I'm not saying this to try and weasel out a few reviews, but it was a review that actually got me to posting this again here. One review from this site and another in ao3! I've actually written up to 10 chapters already and have it posted in ao3, but some people prefer to use this one- my hometown, if you would. So I'mma put it out here hahahaha.
Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed and favorited!
And now, the angst will only get worse.
"Nice to finally meet you, Peter. I'm Harley. Harley Keener."
Harley holds out his hand, a warm expression enveloping his face and Peter had never felt so accepted by someone who he barely knew.
And he feels unsettled because here was this guy, talking about him in a way that suggests intimate familiarity when Peter barely knew him. But the way this man, Harley, described him also tells that this intimacy only comes from a second-hand fondness from someone.
Peter stands frozen, trying to analyze the situation, but not knowing if the answer he is presented with is the answer that he can accept.
Harley is still looking at him expectantly and the seconds stretch out uncomfortably.
Sensing that his mind is failing him, Peter submits into his bodily reactions.
Which is the worst possible thing to do.
Because—
SMACK!
"Oh shiiit…" someone mutters above the silence.
There is a spilt second when Peter thinks Mr. Harrington will jump out from behind and maul him like a rabid bear, and another when the fear of that happening is instead replaced with—please Mr. Harrington, please feed me to the lions—
But then Harley is laughing, (at him? Peter doesn't know, and he doesn't particularly care to find out—just get me out of this—)
He's shaking his right hand, red from where Peter slapped it but there isn't a trace of animosity in his laughter.
In his peripherals, he could see Ned with his face on his hand and MJ is shaking her head in an agonizing, 'I'm disappointed in you' kind of way.
Peter thinks this has been going on for too long, and too much attention has been given to him already—so he grabs Harley's hands, and starts shaking it vigorously.
"Ni-nice to meet you too Mr. Keener! I'm, I'm Parker Peter—Peter Parker—you can call me Peter—"
In hindsight, there was probably too much Peter in just one sentence.
Harley cringes and is chuckling lightly when he says, "Just Harley, Peter. You make me sound too old. I'm like, 21 man. No need for formalities." And then he leans forward to Peter, whispering, but not quite quiet enough for the one's in the front to miss, "Plus, we're both Tony's proteges. If you want, you can call me Master Harley instead. Since I came first."
Peter couldn't believe this.
Here he is, having the crisis of his time and this dude—this Harley— is just ripping one joke after another and it's not even funny.
He nods, though, afraid of upsetting the older man and whispers in return, "I think, I think we should start with the tour now Mr. Ha— Harley."
He laughs again, and Peter envies the way he can do that so carelessly. Like he doesn't feel a permanent weight lodged into his throat, and the world isn't grey and blue and unfriendly.
"Forgoing the Master, then. Great choice. I was only messing with you. You're already smarter than the rest of the other interns."
Harley then turns to address the group of tenth graders, "I'm sorry for that, but Pete here is someone I've been meaning to meet for a long time now. If you could forgive the distraction and delay, I might bring you to the cafeteria for free ice cream."
The whole group collectively cheers— free ice cream is heaven even for stressed and emotionally burdened tenth graders—no, scratch that, it's especially heaven.
And for Peter, it might just save this day.
Harley is leading them through the third floor, discussing the history of Stark Industries and answering questions from the naturally curious students.
"See, this tower was built after the first one got sold. They thought it better to relocate the tower close to the Avenger's facility because Tony was technically it's biggest private contributor…"
Peter is actually enjoying a little more than he expected to, MJ muttering snarky comments that make him and Ned snort and Ned pointing out things that tingles his inner creator.
He has never been here before. So that probably helps. There is actual beauty in discovery, something wonderful that puts some color in Peter's eyes. He is seeing the tower in a new perspective and he feels a certain lightness that could only be felt when you're recognizing that something has quite changed.
And for the better this time.
They pass by the different floors— skipping every four floors after introducing each department: Public Relations, Accounting and Finance, Management, the lot.
They arrive at an almost empty floor, where the sky is clear for everyone to see. It has chairs and tables scattered around, and a small bar by the end of the wall. Opposite that is an open wall, twenty floors above the world and the students are running toward the balcony.
Harley lags behind, appreciating the view of lively students.
People are too serious nowadays. Especially in this company. The lightness that these students share is rare.
He wishes, as he looks around, that everyone is like that.
The sky is still blue in the morning sun, the air, despite being warmer, still sends chills in a way it only could from being so high above.
"You can take pictures, you know!" He calls out.
The teens rush to get their phones out, someone dropping it and cursing the other person out for surprising him in childish fashion.
Staying behind are three particular students: One, female and only pretending to be bored. When you look closely, it is quite evident in the way her eyebrows quirk and her lips tilt that she is, indeed, enjoying herself. She moves to take her sketch pad out when the other, the second, a boy who looks like he could be the face of warmth, nudges her and juts his chin out to the third member of their group.
Peter.
Pete.
The kid.
…as Tony would say, in the rare times he spoke of him.
Harley remembers, as he stands behind them all, the first time that he did.
It was a few months after the snap, and Tony had looked for him in his childhood house. He had been surprised, then, that Tony had remembered him and somehow went out of his way to look for him.
And for whatever reason, he had seen the relief and warmth that spread through Tony's eyes when he opened the door, reflecting what Harley is sure was in his eyes, as well.
So, they were there, sitting in front of the lake, talking. It was something they would do after their routine but nevertheless grueling mechanic teamwork, just before Pepper called for dinner.
Tony had been especially quiet, letting Harley do all the talking. He spoke of his school and adolescence after Tony, how he finally stood up to the bully and gathered up the courage to spark up a romance with one of the more timid but incredibly brilliant girls in his school.
When he went on describing her propensity for chemistry, Tony spoke out of the blue. His eyes were looking far into the woods and his voice was as calm as the lake.
"I had a kid once," Tony started, Harley startled, "who had a knack for chemistry. He was one of the smartest kids I know— smarter than even I was at that age. He was always talking though, you could never hear your thoughts with him," Tony scratches his neck, "But most of the times, I think he does it for me."
Tony paused for a moment and said, "Now that I think about it, you're roughly the same age."
Tony looked at Harley then.
And it was at that moment that he knew that this kid was something of the stars because whoever made Tony look like that was someone so special that a man so tormented as he could look so soft and compassionate and vulnerable.
There were no tears then.
"You know, you could have been good friends."
Only regret.
Harley pushed the tip of his nose, as he does when he's prodding, and asked his mentor more about this kid.
Is he your son? I never thought you had a kid. Is Pepper the mother?
He was never one to tread carefully. That's probably one of the things Tony appreciated about him, when everyone was always eggshells and whispers around the older man.
He had learned, later as they watched the sunset, and the ripples of the lake reflected the orange hues and darkening surroundings, how beautiful, he thought, that his name was Peter.
And that he wasn't Tony's son biologically, but that he might as well be.
He was there when Morgan was born, and was there to take care of her and play with her (the way he used to hate when his sister was still there), to cheer with Pepper and Tony as Morgan took her first steps and to laugh during dinner later that night.
He was there, as well, much later in the night, and every other night, when Tony would take recluse in the kitchen, washing the dishes as an excuse to linger and look at the framed photo just behind the vases, on the shelf above the kitchen sink.
He was there to experience it all— Tony Stark in all his domestic glory, living the happy life. Present enough to see that no matter how much Tony tried to hide it, there was always a shadow lingering on his face when he thought he was alone.
He was there, when Peter had not been.
And he might have felt envious once, because no matter what he did, it always seemed like he was following Peter's footsteps.
But Tony was a good father and becoming better every day. He never once compared the two. In fact, he would always compliment him in that sincere way he never could do when they first met.
Tony also never talked about Peter on his own, after the first time. It was always after hours of urging or wondering out loud, that Tony would sigh deeply and then tell stories of their adventure together.
It seemed the jealousy was only his mind being possessive when he didn't need to be.
He had thrown it under the well and forgot about it as soon as he realized.
At some point in the night, after he learned that Peter was obsessed with Star Wars and that Tony used to call him either 'kid' or 'Pete', Harley concluded that he would have loved to meet this wonderful boy just so they could bear arms and torment Tony in their inane chatter and devious antics.
He would submit to sleep at some point, drench in regret that they had never met in this lifetime. Maybe if they did, they would have been good friends. Best—brothers, even.
And they could be a happy family together (even though he would never say that to Tony).
(He wouldn't have laughed though.
Tony would just have nodded, and agreed, because deep in his heart that was all he wished a well).
But as he lay his eyes on Peter,
Pete,
the kid
He wonders if that could ever come true. Not just because Tony is gone now, but also because Peter is so obviously lost as well, to the point that it takes his two friends a few minutes of talking to him before he would notice.
And when he does, he is smiling, strained and so obviously fake that Harley calls to his troupe of adventurers back to the building.
"—no it's not a bad emergency… it's a pretty good emergency actually! NO! No, don't activate mark 98, jeez Mr. Stark. Just, come outside real quick, I'm almost there anyway, I can see the tower already."
He could hear the exasperated sigh Tony gave and the clank of the screw driver he was probably holding to fix Rhodey's mechanical leg.
A few moments later and Peter had arrived at the Tower's balcony, and was waiting for his mentor to appear.
When he didn't, Peter called him again, "Mr. Stark, come on, the emergency is really, really urgent in a good kind of way but if you miss it, it'll be bad in no time!"
Tony replied from the stairs, calling out, "What is it this time, kid? I thought you were busy at this time with that decathlon thing—"
But he couldn't finish it because Peter was already grabbing his arm in earnest, pulling him towards the edge of the balcony with no sweat, talking a mile per second.
"WeneedtohurryupMis'erStarkorwe'llmissit!"
Tony took his hand back, rubbing on it from the force the kid unexpectedly gave in excitement, "What exactly will we miss? Is this the world ending? Or is this just some Pitbull throwing up again because even though I love your company, kid, some things are just—WOAH- What the hell?!"
Peter didn't heed his mentor and proceeded to completely web Tony to his body, the two of them back to back, and just as he was aiming for the skyscraper nearby, Tony jerked to the side so hard that they fell on the floor.
"What the hell are you up to, Peter!"
He wasn't angry.
More… fearing for his life, confused as fuck and haven't slept since yesterday surprised.
Not that it mattered because Peter was steadying himself again, this time taking a little time to get used to his mentor's weight.
Which wasn't much, since he already swung Ned back and forth a few times.
The only thing that he got as an answer was Peter distractedly mumbling, "You don't get to enjoy the air as much as I do because of your mask and you always head straight to the tower— so, I've thought I'd show you something. Hold on, Mr. Stark, this'll be funNNN!"
By the end of his sentence, they lurched forward, swung and then went into a few seconds of weightlessness before lurching again, and again and again, until he stopped screaming bloody murder and saw as the red-orange hues, transformed into a beautiful, darker indigo—
Peter was whooping from behind him, laughing in exhilaration.
Tony let out a breath, and then he's laughing along with his son.
(Son? …uh, yeah, I guess… yes. Son.)
It took a few more minutes of absolute thrill before Peter slowed down and settled on a skyscraper.
They were stuck together for a few minutes, Peter catching his breath from laughing too much before he tapped Tony's hand and said, "You can activate Mark 98 now, Mi'ser Stark. To, uh, cut this off."
Tony did as he told, ignoring the fact that he had been quite content just sitting there, back to back, muscle to muscle, father to son.
When he finished brushing off the webbing, Peter was already settled on the edge, looking at something from afar.
Tony turned and when he looked,
Ah.
He took his time to walk toward Peter, watching for a few minutes the view in its most beautiful form—his son, sitting there, basking in the beauty of the sun, unbeknownst to him that he was part of the magic of it all.
He might have taken a few photos of it as well, but if Peter knew, he didn't address it.
Tony then decided that he would very much like to experience it with him, instead of letting the kid sit on his own, even though he knew now that the beauty would be stained by his own callous image.
Yellow, red-orange, and indigo reflected on the light of Stark Tower, the gradience a piece of ephemeral art, the noise below just an afterthought and the kid beside him the most precious of them all.
Peter spoke, his chin resting on his hands, knees supporting his torso—and Tony wanted to pull him back, don't lean too far, kid, you might fall, but then he remembered that this is Spider-Man after all—better yet, this is Peter and if it was between the two of them, it would be his kid to survive the fall.
"See this, Mr. Stark? It's so magnificent—just the way the colors set on the tower. It's so breath-taking… do you see?"
Tony nodded, letting his silence speak for itself.
"No, you don't. Not usually. Because you're always hiding in your lab… afraid of something I can't pretend to understand. But this," he presents with one hand, "this is something you created. This beautiful view, you created that. And I hope you understand that you made something this wonderful."
There was something in the way Peter said it like he was upset that tugged on his little heart more than he cared to dwell on. A lump on his throat formed and he just nodded until he thought it safe to speak.
"Tony. Call me Tony… son."
And the way Peter turned to him, the wide eyes, tearing up and the brightest smile ever, almost made it worth getting toppled on the ground by a super-powered kid who probably didn't know that he was already crushing his bones with that damned (really enjoyable) hug.
The last students are just arriving on the sixtieth floor, the group having skipped the other floors in favor of the top ones ("It's all just storage and security, anyways— uh, very important, no doubt, but still incredibly bori—"), when Peter notices the familiar place, his fuzzy, comfortable mind suddenly drenched in ice, cold, Northern Pole ocean water.
Peter tries his best to concentrate on Harley's voice.
"Now, everyone, beyond these halls is a place that has never been seen by outsiders before." Harley is grinning widely, eyes bright in anticipation to everyone's reactions. His words spur the desired effect of gearing everyone's enthusiasm up to 11, "This place is where the magic happens," he presses on a button, and a large metal wall opens up— cool, sterile air wafting in— "Behold! The Laboratories!"
Peter jerks forward, the hair in his nape turning up and before anyone could react—
BOOM!
Peter is gliding across the hallway, familiar as he is with the directions. It came from far left, the special lab—
He almost passes through it, sliding and then catching himself—not a time to be wasted because something was burning-!
Peter wonders at the back of his subconscious, why Friday hasn't activated the security measures yet, other than the red lights and the consistent eenk-eenk-eenk that speak of the emergency, but doesn't dwell on it as he runs in the smoking room, typing up the codes to activate the fire-repellant and to bring Friday back online.
When the smoke let up, leaving through the vents with the help of the exhaust, he is met with the furious face of one Princess Shuri in a smoke-coated white dress.
But the ruined dress wasn't even what she seems to be angry about, splitting eyes honing in on one of the trembling interns to her left.
"What have I told you about trying to fix Friday? You DON'T!"
By this, the lights have turned back to white and Friday announced the stable situation.
Harley comes in, the students in tow, assured that whatever it was that happened couldn't be worse (or is bad bad, cause' it's Princess Shuri, when is it not?)
The students stand by the wide door, some peeking and some gawking at the royalty before them.
Others, completely enthralled with the idea of the monarchy, goes to bow and someone fucking kneels—what the hell—
Until, of course, Shuri laughs, forgetting her ire at the intern, and waving them off with a, "No, no! You don't have to do that, I mean, you should, lemme get my phone first—"
This is when she spots Peter, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and shock.
She hums, "You! You're the one who ran into the lab, right? You accessed the A.I. when I was quite busy wanting to rip my intern to shreds," she side-eyes the man cowering by the computers, "You are…?"
Squint.
Lean forward.
Ah.
"…the broken white boy in the wa—MPH!"
Right then, Peter jumped for the Princess, covering her mouth with his hands and much too caught in the fear of being exposed than to remember who he is and who she is and who is watching them right now.
CLICK!
"Holy shit, Peter's screwed~" someone whistles.
"This is like, the third time now, why does this keep happening—"
Peter let go of the princess but not before screaming at her, through his eyes, not to go about revealing his identity as the former Spider-Man.
Harley, ever the sharp one, cuts them off in the middle of a wordless debate, "Everyone! This is Princess Shuri of Wakanda, a dear friend, prankster and vine master. Also, one of the leading developers in Stark Industries. She's part-time here, but has already contributed a lot, so there's that."
The crowd claps in reverence, starstruck.
Shuri nods sagely, "Yes, yes, no need to clap. I already know, I'm the wisest, most knowledgeable vine master there is."
The clapping slows down in the group's uncertainty but Shuri is already chuckling again, dismissing them.
"Well, you're Midtown High right? You're here on that super special tour. Enjoy your exploration. Maybe if you find my trusty screw-driver, I'll bring you back to Wakanda."
And then she leaves.
Only, not completely. Because she's halfway out of the lab and into the other side of the room when she turns her body and everything but her voice is laughing at the group, "What? You don't want to explore it with me?"
Harley saunters toward her and claps her back, beckoning the others to follow.
The students scramble from where they are on the other side, careful not to touch anything despite desperately wanting to do so, because if the intern that actually can touch something here has earned such wrath from the Wakandan prodigy, then, they would rather cut their hands than do so.
At the back of the group, Peter sighs in relief as no one had tried to make too much of his involvement.
"While Stark Industries is an established technological company, it is primarily the place for any sort of advancement in the scientific field. If I look back to it, I think our people at the Accounting department had also contributed to some improvements in the whole financial system as well, so we can also take credit for that. With Princess Shuri's involvement, we've also taken to spearheading developments in the medical field."
It was a wonderous place, the medical bay. There were all sorts of high-tech stuff that not even the most advanced hospital has.
Peter looks on with a sense of familiarity that does not go away no matter what he thinks of.
The med bay is something he is well acquainted to, despite how much he reassured May it wasn't that often he got hurt during a patrol.
Shuri leads them through a series of hallways, still inside the Medbay, where another laboratory stands.
"And this is my special lab," she announces. The lab is spacious enough, but Shuri presses a button that opens up the walls, allowing everyone to actually come in and watch the Princess.
She is taking a few vials from the refrigerator, prepping the table while Harley does the introduction for her.
"This is where she is currently developing her cure for cancer. Now—yeah, I know everybody's doing it, but we got something really special here right now and with Shuri's mind in the medical field, they could only gain more for it."
"This," she presents, a brown vial in hand, "is called the Palytoxin. Anyone knows what it is?"
Peter has his hand in the air the moment she asks the question, answering in an even faster rate.
"It's the second most toxic organic compound there is. Synthesizing it is called an effort similar to climbing the Mount Everest alone and without any tools because it is so complex and widely undiscovered. There are no current methods of extracting that yet—not that is published."
Reciting that was a rush for Peter. It certainly distracted him long enough to drown out intrusive thoughts. And this was Chemistry. No one would know why he knew about that other than the fact that he's a nerd even among nerds.
"Indeed, white boy."
"Peter," he corrects.
"Would you like to play?"
"Uh… not really…"
What the hell is she asking him?
"Who else isn't a scared wittle kitten?"
Everyone raises their hands and she hones in on one Ned Leeds who is the most excitable of them all.
"You there, the one jumping. You're?"
"Ned Leeds, Ma'am-Princess-Professor!"
"…I think Master would suffice, young padawan."
Peter enjoys the way Ned sputters.
Having been acknowledged and spoken to by the princess was one thing but to find out that she, too, shares the same love that he does for Star Wars is another thing altogether.
"So, I'm guessing you have some sort of experience with tech before."
Ned is nodding excessively, "Robotics team, ma'a—master. Vice President!"
"Good, good," Shuri says, tapping a few transparent buttons from her bracelet. She produces another one from the table and gives it to Ned.
It is so obvious how this means to Ned, to be holding a piece of tech that Shuri herself made—and presumably of Vibranium.
"Wear that and then click on the biggest pearl. After you do so, place it on the table."
Ned does as he is told, the others curiously observing and expecting something impossible to happen.
When he finishes, everyone is gasping in amazement.
The bracelet projected something in blue—a molecule of complex formulation that the others can just imagine if their teacher would think to use that in one of their exams—
And what is even more astounding is that Shuri was touching the hologram and it was responding—!
Peter could just imagine Ned having the loudest freak-out he has in his head, even though he is just standing there in quiet astonishment, looking as if he might pass out right now.
Shuri is talking to Ned, trying to instruct him over the noise of awed students, and when she finally pokes him, the first thing that leaves his mouth is:
"PUTANGINA—"
"Did you just curse?"
Everyone immediately shut up. A gaggle of students at the back still buzzing until someone hisses at them to shut the hell up, Ned just fucking cursed and the Princess is furious—
Ned is frozen in his spot beside the princess, not knowing how she could possibly recognize the curse word.
But Shuri ploughs on, basking even, at the attention, "Because we don't curse in this goddamn motherfucking house!"
She turns to the students in the forefront of the group, grinning widely and looking expectantly. Peter could see the moment she deflates in disappointment. But before she could address it, Peter is responding:
"…shit!"
And they're both grinning at each other now, a form of kinship developing in that one act of recognizing the reference. They're allies now, Peter feels, and he relishes in the elation at making a new friend.
The first student to snap out of it other than Peter is Abe, and he's slapping Charles' arms, "Princess Shuri knows Vine! What the ever-loving fuck did we sign up to—"
"And apparently she knows Filipino," Betty observes, phone in hand.
"Yes, well, another fun fact: the Philippines hold the best source of Palytoxin. And I might have befriended a few of the student researchers there," she grins at Ned, an unmistakable glint in her eyes, "and I know all the curse words."
Ned is flushing and apologizing but there is also a look of awe at his childhood home being recognized by the princess of the most advanced country there is.
"Now," Shuri manipulates the image, zooming in, causing the molecules to unravel across the room, through the student's heads, blue light enrapturing the whole room, "this is how I started with discovering the synthesizing process…"
It is a complicated subject, and the most intelligent in the group are struggling to follow, but at the end of it, they're satisfied with having learned something despite how exhausting it was.
After an hour of speaking in nothing but science, Shuri is answering the last question posed by Betty ("What message do you wish to send to the students of Midtown High?"), ever the diligent journalist.
"The scientists of old said that the Palytoxin is the Mount Everest of synthesis because they didn't have the tech they had today. Or, the tech I had and made.
Palytoxin is one of the most lethal compounds there is. In fact, a dose as small as 2.3 micrograms could kill half of us here. 64 micrograms of it inhaled could riddle us with illnesses and a faulty lung for years."
Everyone is starting to fear the compound as they listen to the ongoing list, but this is what Shuri hopes for—
She raises her finger, as if to add something pointedly, "But, if manipulated correctly, this compound could also cure cancer."
Shuri smiles at the reaction, satisfied at having continuously astounded the group of students in front of her. It is rare, even in this 'progressive' world, to be 17 and be unanimously respected by your peers, so she takes every care in the way she words her message.
"Everything has its pros and cons. The only thing that matters is how you decide to use it. The scientists who first handled this behemoth of a compound only knew it for its lethality. But they stuck their heads out as far as they can reach and discovered the beauty that it possesses. So now, we reap its benefits."
Someone claps before awkwardly stopping midway, the princess not being finished yet.
"So, I want—no, need— you all to be smart enough to be aware of the cons of anything, and still choose it for what it can give. Because once you do, that's when you know you're doing something that matters. Every day, and every minute of that day, you'll be out there, contributing to the benefit of humankind. So, don't give up on it, because someone out there might need you to hold on a little bit longer."
Peter stares at her as if she is speaking to him directly, but she doesn't even look at him.
The laboratory is filled with applause, and Betty is cheering the loudest because she has the perfect article now and the day isn't even over!
After it has died down, and the students have left the lab, its walls closing down to its normal size, Shuri walks toward Ned and gives him the bracelet.
"I deactivated a few features there. And don't attempt to hack it," (Peter knows he will, and Shuri might just be daring him to), "But you gave me the best opening for a vine reference so this is my thanks to you."
Peter hadn't seen Ned be this red in the face for a long time. Red, for all the right reasons.
Peter thinks, as he listens to Ned gushing and realizing everything for the third time like it just happened, and Shuri is nodding at him like she expects him to come back, that this trip might just be worth it.
Not.
Fuck, it's not.
It was late at night but the sound of metal on metal, a curse and shuffling enveloped the room.
Peter, the little shit, was laughing at Tony who hit his own hand after suavely declaring that he should, "Learn from the master."
He was cackling on his chair when his senses told him to fuck all and run but then Tony was already in front of him and covered Peter's face with his hands— motor oil and callouses and all.
"This place used to be owned by one of the best inventors here in SI," Harley explains.
It's his room.
It's where they used to tinker and bond.
And there are murals. Everywhere.
Some obvious, and some not so much.
But Peter sees them all.
And more.
There are ghosts that haunt these walls. The ghost of a past that was better than today. Peter just wants to run.
It was one of their impromptu dinners, where they were both coincidentally hungry as if their stomachs communicated to groan at the same time.
Tony finished his meal first, and Peter was only getting started with his third helping when it happened.
He was distracted and dazed and hungry, so when Tony reached him and mussed his hair and said, "Well, enjoy your dinner kid," the only thing that registered to him was the affection that spread in his chest at the last gesture.
So, no one could blame him when the next thing that he said was:
"I love you too."
And it took half a second before Peter's eyes widened, and another second before he started choking on his shrimp.
The night ended with Tony performing the Heimlich maneuver on him, a red-faced Peter to a laughing Tony, a few minutes of sobering up and then an honest, "I love you too, kid."
Memories are scars on his mind. And Peter can't help but remember everything that happened in this tower against his better judgement.
(There is no judgment. There is only feeling. So much of it that it leaves Peter numb until he lets go.)
(He can't.
But he's trying.
That's why he's here.)
They pass by numerous labs and spends an hour at the room displaying Stark technology at its finest. The StarkPhone, the Super Computer, and even some that Peter wasn't there when it was being theorized. Must have been during the five years.
His classmates have stars in their eyes and a permanent look of awe.
MJ is asking a scientist about the Water Purification System that they designed to help the third world countries and Ned is torn between trying out the super computers to hack the bracelet or to discover everything in the lab first.
Peter thinks of what Ned could have missed just because he didn't want to go.
Peter hates himself for being so selfish.
Harley is calling them all again to the hall and is talking about something he can't understand because he is leading them to an enclosed bridge and Peter has the perfect view of the other side of the hill, the former Avenger's compound and the field—
And it all comes crashing down on him, harder, heavier and more forceful than ever.
(A memory pierces through his mind, without his permission.)
Steve was walking towards them, slow and deliberate and uncertain. He made his presence known to Pepper who had just said goodbye in the bravest way possible: with a kiss and a smile, and the promise of being alright.
(Even though they might not be, not for a long, long time.)
And Steve took a long look at Tony, every memory, every word passed his mind's eye, and he whispered, "I was wrong Tony."
Because he was. And Tony proved himself to be the man who was more than anyone ever gave him credit for. Save for the few of the best people.
He placed his arm over Pepper, holding her like Tony should have been doing instead of him. And he tried to stand strong. For them.
It's the least he could do.
After a few minutes, Steve gently lowered Pepper's hands. He exchanged a look with her, all asking and red eyes and barely-beating heart despite its insistent pounding, and she understood immediately.
Steve thought of Pepper and how among all of them, she has been the most consistent pillar in Tony's life and thanked her, deep in his heart. Because she had been there for Tony all these times, when he had not.
And she might feel like she's falling apart now, but he knew that if there was anyone brave enough to pick up the pieces of her heart, it would be her.
Pepper is strong.
Rhodey was also there. One of the best men he knew, who had just lost a brother. And Steve knew they didn't deserve this—no one, especially not—
He heard Peter collapse on the ground, yelling for something to happen, for someone to bring him back, but it reached no one, and he was wailing and he was thrashing and—
(He's a child and he shouldn't be in a war, let alone witness his father die)
(—for the third time—)
And while Peter was strong on his own, Steve also knew that he's already suffered so much.
Lost too much.
And Steve—he knew all too well how that felt, when he thought he lost Bucky.
It was like living, but as a burden. And then as an oath. Only, the burden never really faded, and he felt that he should have died there, sometime with him. So, he gave everything to his battles, was more reckless and uncaring and relished in his own blood and bruises and pain—because if Bucky died, then he deserved no more than to die as well, but slowly and more painfully. Alone, maybe. Even though it scared him. Because that was how he died.
And Steve— he was afraid that that's what was going to happen to Peter.
Because as he looked at Peter and listened to his cries, he could hear his pleads and the desperate voice in his head screaming, asking, that they should "TAKE ME INSTEAD—"
He had been there, and he wished Peter didn't have to be.
But they were here now, in this battle-torn field, with the smoke and the blood and the pain.
This was what Tony left the world in.
Scarred, dark and ugly, but with hope rising in the horizon, along with the blazing sun.
And while he couldn't do anything more than what he wished he could, this was the least he could do.
And so, when Steve tucked his hands underneath Tony's knees and behind his back, he held him with all the gentleness that Tony should have been touched with more, when he was alive.
His knees scraped a few jutted out metal, but this pain in his chest and the pain in the wailing child's voice was a pain that overwhelmed even his bruises from the titan.
So, that was where Captain America found himself. Surrounded by his allies, after winning the war, but feeling like they lost something greater.
Still.
He stood there.
And when he did, he did it for everyone.
He stood, even though all he wanted was to kneel in shame, and beg and apologize (because it shouldn't be Tony, or Peter, or anyone but him).
He stood, not for himself, but for those who needed it the most.
He stood there when it should have been Tony standing because he had a daughter and a son—he had a family who needed him, when Steve could only wish for his own children.
And he should have been the one to die for the world because at that moment, it was who needed him the most.
Right now, Morgan and Peter and Nebula were the ones who needed Tony the most.
But he was gone now.
That's something he couldn't do anything about. It's something he couldn't solve by making a sacrifice. It's something that could only be surpassed by living, despite desperately not wanting to.
So, Captain America, Steve Rogers, and the trusted friend of Iron Man—of Tony Stark— walked on, step by step, by step. And in every step was the painful reality digging into his bones, piercing his flesh, numbing his mind, that Tony was truly gone. And his apologies wouldn't ever be heard again, and the cries of the kid wouldn't ever be silenced, not for long. He would know.
He held Tony in his hands— limp body, eyes closed, and arc reactor pitch-black.
With every heavy step, their allies converged behind them, Pepper grieving by his side.
And Peter—
Well.
He was being carried by Banner.
Too distraught for anyone to let him walk by his own.
For now, they could help carry the weight of his own body. For now, they could at least allow him to weep and feel without responsibility, without thinking of anything but—
Steve led the march of the warriors, heads bowed and mourning, and he let a single tear fall.
The walk was slow and somber.
It was like an echo of emptiness, and an army of grieving souls.
When they cried, they didn't only cry for Tony and Natasha.
They cried for the kid in Banner's arm, choking and writhing and gasping, and feeling.
(breakinghurtingdying—)
They cried for the people they knew would feel like he was feeling.
They cried for everyone they left behind.
When the first reporters arrived at the scene, they asked the questions first, saw Tony second, realized what happened, and then wept.
The whole world would know, later, and they too, would weep.
Somehow, it wasn't enough for Steve. Because it would only be enough if their tears somehow brought Tony back. But it couldn't. And so, they come to terms with the fact that they've lost a hero.
And Morgan, and Peter, (and Nebula, and everyone Tony Stark loved with that large heart of his—) have lost a father.
Peter has learned to suppress his tears when they come from nowhere.
It always happens at the most unexpected moments.
Sometimes he'd be sitting in class and someone would be saying something Tony would use to say all the time and he'd be blinking back hot tears.
Or sometimes it would be at the streets and he wouldn't know not to look because it hadn't been there before, and it would be too late because now he's seen the graffiti of Tony's face, looking so vibrant.
Or, most often, he would be closing his eyes and Tony would be there, in the darkness, mussing his hair and laughing with him, calling him kid, in that affectionate way he does and Peter would only hope to God that nobody could see him because it takes a few seconds and a few short tears before he could gather himself—
He succeeds, now, when he remembers the march back to the better side of the battlefield. It was slow and he doesn't remember walking.
When he turns around, he is alone in the hallway, all arches and suspended mid-air, connecting two buildings.
And Ned is running from the other end, eyes wide in alarm, so Peter's response is to run too so he could be there fast enough to protect them—
"NO PETER DON'T GO IN HERE! DON—"
It was a big mistake though.
Because as he turns the corner to where Ned was, a glaring AVENGER'S MUSEUM above the door, and students over glass walls and listening to a narrating woman,
There she was.
Natasha.
Grinning at him the way only she can with her eyes.
"What…"
Somewhere from afar he could hear a woman speaking, "…Avengers was originally rallied by Nick Fury during the Battle of New York in 2012. Together, they fought on multiple battles both on Earth and on Space. During their mission to bring back the Shadows, the team lost Natasha Romanov for the soul stone…"
"Hey there little one."
That was something only Natasha called him, in their little self-proclaimed Spider-club (at the knowledge of Ant-Man's existence, he had suggested it be named the Bug Club, only to receive a disappointed look from Natasha.)
And Peter doesn't know what to do.
Because in his dreams, she was never this detailed, never this vibrant.
The way her voice lilts to a teasing tone never sounded this real, and the creases in her clothes as if she had just been tugging over it has never been this tangible.
She has never been tangible.
He can hear Ned and MJ from his side and they're calling for him but he ignores them and walks forward.
He tries to think of how this is possible, is this—is he hallucinating?
Is this the first real sign that he's truly, well fallen apart?
But therapy is too expensive and May couldn't-shouldn't spend on him more than necessary—
He doesn't have enough time to think about it because Steve is there, walking toward him.
Everyone else is a blur and he hones in on the woman soothing voice to ground himself, "…teve Rogers was the one to bring back all the Infinity stones in their timeline. He came back an old man after the mission, passing on the Shield to close friend and teammate, Sam Wilson. He passed away a few months after, surrounded by friends and fam…"
"If you have any trouble, you can always talk to me. I'll be with you till' the end of the line."
How can you? You're already dead.
Peter shakes his head.
And he remembers the secret smiles Steve would give him, after a successful movie night and Tony isn't as stiff as the first time around. It's like he was thanking him for doing this. Because it was his birthday that they celebrated together.
(Peter can't quite get it out of his head that it was Tony's funeral that got them all together again, for the last time.)
(Natasha wasn't there.)
And he keeps walking because that's what everybody kept telling him.
Move on.
Walk on.
It will all pass.
But this hallucination, this image of Natasha and Steve welcoming him into the Museum—they weren't going away and they were becoming clearer and more real every step of the way.
Only.
He was walking the wrong way.
And he should have known.
He should have known.
That something like this was going to happen. Because he's Peter Parker, Peter, Pete— and the more that he sought happiness, the more that it will be taken away from him.
They'll let him taste it for a few sweet moments (a few magical years) and then when he thinks he's finally got it, he's finally there, they'd grab it from his hands. And as he tries to desperately hold on, snot running and tears blurring his view, they would slice his hands off and push him back, step on his chest and dangle his happiness in front of him.
And now, the only thing he hoped he could still hold, his sanity, by way of ridding a part of himself (—Spider-Man—), is also slipping from him slowly.
They would make him think he was still there, but it was just them gloating, dangling it in front of him as he begs for it, unheard. And they would smile, these horrible monsters in his mind, who take and take and takeandtakeandtakeeverything— before they leave away with it.
Leaving him broken, well and truly alone.
Because this is what it feels like.
This thing happening to him right now.
And he should have known.
Should have listened to Ned's warnings, or Harley's announcements from earlier.
There is only regret and—
And.
Him.
With his back turned, and suit a lighter shade of grey under the sunlight, (he can hear everyone gasping and whispering and nudging each other. Someone's heart beat is going faster than it should be—
He realizes that it is his heart. He can't really do anything about it. He doesn't feel like he's breathing.
In fact.
He doesn't feel anything.)
He's talking before he's turning around, and Peter knows that voice like the back of his hand, or the feeling of his hug, or the way he says kid.
Because he's always been there for him.
Except for now.
Wait, no.
He's here.
He's here now.
(Peter can't quite—he doesn't—he's so confused, so lost, so scared, and everything is going up against him so that he'll lose himself too.
He doesn't know what he's so afraid of.
The fact that he might be going crazy, or that he doesn't care.)
Natasha is behind him, and Steve a few steps away.
Ned is shrugging off MJ who is holding him back. If he wanted to, he could have just pushed her away.
He doesn't.
(Ned hates himself for not realizing it sooner. He's the worst best friend ever.)
(MJ knows that look on his face like he's failed, and she holds his arm a little tighter and frowns, "Whatever it is you're thinking, Ned. Don't. You're not any less a friend because this is happening to him. It's not your fault, nor is it his.")
(The students are steering clear of Natasha and Steve, because Peter's got this look on his face that they think they've all seen in their own faces at some point after the war. And they think Peter lost something that couldn't have been brought back within a snap. So, they are silent in respect to their brother.)
(Flash thinks that if there is anyone who could understand his pain, it would be him. Because Peter's out there looking like he's seen a ghost, looking like Flash has seen himself in the mirror by his father's bedroom, when he's lost in thought, gathering the courage to go in and comfort his sobbing mother.)
Because Peter is reaching out, almost unconsciously, and every step looks like it is weighted by a thousand tons (three thousand tons?), and his face is so devastatingly hopeful—
Because there he is, standing just in front of him, a few more seconds, and he could just touch him—
So close—he's so close—
He's right there.
He's smiling.
He's alive.
And Peter, he doesn't think anymore, he reaches out to hug him and maybe yell at him for hiding for so long—how did you do it Mr. Stark? How did you get Steve and Nat to do it with you?
How did you live?
He can't believe this, this is—
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
A hologram.
It fades just as Peter is calling out his name, breathless and so, so very hopeful.
Just as the hologram breaks apart, Peter feels himself breaking along with it.
Peter doesn't really feel anything. Beyond being dimly aware of the way his eyes burn, everything else is suspended into another being.
He doesn't feel like he's breaking.
He just knows he is.
He doesn't think beyond the soft, "Oh." that escapes his lips, after Tony fades into the light. Much like his arc reactor did that day.
Harley is hugging him and whispering apologies. Peter doesn't understand why.
There is a hush that goes as he walks past them.
He hears Natasha in that way only she can sound, "Hey there little one."
And Steve, he is talking, reassuring, smiling at something, "If you have any trouble, you can always talk to me. I'll be with you till' the end of the line."
They are the only sound in the Museum filled with students.
Not even a whisper escapes their breath.
Because Peter, their sweet, sweet classmate, who has always been kind to them, always helping, always there when you need him the most, that Peter is walking right now, in that shaky way that doesn't have to do with the cold, or the older man who is holding him, and everything that had to do with the tears that are easily falling down his chin. His face slack, expression frozen in that open-mouthed way, seeing something beyond what they could ever hope to see.
He doesn't look like he's realized he's crying.
MJ does though, and her tears are salty when she only feels bitter and empty.
Ned is trying so hard not to sob, to do with the silent tears because he hates crying—and especially so when his body is screaming.
Because he can't do anything at all— and it is Harley who is holding him, ("I'm sorry, Peter, I thought you could handle it now—I'm sorry—I shouldn't have—") and leading him away from the torture chamber they call the Museum—a physical manifestation of everything Ned knew Peter had been fighting—memories of the better days—
And the crowd of students, looking in deep understanding, they part for their brother.
They part for Peter.
And they hope, that whatever it is that he's experiencing right now, that he overcomes it.
Because if there is anyone in this world who deserves to be happy, it is Peter.
So, Harley was 11 in Iron Man 3 because his actor, Ty, was when they shot the movie. In IW, he's 16 and five years later he's 21!
Thanks for reading! Please talk to me :D Also, special thanks to the guest reviewer who broke me outta my funk! I love you!