Work Text:
There is a pain in his stomach - but numb. Like he had swung for a little bit too long and has to sleep off the stiffness in his muscles.
But that doesn't make sense. He was fighting Rhino in Queens. He took a horn to the stomach (which usually - ironically - sounds better than it actually is). He should either be dead or in immense pain. There’s only one reason why he would be feeling numb like he is, now.
Avengers-level pain meds.
But that also doesn’t make sense. He hasn’t had access to that kind of technology since...
Since...
Someone is holding his hand.
He forces his eyes open, blinking to clear them and focus on a form sitting at his hip. All he can make out with his blurry vision is a goatee. “Dr. Strange?” Peter guesses, his voice barely more than a rasp.
The man with the goatee snorts. “Maybe we over did it on the meds, huh.”
A cold wave washes over Peter.
He knows that voice.
Peter swallows. “Mr. Stark?”
Finally, Peter’s vision clears enough to piece together the goatee, the black and white peppered hair, the suave smirk...
“Wanna tell me why nobody knows Peter Parker?” Tony asks, raising an eyebrow.
The question almost doesn’t even compute in Peter’s brain - he’s still reeling because Tony Stark asked the question.
“Mr. Stark,” Peter chokes.
And with that, Tony’s face softens - a look Peter had never seen before he met the man in person. It was an expression reserved for special people in Tony’s life, kept safe from the prying eyes of cameras and paparazzi, hidden away like a precious gem. Peter has missed that smile. He has really missed that smile.
“Hey kiddo,” Tony says, and there's a tightness in his eyes still but Peter can't find it within himself to care.
“You...” Peter breathes. He blindly reaches out for Tony again, forgetting that Tony had already been holding his hand. But it’s fine - Tony catches his hand again anyway and pats it, holds it gently. “You... You’re...”
“Not dead?” Tony guesses. He brushes his thumb underneath Peter’s right eye, then his left, sweeping away tears that Peter hadn’t noticed were falling in the first place. “Yeah, Pete. I’m okay.”
“You’re okay,” Peter repeats. There’s a level of breathless joy in his voice.
These past few years, he has only lost.
He has lost people, time and time and time again, and just when he thinks he can’t lose anything else, he loses everything all over again.
His friends.
His family.
His identity.
His life.
He has never gotten something back again.
Mr. Stark looks at him, really looks at him, and there’s a gleam in his eye and he knows.
Peter is used to the crowds of New York pointing up at him as he swings by. He’s used to seeing his face on billboards and on newspapers and magazines. He’s used to hearing people talk about him, people looking at him, but this whole time, it’s like he has been on the other side of a one-way mirror. He can see them and know them without anyone knowing he’s there.
Or, perhaps it would be more fitting to say: without anyone remembering he's there.
Tony moves closer to Peter and lifts an arm in an invitation. “C’mon,” he says. “C’mere.”
Peter, minding his injury, pushes and maneuvers himself until he is folding into Tony’s arms, allowing Tony to take the metaphorical weight from his shoulders as he sinks into his hold. It feels just as desperate, just as fortifying, just as natural and right as when they last embraced however many years ago, back in the ruins of the Avengers Compound.
“I gotcha, kid,” Tony says, pressing a kiss to Peter’s temple. “I’m here.”
For the first time in a long time, Peter feels seen again.
This feels like a win.