AN: This is it, guys! Thanks for sticking with it, especially through all the awful cliffhangers and unapologetic author's notes. You guys are the real MVPs.

WARNINGS: mentions of drug withdrawal, nightmares

Tony and May started taking Peter shifts.

And as much as Tony's pride hated to admit it, it was so fucking relieving to finally get a break.

He spent most of his time off dozing on the couch in the MedBay's common room. Even though he had nothing but confidence in both May and Bruce's abilities to look after the kid, the thought of being too far from him still made the billionaire's entire being hum with uncertainty.

The last time he had been out of reach, the kid had suffered. He could never let that happen again.

And when he wasn't getting a few hours of sorely needed shuteye, he was pacing the halls.

You see, Tony Stark had never been one for stagnancy. He'd always preferred movement. Patching, fixing, doing. His life was lived in permanent state of chaotic action. But Peter's sudden return, and subsequent recovery, had jerked his entire world to a tenuous stop. His axis was halted, his ocean tides forcibly settled into a static pond.

He'd barely even noticed the restlessness building up inside him until he'd had a moment to breathe. But with peace came the aftershocks, and his entire being screamed to lurch back into motion. Kinetic energy crackled in his joints. He could only sit still for a few minutes before his jittery muscles pushed him back to his feet.

Sometimes, his path would be random and impulsive. Other times, he'd follow a specific pattern until he wondered if the carpet might become imprinted with the path. Always, however, he ended up circling past the kid's room again and again and again.

Peter did patrol as Spider-Man. As it turned out, Tony took up one of his own.

It was during one of these loops that he stumbled across Natasha.

She was leaning against the wall by Peter's door. Somehow, her demeanor was a tenuous balance between alert and at ease. Her posture was loose, but her angles were also reminiscent of a thinly veiled threat. Tony had always marveled at her ability to live through the language of contradictions.

He cleared his throat to catch her attention, then let his carefully constructed arrogance take over. "Can I help you, or were you just hoping to visit your arachnid cousin? I hate to be the one to break your heart, but he's not really taking visitors right now."

She rolled her eyes, pressing a casual hip against the wall and meeting Tony's stare head on. For once, there wasn't even the tiniest hint of a challenge in her gaze. That was all he needed to know that she saw straight through his façade and felt the ripples of concern and distress underneath. "I'm here about our guest."

It took Tony less than a second to figure out exactly what guest she meant. Shit. He'd forgotten all about him. "I sure hope he's a dead guest."

There was a lethal glint to Natasha's smile. For the briefest moment, her perfectly balanced scale tipped away from relaxed and closer to danger. Like teetering on the edge of a knife.

"Not quite." She shifted, running a nail down the inside of her thumb. "Although, I wouldn't have any qualms about changing that."

"Neither would I." The words sputtered in the air, low on fuel and conviction, as Tony's anger was overcome by something stronger. The billionaire swallowed hard and tossed a glance back towards Peter's room.

For the kid. For Peter.

He took a breath. "Send him to the Raft. I'm sure Rhodey can pull some strings."

The ex-assassin only looked vaguely surprised, as if she'd seen what his decision would be before he'd even made it. Then again, knowing Natasha, Tony wouldn't discount it as a possibility.

"You sure?"

He pictured Peter's soft brown eyes, clear of drugs and pain and confusion. He thought of the kid's endless optimism, his blind faith in the purity of humanity. I guess I just think that everybody deserves a second chance. Don't you, Mister Stark?

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Alright."

As she walked away, Tony wondered at what point a sixteen-year-old kid from Queens had started inspiring him to be a better person.

A day later, May went back to work. Tony had told her she didn't need to worry about it, that he and Pepper would handle everything, but Peter had encouraged her a little too enthusiastically when she brought it up.

Tony lurked silently in the corner while May fussed over the teenager still curled up among a plethora of monitors and displays. It took her a full ten minutes to say her goodbyes, and she still lingered at the doorway for a good few seconds longer than was strictly necessary. As soon as they were alone, Peter slumped back and looked at Tony sheepishly.

"You, uh," the kid's gaze dropped down to where his hands were fiddling nervously with the plain white hospital sheets, "you don't have to stay with me, y'know. I'm sure I'll be fine on my own if you wanna… you know… go do something else."

Tony rolled his eyes and pushed away from the wall. He made his way over to the bed and gave the kid's shoulder a gentle shove. Peter instantly scooted over to give the older man room to sit. As soon as Tony settled, the teenager was tucking himself up against his side in an unconscious plea for comfort.

He briefly wondered if there was an exact moment when personal space became a thing of the past with the kid, or if the transition had been gradual.

"Can't get rid of me that easily, squirt. I'm here for good."

Peter sunk into his side in relief, even as his words contradicted the motion. "Are you sure? You really don't have to babysit me any more than you already have."

"Who says I don't just enjoy keeping my favorite Spider-kid company, huh?" He ruffled a hand through the teenager's curls. "Now, are we going to talk about that?"

"Talk about what?"

He had to bite back a snort. "Why you were so eager to get rid of May." He paused. "And why you seemed to eager to get rid of me, too, for that matter."

Peter's stammering damned him before the actual meaning of his words could even sink in. "I-uh-I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you?"

Whatever tone it was that Tony used must have worked, because the teenager collapsed in on himself, resistance melting away into a puddle at his feet. The defeat and frustration rolled off of him in almost audible waves without the defensiveness to tame it. "It's not a big deal."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Tony could see the kid testing out how his next words felt in his mouth. They came slowly, like each syllable carried an invisible but unbearable weight. "I'm having a hard time… uh, processing, I guess."

Tony was quiet for a moment. "Processing memories?"

This time, the sentences snowballed. It was like once he pushed himself over the start, he could only pick up speed. "And new stuff. I keep forgetting things. Things that I know I should know. And sometimes it feels like my emotions just… stop working? I don't know how to explain it. I know that I zone out, too. One second I'm talking and the next the clock says ten minutes have passed but I don't remember them and you both look terrified."

It was Tony who hit the brakes, redirecting the kid before his thoughts could run out of control. "What does this have to do with May?"

Peter shrugged, and the movement made his bony shoulder tap against his mentor's collarbone. "I know I'm upsetting her, and I can't stand it." The kid ran a tired hand over his face. "If I'm being honest, I'm having a… a hard time being around anyone, right now. I know that everyone just wants me back to normal, and I want to be back to normal, but I can't get there. I can see normal, but I can't touch it. It's… it's really frustrating, actually."

As much as he wanted to rush to reassure the teenager, Tony made himself gather his thoughts before answering. "Of course we want you back to normal, kiddo. But if you're not there yet, then that's okay too. This isn't your fault. And I'm sorry if I'm making you feel rushed or uncomfortable. Just say the word and I'm out of here, bud. F.R.I.D.A.Y. can monitor your vitals if you want to be alone."

"You, uh," Peter flushed bright red, "you don't really bother me."

And, okay. That statement definitely warranted more than a few seconds to process. "Do you know why?"

"No. Not really. I mean, I maybe kinda do? I have a theory, at least."

"And that is?"

"I don't remember much from… from before," from when he was their puppet, "but I remember a little, especially after I, uh, broke out of their control. I think I sort of… latched onto you? You make me feel safe, I guess."

You make me feel safe. Present tense. As in, currently happening. As in, right at the damn moment. As in, not impermanent.

And because Tony Stark's eloquence knew no bounds when confronted with emotional input, and because the last few weeks, months, had been the most draining of his life, he just stared at the kid.

"Oh."

Peter, bless him, took his mentor's silence as displeasure rather than the shocked fondness that it really was. "I'm sorry. Does that, uh, make you uncomfortable?"

As it turned out, the kid's sudden uncertainty was the jolt that the billionaire needed to say something, damn it. "No. No. That's… that's not it." Tony scrubbed a harsh hand over his face. "I just," Stark men are made of iron. Stark men do not cry, "well, you're just a really good kid, Pete."

Recognition flared in Peter's eyes. He could hear the undercurrent of emotions, the declaration hidden underneath the compliment's surface.

"Thank you, Mister Stark."

And for once, somebody thanked Tony Stark and he didn't doubt that they meant it.

It took another three days for Peter's withdrawal symptoms to stop.

Bruce pulled him aside that morning, shutting the soundproofed door to the kid's room softly and giving Tony a delicate smile.

"I think we're safe to take out his IV and pull the other meds." For the first time since all of this began, Tony noticed how weary the scientist looked. It occurred to the billionaire that he wasn't the only one who had been forced to be up with the kid nearly every hour of the day. "The withdrawal should be over. His blood tests still show some traces of the drug, but it shouldn't be enough to cause any real problems. What he needs now is rest."

"He's been resting."

"And how good has that rest been? Most of it has been because of a mix of analgesics and sedatives. You don't achieve REM from that kind of sleep. I seriously doubt that he's gone through even a single full sleep cycle since before he was taken. What he needs now is good, healthy, natural sleep. If he can rest through tonight, I'll let him move into his room tomorrow."

"So he's ready to go home?" Something flipped in Tony's stomach as he voice the question.

Bruce shook his head, and it was the sweetest thing the billionaire had ever seen. "I'm not sure I feel comfortable letting him be too far from the MedBay until his blood tests start coming back completely clear. But I don't see why he can't get back to some semblance of normal until then."

Tony told May the good news when she came to switch off with him a few hours later. By then, Bruce had already taken out the IV and removed the monitors from the room. The space felt a lot less cramped, and a lot less like a hospital, and Tony could tell that it had done wonders for Peter's mood. His entire demeanor was much more relaxed, and he kept flexing the elbow where the IV had been with the ghost of a smile on his face.

May stayed for the better part of the day before heading out to work her nightshift. Tony had grabbed a few hours of restless sleep right after she'd gotten settled in Peter's room, but May had ended up dragging him back in after she caught him lurking by the doorway around lunchtime. The kid had been shamelessly pleased by the presence of both his aunt and his mentor, chattering at them excitedly and grinning from ear to ear.

Strangely enough, the makeshift family started to inch closer and closer together as the day wore on. Tony still wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but by mid-afternoon all three of them were unfurled across the tiny hospital bed, Family Feud reruns playing nonstop in the background. May was tucked up at the head of the mattress, legs hanging off the side and Peter's feet resting against her thighs. Tony was near the end, scrunched in a surprisingly comfortable position with the aforementioned teenager's head pushed against his stomach.

It was so domestic that Tony of five years ago would have probably thrown up.

May slipped out a couple of hours before sunset, leaving Tony with the task of entertaining the rapidly tiring kid until Bruce's imposed bedtime. The scientist had stressed that keeping Peter awake until after dark was important to put him back on a healthy sleep schedule. And, while Tony wholeheartedly agreed, keeping an exhausted Peter awake that long was proving to be a fulltime job.

"Just one more hour, buddy." He encouraged, rubbing the kid's arm lightly to get his attention. "That's not even a full Star Wars movie."

Peter muffled a yawn against his sleeve. "Yeah."

The poor kid looked spent, hair tangled and eyes heavy with fatigue. Tony kept expecting him to get cranky, but he honestly just looked pathetic.

"I'm sorry, Pete. I'd let you sleep now if I could."

"I know, Mister Stark." He gave him a tired smile. "It's fine. Just another hour, right? That's not too long."

Tony imagined that that hour passed a lot quicker for him than for Peter.

The clock ticked over and the man could practically feel the teenager slump in relief. He wasted no time in switching off the TV and gently extricating himself from the kid's hold. "Alright, bud. Bedtime for you, huh?"

Peter crawled under his blankets with a content sigh, then flailed a hand out towards his mentor. "Stay?"

He settled into the chair by the bed without even the tiniest flicker of hesitation, catching Peter's hand and giving it a little squeeze. "'Course, kiddo. I'll be right here if you need me, okay?"

The teenager gave a hum in response, eyes shut and face smooth, and Tony sent out a blasphemous prayer that he'd sleep the night through.

And, like with most things Tony prays for, he doesn't get his wish.

(It's going to get better, but that doesn't mean it gets better all at once.)

Peter woke up, and he couldn't remember who he was.

Every thought blurred behind his eyes and morphed into putty. He reached and grasped but his memories squished in his fists and refused to reform. He was falling, he was sinking, he was drowning in the lack of anything.

I don't know who I am.

There were no landmarks, no handholds. Nothing to remember, nothing to seek.

I don't know who I am, and I don't know if I'll ever know again.

"Kid?"

Kid. Kid, Kid. A handhold. The voice gave me a handhold. I am kid. Am I kid? Kid. Kid. Kid.

Strong arms wrapped around Peter's trembling form. Hold. Hold. Hold. I am being held. "It's alright, buddy. You're safe."

Buddy. Kid. Nicknames. There was only one person who called him those things. Who was it? Whowasitwhowasitwhowasit?

"Shh. Take a breath, kiddie. You've gotta take a breath."

The name lurched into his mind with undeniable certainty, like it had never left at all. Like it had been sitting just underneath his skin all along.

Tony. It's Tony. Tony knows who I am, right? Tony can tell me. Tony won't let me stay lost.

"I-I don't know who I am." Peter clung to his mentor, eyes squeezed shut. "Bring me back. Bring me back. I don't know- I don't- I don't- oh my god. I don't know."

"Yes you do." Tony was rocking him, hand tangled in his hair with a fierceness that made his head spin. "Tell me your name."

Panic caught in his throat. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do. You do. Tell me your name."

His name. His name. He knew his name. Didn't he? He'd been thinking it. He'd been thinking his name. "My-my name is Peter."

"That's it, buddy. See? You know who you are. You're alright." Tony pulled back, only to press their foreheads together. "The drug isn't in your system anymore, kid. It's out. You're okay."

The world jerked. He wanted to scream. "But I still can't remember."

"Yes, you can. You just think you can't. Tell me about yourself, Peter. Tell me who you are."

"I can't."

"You can." A calloused thumb swiped across his forehead. "You can. Just try, buddy. For me, okay?"

For Tony. He could do anything for Tony.

"My name is-is Peter. I'm from, uh, I'm from Queens?" He looked at his mentor questioningly, and the man gave him a reassuring nod. "I-I'm Spider-Man."

"That's it. Keep going."

"I can't." Peter's voice cracked on the scream. He could barely think past the defeat and terror and fear. "I don't know!"

"Then I'll do it." Tony gripped the back of the teenager's neck and curled his fist until his fingernails scraped against the nape. "Your name is Peter. You're from Queens. You're Spider-Man. You put pineapple on your pizza, which is an abomination, but I let you do it because I also think it's a little endearing. When you set the temperature on a thermostat, you go by counts of five. Your favorite Disney movie is Robin Hood. You pick blue notebooks for your math homework and red ones for your English. You stutter and ramble when you're nervous. Sometimes, when you have a nightmare, you come into my lab and sit at the bench with me until you fall asleep in my lap. Do you remember all of that, Peter?"

Tony's words filled the air, and Peter felt like he inhaled them with every breath. They settled in his lungs, seeped into his bloodstream. A promise, a comfort, a truth.

I am Peter.

"Yes."

"See?" Tony brushed a thumb down Peter's cheekbone. It was an intimacy that they had discovered only recently, but the sensation felt like coming home. "You aren't lost, Peter. You're right here."

You're right here.

His next words came out painfully young. "They took me away."

"I know. I'm sorry, buddy. I should've fought harder."

No. You don't understand. "No. Not… not like that. Well, yes like that, but also… they took me away from me. They took you away from me. You and Ned and May and me. They took it all away. I wasn't anything. I… I was a puppet."

Peter didn't miss the way Tony's breath stuttered in his lungs, or the way a visceral sadness seemed to settle in his mentor's eyes right before he tugged him into his chest, resting a chin delicately on the crown on his head. "But you're not anymore, kiddie. You're here with me, and you're all you."

You're all you.

He buried his face into his mentor's collarbone. He breathed in the man's cologne and the lingering scents of motor oil and metal. He remembered these things. He remembered who he was. He is kid. He is Spider-Man. He is Peter.

"Do you remember what you said to me before…" Tony trailed off, voice tensing, "uh, when they were filming you?"

Before they made you think I was dead.

"Yes."

"Oh. Good." The older man's hand was tracing patterns along his upper back. Peter could feel his fingers trembling. "You… you said you loved me. And I, well," a breath shook its way between them, and the atmosphere stilled in anticipation, "I love you too, kiddo. I, uh, I reckon you oughta get a chance to hear that. I told you when you were… when we first got you back but you were… pretty out of it, so I don't think you remember." Warm air from one of Tony's exhales ruffled the teenager's hair. "But… yeah. I love you a lot. So fucking much, kid."

Peter smiled. For the first time in a long time, he felt contentment rest in his bones. "I love you, too. Although I guess I already said it, huh?"

"Yeah, but I don't mind hearing it again."

"Well, okay," he let his eyes slip shut, "I love you."

"Alright, buddy," there was laughter in Tony's voice. Something dark and unseen had fled the room, and both of them were reveling its absence, "don't wear it out. We've got tons of time to be mushy and gross about it."

Time. I have tons of time.

Heaps and heaps and heaps.

They grab Peter right out from under Tony's nose, but he gets him back.

He gets him back, and he always will.