Irondad and Spiderson

Can I Really Trust You, Mr. Stark?

“So what other memories are in your head, kid?” Tony says, taking a seat next to Peter. Even though they’re starting over as strangers, he can still sense Peter’s emotions, the way that he was able to before.
    “I remember seeing…” Peter’s eyes squinch shut, like he’s picturing something in his brain. “You, and the woman who came to my house with you, and…” Peter makes a face as he looks at Tony. “Pancakes?” Tony can’t suppress his laugh. He wants more than anything in the world to be able to throw his arm around Peter’s shoulders and hug the kid close to him. To be able to feel Peter’s heart beating against his and know that he did it. He found Peter.
    But he can’t. And he won’t be able to for a while. Or possibly forever.
    Tony is just about to ask him if he remembers anything else, when Peter jumps to his feet. It seems that he finally saw the large chair in the middle of the room.
    “Kid?” Tony watches him walk towards it, almost in a trance. He reaches a hand out to touch it, and slides his hand along the leather armrest. He turns back to Tony, with tears shining in his eyes.
    “Why do I remember this place?” Peter gulps back. “What happened here? Why is it in my memories?”
    “Hey, hey.” Tony is on his feet in an instant, leaping to Peter’s side and touching his arm protectively.
    “I don’t even know why I’m crying.” Peter brings a hand to his eyes and swipes at the forming tears. “All I remember of this room is the chair, and a man…” Peter closes his eyes again. “And Aunt May. She always sits in that chair, right there.” He points to it.
    “You remember multiple instances of this place?” Tony says.
    “Sort of. I remember their faces, and being put in the chair. And… the pain.” Peter’s face whitens and he starts to sway a little. “A head-splitting, thought tearing pain that takes up every last centimeter in my head. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”
    “And you remember it?”
    “Yes. I thought I was going to die” Peter starts to fall backwards, but catches himself and sits against a nearby wall. He seems to be lost in thought and mulling over something in his head, and Tony’s attention is distracted by the shining light of the computer screen, still on in the corner. He goes to it, staring at the screen that asks for a password.
    In just a few minutes, Tony has access to the computer. He clicks through some files, not seeing much to go off of. Finally, he sees it: the diamond hidden behind many layers of files, misdirection, and coding. A single folder titled: Peter_Parker. Excitedly, Tony clicks into it. He glances behind his shoulder to see Peter still on the ground, staring up at him.
    He supplies a small smile before going back to his work. He clicks on the first image, and sees a side-by-side scan of Peter’s brain. The left half notes the image was taken exactly one week before the right half.
    The pictures are similar in almost every way, except for the top right corner. On each, an identical, dishapen oval is colored by rainbow dots and splotches. Each color means something about the brain activity, Tony is sure. And the biggest change is easy to see. In week one, there was a large green spot surrounded by red lines and dotted with blue. In the next week, it’s shrunk considerably, to the point where you can only see most of the red lines and the blue dots.
    “Is that my brain?” Peter appears at Tony’s side without making a noise, and it takes every muscle in Tony’s body to not jump out of his skin.
    “Jesus, kid!”
    “I’m sorry.” Peter sounds so heartbroken when he says it that Tony feels bad and apologizes.
    “Is that my brain?” Peter asks again.
    “I think so. I think they’re keeping tabs on your mental abilities and activity.”
    “Why would they…” Peter’s voice stops dead in his throat. “Mr. Stark, what’s a Spiderman?”
    “A Spiderman?”
    “Yeah. Because I keep getting these flashes of people saying Spiderman and you calling me Spiderman and, and — Mr. Stark, why are you crying?”
Tony hadn’t even realized that he was crying until he touched his face and his hand came away wet. Emotion built in his chest as he stared at the kid in front of him.
Peter looked at him with his big, innocent eyes. The way the light fell against Peter’s head cast a horrible fluorescent halo around his head. Even though it was built from a patchy light, it still brought more tears to Tony’s eyes.
“I’m so sorry.” He whispers. His voice reaches a whisper, and Peter puts a reassuring hand on Tony’s shoulder.
“You have nothing to apologize for.” Peter tries to soothe him.
“You were brought into something that you had nothing to do with. You fought for me, and against her. All I did was care about you, was… love you.” Tony’s voice starts to shake, but once the words tumble from his mouth he can’t stop them.
“And now look at you. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve to have everything you cared about taken away from you. You don’t even remember the most important thing to you. It’s all my fault. I’m… I’m so, so sorry, Peter.”
Peter looks down at Tony, his glassy eyes mirroring the older man’s.
“I may not have the memories that you say were stolen from me.” Peter says the words slowly, swallowing and looking down at his feet. “Or know what we were before I lost these memories, but I can tell that I was special to you. You came here from New York, just to find a kid. You say that you fought for me, and I can see it in your eyes. And let me tell you, you shouldn’t feel bad for what happened to me. If I was fighting for you, it’s because you were important to me. Because I was willing to die for you. And, even if I don’t get my memories back, I hope that might mean something to you or help with the situation.”
    Tony smiles at the kid. He can’t really call Peter his kid anymore, but maybe, someday really soon, he’ll be able to. Slowly, the room falls silent again. The kind of silent when both people have something to say, but neither can work up the courage to make the words escape the locked vault that is their mouth.
    Peter, internally, was going through a hard battle with himself. He was remembering, and all these things that are just… appearing in his brain have to mean something right? It can’t be a coincidence that Mr. Stark showed up and then his memories start to reappear. But what does he choose to believe? How does Peter know that it wasn’t Tony Stark that was putting fake memories in his head? Peter tries not to be suspicious, but he doesn’t know who he can trust now. A crushing feeling in his chest overtakes his senses as he looks at the beaming man in front of him.
Peter can sense (although he’s not sure how or why) the man’s emotions. He’s practically a stranger, except for these intimate memories that Peter has of him. He can see the man in front of him, the pain, sadness, and anger that rests deep behind his eyes. But comparing those eyes to the ones in the memories, he can see a world of difference in them.
There’s something vulnerable about this Tony that makes Peter’s heart soften. Peter can see that all he wants to do is say something to Peter. Probably something about their past life together. But Peter isn’t the same kid that he was before. He doesn’t know if he can ever go back to the version of Peter that Tony wants, even if that was who he was before this mess. And, Peter can’t help but think of Aunt May. Maybe she did erase his memories, but she wouldn’t have done it unless it was for a good cause.
Bristling with sympathy, confusion, and emotion, Peter clears his throat. Tony looks at him, a small smile playing across his lips. Peter’s heart pangs, like someone is twinging his emotion like the strings of a guitar. Peter didn’t realize it before, but the hurt look that Tony has changes when he looks at Peter. His features soften, his eyes change, and the walls guarding his heart recede away and leave the entirety of this man to the teenager.
When Tony looks at everything else, you can see the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. The grey in his beard seem all-the-more present, and a tired look makes his face droop like a wilting flower. But when he looks at Peter, his face becomes young with pride and love. His eyes brighten, and all you can see is his smile.
“Mr. Stark, I think I need to be heading back.” Peter feels horrible leaving him, especially when Tony was so excited to see him in the first place.
“Of course, kid.” His reaction is a reassuring smile a small clap on the shoulder. Tony’s mind is screaming loud enough to drown out literally anything, but he masks it well. He’s had practice his entire life.
He walks Peter to the hole that they climbed down, and Peter quickly scrambles out, followed quickly by Tony. Tony places the fake shrubs back over the entrance, and the two of them head in their separate ways, each with a flurry of thoughts swirling through their heads and hearts heavier than lead.
And if either of them had been paying attention, they would have seen the shadowed figure resting in the shadows of the trees, barely six feet away from them. They would have seen as he raised his gun, looked through the sniper, and locked right on Tony’s retreating figure.