Chapter Text
Peter woke choking on a groan of pain, it rumbled deep in his chest causing his teeth to vibrate uncomfortably. It was not one of the best ways that he had found himself waking up, and it was likely one of his least favorites.
A gasp tore from his lips when he shifted his shoulders, a shot of pure pain lighting up the left side of his body from his neck to his hip. Even his toes curled in an attempt to get away from the pain that radiated throughout his body. His body raged about injuries he didn't remember receiving, nerves raw with every agonizing jolt.
Good god, what did he even do?
The shrill ringing in his ears only intensified as he slowly dragged himself up from the springy surface he lay on, the slide of rough material across his skin causing his stomach to turn in indignant over-stimulation.
Heaving a breath in, he tried to straighten his thoughts. The last thing he had been doing...what was it?
At the rough bark of pain stabbing his side, he vaguely recalled a radio message sent from Tony, into the channel the Avengers used to locate Spider-Man in times of need.
Because of course, it had to do with them,
After turning eighteen, Peter was challenging to locate as he did his best to fade off the map. As a result, radio communication between himself and the other heroes of New York made up the majority of their interactions.
After he graduated, days of homework and high school activities left in memories, he had kept to himself, keeping as busy as he could make himself in his small world.
May had moved out west to pursue her traveling nurse career like Peter had always encouraged her, the spring after he graduated. Without her around, Peter was stuck working the monotonous cycle of boring shifts at the local 7-Eleven to pay for the excuse he had for an apartment between his hours as Spider-Man.
Gone were the days Peter had imagined for himself post-graduation, with ideas of swinging through the city and helping out his community no matter the time, fully committed to his alter ego.
The cold hard weight of adulthood had quickly leveled that hope within the first year on his own, when the power shut off for his apartment for the third time, he took on the humiliating red-collared shirt instead and hung up the mask for a few months.
He told himself that it was a good change of pace, that the city was full of other heroes who could step in, and often did in the lapse of his alter ego within the city. Peter Parker had needs that had to be addressed, and Spider-Man understood, sorta.
Peter had realized that the material needed for webs wasn't cheap, and without access to his old high school's labs and components anymore, it meant that the funding came from the old Peter Parker piggy bank. Graduating from Midtown Tech was a launching point, but unfortunately, one that left him plummeting as he figured it all out. It had been at least four months since he had the opportunity to face off any threat to Queens with the Avengers, with no lack of effort from Tony who hounded Peter down on any old radio channel that he had frequented in the past.
Ignoring the calls for aid when he could not leave the store unattended was like taking a punch to the gut, Peter's morals and self-worth diving into the dumps until he could get back out again. But no amount of petty robbery, and helping the little guy made up for ignoring the call for aid from other heroes. The heroes that only three years ago, Peter was chomping at the bit to prove himself too.
After homecoming, and the fiasco with the ferry, Peter made himself small. He got through high school, kept his nose clean, kept the suit, and carefully worked to never reveal to Tony the true extent of that night.
May was all too ready to accept Peter's lessening of Spider-Man, believing his excuses that he just 'wanted to enjoy his year and a half of school without dangers and distractions'. So May handled screening Tony, and he stopped bothering Peter at home, and through the suit once Peter manipulated Karen's code in a way he was sure Stark would never figure out. Happy no longer was obligated to pick him up, or check in for Tony, so Peter's world had slowly shrunk.
He had very much been alone for the last year and a half, that was until now.
Clutching his head in his hands, the awful persistent ringing in his ears was becoming staccato beats with the eerie sound of a heart monitor screaming for attention. What the fuck happened to him?
The sheets stuck to his fingers, irritation spiking in Peter's chest. Violently grabbing a fistful he tugged it away from his exposed fingers. The suit. Desperately grabbing at his forearms, relief flooded him as he realized that only his hands were uncovered, assumingely for the god-forsaken pulse monitor that just needed to shut the absolute fuck up.
Ripping it off his pointer finger, Peter felt it crunch beneath his hand, shards of plastic falling lazily to the bedspread beneath him as he tossed his legs over the side of wherever the heck he was.
Prying his eyes open, he couldn't help them slamming back shut as a splitting headache pounded behind his eyes. Lights flashed in the dark behind his eyelids, as he moaned in pain and shoved a hand over his masked face.
Staggering off the bed, his feet landed on the cold concrete floor, carrying him a few steps away as his balance swayed wildly. The monitor had stopped screaming at him, but a cascade of voices came from everywhere around him. His senses desperately tried to right themselves, walking the line of hypersensitivity.
Losing his balance, he wobbled, feet stumbling over themselves till he caught himself against the wall. He allowed his bare hand to stick, taking some of the weight off of his aching legs and instead straining his already screaming shoulder.
Tony said that they needed me, some sort of alligator thing, with fog...lots of fog that stung Peter's eyes as he swung through it.
He recalled worrying that it was going to stick to his suit, the smell similar to sulfur and rotting food.
He knew that reptiles were not the best smelling thing, but the alligators he had seen were on field trips, admittedly at a distance and they also did not resemble a hybrid of alligator and dog, with chunks of injured flesh oozing fog.
Was that even right?
Peter's eyes slowly opened, daring to create little slits of vision that revealed a dark grey floor, and lighter grey walls. His hand was mottled with bruising and stuck to the wall in front of his face. When did he turn to face the wall? The familiar feeling of overwhelmed panic was starting to climb into his chest, his lungs squeezing both in pain and in the difficulty of hyperventilation.
When a hand suddenly grabbed his sore shoulder, Peter swung.
His forearm connected solidly with whoever had attacked him, a satisfying woosh of pained air and staggering feet signaled that Peter had definitely sent them back several feet.
"That was so unnecessary," a wheezing voice argued. The man while unfamiliar, somehow Peter felt he had heard him before. Vision entirely blurry, he pushed from the wall and sent himself spinning back to face his attacker. Wall supporting his back and hands caught in a protective position, his stomach clenching in fear as he realized that his web shooters were gone.
Whoever had taken him knew to disarm him, even with the disorientation from the drugs that they had given
"Who the hell told you that you could grab me, ass-wipe?" Peter spat out, squinting behind his mask at the other male. He was short, built wide in the shoulders, probably a good fighter if Peter could take anything from observing how the other man carried himself. Dark brown hair sat in a short crew cut, his pale face a mixture of features that Peter could not get his vision to focus on.
Rubbing his eyes violently, he felt his body sway to the side,
"Woah! You need to get your ass back in the bed, now." The man barked, taking a step towards the teen.
Peter lurched backward, knocking against the wall, the back of his head making solid contact with the drywall as he flung his arm out threateningly, making it clear that he would throw the first punch.
"I don't remember you being this feisty," The man added, seeming amused with his jumpiness.
A throaty chuckle rang in the room from the far corner at the comment. Peter darted a glance at the newcomer, a darker man stood in what appeared to be the doorway that Peter had not noticed yet. They appeared to be holding him in some sort of medical ward.
"What the fuck did you guys do to me?" he snapped, clenching his hands into fists before him.
"Do?"
"Yes, do. Or are you just the meatheads holding me in the room."
"Listen here, you little shit," growled the man still standing in front of Peter. His senses suddenly screamed, and he twisted to the side as a muscled arm barely missed snatching him by the injured shoulder again. Dickweed, no one likes a dirty fighter.
Feeling passive-aggressive now, he grabbed the man who had dove towards him, and using the momentum launched him into the wall across the room, beside the doorway by two fistfuls of his shirt. There was a tinkling of shattered glass and the deep crunch of drywall that caused Peter to preen at his ability to defend himself when so out of sorts.
The momentary shock fading, he bit back a groan as his headache intensified, his already blurry vision growing darker, as spots began to swim in front of him.
The second male was helping his friend to stand, but they did not move any closer seeming to take the hint that Peter did not want them near him.
"Little fucker. I thought you said Stark said he would be fine in here." Peter did not hear the darker man's response, his brain was stuck on Stark.
He was with Stark again, or some proxy of the older man.
Unease clenched his stomach as he tried to reason with the familiarity of the male that Peter had just chucked into the wall.
Squinting harder, he tried to will his vision into clarity as nausea beat a drum in his stomach. “So you aren't some villain then, huh, just Stark's bitch?"
There was an indignant scoff and one of the men started to say something but paused when Peter suddenly yanked his mask up to his nose and puked on his own feet. His sticky hand holding him on the wall was the only thing that kept him from faceplanting into the puddle of his lunch.
"I want to see Stark." He demanded, wiping at his mouth.
"Jesus, kid." Disgust and respect warred in the other man’s voice.
"Stark!" He demanded again, this time louder.
"Yeah, okay." The voice placating now agreed.
"How about you take a seat again," reasoned a deeper voice. Peter glared at the darker man who slowly approached him, hands held up in what was supposed to be a calming gesture. Mouth twisting into a frown, Peter straightened his spine, spitting on the ground, as he lowered himself into a fighting crouch.
"Fine. We got it, you are serious. Clint, you watch him. I'll go get Stark."
"No shot, Sam. He is your babysitting project now, I'll get Stark. You get chucked into a wall first next time, then maybe I will consider being stuck with him." Clint bit out with his retreating footsteps.
The door stood open, but Sam was still blocking Peter's path.
"He has like four whiskers on his chin, you could take him. You were just surprised," Sam called after his friend in good humor.
Shit
Ripping his mask down over his chin once again, Peter scurried around Sam, working towards the furthest wall from the door. He could hear the muffled sound of traffic behind it, there must be a cover hiding a window.
Grappling at the wall, he tugged at what he could only assume was meant to keep him in his cage. When sunlight burst into the room, striking Peter in the eyes, he staggered to his knees, gagging twice, blackout curtains.
The large bay window now exposed, he grit his teeth and yanked a fist back, intending to punch his way out. The glass would suck, but it would heal and he could be on his way, pretending none of this ever happened.
Disorientation got the best of his senses again, and strong arms wrapped around his chest, yanking his feet from the ground. Twisting, he tried to punch at Sam's head, but the other man wisely hid directly behind Peter's own body. The glancing blows only skimmed his shoulders as Peter twisted and yanked himself around, the lack of affordable meals catching up to Peter at this moment, as he felt himself waning with every single wild swing.
He cursed himself for being so lax, he knew the necessary calorie count, and he should have prioritized it over electricity in the apartment.
"Why the hell are you picking on the little guy?" A familiar, voice filled the room. Peter was star-struck momentarily, he had heard enough science videos in school to know who had entered the room. But the presence of Dr. Banner caused Sam to loosen his grasp as he shifted to face him.
Taking his opportunity, Peter dropped to the ground, rotating his body to kick Sam's leg out from under him, causing an outraged shout from the other man.
Peter was already at the window. One solid punch landed, the sound of the glass vibrating with the force of his fist being the only result.
"It is reinforced, Spider-Man." Dr. Banner calmly stated, his voice only slightly tinged with worry.
The second punch Peter delivered the promise of escape, as the sharp sound of the grass cracking tickled his ears. Sam was speaking to Banner in a panicked tone, but Peter was focused on just getting the fuck away before anyone else tried to tie him back to that bed
"Who freaked out my Spider kid?”
Stark. Fist paused in the air, Peter cocked his head at the familiar laid-back tone of the one and only, Tony Stark.
“I don't think you'd fancy pulling that glass out of your bare hands anytime soon. Think about what your outrageously beautiful aunt would say to me." The other man continued on, like his presence wasn’t world altering in nature.
Hot anger flared in Peter's chest at the mention of May. An unfair, ugly feeling of abandonment rang in his chest at the mention of the woman who had sacrificed so much for him and finally chose herself when Peter told her to.
"Why don't I just grab him, Stark?" Sam muttered, moving aside to let Tony step into the room. Peter glanced back at them, three blurry-shaped soldiers guarding the door, shoulder to shoulder. "Banner has a sedative ready, I just need a minute."
Shoulders tensing, Peter lurched back to face the other men, fully perched on the window, several feet above the ground.
"That sticking thing is really creepy," Clint called from the doorway.
Stark sighed, and Peter recognized the sound of him shaking his head. "He does have super hearing, genius," The rebuke was less sharp than Stark had been with the Avengers last he had heard them interact. His sleeves rustling as he gestured, "the kid heard you."
"Oh," awkwardly muttered Sam, "I should have expected that, all you weirdos." That stung for a reason Peter wasn’t going to give a second thought.
"What the fuck do you want?" Peter demanded, voice cold and riddled with anger. He could focus on them if he was angry, it was fine. He could handle angry, he’d handled angry for the last two years.
The room fell into a stunned silence, marked with the sound of Stark scratching at his goatee.
“First, I would like you to not break that window. I will have to replace it anyway, but it is easier in one piece. You know, it was supposed to be Hulk proof, which I guess does not extend to you, which we should really-"
"Cut the crap, Stark," spitting his old mentor's name, Peter tried to will his vision clear enough to see what the other was thinking. "Why did you drug me?"
"Excuse me?"
Shaking his head, Peter turned back to the window, he wasn't going to sit here playing stupid with the rest of these clowns, he had a shift in the morning and desperately needed to go home and sleep a few hours before facing the general public.
"Woah, woah, woah," Stark's panicked voice chimed in. "I did not do a thing, you ingrate. Do you remember the fog? Asking for Stark and for the rest of the gang to bring you to me?"
Peter scoffed, disbelieving of that request. There was no way he would ever have asked for the man he actively avoided for the last few years.
"I am not a liar.” Came the offended response.
"Only when you think it best suits you, Stark."
The other man was never great at taking responsibility, it was a secret superpower of his to make himself look good when he'd screwed everyone over. Using loopholes and quotes of failed expectations to boost his own stance.
"Ouch," Sam muttered. Clint grumbled something in response as he stepped around Sam and took a position further into the room. The doorway now blocked by four different men, all a level of threat.
Peter felt the hair on his arm stand in alert.
"What happened to my wall?" Stark demanded, voice confused as he turned towards the large dent in the drywall.
"You said the kid was sweet and harmless," was the irritated response from Clint, his ego clearly bruised at being tossed by someone smaller than himself. Peter's lips slipped into a small smirk beneath the mask.
"Ya, well. Last time I saw him, he was." Stark replied candidly.
Unfairly, that that hurt a little.
Peter was kidnapped, after being asked for his help. In addition, his body was actively demanding that he lay down in a ball and not move for at least four hours while these stooges kept him hostage.
"What did you morons do to my eyes?" He demanded. The room around them was a mess of colors smeared together, odd shapes and shades gave a general idea of where he was. His eyes were not healing from what had been done. Had they messed with his healing too?
"Your eyes?" Banner’s didn’t sound like he was working an angel, only genuinely confused.
While Peter could not see him clearly, he was sure he had his head tilted, the same way he always had when figuring out a project in the videos Midtown Tech used to hold for chemistry.
"Yes, my eyes, Mister seven PhDs," Peter, pointing dramatically towards his face. It was ridiculous, the way they all parroted back his questions to him as if they all needed to hear it twice for the meaning to beat its way through their thick skulls.
"Pal, we don't know what you're talking about," Sam cut it once again.
Peter pointed at Stark, ignoring the man and going for the head of the snake. "You said I am here cause of you. So, what did you do?" Peter growled, seething with anger.
"Everyone leave me and the kid alone." Was all that Stark allowed, which wasn't entirely out of character, he liked to keep his ducks in a line out of the public eye. The familiar air of confidence and posh pride did nothing to calm Peter's growing sense of absolute agitation. Flashbacks of the ferry crossed his mind entirely unwelcomed.
"Tony, I just- I don't know if that is such a good idea," Banner murmured as he faced Peter who was all but shaking with anger still from his spot on the window.
Stark did some sort of hand motion, and everyone sighed, before shuffling out of the door.
"If he kills me you can have my stuff, Brucie Bear."
Bruce did not entertain that statement with a response, and simply drew the door closed behind them, the snick of the latch plunging the room into silence.
"You mind if I sit down?" Stark questioned as he dragged a chair from the other side of the bed, to sit in front of Peter.
He did mind, he very much minded actually. He'd rather toss the other man across the room just like his short-haired friend, but he held himself back.
"So can you see at all?" Tony was finally focusing on the question at least, "Or like absolutely nothing?"
Peter considered for a moment, weighing his chance of getting answers versus slamming through this window and ridding himself of this mess once and for all.
"A little."
"Well, chatter-box. I need more than that."
"It's all blurry, you absolute dick."
"See, here is the thing, I don't remember you being so aggressive. Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, remember?" Tony’s tone was passive-aggressive now, unappreciative of Peter's unwillingness to cooperate. He tried a new angle, "What would the old ladies say?"
"Always ready to joke away responsibility, aren't you, Stark." Scoffed Peter as he dropped to the floor, glad for the millionth time that his mask covered the wince of pain that he could not help once standing.
"Kid, I didn’t do shit to your eyes." Stark was showing irritation outright now. Good, he was pissing Peter off too. "Just, explain it to me."
The younger considered for a moment, listening to the shuffling feet of the other three men outside the room. They clearly did not trust him alone in here with Stark, it was almost offensive, but he did toss Clint not too long ago so maybe it was a realistic perspective. "When did you get the gang back together?" He redirected, biding himself another minute to plan in his head.
"Have you been living under a rock?" Stark, running a hand through his hair in frustration at Peter's antics. Which, is fair enough. Peter had been busy. But who in the modern world hadn't heard about the Avengers reuniting again?
Peter had ignored enough of their calls for help to pretend that he hadn't known, he was uninterested in getting closer to that dysfunctional boy band.
Choosing silence instead, and rubbing at his aching ribs, Peter let himself lean against the wall beside the window, not willing to give up his chance of safety. "It is all blurry.”
"Can you see my face?"
"No, but I can tell that it is still ugly."
"Now, I know for a fact you don't think that. Ted told me all about how you love me." Peter could not see it, but he recognized the smirk in Stark's voice. The mention of Ned plunged a cold dagger into Peter's gut.
Feeling ill, he wrapped his arms around himself, trying not to appear like he was crumbling in on himself, because screw Stark for bringing Ned up. He did not know a single thing about Peter.
When the silence continued on well past awkward, Stark huffed a sigh and pushed himself out of his chair. Stepping closer to the window and Peter.
"Listen, Pete-"
"My name is Spider-Man." Slamming that wall of personal separation felt good, better yet was the little intake of breath that Stark made out of surprise.
Desperate to get this over with, Peter rubbed a hand over his face, scrubbing his mask's fabric across the bridge of his nose.
"How did you get Karen to lock me out? I tried to break through for eight months, but whatever you did held fast." There was frustration in Tony’s tone, but even Peter could not ignore the pride that trickled throughout the question.
It made him uncomfortable, hearing Stark with any sort of fondness, that time was over. Long over. He ignored the question, answering instead about his eyes.
"You have a face, but I can't make out any of the features. You look like a poorly made, smudged finger painting." Peter rubbed weakly at his shoulder, fingers prodding at the bone deep ache.
"I am only four feet away," Stark's response was concerned.
He was glad to see the older man had the sense to pretend to be interested, it was a smart way to get information, at least he wasn't entirely addled with age. “Didn't notice," Peter choked out, feeling overwhelmed again.
Because if Stark was being honest and did not do this in some sick attempt to get Peter to come out of hiding, then Peter was in much deeper shit than he thought he was.
How was he supposed to be Spider-Man? Or worse yet, how was he supposed to work? He could not be homeless again, while it had only been two months, it was the worst two months of Peter's life, and there was no way he was going to ask May to leave her whole life behind to come back and take care of him again because he was such a fail-
"Pe-, Spider-Man. You have got to settle down, I think you are working yourself up, bud."
He wanted to tell Stark to shove his opinion up his self-glorified ass. But on a base level, Peter knew he was freaking out and that panicking was not going to help anyone.
Tony sat forward in his chair, arms moving at his sides restlessly "I need to see your eyes-"
Peter shook his head violently. His hands automatically climbed towards his chin to clutch at his mask.
"It is just me, bud. I hate to tell you this, but I have already seen that impish face."
Peter scoffed and considered that Stark had done well enough keeping his identity a secret, he did not have much to gain by twisting his arm and revealing himself. But then again, he had let Peter down in the past.
"No one else will come in here," Stark reassured, sensing Peter's internal dilemma.
Secret identity had always been Peter's greatest concern, not that Stark understood any of that.
"Pinky promise?" Peter spoke quietly, but firmly.
"Pinky what?"
He scrunched his nose, and repeated himself firmly, holding out a pinky.
"Are we little girls in tutus?" Laughed Stark in disbelief. When Peter's hand did not lower, he stood and came close, sighing before clasping pinkies. Peter quickly shook his hand off, rubbing the feeling of the older man's grasp off with his other hand.
"Whatever. Do not tell anyone about this. Sit your skinny ass on the bed." Stark said. Satisfied, Peter shuffled towards the bed as Stark wandered in that direction. Feeling for the ledge, he guided himself into place.
"Mask off, boy scout." Was the quippy order from Stark as he dug around in a drawer on the far wall that Peter had not even been able to see across the room.
Tugging the mask off, Peter let himself enjoy the cool brush of fresh air on his face. How long had it been since he had it off?
“Look here," was the demand before Stark stuck a tool, paired with a flashlight directly in front of Peter's eyes. The younger man hissed, as pain exploded between his eyes, radiating down his neck.
"I know," Stark soothed, patting Peter on the shoulder. At the bitten groan of pain from the younger man, Stark yanked his hand back, "We gave you Cap's pain meds, are you in pain?"
"You gave me something?" Was the woozy reply, as Peter felt his stomach begin to turn on itself again. Please, he prayed, do not let me puke again.
"You should barely be able to stand, no wonder you are throwing Hawkeye at the wall."
"Well, Cap is a lightweight, what can I say? He can't hang with the big guy."
Stark scoffed at the idea of Peter being the 'Big guy' before shaking his head, "You have to stay, we can't send you out there without knowing we have a pain medication that works on you. We can't call you in and have you at risk without a chance of medical aid, that is irresponsible."
"Fat fucking chance, Tony." Peter spat. "Check out my eyeballs and send me on my merry way."
"You know what, if you are going to say my name so venomously," Stark ground out, "then I liked it better when I was Stark."
"Ya? Well, I liked you better when you were just Ironman." Guilt immediately slammed into Peter's consciousness, was that really how they were now, was that truly what Peter wished, that they never knew each other?
Brushing the thought aside, he reminded himself that he felt cornered and if Stark wanted to be an ass then Peter could be too. Maybe, it had been too far.
Stark was watching Peter, with his stupid blurry face, the tool held as if forgotten in his hand. "What the hell happened to you, Parker?" He was puzzled, worse, he actually sounded interested in the answer.
"Just check out my eyes," He mumbled, avoiding looking into Stark's face. The silence continued, before Tony seemed to settle on something, and nodded.
"It is the fog. You should be fine by tomorrow, we have seen it before. But Friday says you are underweight, and I could tell that just looking at you. I am a little concerned, May said you were fine." There was tangible concern in Stark's voice, but the teenager tried to ignore it. "May did say that you were busy, taking off being Spider-Man. I can't blame you, the whole homecoming fiasco and-"
"When did you talk to May?!" Peter tried not to let the betrayal sound in his voice.
May was a busy woman, it was hard enough to get ahold of her as her nephew. She should not have to deal with Stark's crap, being hounded during her long shifts and nights. Sure, she’d been willing to keep screening Stark for the rest of Peter’s school years. But not now. He should have known Tony wouldn’t let up, yet May never mentioned it.
Tony had his head tilted, "We check in about twice a month, and talk about our favorite Spider kid." God, that nickname was so old and grating, it made him feel like putting a fist through the wall, it could join the Clint Barton art.
"You shouldn't bother, May. She works long enough hours as it is," not to mention Tony had no right trying to pry into his life, going around Peter to do so.
"Well, she is a grown woman. Grown people have jobs, but she has enough time to take care of you, so I fit her schedule when she says it works best." Offense riddled Tony's retort, he obviously felt like Peter was accusing him of harassing her. "I have kept my distance, I do not keep tabs on you. She said you did not want me to, and that you wanted space so I obliged. In all those denied phone calls, she was never the one to tell me "not to bother checking in" That is what you said isn't it?" Snapped Tony, his temper flaring.
"You have done a great job, really Tony. Finally listening to orders." He clapped sarcastically.
"Why are you trying to make me mad?" That was a dangerous tone, that was the 'Here is a puzzle I want to solve' tone that Tony had for his tougher projects. Peter winced, trying to think of the best way to backtrack out of this position.
"You see, you call me Tony. Which, congrats only took about five years. But you pair it only with your meanest statements which tells me that you want it to hurt more." It was so painfully accurate that Peter felt his body still, feeling suddenly embarrassed like a kid caught having a tantrum.
This is why he had avoided Tony since May left. The hurt, angry beast that he felt living beneath his skin that just wanted to cause wreckage, that had ruined his friendships, it wanted most of all to be let out against Tony. All of his frustration, the aggression, and the hurt he felt from homecoming night, just lived beneath his skin. Biting, and clawing for Peter to just let him have it, just like he did with Peter.
"Where did you go, Peter?" He was like a dog with a bone now, "What are you thinking?" Tony's words were quiet, heavy with concern and genuine care. Peter felt a knot grow in his throat, face growing uncomfortably hot.
Forcing himself to turn around and take in his surroundings, he regrouped himself. "Where am I?"
The sigh that Tony let out felt like disappointment, "The tower. Figured you would recognize it, you did ask to be brought to me. Passed out from the gas fog, it affects your senses."
Peter’s felt his face twist in a frown, "I asked for you?"
Stark suddenly was very interested in his tie, tugging it straight before standing up, "Yeah, well. Anyway, I am going to go ask Bruce about this. Will you please just stay the night while we monitor your eyes, I think you can leave in the morning."
Peter considered, before nodding, "I will need a phone, gotta make a call."
Stark silently left the room, letting Peter stew in the alienation that he had created for himself.