Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter Parker had been dead for… well, he wasn’t sure how long. Time was strange when you were a ghost. Days bled into nights without sleep to separate them, and memories drifted like wisps of fog, just out of reach. He remembered flashes of his life—a warm apartment in Queens, the feeling of swinging through the city, the thrill of doing something important—but the details were blurry.

The one thing he did know? He was stuck in New York.

He’d tested the boundaries once, floating toward the bridges and tunnels leading out of the city. The second he crossed some unseen threshold, a force yanked at him, like every part of him was unraveling. It wasn’t pain, exactly, but it was close enough to send him scrambling back to Manhattan, gasping for breath he didn’t need.

So now, he haunted the city.

For a while, he just drifted, watching life go on without him. He lingered around old neighborhoods, swung from buildings in ways that felt instinctive, but no one ever noticed. People passed right through him, like he wasn’t even there. Because, well… he wasn’t.

Then, one day, he found something to do.

Tony Stark’s latest Stark Tower—or Avengers Tower, whatever people were calling it now—was right there . Peter had always been a fan, even when he was alive. Stark was the guy when it came to engineering, and Peter had devoured every article, interview, and paper with his name on it. Now that he was dead? Well, haunting Stark’s penthouse was as good a hobby as any.

He’d spend hours watching Stark work, zooming in on holograms, sketching things out, muttering under his breath. It was fascinating. Even better, Peter figured out that, if he concentrated, he could move things. Not people, but objects? Those he could nudge, lift, even (sometimes) shove across the room.

So, naturally, he started helping.

At first, it was small—straightening a coffee cup that was about to tip over, shifting a screwdriver just an inch closer to Stark’s hand. But Stark was sharp, and it didn’t take long before he noticed.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he said one night, frowning at the whiteboard as a dry-erase marker rolled toward him on its own, “tell me I’m not developing telekinesis.”

“I would, sir, but I have no explanation for the anomalies.”

Peter snorted. Ghosts, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Ghosts.

For a few weeks, it was a game. Peter would push things around, Stark would try to figure it out, and F.R.I.D.A.Y. would politely inform his creator that no, the AI was not messing with him. But then, something changed.

One night, Stark was alone in the workshop, staring at a hologram of some new prototype, when he muttered, “Alright. Whoever you are, I know you’re there.”

Peter froze.

Stark didn’t look up. “I’ve run the numbers. Either I’m losing my mind, or I’ve got a particularly annoying poltergeist hanging around.” He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “So, if you’re there, now’s the time to do something really freaky.”

Peter hesitated, then—just to be a little shit—grabbed a nearby wrench and chucked it at the floor.

Stark jumped, swore, then grinned. “Alright, that’s new.”

Peter grinned too, even if Stark couldn’t see him. Oh, this is gonna be fun.

For weeks, they played this weird little cat-and-mouse game, Stark asking questions to thin air, Peter answering by moving objects like some kind of paranormal charades. And then, finally , after what felt like forever , Stark figured out how to see him.

It involved some kind of modified infrared scanner, calibrated just right. Peter had no idea how it worked, but the moment Stark flipped it on, his eyes widened .

“Oh, holy shit .”

Peter, standing right in front of him, waved awkwardly. “Uh. Hi?”

Stark’s face was unreadable for a long second. Then, he exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “So. Couple things. One—this is insane. Two—you’re a kid ?”

And just like that, his whole world—or, well, his after life—changed forever.

Peter stared at Tony Stark, who was staring right back at him . It was weird being seen.

For so long, he’d been invisible—just a shadow flickering at the edge of the world, a presence without proof. But now? Tony was looking directly at him, with that sharp, calculating gaze that made him one of the smartest men alive.

“…Huh,” Tony finally said. He reached for his coffee, took a sip, and kept staring.

Peter fidgeted. “So, uh. This is awkward.”

“That’s one word for it.” Tony tilted his head. “Alright, Casper, let’s start with the basics. Name?”

Peter blinked. “Wait, seriously? You don’t know?” He didn’t know why Tony would have known him. But something just poking at the corners of his brain was buzzing. Something about his past maybe…

“Should I?”

“Uh, no? I don’t know why I was surprised...”

Tony inclined his head. “So, humor me. What’s your name, spooky?”

Peter hesitated. It had been so long since he’d said it out loud. “Peter,” he finally answered. “Peter Parker, but maybe you don’t know that name.”

Tony frowned. He rolled the name around in his head like he was trying to place it. “Nope, not ringing any bells.”

That shouldn’t have stung, but it did. Peter had always been a fan of Tony’s work. The fact that Tony had no idea who he was? Kind of a bummer.

But there was something else as well, some inkling at the back of his mind that Tony should have known who he was, but not as Peter Parker…

Tony must’ve noticed something in his expression, because he sighed. “Alright, Parker. You clearly think I should know you, so let’s get to the bottom of that. How’d you die?”

Peter winced. “Yeah, uh… about that. No clue.”

Tony blinked . “You don’t know ?”

Peter shrugged, feeling vaguely sheepish. “It’s kinda… fuzzy. I remember, like, pieces of my life, but not the whole thing. And my death? Big ol’ blank spot.”

Tony exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Great. So, I’m dealing with an amnesiac ghost. Because my life isn’t weird enough already.”

Peter crossed his arms. “Hey, I’m the one who died, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony grabbed a tablet and started typing. “Well, lucky for you, I happen to know a thing or two about solving mysteries.”

Peter perked up. “Wait, are you gonna investigate me? Like, figure out what happened?”

Tony smirked. “Kid, you’ve been throwing my tools at me for weeks . The least you can do is let me poke around your past.”

Peter grinned. “Alright, Sherlock. Where do we start?”

Tony hummed. “Well, we’ve got a name, which is a start. But if you don’t remember when or how you died, that makes things tricky.” He gestured vaguely at Peter. “Any idea how long you’ve been haunting the place?”

Peter thought about it. “No clocks in the afterlife,” he said dryly. “But I think it’s been a while. Long enough..”

Tony nodded. “Alright. Then first step—F.R.I.D.A.Y., pull up all New York obituaries in the last, let’s say… five years. Filter for ‘Peter Parker.’”

There was a brief pause before F.R.I.D.A.Y. responded, “There are no obituaries under that name within the specified timeframe.”

Peter stiffened. “Wait, what?”

Tony frowned. “That’s… weird. Either you died before that window, or—”

“I wasn’t reported dead at all,” Peter finished, his voice oddly quiet.

A silence settled between them.

Tony tapped a finger against the desk. “Okay. Change of plan. If there’s no death record, maybe there’s something else. F.R.I.D.A.Y., scan for missing persons reports.”

Another pause. Then—

“One result found. Peter Benjamin Parker, age fifteen. Reported missing by May Parker on—”

Peter staggered back. “May?” His voice cracked.

Tony’s head snapped up. “You know her?”

Peter barely heard him. May reported him missing? That meant she didn’t know what happened to him, either. Did she think he ran away? Was she still looking for him?

Tony watched him carefully. “You remember something.”

Peter swallowed hard, nodding. “She’s my aunt. She raised me after my parents… after they…” He trailed off. The memory wouldn’t come.

Tony drummed his fingers against the desk. “Alright, that’s something. You were reported missing, not dead. Which means either your body was never found… or there was no body.”

Peter shivered. No body.

That made sense, didn’t it? He’d woken up as a ghost with no idea how he died. What if his death had been something… strange ?

Tony studied him, eyes sharp. “Kid, I think we just found your first clue.”

Peter exhaled, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling creeping up his spine.

“Well,” he muttered, “guess that makes us Ghostbusters now.”

~+~

“So,” Peter said, trying to sound casual even though his stomach—or whatever ghostly approximation he had—was twisting , “we’ve got a missing person case instead of a murder mystery. That’s… cool, right? Less grim?”

Tony didn’t look convinced. “Yeah, sure. Unless the reason you weren’t found is because there wasn’t enough of you left to find .”

Peter paled. “Okay, wow, let’s not go straight to the worst-case scenario.”

Tony shrugged. “I like to keep my expectations low.” He turned back to his screen, flicking through the data F.R.I.D.A.Y. had pulled up. “Alright, let’s see… Peter Parker, age fifteen, last seen at—” He stopped.

Peter hovered closer, peering over his shoulder. “Why’d you stop?”

Tony frowned at the screen. “You were last seen near Midtown High. And then you just… disappeared. No confirmed sightings after that.”

Peter nodded slowly. “Okay, that makes sense. I was in high school.”

Tony turned to him, eyes narrowed. “Yeah, but here’s the weird part: according to this, you weren’t the only one.”

Peter blinked. “Come again?”

Tony zoomed in on the report. “Three other kids from your school went missing that same month . No bodies, no suspects, nothing. And then—poof. The cases all went cold.”

A chill ran through Peter that had nothing to do with being dead.

“That’s… weird , right?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Oh, it’s weird as hell.” Tony leaned back in his chair. “We’re talking about four missing kids in the same area, with no leads? Either someone was really good at covering their tracks, or—”

“Or something happened that no one could explain.” Peter swallowed. “Something like me .”

Tony glanced at him. “You thinking supernatural ? ‘Cause I was leaning more toward ‘creepy government experiment gone wrong.’”

Peter huffed. “Why do you automatically assume conspiracy theories?”

Tony smirked. “Kid, I live in a world where Norse gods, aliens, and rage-monsters exist. Conspiracies are just Tuesday.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Okay, fair point. But I wasn’t part of some shady science experiment. I think I would remember that.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Would you?”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t remember how he died. His whole past was a patchwork of half-formed memories and missing pieces.

Tony tapped at the screen again. “Alright, let’s work with what we’ve got. If four kids went missing and the cops never found anything, that means they either didn’t look hard enough—”

“Or they were looking in the wrong place,” Peter finished.

Tony nodded. “Bingo.”

Peter stared at the screen, feeling a mix of unease and determination. He’d been drifting for so long , aimless and alone. But now? He had a lead. A real mystery to solve.

And if anyone could crack it, it was Tony Freaking Stark.

~+~

The next day (or what felt like a day; ghost time was weird), Tony started digging deeper. He pulled old news reports, school records, anything that might give them a clue. Peter, for his part, hovered over his shoulder, offering unhelpful commentary.

“Wow, my school was ugly ,” he muttered, peering at a grainy photo of Midtown High. “Seriously, who designed that? A prison architect?”

Tony sighed. “Glad to see death hasn’t dulled your terrible sense of humor.”

“Hey, I’m coping.” Peter floated backward, scanning the files F.R.I.D.A.Y. displayed in the air. His gaze landed on a name. Ben Parker. His chest tightened. “What about my aunt?” he asked. “Did she ever—y’know—say anything after I disappeared?”

Tony hesitated. “…Yeah.”

He pulled up an article. QUEENS WOMAN PLEADS FOR MISSING NEPHEW’S RETURN. Below it was a picture of May Parker, looking wrecked . Her face was tight with grief, her hands clutching a photo of Peter.

Peter’s throat clenched.

“She never gave up on me,” he murmured.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Tony said quietly. “She went to the cops a lot . Tried to get the media to care, but…” He gestured vaguely. “Missing kids don’t always get the attention they deserve. Especially given 2 of the four were… not white. Eventually, the story faded.”

Peter clenched his fists. “That’s so unfair.”

“Welcome to the world, kid,” Tony muttered. “It sucks.”

They sat in silence for a minute.

Finally, Tony straightened. “Alright. Enough brooding. If the cops didn’t get anywhere, maybe they just weren’t looking in the right place. You were Spider-Man, right?”

Peter blinked. “Wait, what ?”

Tony gave him a look. “You didn’t think I’d figure that out?”

Peter gaped at him. “I—how—?”

Tony smirked. “Kid, you went missing at the exact time Spider-Man did, you think I wouldn’t notice that little coincidence? Plus, your medical history—which I obtained through perfectly legal means—mentions a very suspicious number of injuries for a high schooler. Broken ribs, concussions—c’mon, who else gets banged up that much?”

Peter’s brain whirred for a moment, and suddenly pieces fit into place. The vague memories of the wind rushing past his face, the flash of a red mask in a passing window, the feeling that he had been doing something important .

It made sense.

Peter huffed. “Okay, fine, Sherlock. You got me. I was Spider-Man.” He hesitated. “But I still don’t remember how I died.”

Tony tapped a finger against his desk. “Then maybe we need to look at Spider-Man instead of Peter Parker.”

Peter frowned. “What do you mean?”

Tony pulled up a new file. “No record of Peter Parker’s death, but what if Spider-Man’s last fight gives us a clue?”

Peter blinked. “Oh. Oh, that’s smart.”

Tony smirked. “Try not to sound so surprised.”

Peter ignored him, floating closer to the screen as F.R.I.D.A.Y. started pulling up reports.

“Accessing New York crime data from the week around Mr. Parker’s disappearance…”

A list of Spider-Man sightings appeared—blurry photos, eyewitness accounts, police logs. Then, suddenly—

“Last confirmed Spider-Man activity: Incident at Oscorp Tower.”

Peter felt a jolt of recognition, like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

“Oscorp,” he breathed.

Tony noticed his reaction immediately. “That mean something to you?”

Peter shook his head slowly. “I don’t know . But it feels important.”

Tony leaned forward. “Well, then. Looks like we’re taking a field trip.”

Peter blinked. “Wait, what ?”

“You wanna know what happened to you?” Tony smirked, standing up and grabbing his jacket. “Then we’re breaking into Oscorp.”

Peter stared at him. Then, a slow grin spread across his face.

“Oh, hell yes .”

Chapter Text

Breaking into Oscorp should’ve been harder.

Should’ve.

But when you were Tony Stark, “breaking in” was just another way of saying “walking in with enough confidence that no one questioned it.”

But when you’re Tony Stark, breaking in just means walking like you own the place—and, honestly, the way he strode across the Oscorp lobby, Peter half-wondered if he did.

“Is this legal?” Peter asked, floating beside him like a shimmering afterthought, his voice hushed despite the fact no one could hear him.

Tony grinned sideways. “Define legal.”

Peter grinned back, unable to suppress it. “This is insane. You didn’t even hack anything.”

“Kid,” Tony replied, adjusting the cuffs of his sharp charcoal blazer, “the key to infiltration is confidence. You walk like you belong, and nobody dares question it.”

“I love this. This is the best day of my—uh, afterlife.”

The lobby itself was all corporate gloss—polished marble floors reflecting the cold fluorescence above, chrome finishes gleaming like armor, and security guards standing too stiff, too still. Peter’s form flickered slightly as he passed through a potted plant.

They reached the elevators. Tony pressed a button, then turned slightly. “Alright, Spooky. Where do we start?”

Peter furrowed his brow, struggling against the fog of fragmented memories. “I… Oscorp feels important. Like the word tastes bitter.” He clutched his head, trying to pull a thread from the tangle of his past. “I don’t know why.”

Tony hummed. “Well, lucky for you, I love solving mysteries. And snooping.”

The elevator dinged open, and Tony stepped inside. Peter phased through the doors after him.

“Alright, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Tony said, crossing his arms. “Give me everything you can on Oscorp’s classified projects.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice responded smoothly in Tony’s earpiece. “Searching now, sir. However, direct access to their internal servers may require…”

Tony grinned. “A little hands-on work? Oh, darn, how sad.”

Peter snorted.

The elevator gave a soft ding and opened to a much colder, more sterile corridor. Gone was the showroom polish—this floor was all steel and hush, security cameras tucked into corners, walls lined with locked doors.

“This is where they keep the good stuff,” Tony murmured.

Peter drifted ahead. “You think I was here before I died?”

“Let’s find out,” Tony said, stopping at one of the doors. He pulled out a sleek Stark-tech interface, and tapped it to the panel. A faint green light blinked, and the lock disengaged with a hiss.

The room beyond was a lab—but not the kind with open beakers and college students in goggles. No, this one was clean to the point of sterile, the kind of clean that tried to hide the blood on its hands.

Peter shivered.

Metal tables. Abandoned monitors. Glass chambers that looked like they could hold something—or someone.

He hovered a few inches above the ground, then slowly lowered himself beside a table.

Something here… hurt .

His fingers brushed the metal—cold, humming faintly with the memory of what had been.

His head jerked back.

—screaming—

—bright green lights—

—pain—

Peter stumbled back with a gasp.

Tony turned sharply. “You okay?”

Peter pressed a hand to his temple. “I was here. I remember something. It’s like flashes—like I’m dreaming while wide awake.”

Tony scanned the room. “Well, if you were here, that means there’s a record of it.” He moved toward a computer terminal, attaching a small Stark-tech device to its port. “Let’s see what Oscorp didn’t want anyone to know.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. got to work, code flickering across the screen.

Peter drifted uneasily, brushing his fingers along the cold metal. His gut told him that whatever they found…

It wasn’t going to be good.

Then—

FILE FOUND: PROJECT ARACHNE.

Tony’s brow furrowed. “That sound familiar?”

Peter swallowed and shook his head. “No. But I don’t want to know what it is. Which means we have to know.”

Tony clicked on the file.

And the screen filled with security footage—a grainy, black-and-white video of Peter Parker . Alive. Strapped to a table.

And screaming .

Peter felt cold.

Tony swore under his breath. “Oh, kid…”

Peter couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away.

Because now he remembered.

Oscorp. The experiments. The pain.

And the moment everything went wrong.

He hadn’t just died at Oscorp.

Oscorp had killed him.

Peter stared at the screen, unable to move.

The footage flickered, grainy but unmistakable. Him . Strapped to a table. Wires and restraints holding him down. His body arched in pain, mouth open in a silent scream. Oscorp scientists surrounded him, taking notes, observing like he was some kind of lab rat .

He had been here.

And he had died here.

Tony was quiet beside him, watching the footage with an unreadable expression. Peter felt like he might throw up—if ghosts could do that.

Then the video shifted.

And the horror doubled.

The camera panned, revealing another table. Another kid .

Peter’s breath hitched.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

There were three other kids in that room.

Oscorp hadn’t just taken him .

They’d taken all the missing kids.

Tony exhaled sharply, fingers tightening into a fist. “Jesus.”

The video played on, and Peter’s horror deepened.

The scientists were talking .

“Subject One: Peter Parker. Spider-Man. Genetic alterations confirmed. Proceeding with replication trials.”

Peter’s stomach twisted.

They had known . Oscorp had known he was Spider-Man. And they hadn’t exposed him. They hadn’t blackmailed him.

They had taken him .

The camera shifted again, focusing on the other kids.

“Subjects Two through Four: Non-enhanced. Administering mutagenic serum derived from Subject One’s DNA.”

A scientist injected something into a boy’s arm. He convulsed violently, back arching like a bowstring, a scream tearing from his throat. His skin rippled , veins darkening, eyes turning wrong .

Then—silence.

His body went limp.

“Subject Two: Failed. Cause of death—cellular breakdown.”

Peter felt a choked noise escape his throat.

Oscorp had killed these kids.

He turned to Tony, who looked furious . “They— they —”

“I know,” Tony said quietly. His voice was dangerous. “I see it.”

The video continued. Another kid. A girl, maybe fourteen.

She thrashed against the restraints as the serum was injected into her bloodstream. For a moment, she seemed fine—then her eyes rolled back, and she let out a horrible sound. A high, strangled gasp, like she was choking on her own body.

Her form twisted . Something bulged under her skin, shifting unnaturally. Her fingers curled into claws—

And then she stopped moving.

“Subject Three: Failed. Cause of death—neural collapse.”

Peter backed away from the screen. “No. No, no, no, no —”

Tony didn’t stop the video. He didn’t look away. He watched, jaw clenched, anger burning in his eyes.

The last kid—a boy, younger than Peter—was sobbing as they injected him. He whimpered something, but the audio was too muffled to hear. His body seized , his skin paling to a sickly grey. He gasped for air, eyes darting wildly. His chest rose—fell—

And never rose again.

“Subject Four: Failed. Cause of death—respiratory failure.”

Peter covered his mouth. He wanted to scream .

Oscorp had taken four kids . They had tried to turn them into Spider-Men. And when it didn’t work—

They had died .

Peter was shaking. His mind raced. His memories were still fractured, but now pieces were clicking into place—bits of pain, fear, the sterile scent of the lab, the sight of other terrified kids strapped down just like him.

But there was still a missing piece.

“How—” Peter’s voice cracked. “How did I die?”

Tony inhaled sharply. He clicked forward in the video.

The footage jumped ahead.

Peter was still on the table. He was convulsing .

Alarms blared. Scientists scrambled. The restraints were breaking—his arms jerking violently against them.

“Subject One—cellular instability increasing—he’s rejecting the sedation—”

Peter’s back arched , his body shaking like it was fighting something. Then—

Then the restraints snapped. 

The Peter on the screen moved—not like a person, like an animal. He lunged.

The camera shook wildly. Screams erupted. Scientists ran . A man was thrown against the wall hard enough to crack the glass.

Peter felt cold .

He wasn’t just dying.

He had killed them first.

The footage blurred, static crackling through it. In the chaos, the camera caught glimpses of Peter—his movements wrong , too fast, his body warping in ways it shouldn’t. His eyes were dark. His mouth twisted into something not human .

“ Initiating Clean Slate Program.”

The room erupted in bright light. A violent surge of energy burst outward, shattering the camera’s feed.

The footage cut out and silence followed.

Peter couldn’t breathe.

He turned to Tony, shaking his head. “I—I did that?”

Tony was watching him carefully. Not afraid. Just… watching .

Peter felt sick. He felt wrong .

Had he killed those scientists? Had he lost control?

Had he been turning into something—and Oscorp’s experiments had ended him before he could finish?

“I—” Peter swallowed. “I was— changing .”

Tony nodded slowly. “Looks like it.”

Peter shook his head. “But I don’t feel different. I don’t—” He looked down at his hands. They were the same as they had always been. No claws. No mutations. Just Peter .

Tony was still staring at him. His voice was unreadable when he asked, “Are you sure?”

Peter hesitated.

Because for the first time since he died…

He wasn’t.

Peter floated back, shaking his head. He felt… wrong . Like the knowledge of what happened had shattered something inside him.

The last thing he remembered before dying wasn’t fear.

It was rage .

Pure, burning rage, enough to make him snap—to make his body tear free from restraints, to make the whole room explode around him.

Had he killed them?

Had he been turning into something before it all went dark?

His hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists. Ghosts don’t get second chances. If he had turned into some kind of monster before dying…

Then what was he now ?

Tony exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, kid. Deep breaths.”

Peter let out a choked laugh. “Kinda hard to do when you don’t have lungs, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s expression twitched at that, but he didn’t push. He just stood there, letting Peter process.

Oscorp had done this to him.

Oscorp had found out he was Spider-Man, kidnapped him, tried to turn other kids into weapons using his DNA.

And they had failed.

Peter closed his eyes. He could still hear the echoes of the other kids’ screams. Three lives lost because of him.

No.

Because of Oscorp .

Peter forced himself to focus. “What—what do we do now?”

Tony tapped the monitor, jaw set. “We burn them.”

Peter blinked.

Tony’s expression was cold. Furious . “We take this footage. We take every single file F.R.I.D.A.Y. just scraped from their servers. We throw it into the light.” He turned, meeting Peter’s gaze. “Once this gets out, Oscorp is done .”

Peter’s breath hitched. “You—you mean—”

Tony nodded. “No cover-ups. No quiet revenge. I take this to the press, the government, the damn Avengers if I have to. They’re not getting away with this.”

Peter’s chest felt tight. “You—you’d do that?”

Tony scoffed. “Kid, I’d personally set their boardroom on fire if I could.”

Peter barked out a laugh—sudden, shaky, but real.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t alone.

Tony Stark was going to tear Oscorp apart. And Peter?

Peter was going to watch .

Tony smirked. “Now c’mon, Spooky. Let’s go ruin some lives.”

And Peter, for the first time since dying, felt like smiling.

Chapter Text

The fallout came fast.

The footage leaked. The world exploded.

Oscorp was done.

The public raged. Lawsuits hit like a tidal wave. Protests swarmed outside corporate headquarters. Norman Osborn was dragged in front of a judge, stone-faced and hollow-eyed. The government stepped in—raids, shutdowns, every secret file unearthed. Nothing hidden stayed buried for long.

And the missing kids?

Their families finally got answers.

Tony Stark made sure of it. He didn’t leave it to S.H.I.E.L.D. or the press. He went himself.

He went to every doorstep, file in hand, grief in his eyes. He apologized—not with excuses, but with truth. With names. With footage.

And to Aunt May…

 Tony had personally gone to her apartment in Queens. Had stood on her front steps like a man walking into a storm. She opened the door and froze.

“I’m... I’m Tony Stark,” he said.

“I know who you are,” May whispered. Her voice was tight, wary. “Why are you here?”

He handed her the file.

“I’m so sorry.”

Her fingers trembled as she took it. Her eyes met his. “Is it—?”

“It’s Peter,” Tony said, voice breaking. “We found out what happened.”

And he stayed. He sat with her while she cried, while she cursed the world, while she demanded answers and he gave her every one he had. Not cleaned up. Not softened. Just the truth.

He hadn’t told her about the whole ghost thing—Peter had asked him not to. He was dead, and he wanted Aunt May to be able to move on, eventually.

Peter watched it all unfold.

He couldn’t feel the warmth of the sun or the brush of the wind anymore, but he could feel this. Justice.

And he wasn’t alone.

Tony didn’t leave.

He talked to Peter—really talked to him, like he was still a person, not just a ghost. He muttered complaints while tinkering in the lab, cracked jokes at Peter’s expense, even asked his opinion on prototypes and equations like it mattered.

Peter wasn’t sure what came next.

He was still stuck here. Still dead.

But for the first time since waking up in this afterlife...

He wasn’t lost.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.