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The door flies open with a bang, and several people jump as Tony Stark storms inside. He ignores both the deafening crack that follows his entrance and the startled shouts that escape the few people scattered across the room, and makes straight for observation window, a hard, murderous look etched across his face as he moves toward it. Bruce immediately moves to intercept him, expression hard and hands outstretched to stop him, and it does nothing to soothe his hammering heart or the terror racing through his veins. In fact, it only makes it worse.
"Tony-"
"Where is he?" Tony demands, dodging Bruce's hands. He doesn’t want to be touched. The panic that’s burning through him is threatening to consume him, and just the thought of Bruce's fingers on him is enough to make him lose the very weak grip he has on himself. "You said you found him!"
"Yeah, Tony, we found him." Bruce assures him. There's an edge to his voice, something that makes the hairs on Tony's neck stand straight up.
"You're sure?" He asks, almost desperately. There’s something Bruce hasn’t told him - he’s sure of it.
"Yeah. Yeah, we're sure. Our unit captured him almost an hour ago. We’ve, uh, we’ve been running a few tests, trying to understand what’s happened, but we wanted to wait for you and Helen before we did anything else." The hard edge cracks, and something like regret slips through. "Tony..."
"Let me see."
"No, Tony, wait-"
"After everything this psychopath has done!” Tony roared, shoving him aside, "I want to see him!"
Bruce only sighs as Tony steps forward to gaze out of the two-way glass that stretched wall-to-wall before him. On the other side, in a room large enough to hold a warehouse, sits a single glass containment unit, almost identical to the one they had kept Loki in all those years ago.
Inside, a lone figure stands eerily still in the center of the prison. A single spotlight is pointed directly at it, and though its head is down and has its back to them, Tony recognizes him immediately. Tony stares, stunned and frozen with shock.
"What is it?" He whispers eventually, staring at the figure and struggling to understand just what exactly it is he’s seeing.
"We’re not sure." Bruce tells him, just as quietly. "It's extraterrestrial, we know that much. But where it came from or how it got there, we don't know."
"And what, it's some kind of...shapeshifter?" Tony asks him, still not quite understanding what he was seeing. He feels more than sees Bruce slowly turn to look at him.
"Tony." He hates the note of absolute pity in Bruce's voice. "It's not a shapeshifter. It’s...we think...we think it's more of a...a parasite.”
"...A parasite." Tony echoes.
"Yes." Bruce says. "Tony, I know you don't want to hear it-"
"Bruce-!" He growls.
"Tony. It's Peter."
The silence that follows is so loud and so heavy that Tony can feel it the same way he can feel Bruce's hand against his arm and the rapid pounding of his own heart.
"What." It's not a question, and it's laced and dripping and saturated with warning.
"It's Peter." Bruce repeats, eyeing him warily. "Look, I know this is hard to believe-"
"You told me," Tony interrupts, voice cold, and eyes never leaving the unmoving figure before them. "That you captured the thing responsible for killing all those people."
"Yes." Bruce says hesitatingly, and Tony's glad that he seems to recognize that where Tony's steering his point is nowhere good.
"The same thing that ripped those people apart." Tony continued, repressing the shudder of the memory of the crime scene photos. The grisly, mutilated corpses.
"Yes."
"And you think that thing is Peter?"
"Yes."
Tony turned to stare at him incredulously. "Bruce. You said whatever did it had EATEN bits of those people."
"I know this is a lot to process, Tony." Bruce said gently. "But we have it on tape. And if it helps, I believe the parasite is what's driving Peter to do this. He's not...he's not right.”
"...Let me talk to him."
"Tony, I don't think that's a good idea-"
Tony jerks away and pushes past him, moving straight for the door and shoving it open, eyes locked on the lone, motionless figure. The thing didn't so much as twitch as Tony strides forward, but Tony knows it could hear him. He stops a few inches from the glass, eyes raking the figure, trying to find something, anything that would give away that this was all just a trick. After hesitating for a moment, he raises a hand and raps on the glass.
Tony watches as slowly, ever so slowly, the figure turns around to face him. And the moment it finally does, his heart stutters.
There's a brief pause, mere nanoseconds long at most, but it’s long enough for Tony to catch the look on its face. It looks...bored. Maybe even annoyed...
And then suddenly, it’s gone. The boy’s eyes are wide as he gasps, whirling around and darting toward the glass walls, hands outstretched and fingers pressed desperately against the glass, a look of absolute terror etched across his young face as he stares up at Tony.
"Mr. Stark!" He gasps. "Mr. Stark, please, you have to help me!"
Tony can only stare in horror at Peter as he begs and pleads for him to save him through the reinforced glass that separates them.
“Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark! Help me! Don’t let them hurt me, please!”
How could this have happened? That’s his boy…that’s his boy...
"Mr. Stark, please! I don't know what's happening! Please, you gotta help me! It’s me, Tony, I swear-"
Tony. How many times had Tony tried to convince Peter to call him that? And how many times had Peter refused? Never once had Peter ever called him Tony. Never. Whatever doubt Tony had first felt upon seeing “Peter” evaporates on the spot. This is not his Peter.
"Cut the crap." Tony snaps, scowling."You're not fooling anyone. Not anymore."
It's frightening just how suddenly the look of absolute terror slides right off Peter's face, as though someone merely wiped it away. One second, that’s his kid, looking more afraid than Tony's ever seen him, begging Tony to help him as though his life depends on it, and the next, his face is shockingly blank, a frozen lake without so much as a ripple to break the surface.
"So." It says, and though It’s using Peter's voice, It sounds nothing like him at all. It’s cold and flat. Empty. "You finally figured it out, hmm? Took you long enough."
For a moment, Tony can't speak. He can only stare at this cruel, twisted imitation of Peter that is somehow so familiar and yet a complete and total stranger.
"What are you?" Tony eventually spits. The Thing cocks its head at him, Its face still disturbingly expressionless.
"Does it really matter?" Not-Peter asks him.
"For your sake it does."
The Thing suddenly smiles, lips curling slowly in a wide, wicked smirk, and Tony resists the urge to take a step back, disturbed that such a deranged look could ever exist on Peter’s face.
"Believe me, Stark, even if you knew exactly what I was, you wouldn’t have any idea what to do with me."
“I’m sure I’d think of something.” Tony assured It coolly. “I’ve been told that I’m a genius. Now stop stalling and answer my question.”
“What do you want me to say?” The Thing asks coldly. “It’s not like you have a name for what I am.”
"Fine. Just tell me this: are there more of you?"
"Yes."
"How many?"
"Enough."
"Are they here? On Earth?"
"Yes."
"Wonderful. So you’re telling me there’s a bunch of body-snatching aliens running around, eating and possessing people?”
"Oh, I wouldn’t worry about the others if I were you," The Thing assures him with a careless shrug. "They're locked up nice and tight. Far, far away. For now, anyway."
Tony wants to hit something. They're going nowhere with this.
"Alright." He manages. "Thank you for your invaluable contribution to this discussion. Really. This is some truly helpful shit. Now, how about you let the kid go and I'll make sure you don't spend every waking moment of the rest of your miserable life as a bunch of chopped up little bits under microscope slides?"
“How about I ensure that for myself and never let the boy go?” Not-Peter counters. “See, I know how much the boy means to you, Stark. And I know you won’t do anything that would even chance Peter getting hurt. So If I want to make sure I don’t die-.”
"You'll die a hell of a lot faster if you don't let him go."
"I think you and I both know that's just not true. And besides," He continues. "I like it in here. I've never had a human host like Peter before. He’s so different from the others. Stronger. Faster. More durable. It's almost like he was just...made for me.”
"Listen here, you son-of-a-bitch." Tony snarls, his fist banging on the glass as the Thing continues to leer at him. "If you have any sense of self-preservation at all, you’ll do exactly as I say. You are in the custody of Earth’s greatest defenders. You are in a holding cell right now. Do you get that? Do you get that you can’t win? That you’ve got nothing and you’re already dead? Because I can assure you we’re gonna make damn sure that this never happens again."
"If earth's mightiest warriors could stop me, I'd already be stopped." It scoffed. "But I’m not.”
“Yet.”
The Thing’s smile only widens.
“I know this boy is precious to you, Stark. Tread carefully now," It says, turning away from him and moving back toward the center of the cell. "Remember: you burn me, you burn him. And we wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we?"
"...Wait!" Tony calls after It desperately, hands planting themselves on the glass again. "Please, just let me talk to him."
"Talk away." The Thing says, waving one of Peter's hands carelessly. "He can hear you just fine."
"...He's aware of what you're doing?" Tony asks, horror washing over him like waves. “Of what you’ve done?”
"Oh yes." The Thing assures him, looking over his shoulder and flashing Tony another Joker-esque smile. "When I killed those people? When I used his hands to rip open their bodies? When I used his
mouth to drink their blood and his throat to swallow their insides? You should have heard him. He was so...distraught, at first. Just screaming. Screaming and screaming and BEGGING me to stop. It was so...delicious.” Tony shudders, but the Thing pays him no mind and plows on. “It was always so amusing when we saw you, you know. He’d cry so hard. Beg you to save him. ‘Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark, help me!’” It says in a cruel imitation of Peter’s voice. “But you never heard him, did you, Stark? I mean, after all, how could you? I was in control then, and I knew just what to say so you wouldn’t suspect a thing. You know, it’s funny, he doesn’t scream anymore. In fact he really doesn’t say much at all. It’s almost like he’s...given up.” It cocked Peter’s head. “Why do you think that is?”
Yep, Tony's definitely gonna throw up before the night is over. That's his boy in there… That’s his boy in there and this is all his fault. He should have realized something was wrong. That something seemed...off. That Peter had needed him and he’d failed him. He’d failed and Peter was suffering because of him. He hadn’t been able to save Peter once...but he’d die before he let that happen again.
"Peter," He says, ignoring the vicious smirk that's still twisted over the Thing's mouth. "Peter, buddy, I'm here. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere, okay? We're gonna fix this, kid, I promise."
"How cute." Not-Peter sneers back at him.
"Peter, please, answer me." Tony begs him, ignoring the amused look on Peter's face as the Thing stares back at him. "Please, just let me know you're okay. Please, let me know that you can hear me."
"I already told you, he can hear you."
"Peter." Tony swallows again, forcing himself to ignore It. "Peter, please. Please answer me."
But Peter doesn’t answer him. The only response he gets is that Thing smirking cruelly at him from the other side of the glass. Tony stares back at It, searching for some hint of Peter he can still recognize. Something, anything, that would let him know that he hasn’t lost him yet.
"Peter!" He calls again, desperation flaring sharply in his chest. The Thing’s grin only widens mockingly, and Tony’s heart sinks.
Maybe this Thing isn’t fucking with him at all and Peter really has given up. That he’s surrendered to the evil that’s taken over him and is simply waiting for it all to finally end? Tony swallows back the lump that’s slowly building in his throat. No. No, he can’t be gone. He can’t lose Peter. He can’t!
“Peter!” He barks. “Goddammit, Parker, answer me!”
It only chuckles back at him, a low, raspy sound that seems to scrape its way up Peter’s throat. It’s a soft sound - a barely there sound, but it drags over Tony before crashing against him like a tidal wave. This might be it - this might be all Tony is going to get. Oh, God, what if he really never gets the chance to speak to Peter again? What if he never hears Peter’s voice again?
What was the last thing he said to Peter? He racks his brain, but for the life of him he can’t remember. God. Oh, God, He can’t remember the last thing he said to Peter! He can only hope it was something along the lines of ‘see you later, kid!’. Because at the time, he had thought he would see the kid again. That there was nothing in the world that could stop him from seeing him again. God, he had been so wrong, and now...now he might never talk to his kid again…
Tony heaves a shaky breath. Whatever he had said to Peter doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is what he says to him now. So he says what he would want Peter to know if it was the last thing he ever got to say to him.
"Peter.” He murmurs. “...Sweetheart…” The Thing cocks Its head, but Tony forces himself to continue, despite how agonizing it is. “This isn’t your fault. Okay, kid? You know I’ve got no problem letting you know when you’ve screwed up, and I’m telling you right now, this isn’t on you. Okay? It’s gonna be alright, kid, I promise. I need you to know that. And I need you to know....” Tony swallows, and it tastes like salt. “I-I love you, Peter. No matter what.”
And then, something finally happens. It’s barely there, so subtle that Tony very nearly misses it, but something steals over Not-Peter's face, and the self-satisfied smirk wobbles just a little. Tony watches, scared and hoping against hope that he’s not imagining it.
"Peter?" He asks, and this time the expression falters, a strange, panicked look coming over Peter's features as his body shudders and jerks, his fingers twitching sharply.
"Peter! Can you hear me? Peter, come on! Come on, Peter, you can do it! Fight him! That's it, buddy, come on!"
A loud, strangled yell erupts from Peter and he throws himself against the glass.
"Mr. Stark!" He screams, eyes wide and terrified as he claws desperately at the glass, chest heaving unnaturally. "Mr. Stark!"
"I'm right here, Peter!" Tony yells back, hands moving to mirror Peter's. "I promise you we're gonna fix this Peter, I swear to you! Do you hear me!? I promise you I'll save you, Peter, but you have to help us!
You have to stay in control!"
"Mr. Stark." There are tears running down Peter's cheeks as he stares hopelessly up at Tony. "He's so strong..."
"I know." Tony tells him, feeling his throat catch around his words. "I know, buddy, but you're stronger-"
"No, I'm not!" Peter whines, fingers scuttling against the glass. "He's so much stronger than me!" He lets out a gasp. "I can't hold him back much longer! Mr. Stark, please!"
"Peter! Peter, what do we do? How do we get that Thing off you?"
"I don't know!"
"You have to know!" Tony screams, slamming his palms against the glass. "He's been using you for weeks!"
"Mr. Stark, I don't know!"
"No! No, Peter! Peter, please, stay with me!"
And just like that, the sobs stop. Tony watches helplessly as the expressionless mask slides effortlessly back into place, as though nothing had happened at all.
"Well." It says. "That was unexpected." It then turns and fixes Tony with Its cold, dead gaze, tear tracks still wet and glinting on Its face. "Still think you can win, Stark?"
"Oh, I know I can." Tony snarls, glaring at It. "Because as long as I know Peter’s still in there, I won’t give up. Understand? No matter how long it takes, no matter what it costs, I won’t ever stop. I’m going to get my boy back. And when I do, there will be nothing that can stop me from destroying you.”
"Hmm." The Thing grunts, looking unimpressed before turning around and moving away again. "Good luck with that."
————-
Tony’s not sure how long he sits there, staring at Not-Peter’s motionless figure through the glass and trying to ignore the despair that's all but taken over him, but it seems like a lifetime has passed when the observation room door suddenly opens from behind him. Tony can’t bring himself to look at Bruce as he steps out and makes his way towards Tony, his team following cautiously behind.
"Tony?" Bruce murmurs gently, clapping him on the shoulder. "Helen’s on her way. She’s gonna help us fix this, okay? She just needs us to do a few tests before she gets here. We're gonna move him to the medical wing now."
Tony feels himself nod after a moment, and watches as the Bruce’s team approaches the glass prison. The air is thick with apprehensive, nervous energy, crackling invisibly like electricity as they move themselves in place, hazmat suits crinkling loudly and breathing heavily through their respirators, no doubt expecting the fight of their lives. When Tony looks back at Bruce, he’s shocked to see he’s tinted slightly green.
“Just a precaution.” Bruce explains, catching Tony’s alarmed look. “I’m not sure if It’s using Peter’s strength or Its own, but It gave us a hell of a time getting It here.”
“How DID you get It here?” Tony asks him, still feeling quite detached from himself and finding that he doesn’t really care to hear the answer.
“Well,” Bruce scratched the back of his head self-consciously. “The Big Guy helped.”
“Oh.” Tony says, feeling the vague stirrings of surprise.
“Yeah, I don’t think It likes me very much.” Bruce tells him, glancing over at Not-Peter. “Still, stay close. I don’t want to have to go green if I don’t have to and I could use your help.”
Again Tony feels himself nod, and his fingers hover over his watch, ready to activate his suit at the first sign of trouble.
But surprisingly enough, It goes quietly, ignoring the others and instead eyeing Bruce with a kind of disgusted distrust as Bruce’s team work to secure It to the rolling gurney they’ve brought with them. It doesn’t offer so much as a single token of resistance as It’s strapped down, and simply lays there quietly as they begin to roll It off toward the medical wing, Tony trailing along behind them as they make their way through the compound, feeling sick and lost.
He comes back to himself just before they reach their destination, when he suddenly realizes that Not-Peter is glowering up at the ceiling.
"Problem?" Tony asks Him, and though he lays the sarcasm on pretty thick, he can't help but be concerned. Peter's still in there, after all.
"He won't shut up." Not-Peter growls.
"Yeah, he does that. Don't worry, you'll get used to it." Tony tells Him flippantly. "Personally, I find it endearing."
“I doubt you’d find it so cute if he was screaming non-stop at you.”
“Well, as the old saying goes, ‘alien parasites can’t be choosers’.”
"I'm not," The Thing growls, baring Peter's teeth, "a parasite."
"Hmm," Tony says, happy to have at last gotten under the smug little bastard's skin. "Sounds exactly like the kind of thing a parasite would say."
The Thing snarls in response but doesn't say much else as they wheel It toward the MRI machine. In fact, It barely does anything at all as they heave It onto the machine and strap It down. If anything, It almost seems distracted, muttering to Itself and twitching and glaring up at absolutely nothing as Bruce’s team finishes setting everything up. Tony follows behind Bruce when he moves into the control room.
"Okay, Peter, here we go." He calls over the microphone. One of the monitors allows them to see Peter while he’s inside the machine, and the cold, strange face gives no reaction at all the Bruce’s words.
Tony sighs, shaking his head, and Bruce shoots him another pitying look before he hits the switch. Tony watches as the track rolls Peter inside, and the machine slowly hums its way to life.
The effect is immediate.
The Thing starts shrieking and writhing as though it's being torn apart.
Tony watches the camera monitor screen in shock as Peter's face twists and contorts, screaming and begging them to turn it off. Bruce immediately reaches for the control panel.
"No, don't!" Tony calls, throwing his hand over the off switch and gesturing to the screen. “Look!”
There's something oozing off of Peter, surfacing from somewhere deep inside his flesh. Something slimy. Black. Something that’s definitely not human.
Bruce stares, evidently horrified, but makes no move to flip the switch.
"Someone!" He manages, eyes not leaving the screen. "Get the containment unit!"
They rush back inside, Bruce and his team holding a large glass container. The Thing's screaming has reached an unbearable level, high-pitched and piercing, and Peter's body is jerking and seizing like something possessed. Tony watches in horror as the shaking gets faster. As Peter's toes curl and his back arches unnaturally, head thrown back as he screams. There's bloody froth gathering at the corners of his lips, dripping down the arc of his chin.
And then suddenly, it stops. They watch as the black sludge slowly oozes its way off Peter, and drags itself heavily out from the MRI machine. There's a strange, gasping, rattling sound emanating from it somewhere, like it can't breathe. Bruce wastes no time scooping it into the container and Tony yanks Peter out of the machine.
"Peter!" He calls. Peter's eyes are closed, and his lips are deathly white. There's twin trails of blood running from the corners of his mouth and from his eyes. He grabs Peter's face in his hands and shakes it roughly, watching in horror as the boy's head flops limply in his hold. He can't remember a time he's been more scared than now. "Peter!"
A small sound escapes from Peter's chapped, cracked lips, and Tony watches as his eyes slowly flutter open. "Peter!" He cries again as Peter's glassy eyes find his.
Peter blinks up at him for a moment or two, and he lets out a strangled yell, his whole body jerking violently in Tony's arms as he tries to wretch himself away.
"Peter!" Tony yells, yanking Peter back against him forcibly and cradling him against his chest. "It's okay! It's okay! Everything's okay now, buddy, I've got you!"
Peter's chest is heaving. He's dripping in sweat. His eyes are wide and darting back and forth as he lays limply in Tony's arms, but the moment Tony catches his eye, forces him to look at him, the panic-stricken horror on his face crumples instantly.
"I'm sorry!" Peter wails, staring up at Tony as tears pour from his eyes. "I'm so sorry!"
"Peter!" Tony all but shouts back. "Hey! Look at me! Look at me! This wasn't your fault!"
"I killed them! Oh, God! I killed them-!"
"No, Peter -"
"I KILLED THEM!" Peter screams.
There’s a ringing silence that echoes these words as Peter collapses against Tony and begins to sob. The horror that’s been slowly eating Tony away, but by bit, finally pulls him under as the full realization of exactly what’s happened to Peter, of what he’s done, however indirectly, hits him. People are dead because of them. And the one thing, the one impossible standard to which Peter holds and defines himself...Peter will never forgive himself for this. And there’s nothing Tony can do to change that. There’s nothing he can say to ever make it better. So instead, he just holds Peter as tight as he can, and rocks him back and forth, shushing him gently.
--------
It seems like it takes Cho forever to reach the compound, but when she finally does, she wastes no time making up for it. From the moment the jet brushes against the tarmac, she comes bounding out, barking orders and sending people scattering in her wake, a one-woman army and a hurricane all rolled into one. And within two hours, Peter had blood drawn, an EEG, and multiple MRI, PET, and CT scans.
Tony hovers in the background, feeling and knowing he’s completely useless but refusing to leave Peter’s side. The boy hasn’t moved at all, and has been practically catatonic since that Thing had finally let him go. He doesn’t speak, just stares listlessly at absolutely nothing as he’s moved and lifted and arranged into place by Cho’s technicians, face completely and utterly blank.
It scares him, seeing Peter so...lifeless, and he tries to squash the feeling that there’s something more going on. It doesn’t help that Cho has this look on her face, a look he’s seen a handful of times and one that lets him knows he should be worried, despite her best efforts to convince him otherwise. That she too, knows something’s not right but can’t quite put her finger on it.
It’s only after Cho sees the first set of scans that her flawless poker face finally cracks. It’s subtle, but Tony’s known her long enough to realize that something is very, very wrong.
Even so, she plows on, ignoring all of Tony’s attempts to get her attention, and it’s only after the nurses have taken Peter away to get him settled for the night that she finally addresses him.
"What is it?" Tony demands, struggling to stay calm. "What’s wrong?"
Cho doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she pulls up the holographic images of Peter's first PET and CT scans, studying them for a moment before turning back to Tony.
"Do you know what this is?" She asks him at last, tapping a large, hazy, white spot on one of the brain scans. When Tony shook his head, she said, "That's inflammation."
"Okay." Tony says slowly. He doesn’t know what that means. He knows inflammation isn’t good, especially if he had to guess, when it was in the brain.
"Inflammation is the body's reaction to some kind of infection or irritation." Cho tells him. "If I had to guess, it's from the parasite."
Tony recoiled in horror. "The parasite?! You mean that thing was in Peter's brain?!"
"It had complete control over him, Tony." Cho reminds him gently. "Where else could it have been?"
She allows him a second to process this before she continues.
"Inflammation is part of our immune response. It's designed to flush out unwanted pathogens. The problem is that it can, and often does, damage the surrounding tissues in the process. In this case,” She sighs, "The part of Peter's brain tissue that was damaged appears to be the part that controls muscle movement."
"What are you saying?" Tony asks her, though he's pretty sure he already knows exactly what that means. Cho hesitates.
"I'm saying,” she tells him reluctantly, “that I don’t think Peter can walk.”
And before she can go on, Tony jerks forward and promptly vomits all over the floor. Cho waves aside his apologies and ushers him to a nearby chair. The moment he collapses into it, she crouches down beside him.
"Easy." She says, voice gentle but firm. "Take a couple deep breaths for me, Tony."
"I'm fine!" Tony gasps. "I'm fine!"
"You are not fine." She murmurs. "You are not fine and that’s okay. You almost lost someone you care very much about and you've just heard that they're very badly hurt. You're not fine right now, and that's okay, because you will be. Now come on. Breathe with me."
When Tony finally manages to get his breathing back under control, she tells him, "It's not permanent, Tony."
"What?" He rasps, glancing over at her. "How do you know?"
"I don't." She tells him quickly, and he’s not sure if he appreciates her honesty. "But if you look at the images I took ten minutes after the first set, you can already see signs of improvement. Here, look."
She hands him her StarkPad, where the images are already pulled up. Tony hesitatingly steals a glance at the images, and, sure enough, the white spot appears significantly smaller in the second picture.
"See?" She asked him. "It looks like Peter's body is already starting to heal itself. I can't say for sure, but just going by these, I'm very confident that Peter will recover. Maybe even completely."
All Tony can manage is a nod, throat tight and eyes stinging. Cho studies him for a moment before she takes the StarkPad from his hands. "You couldn't have known, Tony."
"I should have." The words are strangled. Barely words at all. And saying them out loud finally sends him over the edge. Tears spill over his eyes and run down his face. Cho loops an arm around him immediately, pulling him to her.
"This was not your fault, Tony." She repeats, voice hardening slightly as she squeezed him tightly.
He knows she's right. He knows there was no possible way he could have seen this coming. But it still doesn't change a damn thing. And it sure as hell doesn’t make it any easier.
-------
Something’s beeping. Softly, but obnoxiously repetitive, and it drags Peter from oblivion, despite his best efforts to ignore it and fall back into darkness. For a long time, he simply lies there, not knowing where he is and past the point of caring, listening to his own gentle breathing and the continuous beeping. Eventually, Peter gives up trying to ignore it and slowly, reluctantly, opens his eyes.
It’s dark outside and the lights are dimmed down. And everything is white. The sheets, the walls, the sleek machines he’s hooked up to, the gown he’s wearing. It’s all white. White and clean. It makes Peter want to tear his eyes out looking down at himself and thinking of the evil black sludge that had swallowed him alive. He feels dirty, like his insides are festering with an evil he’ll never be able to escape.
Something shifts in his periphery, and glancing over, Peter finds Tony sitting beside him. Immediately, Peter cringes away from him. How can Tony even stand looking at him? Being near him? Doesn’t he know everything that’s happened because of Peter? What’s happened because he wasn’t strong enough to stop It? If Tony never wants to see him again, Peter would get it. Honestly, he’s not sure how he’ll ever be able to look at himself again...
But Tony doesn’t say that. For a while, he doesn’t speak at all, just looks at Peter with a terrifyingly blank look on his face, and Peter forces himself to meet his gaze, however painful it is, waiting for Tony to tell him he never wants to see him again. That he’s beyond redemption and there’s nothing he can ever do about that. Peter knows it. Knows it and knows he deserves Tony’s disgust and hatred. Deserves to hear Tony’s rejection. So he waits, trying to squash his mounting agony and terror as the silence between them stretches on and Tony continues to study him silently.
Then, without warning, Tony reaches out and cups Peter’s cheek.
"There you are." He whispers. "Hey, Buddy."
Just hearing his voice, just seeing Tony looking at him, him, not that Thing that had spent the last few weeks wearing his face, was enough to make Peter's eyes fill with tears.
"I'm sorry!" He gasps, the tears spilling out over his eyes and cascading down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry!"
"Shh," Tony says shortly, rising to his feet and settling himself down beside Peter. "I know, kid. I know. I'm sorry too."
"I didn't want to." Peter sobs. He has to tell Mr. Stark - needs him to understand that. "I didn’t want to, Mr. Stark - he made me."
"I know." Tony assures him, tugging Peter toward him. “I know, sweetheart, I know.”
Peter wails into Tony’s chest. Cries and cries and cries. For the people who died because of him. For failing Tony. For failing May. For failing Ben. For failing himself. For his own lost innocence and for the
knowledge that he’ll have to live with this for the rest of his life.
He cries for all of it until there’s nothing left and he’s completely spent.
And Tony holds him steady through it all.