The official part of the funeral was over. The attendees milled around the house and grounds, talking quietly to one another. Peter recognised most of them. The Avengers made up a large part of the contingent, even if he hadn't met them all personally.
There was a time when Peter would have given anything to be considered part of the Avengers. Now that it had finally happened, he wished nothing more than to take it all back.
Peter wandered away from Aunt May, away from everyone who might try to talk to him. He wasn't sure that he would be able to keep himself together if he tried to talk. Peter felt like his insides had been scraped raw in a grief that was far too familiar.
He leant on the balcony railing, looking down at the people, the place. It was a really nice place to live. Peter hadn't pictured Mr Stark out in the woods before; he'd also thought him more of a city man. But this… it was easy to see how Mr Stark had built a life here, when half of everything turned to dust.
His eyes stung. Peter swiped angrily at them, determined not to cry, not in front of all the Avengers. His throat clogged with the unshed tears. Peter headed inside the house, which was currently empty. That way, if he lost control, no one would be able to see.
He was an Avenger, now. He couldn't let other people see him fall apart. He had to be stronger than that.
Peter wandered through the downstairs area of the house, running his hand along different surfaces. It was homy, reminding him of Aunt May's flat. But there was technology he spotted here and there that made it obvious it was Tony Stark's home. Peter spent a few minutes staring at the hologram table, wishing he dared turn it on.
This wasn't his house. Peter knew better than to mess with someone else's things, even if that person wasn't around any more.
The part that jarred him the most was all the kid's stuff lying around—Morgan's stuff. He'd seen the little girl outside, though he hadn't dared go near her. There were toys piled in the corners, a box of crayons on the coffee table with a half-finished drawing of Iron Man. Peter stared at the picture for a long time. Being a dad suited Mr Stark.
He ended up in the kitchen, which had a decent view of the driveway from over the sink. Peter looked out to see the drive lined with cars. A lot of them seemed expensive. They looked out of place with the quaint setting.
Then again, Mr Stark was rich enough to own all this land. That couldn't be cheap. From what Peter knew, everything he could see belonged to Mr Stark: the house, the forest, the lake.
A photo frame out of place caught Peter's eye. It was lying face down on the kitchen bench, in the corner beneath all the other photos. Peter glanced up, spying the empty place where it must have been.
Surely Ms Potts wouldn't mind if Peter put this back. He picked up the frame, turning it in his hands to face him, and froze.
His own face stared up at him. His face—and Mr Stark's.
He remembered this photo. It had been a few months before… well, before everything. Mr Stark had taken him on a whirlwind tour of Stark Industries, where they'd spent far more time playing in the labs than actually touring. One of the security guards out the front had taken the picture for them.
The picture went blurry. Peter blinked, but it was too late to stop the tears from running down his cheeks. His fingers clenched around the frame, his enhanced strength making dents in the wood.
"Why did you do it?" he asked the Mr Stark in the picture. "It was already over. You had a good life here. Why risk everything?"
"He wasn't going to, at first."
Peter turned around, still holding the frame. Mr Rhodes leant against the kitchen door, arms crossed. His face was more lined than Peter remembered, a reminder that not everyone had napped through the past five years.
Some people were forced to live with the aftermath.
"What do you mean?" Peter asked, his voice quavering.
"When we first came up with this crazy plan, we knew we couldn't do it alone. So a few of us came here to ask Tony for help."
"And he did, right?" After all, Mr Stark had been in the battle from the beginning. And he wasn't the type of person to simply stand by when people needed help.
The problem was, his daughter needed him far more than anyone else. And she was the only person who deserved everything he had.
Mr Rhodes shook his head. "No. He told us to get lost, that he had too much to lose."
"I know!" Peter burst out. His voice cracked on the last word. He waved his arms around, trying to gesture at the whole house, the picture frame still held tightly in his hand. "Why would he do it? He had his family, his daughter! Now she's going to grow up without a dad and—"
Peter finally cut the stream of words off. He turned his head away from Mr Rhodes' knowing gaze, scrubbing at his eyes with his free hand.
Mr Rhodes sighed, walking over to Peter and resting a hand on Peter's shoulder. It was comforting, but it felt—not wrong, but not what he wanted. The only person for who ever felt right was Mr Stark.
"He never said why. He just turned up at the compound a few days later with a working time machine prototype, ready to tell us how to fix everything we'd already cobbled together."
Peter laughed wetly. "Of course Mr Stark could invent a time machine. He's Mr Stark." He scrunched his eyes closed, trying to stop the tears. "So why didn't he use it to not die?"
Mr Rhodes' hand tightened on Peter's shoulder. "It was his choice. He knew the cost."
"But why?" Peter asked, knowing he was repeating himself and not caring.
"Because of you."
The two of them turned to see Ms Potts entering the kitchen. She went straight past them to the kettle, filling it with water and turning it on.
When she was done fiddling with the kettle, Ms Potts turned to face Mr Rhodes and Peter. She looked exhausted, no amount of makeup able to completely hide the black bags underneath her eyes.
"He told them no, and he meant it. But in the end, he couldn't sit by and live in a world that didn't have you in it. Not if there was a chance to fix that."
Peter stared at her, eyes wide. This—this wasn't what he was expecting. Peter wasn't that special. He was just a kid with a few extra abilities. The friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, nothing more.
He shook his head. "I'm not important. I'm not worth that."
Ms Potts smiled. It was small and tremulous, but it lit her face up, reversing the effects of grief. "He love—he loved you, Peter," she said. "As far as Tony was concerned, he had two kids. And it was worth risking everything if it meant both of them could live."
It was useless fighting the tears. They streamed down his face, dripped down his neck. Peter pressed his lips together, stopping the sobs from escaping. His shoulders wouldn't stop shaking.
Thin arms wrapped themselves around him. Peter buried his head in the offered shoulder, gripping the back of Ms Potts' clothes like his life depended on it. The whole time, Mr Rhodes never let go of his shoulder.
When the tears finally stopped, Peter stepped back, clearing his throat. His cheeks burned red at the way he had completely embarrassed himself in front of Ms Potts and Mr Rhodes.
"I—I'm sorry," he said, turning away from them. "I know it's not my place. You both knew him a lot longer than I did."
Ms Potts and Mr Rhodes shared a loaded glance. "You're a part of this family too, Peter," Ms Potts said. "You have every right to grieve."
"But—" Peter didn't even know himself what he was trying to say. He swallowed the rest of the sentence, trying to present a brave face.
He was an Avenger. He had to be strong.
The problem was, he didn't feel strong in a world that had already taken Tony Stark away. If Mr Stark could die, what did that mean for the rest of them?
"You should visit, when you can," Ms Potts said. "Morgan should know her big brother. I'll arrange the times with your Aunt."
Peter felt like he had been clubbed in the side of his head. All he could do was stare up at Ms Potts, speechless.
"And we never closed down the trust fund," she continued. "We haven't touched it in years, with the interest accrued it should be doing well. You won't need to worry about college expenses, though I know you'll get a full ride. Tony always boasted about how smart you are."
Tony had…? Peter's mouth opened and closed like a fish.
"I don't understand," he said weakly.
Mr Rhodes wore a long-suffering expression. "Don't worry about it, kid. Once a Stark has decided to adopt you, there's no changing their minds. God only knows I never escaped."
"But I'm…" Peter trailed off, his mind wandering into memory of himself and Tony in the labs. It took him a moment to shake it off. "I'm not important," he repeated.
"You're Tony's," Ms Potts said firmly. "That makes you important."
The hand on his shoulder moved to press firmly against his back. "Come on, kid," Mr Rhodes said. "Let's go meet your kid sister."
Peter allowed himself to be shuffled out of the kitchen. His heart ached from grief, and his head felt fuzzy from too much world-changing information too quickly.
"Whatever you say, Mr Rhodes."
"Call me Rhodey, kid."
He looked over his shoulder as they left the kitchen. Ms Potts was still there. She was bending over, picking up the photo frame that Peter didn't remember dropping. Ms Potts smiled, her eyes rimmed with red but no tears falling.
The last thing he saw was Ms Potts putting the picture back in its place, on the kitchen shelf where it belonged.
A/N: I wrote this not long after I saw Avengers: Endgame, trying to recover from the emotional wreck it left me. I couldn't see how they could have done it differently and still get the same impact, but I was devastated for the characters all the same.