I won't let you go

[spideyguy]

Things are different, After.

There's a Before and an After, now, even though sometimes Peter has difficulty separating them in his head. It feels like just yesterday he was downtown (it was yesterday...), taking pictures of chalk art for a Bugle fluff piece when the alien donut fell from the sky. Sometimes he'll say things, mention this or that, and it takes a beat for people to understand him - a reference, out of place, to something that happened half a decade ago. It takes the wind right out of his sails every time it happens, but he doesn't know what to do about it. If there's anything he can do, really.

The world is...kind of chaos. Peter leaves Tony's side exactly two times - the first, to find his Aunt (she had also been dusted, which was both a blessing and a curse, so Peter elects not to think about it too hard), and the second, to argue vehemently with the bank that took their townhouse.

It's not about the stuff, most of which has been thrown away. Their remaining neighbors saved a few of May's scrapbooks, and some of the more priceless memories - but the rest of it is gone. His camera, all of their clothes, everything. But it's not about the stuff - it's about the house. It's about the memories they pressed into the walls, about the kitchen Ben insisted they paint yellow, when he and May first moved in, because he thought it would suit them. It's about the gash in the hardwood and the scuffs on the walls, about the garden in the back, the tree May planted in Gwen's memory - which is nearly a quarter of the way grown, by now.

Peter breaks in through the window, into his (old) room, and quietly extracts the box he'd hidden under one of the floorboards. It has old webshooter components, but more importantly, it has the last of his photos. Gwen. Harry. Ben. May. Tony. His parents. Everything he ever thought was precious, so he could pull it out and look at it, sometimes. Peter's never had his paranoia be so validated.

Peter sets May up with Dr. Strange, who's opened the Sanctum to heroes and hero-adjacent peoples for the time being, and returns to Tony's side. He doesn't think they're getting the house back, doesn't even know what they'd do if they did - without the squashy couch Ben always fell asleep on, without the ugly dining chairs May had kept just to prove a point. What's the point, if it doesn't feel like home anymore?

"We've been poor before," May says, holding Peter's face in her hands. "You're here, that's all I care about. Parkers are made of strong stuff. We'll be okay."

But Peter's subdued, after that. His box lives in the corner of Tony's hospital room, tucked under a chair, and he doesn't mention it. He doesn't mention any of it, really, because Tony has way more important things to worry about - like his arm, like walking again, like dealing with the pain and any lingering after effects. He thinks Tony would have called him on it, probably, if Peter weren't so skilled at avoidance - and, guiltily, he thinks Tony's probably too tired to press it. Good. He doesn't need any more stress.

May visits, in and out, and when she does she holds Peter's hand in her's, and Tony's in the other. Peter takes the mangled one, ever so gently, and he doesn't know how Tony feels - but it feels like family, to him, and it makes his eyes burn.

"He's made of strong stuff too, you know," May whispers, as she hugs Peter goodbye at the end of one of these visits. It makes the worry Peter didn't even realize he was carrying in his chest ease, at least a little.

The day arrives when Tony is cleared to leave the hospital - earlier than Strange would recommend, but Peter thinks they just caved to the incessant annoyance. Tony could be persistent; but Peter wouldn't have let him leave if he didn't believe he was well enough. He's not sure where, exactly, to bring him, though, until Tony explains about the apartment he had in Manhattan...apparently.

It aches, because that feels like something Peter would have known if he'd been there, but he doesn't say anything about it. May fusses, heads over before them: cleans the apartment, restocks the fridge, changes the sheets. Peter thinks she just wants something to occupy her time; but when they arrive, Peter wheeling Tony in through the front door, she's already made herself scarce.

"Nice digs," Peter says, closing the door with his foot. "Disappointed in the lack of a bearskin rug, but I guess you can't win them all."

Comments

[spideyguy]

"Yeah? Yeah that's...that's good." Peter, in return, doesn't cheapen the exchange with a joke. It feels raw, in a way, frightening; like the first time his mask fell off. Dangerous, like his toes are brushing the concrete in a wide pendulum, before the web snaps him up in an arc. But he smiles, the kind of brilliant, wild smile where you just can't help yourself. He's happy. If there were anyone in the world who could share Tony's concerns about being hurt by the people they love - whether it be betrayal, loss, or just plain drifting apart - it would be Peter. What he may lack in years he makes up for in, unfortunately, sheer numbers. They both move at a mile a minute, and they both have duties and responsibilities to uphold that don't always guarantee a safe return (recent events are proof enough of that), but they're here, now. And if they worry too much about the future...they might just be wasting the present.

He wants to say, I'll keep it safe, but he doesn't. It's a promise he's already broken before he even makes it, and Peter is smart enough to know he should probably avoid it if he can.

"I should have expected that, but you're just so distracting." Of course Tony would have the latest and greatest. Windows couldn't just be windows, but Peter won't deny how cool that is. Does make it a bit difficult to slip in and out of in the dead of night, though. He...likes that idea, though. A home together. For them. "And Christmas. Ben was the Jewish one, May was raised Irish Catholic, she converted...my point is, there's no escaping the ugly Christmas sweaters."

"None of my photos are good enough to go up on the wall." Peter snorts, letting his free hand wander to card his fingers soothingly through Tony's hair. He loves to take photos, had adorned his own room with them...but he was allowed to be content in his own mediocrity, right? "Let's frame one singular Mapplethorpe and call it a day. It's a conversation piece. People have those, right?"

Peter's completely oblivious to Tony's gaze; he sandwiches himself deeper into the couch, supporting Tony leaning on him. For anybody else, the position might have been uncomfortable, but frankly, he thrives as a human pretzel. He was shocked, honestly, when their relationship had made the crossover from...colleagues? Whatever it was - into more. To be fair, Peter was always shocked when anyone expressed genuine interest in him, but Tony? Tony Stark, arguably the most eligible bachelor on the planet, still in the running for sexiest man alive for over a decade, and the most genius mind to ever walk the planet (which, really, that's the hook. There's nothing Peter finds sexier than a big-ass brain.) Not to mention, as Peter had gotten to know him: Tony Stark, Iron Man, one of the kindest, most generous heroes he'd ever met. Peter will be totally honest - he lived through the war-profiteering age of Stark Industries, the rise of Iron Man. His opinion hadn't always been the highest, but then, as the years went, it just ended up showing him how big Tony's heart was - especially when Peter was on the other side of it, working with him as Spiderman.

So when that incredible man blinked in his direction, well. Peter never stood a chance (and the stuttering, that first time trying to flirt, by God. It's a wonder they're not still standing there waiting for him to finish his sentence.)

"Uh huh. I know how to make a few things too. Grilled cheese, for starters. You're not special." Peter grins down at him, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Sure, sure. I'm a chemist, we can figure it out. Besides...I literally don't think we could do worse than May. I love her, but it's true."

[engineous]

They have a lot of kinks to work in the realm of living together, like where to put the lab that they inevitably will need to set up and how Peter can come and go without making it look like Spider-Man is shacking up with Iron Man—even if that's exactly the reality of the situation. The important thing is that they'll do it together, no matter how much compromising and bickering they may have to tolerate along the way. Tony isn't so blinded by love to think that they won't have their fair share of problems, but hopefully they can keep them simple and won't end up involving their alter egos. He can live through ugly holiday sweaters and burned meatloaf if it means he can stay at Peter's side.

"Mapplethorpe, huh? Kinky. You'd rather have a black and white cock on your living room wall than a picture of your own boyfriend?" He grins up at Peter before closing his eyes at the steady sweep of fingers through his hair. He doesn't have as much of it as he once did, but he's of the opinion that going golden instead of silver is a pretty lucky break. Hopefully, Peter doesn't mind after the shock of seeing Tony age several years in what he perceived to be a handful of minutes. "I love your photos. How about some small ones sprinkled around? We can frame 'em and put them on desks and credenzas or whatever other kinds of furniture normal people have."

The photos were reminders of good times, even if some of the more candid ones that Peter had snapped of Tony weren't always the most flattering. He's gotten more sentimental about them in recent years, and he thinks that he has a right to be considering what he'd gone through. It hard hurt to look back at some of those photos and see Peter, but they had also pushed him and inspired him to bring him back. Without Peter, it was entirely possible that Tony would have been to broken and jaded to save a universe that seemed to keep getting itself back in peril.

"Grilled cheese? Move over, Gordon Ramsay!" He opens his eyes and grins up at Peter, sliding the rest of the way down to finally lay his head in Peter's lap. All things considered, it shouldn't be too much of a surprise, given he'd made a pretty obvious trajectory of it with his slipping and shifting on the couch. He moves a hand to slide it beneath Peter's thigh, giving a playful squeeze. "Want to impress me with some of those tonight?"

[spideyguy]

It will be a process, no doubt about it. But in the middle of all this change - Tony, recovering, Peter, suddenly five years in the future - maybe some change they have control over isn't so bad. It can be something to hold onto, something to busy themselves with, something to say, hey, I'm here and I love you and I'm still trying. There was no "honeymoon phase" with them; at least, not in the way people normally have such a thing. They were both too used to watching things slip right through their fingers to be anything other than honest, at least, with themselves. Peter knows he definitely didn't think it would last - Tony would get bored of him, eventually, what did Peter have to keep his interest? - but it didn't stop him from holding on with both hands for as long as he would be allowed. And that's...led them here, still weathering the storm, together.

"He's got some other work. Look, I'm just giving you options here." Peter watches as Tony's eyes slip closed, gaze tracing the new lines in his face. He looks tired, physically, emotionally, existentially, whatever. Tony looks tired, even with his eyes closed. Peter doesn't mind the changes, the way Tony's hair is starting to thin a little - but he does mind that the years were stolen from them. Years they could have had, years Tony has lived without him. Longer apart than together, really. It makes him angry, burns hollow in his chest, but there's nothing he can do to fix it. Nothing he can do to fix any of it, and he's never felt so goddamn useless. He died, he crumbled, every piece of him reduced to nothing, and then he woke up and everything was so much worse. There's nothing to be done, just like all the other times Peter has been useless, but unlike them, he's not sure this trauma will fit in the box he keeps cramming the others in.

"...but if you really like them. You seriously want to get a credenza?" Peter acquiesces, fingers running through Tony's hair, down to the nape of his neck and back up again. Peter's photos ranged from pretty good to total finsta garbage, depending on the day. The unflattering photos were always his favorites - be it of Tony, himself, or both of them together. They felt more real than anything else, and if he tried hard enough, sometimes Peter felt like he could hear the laughter of when the photo was taken. "I was thinking we replace all the furniture with beanbags shaped like Tribbles."

"He shaking in his boots, I'm sure." Peter laughs and shakes his head fondly, resting his hand in Tony's hair as he made it to his final destination, taking up residence in Peter's lap. Oh, okay, so he legally wasn't allowed to move now, got it. Peter snorts at the squeeze, but he definitely doesn't mind the warm hand, pressing them closer together while Tony uses him like a body pillow. "Your wish is my command. I'll even show you my secret ingredient, since we're gonna be, you know, roommates and everything."

[engineous]

In all honesty, most things that involve Tony are a process. He's constantly thinking about the next thing, a future for him to create, a world to be improved. Sometimes it means that his life gets left to the side as a perpetually unfinished project, relationships in need of fine-tuning and habits to be replaced with better ones. The important thing is that Peter makes him want to try, to focus on something other than the big picture and think small for once. Tony has always been so preoccupied with saving everyone that sometimes, he forgets about himself. This is a second chance for him to fix that, though, tinker with his own way of living life and try to find a little more balance. Ever since the war against Thanos, he's been thinking that it's time to retire as Iron Man, anyway—maybe he'll be able to work on something else and, in the meantime, become a better man.

"I really like them, Pete," he replies with a smile, eyes still closed as Peter's fingers work magic in his hair and over his neck, lulling the tension from his body and soothing his muscles to relax. "Not sure about credenzas, just trying to think of where the plebian masses display their family photos." Tony had never really had any before, at least since leaving his parents' estate and rejecting pretty much all of the traditional makings of a home that they'd embraced. Now, however, he has something that he wants to keep the memories of and be able to look at them every day as a reminder of what they've worked for and what they'll continue to be protecting in the future.

The reference to Tribbles earns a bark of laughter from him and he cracks an eye open to peer up at Peter. Really, he has no right to be so adorable. "Sorry, captain, but I think my doctor might turn green if I spend my days sitting in beanbags and fucking up my very precious spine."

Humming, he turns his head a bit, facing Peter's stomach so that he can look up at him a bit coyly from the corner of his eye. "Oh, roommate, huh? I'm calling you that forever. We're not boyfriends, we're roommates. No more kisses hello, it's strictly handshakes from now on."

[spideyguy]

Peter gets that - the need to keep moving. If he's being honest, he gets it from his Aunt. You have to keep moving, because the bills don't pay themselves and the groceries don't magically appear, and the leaky faucet you had last week is still there - it doesn't matter that your world shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. You sweep it up and you keep moving, because while you're still kicking you need to keep a roof over your head and clothes on your back, and lucky for the dead, they don't have to worry about that anymore. Peter forgets that, sometimes; and sometimes he hates it, too, because the world takes and it takes and it finds something else to take, even when you don't think you have anything else - but Tony, God. Peter was dead set on never giving his heart to anyone else ever again after the first and last spectacular shitshow of epic proportions, and Tony ruined all those plans without even trying. Tony reminds him that the world's only worth saving if you've got a world of your own, too.

"Then I'll have to steal a bathroom, make it into a makeshift darkroom." He's pretty sure Tony could have a room outfitted for developing photos within twenty-four hours if he wanted to, but it's more fun doing it in a bathtub. "I'll take whichever one is most inconvenient."

"...come to think of it, I think May did have a credenza." Peter snorts, trying to picture the entrance - he's pretty sure his backpack knocked into it more than once, but he never paid much attention. Peter's fingers keep working through Tony's hair, fingertips rubbing gentle circles against his scalp, untangling any knots or twists as he went. Tony laughs and Peter smiles, genuinely pleased by the reaction. For the first time in a while, it almost sounds unburdened. "Damn. And here I thought the green science officer was the worst I had to worry about."

His other hand does run down Tony's spine lightly, just tracing nonsensical patterns against his back. They're definitely cuddling, like some hardcore cuddling is happening right now, but Peter's not going to call it out. He might have, before, but...not right now. "Roommates can kiss each other hello. Pretend we're...I don't know, French or something. Enchanté, Monsieur. I can't pay rent this month but I sure can give you a roll in the hay you won't forget."

"I must admit," Peter snickers to himself, peering down at Tony. "'He's my ex-boyfriend, but current-roommate' does have a nice ring to it. That's like the perfectly-designed phrase for awkward encounters."