Chapter Text
The first thing Tony noticed was the beeping.
Slow. Consistent. Annoying.
The second thing he noticed was that every part of his body hurt.
His eyelids felt heavy, as though someone had glued them shut while he was asleep. For several moments he simply lay there, listening to the distant hum of machinery and the muffled sounds of voices somewhere outside the room. Everything felt foggy. His thoughts moved sluggishly, struggling to piece together how he had ended up here.
Then a movement caught his attention.
Someone was sitting beside his bed.
Tony forced his eyes open.
The room was brighter than he expected. White walls. Medical equipment. Hospital.
And beside him sat a kid.
No older than seventeen.
The teenager looked exhausted. Dark circles sat beneath red-rimmed eyes, and his clothes looked like they'd been slept in more than once. A textbook lay forgotten in his lap, though it seemed he hadn't been reading it. Instead, he'd been staring at Tony.
Waiting.
The moment their eyes met, the book slipped from the kid's hands.
"Mr. Stark?"
His voice cracked.
The teenager shot to his feet so quickly that the chair nearly toppled over behind him.
"Oh my God."
The words tumbled out in a rush.
"Mr. Stark? Can you hear me? Are you okay? Do you need water? Hold on—"
The kid fumbled with his phone before abandoning the idea entirely.
"Nurse!"
His voice broke again.
"Nurse!"
Within seconds he was standing beside the bed, eyes wide and shining with something Tony couldn't quite place.
Relief.
Disbelief.
Fear.
Maybe all three.
"Mr. Stark," the teenager said breathlessly. "Are you okay? They said you wouldn't wake up. I didn't know what—"
Tony frowned.
The kid froze.
For some reason, the expression on his face made Tony feel guilty.
He didn't know why.
"Kid."
The teenager immediately straightened.
"Yeah?"
Tony stared at him.
The kid clearly knew him.
More than knew him.
The way he was looking at him wasn't how someone looked at a celebrity or an Avenger. There was something personal there. Something familiar.
The problem was Tony had absolutely no idea who he was.
"Who are you?"
The question landed like a physical blow.
The teenager blinked.
For a moment he simply stood there, frozen in place.
"W-what?"
Tony shifted slightly against the pillow.
Pain immediately shot through his side.
Ignoring it, he looked back at the kid.
"Who are you?"
The color drained from the teenager's face.
The relief that had been there moments ago vanished completely.
"What do you mean?"
The words came out small.
Almost fragile.
Tony frowned.
"I'm sorry, should I know you?"
The silence that followed felt suffocating.
The teenager took an unconscious step backward.
Then another.
As though the distance might somehow make the words hurt less.
Before either of them could speak again, the door burst open.
A nurse hurried inside, followed by two more members of the medical staff.
The room immediately erupted into activity.
Questions.
Machines.
Vital checks.
Tony barely had time to process any of it.
His attention remained fixed on the teenager standing near the wall.
The kid hadn't said another word.
He simply stood there, staring.
One of the nurses followed Tony's gaze before gently placing a hand on the teenager's shoulder.
"Peter."
The name was familiar.
Or maybe Tony only thought it should have been.
The teenager looked up.
The nurse offered a sympathetic smile.
"Why don't you give us a minute?"
For a moment, Peter didn't move.
Then slowly, he nodded.
His eyes found Tony one last time.
There was no anger in them.
No frustration.
Just heartbreak.
The kind that looked far too heavy for someone so young.
Without a word, he turned and walked out of the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
.
By the time the nurses finally left, the room had grown quiet again.
Tony had learned several things during the endless stream of examinations.
He had been in a coma for three weeks.
Half the world apparently knew he was awake.
And everyone seemed unusually concerned about whether or not he remembered a kid named Peter.
The door opened once more.
The teenager stepped inside hesitantly, accompanied by another man dressed in a vibrant red, white, and blue suit with a shield strapped to his back.
Tony stared.
"That's one hell of a costume."
The man blinked.
Then he glanced toward Peter.
"Huh."
A small frown appeared on his face.
"He really doesn't remember anything."
"Amnesia," Peter said quietly. "At least that's what the nurse said."
The room fell silent for a moment.
Tony watched as the man beside Peter studied him carefully.
Then his gaze shifted toward the teenager.
"He doesn't even remember you?"
Peter didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
The silence said enough.
Something seemed to pass across the other man's face. Pity, maybe. Sadness.
Tony wasn't entirely sure.
What he was sure of was that he hated being the only person in the room who didn't know what was going on.
"Okay," he said. "Again."
Both of them looked at him.
"Should I know you?"
Peter's shoulders stiffened slightly.
For a moment it looked like he was debating how much to say.
Then he forced a small smile.
"Mr. Stark— I'm uh.. your intern."
Tony stared.
The kid immediately looked less confident.
"I guess."
Tony raised an eyebrow.
"You guess?"
"It's complicated."
"I have a feeling that's not the official job description."
Peter looked away.
That alone was enough of an answer.
Tony pointed at him.
"You also look twelve."
Peter groaned.
"I'm seventeen."
"Sure."
"I am!"
The response came so quickly that it almost made Tony laugh.
Almost.
For a brief moment, the room felt lighter.
Normal, even.
Then the silence returned.
Peter shifted awkwardly beside the bed, clearly unsure of what he was supposed to do now that Tony was awake.
The kid looked exhausted.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Like someone who hadn't slept properly in weeks.
Tony found himself frowning.
Three weeks.
The nurses had mentioned Peter had been there almost every day.
Waiting.
For him.
The thought made something uncomfortable settle in his chest.
Because whatever relationship they had apparently shared before the accident, Tony couldn't remember any of it.
Looking at the teenager felt like looking at a complete stranger.
And yet everyone else in the room seemed to expect something more.
Something he couldn't give.
"Kid."
Peter immediately looked up.
Tony hesitated.
Then sighed.
"You don't have to keep coming here."
The words left the room quiet.
Peter blinked.
"What?"
"You look exhausted."
Tony gestured vaguely toward him.
"Three weeks sitting in a hospital room can't be healthy."
The teenager stared.
Tony continued before the silence could stretch any longer.
"I'm awake now. You can go back to... whatever seventeen-year-olds do."
Peter didn't respond.
His expression remained perfectly still.
That somehow felt worse.
"You should get some rest," Tony added. "You don't need to visit me anymore."
The words sounded reasonable. So why did the room suddenly feel colder?
"Tony..."
The man with the shield took a step forward.
His voice carried a warning.
"I don't think—"
"Mr. Rogers, sir."
Peter interrupted him gently.
The teenager stood from his chair.
The movement was slow. As if he were trying not to disturb anything.
"It's okay."
The smile he offered didn't quite reach his eyes.
Tony noticed.
For some reason, that bothered him.
Peter shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie before looking toward the floor.
"You're right."
The words came out quieter than before.
"I should probably get some sleep."
Nobody spoke.
Peter glanced toward Tony one final time.
For the briefest moment, Tony thought he saw something in the teenager's expression.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Just hurt.
The kind that came from hoping for something and realizing it wasn't going to happen.
Then it was gone.
"Glad you're okay, Mr. Stark."
And before anyone could stop him, Peter turned and walked out of the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
The silence that followed felt strangely heavy.
Tony stared at the closed door.
Across the room, Steve Rogers looked like he wanted to say something.
Instead, he simply sat down in the chair Peter had just vacated.
.
Peter wasn't entirely sure where he was going.
One moment he had been standing in Tony's hospital room, and the next he was halfway down the corridor, moving purely on autopilot. The bright white walls blurred together as he walked. Nurses passed him. Doctors rushed by with clipboards. Somewhere overhead, an intercom crackled to life.
Peter barely registered any of it.
The exhaustion that had been held back by adrenaline was finally catching up to him. Three weeks of waiting. Three weeks of hoping. Three weeks of imagining what he would say when Tony finally woke up.
None of those imagined conversations had ended with Who are you?
The thought made his chest ache.
"Pete!"
Peter nearly walked straight past them.
He stopped and turned.
Pepper was making her way down the hallway, Morgan's small hand clasped tightly in hers. The moment the little girl spotted him, her face lit up.
"Petey!"
Before Peter could react, Morgan had already wrapped her arms around his waist.
Normally, the gesture would've earned a laugh.
Today, Peter could only manage a small smile as he carefully returned the hug.
Pepper reached them a second later.
"Pete," she said, breathless. "How is he?"
The question opened a floodgate.
"He's awake," Peter said immediately. "Which is good, really good, actually. The nurses said all his vitals look fine and he's talking normally and he remembers a lot of things so that's probably a good sign and I'm sure they'll figure everything out—"
He kept going.
And going.
And going.
Until Pepper gently grabbed his shoulders.
"Pete."
The teenager stopped.
"Calm down."
Her voice softened.
"Breathe."
Peter hadn't even realized he wasn't.
The hallway suddenly felt too warm.
Too bright.
Too loud.
Pepper studied him carefully before speaking again.
"What's wrong?"
Peter looked away.
For a moment he considered lying.
Then he remembered who he was talking to.
"Amnesia."
The word felt strange coming out of his mouth.
Like saying it out loud somehow made it more real.
Slowly, he looked back up.
Pepper's expression had changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Enough for Peter to know she understood.
"Oh."
That was all she said.
Just one word.
But Peter heard everything hidden underneath it.
Beside them, Morgan looked between the two adults with a confused frown.
"Mommy?"
Pepper glanced down.
"Yeah, honey?"
"What's amnesia?"
For a moment, Pepper didn't answer.
Instead, she looked back at Peter.
The question sitting in her eyes was obvious.
Not even you?
Peter understood immediately.
He swallowed.
Then shook his head.
"Not even me."
The words came out quieter than he intended.
There was a finality to them that made his stomach twist.
Pepper's face softened.
Peter couldn't stand it.
The sympathy.
The pity.
The way everyone was starting to look at him.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and forced a smile that felt about as convincing as wet cardboard.
"You should go see him."
His voice sounded distant.
"He's in the room at the end of the hall."
Pepper hesitated.
Then she nodded.
Morgan gave him one last hug before returning to her mother's side.
Together, they started down the corridor.
Peter waited until they were halfway there before turning away.
"Pete."
Pepper's voice stopped him.
He froze.
Slowly, he looked back.
Pepper hadn't moved.
She was still standing there with Morgan's hand in hers.
The concern on her face was almost painful to look at.
"Are you okay?"
For a second, Peter considered telling the truth.
That he felt like someone had reached into his chest and pulled something important out.
That the person he'd spent three weeks waiting for had looked at him like a complete stranger.
That he didn't know what he was supposed to do now.
Instead, he smiled.
The same smile he'd been giving everyone all day.
The one that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Yeah."
The lie came easier than he wanted it to.
Peter shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.
Then he turned and continued down the hallway.
This time, nobody stopped him.
.
Aunt May had barely allowed Peter out of the apartment since Tony woke up.
Nine days had passed since the hospital.
Nine days since Tony Stark had opened his eyes and looked at him like a complete stranger.
May claimed he looked like a mess. Peter had tried arguing the point exactly once before she pointed at the dark circles under his eyes and informed him that normal people generally slept more than three hours a night. Since then, she'd been keeping a close eye on him, limiting his patrols and making sure he actually ate something that wasn't scavenged from a convenience store.
Tonight had only been approved after several promises and at least one lecture.
Two hours.
No more.
Peter had agreed without much of a fight.
The truth was, he didn't have the energy for one.
Patrol itself felt almost painfully familiar. He helped an elderly woman navigate six blocks back to her apartment after she got lost. He stopped two teenagers from stealing bicycles outside a grocery store. He webbed a purse snatcher to a lamp post and left one of his usual notes for the police.
Everything was exactly the same as it had always been.
That was the problem.
Because somewhere along the way, Peter had gotten used to knowing someone was waiting for him when he got home.
He'd gotten used to Karen informing him that Mr. Stark was calling.
Used to hearing complaints about his grades and his sleeping schedule.
Used to stopping by the Tower after patrol and finding half the Avengers arguing over something completely ridiculous in the kitchen.
Now there was only silence.
Peter landed on the edge of a rooftop and stared out across the city.
The wind tugged lightly at his suit.
Below him, New York carried on as if nothing had happened.
Maybe that was why he hadn't gone back to the Tower.
Tony was healing.
That mattered more than anything else.
A few times, Peter had even found himself swinging past the lake house or the Tower and checking from a distance. Just enough to make sure Tony was okay.
And he was.
Tony remembered Pepper.
Morgan.
Happy.
Steve.
Bits and pieces of his life seemed to be returning little by little.
Every time Peter saw that, he found himself feeling relieved.
And every time, a small part of him wondered why he wasn't one of those pieces.
The thought settled heavily in his chest.
Before he could dwell on it any longer, his Spider-Sense suddenly screamed.
Peter reacted instantly.
A web shot from his wrist before he had even turned around.
Only after the strand connected did he realize who was standing there.
"Nat?"
The Black Widow stood several feet away, one arm now trapped against her side by webbing.
Peter's eyes widened.
"Oh."
He hurried forward.
"Sorry."
Natasha didn't move.
Peter tugged awkwardly at the web.
"I didn't know it was you."
For a moment, she simply looked at him.
Then she stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.
The suddenness of it stole the breath from his lungs.
Peter froze.
Part of him wanted to pull away immediately.
He already knew where this conversation was heading. He knew what she was going to say. Knew she was going to ask why he hadn't answered messages or calls or shown up at the Tower.
But standing there, with Natasha's arms around his shoulders, Peter realized how tired he was.
How much energy he'd spent pretending everything was fine.
The fight left him all at once.
"Nat."
His voice cracked embarrassingly on the single syllable.
He swallowed hard.
"We miss you."
The words were spoken quietly.
Not accusing.
Not angry.
Just honest.
Peter pulled away first.
The edge of the rooftop suddenly seemed much more interesting than meeting her eyes.
"I just wanted to give him time," he said, lowering himself onto the ledge. "You know. With his family."
Natasha joined him a moment later.
The city lights reflected faintly in the darkness between them.
Neither spoke for a while.
Then Peter felt a sharp flick against his forehead.
"Ow."
He turned toward her.
"What was that for?"
"That's because you're stupid."
The response came immediately.
Peter rubbed the sore spot.
"I don't think that's a very Avenger-like way to comfort someone."
"It's also for ignoring our calls."
That earned a reluctant laugh.
A small one.
But real.
Natasha's expression softened.
"We were worried, Peter."
The amusement disappeared.
Just like that.
There was something about hearing it said aloud that made the last nine days feel real.
Peter stared down at the street below.
"I know."
"Don't disappear on us again."
The words were simple.
But Peter understood what she meant.
He answered with a small two-finger salute.
Natasha rolled her eyes.
Then, to Peter's surprise, she rested her head lightly against his shoulder.
The gesture was so casual that it almost hurt.
For several moments, neither of them spoke.
The city stretched endlessly before them, alive with distant traffic and glowing windows.
Eventually Natasha broke the silence.
"Bucky misses cooking dino nuggets for you."
Peter snorted.
"Clint and Sam barely prank each other anymore. They say it feels wrong without the kid.”
That got his attention.
"No way."
"It's true."
Peter considered this carefully.
Then shook his head.
"Of course it feels wrong."
Natasha raised an eyebrow.
A smug grin appeared beneath Peter's mask.
"I'm the best at it."
The smallest laugh escaped her.
For the first time all night, Peter felt something in his chest loosen.
Then his phone buzzed.
The sound seemed absurdly loud in the quiet.
Peter glanced down.
Aunt May's name flashed across the screen.
where are you? [Angry Face]
His eyes widened.
"Oh no."
Natasha immediately looked amused.
"I have to go."
Peter shoved the phone back into his pocket and scrambled to his feet.
"Aunt May's gonna kill me."
"Probably."
He hesitated.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Peter looked down at her and offered a small smile.
The first genuine one she'd seen all evening.
"I really missed you, Nat."
Something softened in her expression.
Peter quickly pulled his mask back on before she could respond.
He stepped onto the edge of the rooftop.
Ready to swing.
"Peter."
He paused.
Natasha was still sitting on the ledge.
Still watching him.
"Come visit the Tower soon."
The words hung in the air between them.
Peter didn't answer.
Not because he didn't want to.
Because he didn't know how.
A second later, he fired a web into the night and disappeared into the skyline.
Natasha remained on the rooftop long after he was gone.
.
.
It was one of those days.
The really bad ones.
The kind where Peter could hear too much, see too much, feel too much.
Normally, the medication and sound-blocking headset Tony had made for him kept everything manageable. Not perfect, but manageable enough that he could patrol, go to school, and function like a relatively normal human being.
Unfortunately, both of those things were currently sitting in his room at the Tower.
And Peter hadn't stepped foot inside the Tower in two weeks.
two weeks since Tony woke up.
two weeks since Who are you?
Peter squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he landed on another rooftop.
His head was pounding.
Every sound felt amplified. Car horns several streets away sounded like they were right beside him. Conversations leaked through apartment windows from blocks away. Even the constant hum of the city felt sharp enough to dig beneath his skin.
The worst part was his Spider-Sense.
Usually it helped.
Today it had completely lost its mind.
Every mosquito was a threat.
Every pigeon was a threat.
Every shadow moving in his peripheral vision sent alarms screaming through his head.
At one point he'd nearly punched a mailbox.
Patrol had been miserable.
Nine robbers.
Nine.
Normally that would've been an inconvenience at best. Today, with his senses attacking him from every direction, it had felt like trying to fight underwater.
He'd won.
Barely.
The bruises forming across his face and ribs were proof enough of that.
By the time the Tower came into view, Peter was exhausted.
He hated being here.
Not because of the building.
Because of who was inside it.
Still, he hated whatever this was more.
So he landed silently outside his bedroom window and eased it open.
The room looked exactly the same.
For a moment, Peter simply stood there.
Then he climbed inside.
His mask hit the floor first.
The cool air against his bruised face made him wince.
Ignoring it, he hurried toward his desk and grabbed the familiar headset.
The relief was almost immediate when he slid it over his ears.
The noise dulled.
Not gone.
But quieter.
Manageable.
Peter let out a shaky breath before reaching for the medication inside the drawer.
A second later he swallowed the pills dry.
Already feeling slightly better, he allowed himself a quick glance toward the bedroom door.
Nobody.
Good.
Peter turned toward the window.
Ready to leave.
The bathroom door opened.
Peter froze.
Clint Barton stepped out, still toweling his hair dry.
The archer looked up.
His eyes landed on Peter.
Then on the bruises.
Then back on Peter.
For a moment neither of them moved.
"Peter—"
Panic immediately surged through Peter's chest.
"No."
The word came out before Clint could finish.
Peter frantically waved both hands.
Don't.
Don't say anything.
Don't call anyone.
Unfortunately, Clint Barton had never been known for following instructions.
"GUYS, PETER'S HER—"
A web shot across the room.
Clint's next words disappeared beneath a layer of webbing plastered over his mouth.
The archer stared.
Peter stared back.
Then Clint took a step toward the door.
Another web fired instantly.
This one pinned him directly to the wall.
A series of offended muffled noises immediately followed.
"Sorry."
Peter pointed apologetically.
"I'll fix it later."
Clint's expression suggested he absolutely would not.
Peter didn't stick around to interpret the rest.
One foot landed on the window ledge.
Then everything tilted.
The world spun violently.
Peter stumbled backward.
His hand shot toward the wall for support.
The medication hadn't kicked in yet.
The ringing in his ears had returned full force.
It felt like someone had shoved a dozen alarms directly into his skull.
His vision blurred.
Then darkened.
The room seemed to sway around him.
Somewhere in the distance he could hear Clint making more muffled noises.
Peter couldn't make out any of the words.
Couldn't focus on anything.
His legs suddenly felt too weak.
Too heavy.
Too far away.
The last thing he remembered was the floor rushing toward him.
Then everything went black.
Moments later, hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Bucky was first through the door.
Sam followed close behind.
Both stopped dead in their tracks.
Clint was webbed to the wall.
And sprawled unconscious across the floor was Spider-Man.