[ it still feels unreal. and if peter had illusions (or hopes, maybe) on tony's timeline of memories, there's barely any guesswork now. tony acts like peter is some ghost.

funny that. spiderman can relate.

peter shifts his weight. tries not to think too far ahead — maybe tomorrow he can show tony around more, and maybe the next day he can talk to him about ideas he was starting to have here. and maybe — oh god, what if tony asks about anyone —

the ambition of plans flows in near tandem to the dread, that mad sprint of thoughts that never stops. it sits at the forefront of everything. to the here and now and tony's grip is still anchored on his arm, grounding, and peter lowers into the chair without complaint.

hey, don't worry and something chokes back in his throat. how can he not? tony's anxieties are almost palpable, and peter shifts in his chair, leaning a small bit forward with an elbow on the table. hurriedly — ] I can fill you in on whatever I can, Mister Stark — [ whatever he can, but not all of it. he can't, not right now. he can't keep talking about losses, not tony, not aunt may — ] — and I think Sam will help a lot too. Sam Wilson?

[ at the next question, as he watches tony run through the motions of settling, peter hesitates, a slowly forming frown. ] Well — I mean, I got summoned? Like you did. I was back in our world, and then their Singularity magic happened, I guess, and then I was here. [ infilling useless facts, excessive words in an attempt to veer away from the truth except for the fact that he can't, not when tony looks the way he does now and he can't quite restrain himself enough from adding: ] I'm after the Snap.

[ and, again, in trying to redirect: ] Timelines are really weird here. But it's okay, we're okay. [ god okay where is sam when you need him. ]