Peter immediately moves to his side. “Mr. Stark! Uh -  Tony. You shouldn’t be out of bed!”

Tony sways slightly where he stands. “Where’s Morgan? I haven’t seen her. She was never there when I woke up.”

Peter grabs his arm to steady him. “She— Wait. You remember being awake the previous times?”

“I think I remember every- everything. Bit hazy because of all the meds. Where’s Morgan, Pete, where is she?”

“She’s fine,” Peter hastens to assure him. “She visited a few times when you were sleeping, but we kept her away when you were awake. Since you didn’t remember her, but she’s too young to understand that. We thought it might freak her out.”

“Okay,” Tony blows out a breath. “Okay.”

“She’s at school right now. You’ll see her later.”

“Yeah.” Tony runs a hand down his face and then looks at Peter. Looks right at him. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey.”

“Come here.” Tony wraps his good arm around Peter and tugs him closer. “Come here my little support beam. I’d collapse like a… like a house of cards if you weren’t around. Woosh.”

“I’m flattered,” Peter says. “And a little alarmed.”

“How are you? How is May?”

“No ‘aunt hottie’?” Peter teases.

Tony winces and releases him. “That… was wildly inappropriate. Thank you for putting up with me.”

“Let’s get you back to bed.”

Swaying and stumbling, they make their way back down the hallway. Tony sags into bed. Peter fusses around, straightens his blankets, refills his glass of water. “Do you need anything else?”

“I need you to sit right over there and take a breath.”

Peter sits on the edge of the mattress.

It is almost incredible how different Tony looks from how Peter remembers him. It’s the eyes, he decides. They used to restlessly dart around the room, in a way that always made Peter feel anxious that Tony was bored with whatever conversation they were having. Those eyes are calm now, his attention solely on Peter, the muscles in his face soft and relaxed.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks.

“I don’t know. It’s weird. Yesterday you and I were on the same page. And now you’re suddenly five years ahead. Does your arm hurt?”

“Does the bear shit in the woods? No. Because we have no woods left due to deforestation.”

“I know less now than before I asked.”

“Sorry,” Tony says. “I’m high. High as a kite. Don’t do drugs and stay in school. I love you, kid.”

Peter can feel the blood rush to his ears. “You’re just saying that because you’re high.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re insecure.”

Probably true. Peter turns a little and climbs over Tony so he can lie down on his good side. “I am okay,” he says. “Just. For you it’s like the end of a shitstorm, and for me the beginning. I’m still wrapping my head around it. But it’s nice to be together, at least.”

He feels Tony’s hand patting him on the head. “Nice to be together,” Tony says. “I’m gonna be here, kid. I’m gonna be the supportive dad so you don’t end up as a stripper, unless that’s where you find your calling, in which case, you do you.”

Peter needs a few seconds to process that. “Thanks, Tony,” he then says.

This is what he needed, he realizes as he nestles a little closer. Knowing that Tony is okay, that he is right here. The fatigue and anxiety of the past few days slowly drift away. Whatever happens next, he knows he can deal with it because he has the people he loves right beside him.

“Kiddo,” Tony says. “Could you get me some paper and a pen, later? I have the best idea for a new invention. Portable chocolate.”

“Portable chocolate.”

“Yeah. It’s like regular chocolate, but you can take it with you and eat it anywhere.”

“Amazing,” Peter says. “That’s gonna revolutionize the food industry.”

“And what’s the deal here? You said Nat owns the place? How many labs did she build in here for me to blow up?”

“Exactly zero. Different priorities, Tony.”

“Looks like our hands are tied, then, and the only sensible option is blowing up her kitchen.”

Peter presses his face into Tony’s shoulder to hide his smile. “You,” he says, “are so fired.”