I.
So, please.
Do your best.
Listen.
Because this is when Peter gets better.
Peter can perfectly divide his life by the deaths of the people he loved.
Specifically, most of his parental figures.
He didn't mean it. Didn't even think that he was doing it. But it was small and subtle, came in the way he would light up whenever it happens, and in turn incorporating it in his daily life that it just becomes a part of him.
So, it isn't really much of a surprise that he doesn't realize it. These small mementos that keep their memories immortal.
Tributes.
That's what they call it.
For his father, it is remembering how he got into the habit of wearing pun shirts. And a distant, obscure memory from a seven-year old Peter surfaces—laughter ringing through, and the ugliest sweater with the worst pun embeds in his mind.
For his mother, it is learning how to cook one meal— baked mac n' cheese, the special kind. The one his mother always used to make for him when he was sad.
For both of them, it is finding comfort in the song Moon River, and in knowing all the old songs like I'll Be Seeing You. Because even though he's forgotten the exact words spoken, or the things that they did when it played, he never really forgot how it felt.
The warm glow of affection, and that all-encompassing warmth.
It is finding immortal comfort in these songs, immortal feelings that come with the memories of his parents.
That's tribute one.
For Ben, it is remembering in vivid detail, in embedding it into his heart—that thing that he said, just a few hours before he got shot—
"With great power comes great responsibility."
And he takes that to heart, takes responsibility, and then takes more.
He wonders, sometimes, if Ben would be proud of him. Asks him, even, in the times when Spider-Man failed to do what he set out to do, when he slipped and made a mistake, "Is this enough, Uncle Ben? Am I doing enough?!"
It is wanting to give up, feeling weak— asking those questions, teary-eyed.
"With great power comes great responsibility."
It is closing his eyes, remembering to breathe a little.
"With great power comes great responsibility."
And then tightness in his chest again. Because this power, this responsibility—they're all a burden to him—and maybe he doesn't deserve to hold that power, maybe he couldn't carry that responsibility.
And he feels like he is falling. Certainty, waning. Doubt, creeping in. Is this enough? Uncle Ben? Am I doing enough? Pleaseanswerme—please—
"You're gonna do well, buddy. I love you."
It is finding strength in these words— in these old, but knowing words. And then getting back up again.
He doesn't think it's so bad, then, if he retired Spider-Man. Because when Uncle Ben spoke his words, there was no Spider-Man in his mind.
When he spoke those words, the words that will forever guide his path, it was to Peter Parker, and no one else.
So here, he finds strength.
That's tribute two.
And then here we are.
In this room full of hopefuls, united for the one purpose of remembering his name.
Peter looks around and sees his friends first. There is Ned who has always been on his side, even though most of the time he's hard to be with. He sees him laughing, easy and carefree.
Then there is MJ, who he only knows to be strong. Not because she likes to look tough, but because she was brave enough to be vulnerable. Brave enough to show that she cares. She smiles alongside Ned.
He looks further into the group, and sees Flash beside Charles. And here he sees a boy who is scared. Here is a boy who does not think he is loved, does not feel it with the same certainty that Peter does when May takes him into her arms.
And he knows Tony once felt that. Knows that Flash might be the same as Tony Stark at 16.
Abandoned, unloved and angry.
And here's the thing people do, when someone dies a hero.
They forget he was ever human.
They make him perfect and flawless. Like the failures he had had to experience to become the hero were too embarrassing, too unnecessary.
It's okay, of course, to remember the good things he's done. Because they're there to inspire, to show them that it was possible.
But, as Peter looks at Flash, at how subdued he is when he doesn't use his bravado as a shield, he realizes that the story of the hero isn't what they need.
That maybe, the real story, the story of the person Tony, is more meaningful than that of the legends.
So, for Tony, Peter thinks, it is taking everything he has ever done, everything he has ever said, and then showing a little bit of that to the world.
To make them see him for what he truly is.
Make him less of a saint, more of a person.
Show them that they don't have to be Iron-Man in order to be a hero. That they can become heroes in spite of their past.
Or even better.
That they can become heroes, because of the past.
That's the essence of Tony Stark, isn't it?
Of making mistakes, and then learning. Of taking a step back, and then leaping forward.
Of becoming better.
So, maybe paying tributes isn't so bad after all. Because now, he can use that platform to show them what they need to see. Tell them what they need to hear.
For Tony, it comes in the form of calmness, a fresh wave of novelty and then— and then finding purpose.
And he will never tire, telling his story, embodying everything Tony represents.
Because Tony said he wanted Peter to be better than him.
So, from now on, he will try to be better. First, as Peter. And then, as someone more.
It starts with one person standing in the middle of the stage. Wearing a—wearing a white onesie.
He's just… there. Looking down, standing still. Not doing anything else for the longest time. So long, in fact, that Peter starts to get uneasy.
Second hand embarrassment slowly creeps in. And he's in the middle of getting his phone when it comes.
A piercing shriek echoes in the room—
And Peter—he moves to stand up, to maybe activate Karen and help as many people since he's already in the suit as it is. But as he is halfway to running toward the bathroom, instead of screaming students, what comes is a raucous cheer that echoes across the room.
Peter turns his back slowly.
He hears it first: the beat of the drum sending a constant vibration, and the deep hum of the bass tingling in his ears.
And then he sees it next.
Belatedly, hilariously.
Because this dude has stripped off the white onesie, revealing a hot red suit, and underneath is a goddamn Iron Man costume.
And Peter, he wants to laugh. The beginnings of hysterics already in the base of his throat as he flops to his seat.
Ned is on the way with Peter, having stood up just a few seconds before Peter did, understanding with the same urgency what he is trying to do. But MJ is just looking at them, turning at the last moment. She gives them a pointed look, leaning a heavier one toward Ned that Peter doesn't understand.
So instead, he shakes his head, hand over MJ's in a casual, reassuring way to tell her it's okay. Because whatever it is that happened, it was just Peter overreacting. Or, in this case, his old habits refusing to die too soon.
He realizes just how much he is used to the adrenaline of it all that he doesn't once question if there were any real danger.
And he thinks, well, these are just one of the few things he would be adjusting over. There's time, Peter reassures himself.
(Right?)
Now, as he sits down on the best seat in the audience, he begins to relax in the only way a clueless spectator could.
Because now, the window is dimming down until it is completely dark, the undercurrent of anticipation swimming in everyone's stomach.
The music takes off, a mix of hip hop and electronic, a genre makeover of the song by Led Zeppelin.
("…Back in Black?"
"Yeah."
"And it's by ACDC, dumbass.")
The stage fills with red light, Iron Man jerking to the right in rhythmic movement.
Pause.
Then, it comes fast and unpredictable.
Iron Man is breakdancing on the stage, red spotlight on his figure, and electronic music beating fast, lending a sense of excitement upon everyone.
They begin to cheer and clap in tune with the beat, Iron Man on his feet and body flowing with the dynamic music.
He's on his hand, and then on his feet again, impressing everyone in the audience with the way he is able to make it look so effortless.
He's spinning on his hands, feet flying in the air with practiced spins. And not one second after he's on his feet again, he's jumped and is flipping through the air, everyone shitting their bricks, thrilled and then thrilled again as Iron Man begins a series of backflips across the stage.
Peter can hear the dancer's heart-beat, as fast-paced, but more intense than that of the music, its beats reverberating across the room.
And the echoing voice of Tony—
Static, but clear all the same, strong, "I. AM. IRON-MAN."
The crowd stands and cheers at that one line, rioting and screaming it back, everyone loving the sheer energy of the performance.
But then it just stops.
He's standings still now, hand outstretched with the gauntlet shining from his palms, and he waits, like there is more to come.
The red light makes way for darkness, and an eerie tune reaches their ears.
"You know where to find me," comes the static-on-purpose voice of Natasha Romanov.
And Peter should have known, the moment the light and icy piano notes reached his ears.
The light focuses on a figure at the middle of the stage, flaming red hair and black on black ballerina outfit.
Everything about her image reeks of meticulous precision, of grace in the way she takes her first step, and in lethal silence, with the way her hands slice the air.
It has a classical tune to it, like it could belong to someone like Beethoven—but as Peter listens further, he finds that it is, in fact—
"What the fuck, this is Itsy Bitsy Spider!"
Right as Abe calls it, the melody escalates, and Black Widow is leaping across the stage, with legs that can literally kill, light but seriously, really deadly.
Her hands are in the air, graceful and fluid, widow bite glowing with blue electricity.
She extends it as she goes into the most intense pirouette Peter has ever seen, the current passing from the wires to the people. Everyone sits, captivated by her performance—breathless from the sheer technique and personality she puts in the dance.
When Peter looks at her, he sees Natasha and all her complexities—the violence that plagued her, and the dignity with which she carried herself nonetheless.
She is delicate in the way she moves, purposeful with every movement of her body. One moment, she looks like she could be a flower swaying with the wind. The next comes in swift retribution—her hands are suddenly holding a long baton, with potent electricity—and that's when you know she's a rose, with all its thorns.
Peter likes this, though. He likes the way she shows Natasha's vulnerability with each quiet step, eyes looking sideways, and how it is immediately preceded by that familiar fatality.
Before the song reaches its end, a figure appears in the shadows, Black Widow just passing by it in one of her leaps.
And as she approaches him, Peter's mouth opens in surprise, the others gasping just beside him, because it is Hulk— no—it's Dr. Banner, hints of the Hulk in his skin—subdued and careful in his bearings.
(The dance club did their research. Peter is impressed by this dynamic. Because it's the closest they could be to the truth—)
(The most soulful, forlorn voice welcomes them both.)
It is Black Widow who extends her hand, patient and welcoming, inviting.
The sheer emotions Peter sees in the way Dr. Banner moves—the quick flinch, followed by the slow uptake. And then the acceptance.
It starts with ballet, this curious performance by Black Widow, and ends with a slow dance—of both rare but inherent vulnerability to each character they represent.
And if anything, Hulk is the most delicate of them all.
It is intimate and wonderous, the way two bodies could meld into one—the way the two dancers are able to show the yearning with each touch of the hand, and then the evasion, with the way they repel from each other along with the new melodies that come their way.
But they always do find each other.
(Peter thinks they never gave each other the chance they deserved. Maybe they can live through the stories of the people.)
The song is lonely, aching, and the woman's voice lends a distant pain that just couldn't be quenched.
He could see it in the way Bruce reaches for Natasha, and the way Natasha looks back in yearning as he bows his head in surrender.
They both submit to it for a few moments, the lyrics singing, "Oh loneliness, oh hopelessness, to search the ends of time…"
And Peter feels their longing, knows it like an old friend, and he wonders just what the real Dr. Banner is doing right now.
The song reaches its end, melody slowly receding from their ears, Natasha finding Bruce, but only getting to him halfway before she stops, and settles. Bruce himself is still bowing down, defeated.
The lights disappear just as Black Widow looks away.
At a distance, he can hear a sniffle.
What comes next has a Japanese tune to it, the sounds coming from instruments in the East.
There is a lone figure in the middle of the stage, a long, protruding something on his back.
And it only takes Peter a second before he realizes it's a sword—a katana, to be specific.
Clint.
"Hawkeye!" Cindy gasps from her seat.
He is severe in his stance, hard with his eyes.
The dance that proceeds is something Peter can't take his eyes away from. It doesn't shy away from Clint's past, and he wonders belatedly, if he is seeing this.
Because apart from the measured movements, he also breaks into the most fluid sequences—control and freedom in one body, nuances clear and the dichotomy of his character open.
Clint is kind of a split character. You wouldn't see it the first time you talk to him, or the second, or the third. But it's there, with only his family reigning him in. Giving him a reason to keep hope, be alive.
But when they were gone, that part in Clint that has always been exhausted with life, it comes bearing its head out, ugly and detestable.
He calms it by taking out others instead. Others who were criminals, and more deserving to die. According to them, at least.
And that's why Peter loves it when he strikes the sword through his body, crowd gasping and someone nearly screaming. Because it doesn't pierce through—instead, the sword breaks in half.
Signifying that the dark age is finally over, decimated with the blades.
The calm, bamboo sounds that Peter associates with Japan ends right then, with Clint kneeling on the ground, looking at the blades in his hands that have broken.
The next bout of music that comes is loud, and it comes out of nowhere, and then everywhere all at once, making them all jump at the sheer volume.
It is the opposite from the mood just a few moments ago, this one is electric, it is adrenaline and excitement all at once, and Peter can see Ned bouncing in his seat.
It comes out as a battle cry, Rock and Roll with every strum of the guitar, and he screams with raw musicality— Ahahahahhhh—
Thor.
They all cheer at the God who is wielding both the hammer and the axe—Mjolnir and Storm breaker, in all his overweight glory.
He is walking, power in both hands. And everyone feels invincible just looking at him. Then, just the same as the music, Thor moves when they least expect him to—
Or, well, it's more how they expect him to.
Because he looks like he's dancing, but then he also looks like he's fighting someone.
("Capoeira—it's this thing enslaved Africans developed, martial arts with dance, acrobatics and music."
"Damn that's cool.")
Thor is flipping in the air, not even waiting a breath to begin walking with his hands, using them to propel him for a series of backflips, just as Iron Man had done, but this, with a distinct hardness to it than the flowy, spontaneous hip hop.
Everyone gapes at the sheer power in his movements, potent and concentrated—a little bit of fun, but also somewhat intimidating. To dance and to fight? That's the shit.
There's a beat to it, with the way he's moving, and Peter is just amazed at how smooth it all is.
And the nature of the dance so perfectly captures Thor's spirit—the wild carefree swings of a kid, and then the experienced moves that speaks of his long life.
He has just flipped in the air with both control and a reserve of power when the booming voice of someone cuts through the air, proud and loud— "YOUR SAVIOR IS HERE!"
The lights all around go off and on, erratic like their own hearts.
The Avengers are looking at one figure now, one who is walking, and not dancing, toward Thor.
Loki looking hot as hell.
Behind him are an army of Chitauri (who are only really students with masks on). They on the other hand, seem to be dancing with every step, an unnatural wave of movement ringing true for the army.
As Loki stands before Thor, a few meters away, he gestures with his hands, and the Chitauri begin their attack.
But before they could proceed—
There he is.
Captain goddamn America.
("Holy fucking—" disbelief, absolute, total, incredulity, "Is that—Is that the American National Anthem, in the mix?!"
"Isn't that… illegal…?"
"Not when it's Captain America it's not.")
He swings his shield just as Iron Man fires a beam towards the Chitauri, Black Widow kicking another out of the way.
It takes one Hulk smash and a swing of Hawkeye's sword for Loki to be alone. But he doesn't twitch from his spot in front of Thor. In fact, he seems to be enjoying it.
Loki leans in, taunting his brother. And Peter can see it, can feel it in his bones when everyone simultaneously cheers—because now, Thor is dancing with Loki, but it isn't just a normal one—it's a battle dance.
And they are flipping everywhere, challenging the other to do more, to be better.
It is a mixture of different dances, of costumes and of personalities, but when they do eventually defeat Loki, it is brought by their unity and compatibility.
Black Widow is swift as Clint is precise. Hulk is erratic as Captain America is calm. Thor is all wide movements, while Iron Man is all about efficient swings and aims.
Peter is astounded by the image of them all, how they were able to mix dance with the story and the dynamic of each Avenger.
And his hands find each other, clapping along with everyone else who has risen from their seats.
It is a wild adventure, the whole performance, something that kind of feels like everything that happened just before this moment.
And it is just the beginning.
The theatre club does stand-up comedy, poking about the daily lives of the Avengers' Squad as they called it.
Digs on Steve's old age despite his youth were made and—
"And that Hawk-eye dude, man, I pity that guy. Like, look at this, they fight in an abandoned Costco parking lot," laugh, "They're all super-enhanced—this one flies, two of them are super-soldiers, two are super-mecha, and then there's this guy who's just doing cardio—"
Somehow, the camera finds Clint who is standing just behind the sea of students, and his amused reaction is displayed on screen.
Everyone howls at the student's captured reaction, not thinking that the butt of the joke might be there to hear it. He blunders and then even tries to hide, before his other club members drag him back up the stage, unforgiving, cold ("Clean up your fucking mess, Elfie.")
He recovers for a few seconds, shaking in his boots, as Clint is still watching on amused, "I mean, I mean, hey, that's a flex!" raised brow, "No—it is! See, he's a normal human that's qualified to fight with these super-powered people. That makes Hawk-eye the strongest normal man— , I have a dog!"
Peter is slapping his knee in laughter, trying not to get swept up in Ned's shaking self, because he'd been there and why didn't he think of that?
He revels in the experience of seeing his memories in such a humorous lens. He might do this more in the future, when he's feeling more nostalgic, but in no mood to feel bad.
Thoughts of tomorrow sobers him up, and he looks up just in time to see Chris take center stage with his guitar and a band of musicians.
Peter wipes the tears that formed, sighing back on his chair, ready to take in Chris' soothing voice.
"That was good, Elfie," Chris turns to the comedian who is now hiding in the crowd, "totally meant for Hawkeye himself to hear it."
Everyone chuckles.
Chris looks straight at the crowd. His whole demeanor takes a subtle shift, a serious tone underneath the lightness.
"Look, the past year has been nothing but surreal. But this is our reality now. And despite all that, last night was fun. So. When we go back to school next Monday, I hope ya' know you can talk to me. Consider me your friend. And I hope we can all do it again."
Chris grins at them with all the reassurance in his eyes, shoulders relaxed, and the perfect image of serenity— Peter beams back.
"This is for ya'll," he calls to everyone who begins cheering. "Hawkeye," he nods, and then, putting his hand on the mic, "One. Two. Three—"
Chris sings a rendition of a few songs that sweeps everyone away. His voice hides a pain that they all understand some way, and his words a hopeful twist to it all.
Across the room are sniffles and teary teens singing along.
The feeling of togetherness, of belonging, just sweeps them along into one clump of emotional teenagers. That's why, when Chris stops after the third song, their first harmonious reaction is to protest— viciously, desperately— "ONE MORE SONG! ONE. MORE. SONG!"
Chris is weak for them and ends up singing another song—one of which he'd written. It was just after the Awakening, he said. "I found solace in music and the news, trying to figure out how to go on from there. One particular night, I just felt possessed with the need to write something. This is what I wrote."
It is a song he calls 'Morgan.' And Peter is so scared for the actual Morgan sitting there, too young to understand why a ballad is written about her.
But Chris is an exceptional song writer, and everything has about five layers in each line.
It talks about nature, and the passage of time, about daughter and father, and smiles from ear to ear. At some point he had sung about the sand and how easily it slips through his hands, and Peter swears he is talking about life and how fleeting it is.
By the end of it, everyone is in a fit of tears again, and even Chris himself is a bit choked up. "This was the first time I'd sung it after I wrote the piece. Love t'you, Morgan and Pepper," he shoots them a thumbs up, and then turns back to the audience, bowing, "Thank you, everyone!"
The crowd breaks into an applause, cheering for the poet, and giving love to his voice.
The next performance brings quite the opposite reaction. There is interest and curiosity, excitement and then elation—because it's the robotics team's turn now and Peter can't wait for Ned's bot.
There are a few robots that elicit oooh's and ahhh's, all Avenger's themed. But it is exceptionally loud when Ned stands in the center, nervously presenting his tech.
Peter watches from his seat, and when Ned looks to him for support, he gives him a nod, and then a warm smile that disarms his best friend for a moment. A brief pause, and then, infinitesimal energy.
Ned turns to his tech, hidden beneath the blue cloth, and when he whips it out, everyone is swooning immediately.
Of course, they do.
Because it is a metallic Yorkshire Terrier. And a very cute one, at that.
(Peter marvels at the craftmanship and detail, the obvious technological capabilities and the hyper realistic profile. Ned, his best buddy, is so fucking amazing.)
It sits stiff at first, but Ned is going over his Kimoyo Beads ('the bracelet') and then its barking along with the squeals of the dog lovers.
(The hard-core cat lovers roll their eyes.)
"Presenting— The Only New Yorkie! Or, as I like to call it: T.O.N.Y!"
Peter couldn't believe Ned actually named the tech after Tony, but accepted it only because he made it work.
(MJ snorts near him, "You'd say that.")
"My design, combined with the technology of the Kimoyo Beads, of which I was able to procure and code in yesterday, allows T.O.N.Y. to go around New York incognito, seeking out problems, recording undetected, and gathering information for the police. It could also work as the stepping stone for other dog—or animal related bots, that could assist in disaster risk reduction and prevention."
Ned follows it up with a few demonstrations with T.O.N.Y. and everyone is amazed by the technology of it all.
When Pepper comes up to him personally to give him her congratulations and a research grant worth millions— Peter couldn't have been prouder of his best friend.
It is just after the parkour slash painting flex that the Artisan Club did, revealing a beautiful portrait of Steve, Nat and Tony, that they somehow get Clint into the middle of the stage.
He is still and unsure, frozen with uncertainty, and with Natasha's eyes looking directly at him.
He catches Peter's eyes though, and upon finding courage behind them, begins to speak.
"Uh—I don't really know what to say, because most of my memories with them are us fighting—" wince, "I mean, fighting together."
His brows furrow, looking contemplative and constipated at the same time. It takes a few awkward seconds before his face lights up in thought, "… but there was something…"
And he talks about the evenings in the tower before everything turned against them, the first few months of camaraderie and the understanding that only comes with fighting against aliens and super stones and Gods.
Together, they felt invincible.
"But see, when you're required to be strong every second of your life, sometimes you wish you could be weak. To let go for a little while, breathe a little. For the longest time after Loki manipulated me, that was the fantasy.
Even though I didn't realize it, I already was that, when I was with them. Lonely nights in the kitchen became accidental meetups with the rest of the insomniacs. And we'd trade snark for snark, comfort for comfort. I was weak, but I was also strong when I was with them."
And he might have said too much, might have given way too much with the way his voice hitched at the last sentence. So, he takes it all back, tries to square his shoulders to command some strength into his body.
"We were… brothers, in a sense. And Nat my sister. And like all siblings, we fought. It had been nasty. You might have seen it in the news. But… we all patched it up. And I only wished we had more time."
He shakes his head, with a faraway look in his eyes, "But we always need five more minutes. More time. More of everything. The only way we can keep moving forward is to use that time that we do have to look back and… give thanks. That's… that's how I live with the memories that I have."
Everyone is silent, trying to take it all in— that one blinding glimpse to what the original Avengers were before half of them were taken away.
MJ looks at Peter to see that he has adopted the same look. Not… shadowy. In fact, it is lighter, this time. There is an openness to this, a sort of acceptance to whatever Clint is saying that MJ thought he would reject.
So maybe things are quite looking up for Peter.
MJ allows herself to smile.
The last three performances are called and the first one to go is the Home Economics group.
It is Avengers in Paris, a fashion show of themed outfits that are both futuristic and outrageous. It comes out with specters of light and smoke inside the gown, looking more like a science experiment than a fashion show.
Another line comes out with a more modern touch, wearable, but still themed.
There are Captain America hoodies, a few Black Widow dresses and gym clothes, and a Hulk- trunks set.
It slowly loses into madness the moment one student walks out in a Hawkeye-themed cloak, complete with the arrows and sword.
Thor's brand is more catered towards the plus-sized, and MJ gives a hum of approval to the brave move.
What takes them all to the height, though, is when Seymour, in all his flair and boldness, comes out rocking an extravagant Iron Man gown that both lights up and smokes from the inside.
There are multitudes of angles with which one can dissect the gown, and the sheer amount of red is the only thing Peter can think about. (And how much Tony would shit his pants in laughter.)
But above all that is the painstaking detail this gown seems to have went through in order to be that way. It looks like it could belong to a museum with how well made it is.
Seymour ends it with a flying kiss to the crowd, who erupts into applause.
"Thank you to our incredibly talented Morita's Secrets, the Home Ec Club, for their masterpieces. And yes, these will all be donated to the charity…"
The second to the last one invites The Vanguard and all their journalistic tendencies to document everything of value.
Betty is in the sidelines, just outside the main perimeter of the stage but still fairly visible. She has just introduced their tribute— a video documentation, more like a short film, of the whole event leading to the tour.
The camera pans to a group of students—the club presidents— huddled into one conspiring group. It goes around the room, finding the president of the science club passed out with spilled coffee on the floor, Mathlete's captain walking around in a zombie-like state, and MJ who is glaring at everyone who dares come near her.
(MJ in real time glares at anyone who dares come near her.)
They capture the exact moment the news of the trip is announced, all of the students screaming and jumping for joy. Someone is shouting hallelujah while the others are dancing around to the chant.
It is a perfect mix of ridiculousness and humor that everyone just burst into whatever emotions they find easiest to deal with.
They follow the camera as it enters a morning haze. It is right when they arrived at the compound, excitable teens and bundled up nerves, all packed in the potent energy that only a dewy morning can bring.
The camera stops when they reach the fields, the students all corralled into groups, and Peter wonders why he never noticed how bright the morning was.
He observes it all, attention focused to every detail. His eyes reflecting that of the screen as he watches every interaction, ever burst of action in the few hours they get in this place. And it feels like the morning after a long, weary storm. Like a ray of young light flitting over a memory they thought they already knew well, just aged a day, but already something so different.
It comes as a great surprise to him, a realization that, instead of shaking him, only calms his whole being. See, it had only been yesterday, and yet the difference between now and then are already there.
It brings in a sort of serenity, a stillness in his mind because seeing their pictures—of strangers singing together in an incredible feat of human connection, of the lot of them surrounding one Flash Thompson to seek and to give comfort, and of Peter Parker with barely the traces of a smile, but there enough to matter— gives them a certain perspective, of how they were and how they are now.
And it isn't much of a transformation. It isn't really even obvious. Not yet, anyway. Because something like this, something as monumental as this—it all begins with a single step. A subtle, secret step that people don't see at first.
It is a change of pace, one different turn, eyes a little brighter—and there—
Change.
From a wide view shot, they watch as the fireworks fade into the sky, leaving only the stars from the ground, and one pervading melody.
If last night was a night of great unravelling, then today is a day of revelation. Into knowing that this is the right time to start again, that he can start again.
And it is in these thoughts that Peter is lost in, so enamored by the promise of a good tomorrow, that he does not register the call for his name.
"Mr. Peter—"
"Peter, dude—"
Everyone goes silent.
Peter goes still.
That is, until the whispering ensues.
"Is that him?"
"Yeah, that's the kid."
"I heard he has executive access—he's like a personal assistant before—"
"I thought he was Tony Stark's son?"
"Where the hell did you get—"
"He doesn't look that special to me…"
Peter stands up abruptly, and then, a moment of pause. Everyone looks at him, eyes on this curious kid who had been the subject of interesting topics. It is in the different flavors in his personality, a hidden flair that they were only able to see in the tower— in the way he interacted with the technology, and with how he was affected by a lot of things in this place.
It takes Peter a while to steel himself. And even then, it is only when Ned gives him a look of absolute confidence, and MJ smiling at him, that he is able to really move.
As he walks to the stage, he can't help but feel a burning in his skin that does not have anything to do with the hundreds of students unnaturally watching his every step.
And it is almost instinctively, that his head turns and his body follows, eyes stopping there—
Princess Shuri of Wakanda is standing at the far end of the crowd looking like she had seen the reckoning. A panicked, even crazed look in her eyes flit over for a second before she schools it into something neutral. And it sends a frenzy of discomfort in Peter's stomach, of feeling incredibly powerless, but still entirely willing to help—
And he almost walks to her, the quiet pleading look in her eyes an automatic signal for his help that he does not question. But he is only one step toward the wrong (or right?) direction when she is shaking her head, hand waving in dismissal and feet turning away from him.
"Ehem, Mr. Parker, please take the stage."
With great embarrassment and utter confusion, Peter finally walks to the stage. The disquiet caused by the brief interaction with Shuri is suddenly replaced by utter primal fear. And he almost runs away— he's never spoken to this many people, not as Peter, and he's certainly never been so openly vulnerable to the world before—
But he catches sight of one Morgan Stark, with her swinging feet and resounding giggle, those bright eyes that are just wonder over wonder, and he thinks maybe this is why he's doing it.
What comes next is the perfect build up to what will happen later. A sort of flash-back— a homage not only to Tony himself, but to everyone else beside him who never really got the chance to be known.
It is telling the right story and remembering the right person. Hoping that one day they can become someone like him. Not the idealistic image—the real one.
And Peter, he will look back at this day, at precisely this point in time, as the exact moment before everything changed forever.
What does Peter Parker have to offer?
It comes as a mystery, a question that is both genuinely interesting and confusing—who the hell is this guy?
What does Peter Parker have to offer?
For MJ and Ned, it is more like watching something they already know will happen unfold. Like watching on with pride, as the fallen begins to slowly rise.
What does Peter Parker have to offer?
Peter himself doesn't know exactly what it is.
He just knows what he wants to contribute, knows what the world needs right now. What Flash needs. What they all need.
And this—it has been building up for the longest time. Adapting a certain charge for anticipation that does not allow doubt, only excitement.
Whatever Peter has to offer, it has to be big. Because even though they do not know it, he was Spider-Man, and what Spider-Man offered in his time was a great sense of security—even better, inspiration.
Peter looks at the crowd, the people looking back at him, and he feels like his eyes are finally opened for the first time. He sees their individual faces, all types of colors and background and dreams. And this is when he realizes, in a physical sense of the term, that this is the people that he's always fought for. And these are the kinds of people that he will continue to fight for.
And so, it is in this great revelation, a sort of unravelling of something that has always been there, always been so plain and painfully obvious, that he gets so carried away and—
He smiles.
It is wide, and shattering and so brilliantly genuine that takes them all aback. Because even if they don't know Peter himself, they do know one thing: his smile? It is like the sun going up into the sky after the longest storm. It is like cool water in the hottest day of the year, and the smallest touch from the one you love.
And MJ, she is so taken by this, so used to the practiced smiles and weary eyes that she does not recognize it at first—blinks her eyes a few times before she realizes that this is, indeed, not her imagination.
Ned is different—he's seen this before, but only in the rarest moments, only for him, only for May. And to see him like this, to see him find it—finally, finally find it— the peace that he has been yearning for so long, the acceptance, and understanding and the courage—fuck it, the courage to smile again—
(MJ tightens her grip on Ned's shoulder because he is shaking now from all the emotions and he doesn't want to cry before he even started his presentation—fuck it, "Nedo, we can cry together later, just—hold on for a bit—")
Because when Peter smiles, when he really smiles, it is strong, and unwavering and brave all at the same time.
And they know it doesn't come from innocence. It comes from seeing the worst—feeling the worst— and then thinking it is still worth it to hold yourself out there for tomorrow.
That's true courage.
And when MJ looks at him, she sees the same Peter that she has always seen. Someone who will fight for what is right. Someone who knows he will get pushed for trying, but still choosing to do so. And at some point, he will fall down, maybe forget how to walk again, or become too tired to try. But see, that's the thing about Peter. No matter how long he lies down, no matter how much pain claws on his chest, it is inevitability, sort of like his destiny, more like choice, to stand up once again.
The Peter who gets up after that might not be the exact same person. But that's alright.
Because that's how you know he's grown.
And he might cry on the way, might still stumble and fall. He might stay on the ground for a long time, and she and everyone who loves him will worry about him. But that's part of it all. This life? It won't always be easy.
And God, it hadn't been for Peter.
But.
But.
He will survive.
More than that.
He will thrive.
Because when Peter smiles, that's when you know you can be better.
That's when you know there's hope.
II
"You know when someone tells you they love you? And you never expected it? Well that's how this sunset feels like."
"Well, how about sunrise?"
"Sunrise?"
"Yeah. How does it feel like?"
There is a complete silence that lends the unity of everyone's curiosity, a testament to their interest on what this boy could ever say.
Peter begins.
"So… hi."
It is an ugly, abrupt start that speaks of his inexperience in public speaking. He falters, but continues, still.
"I know… you all look at me and see… different things. To some, I'm the guy who cried in log entry. I've heard others call me 'Master Access', and sometimes, I'm… a chemistry classmate.
"And I'm all of them, really— I'm not just one thing. I'm more than that. At least, I like to think so." Peter wrings his hand unconsciously, sweaty underneath the gloves that he hasn't taken off. "But see, it doesn't really matter, who I am. So, why am I even talking about this?"
At this point, Peter finds his grip, becomes more certain with every word that leaves his mouth, because finally, there is direction.
He clasps his gloved hands and says, "It's simple really. And it's actually related to my tribute. See, what I want for everyone to take here is that a person can be so many things, so many contradicting things that we don't know they exist unless we're close enough to… touch it. And that's how identities are, and that's how reputations are made.
Those things that you know me by, I guess that's going to be my reputation now. And I don't blame you for thinking of me that way. But I want to be able to say this while I can. The truth of who I really am. And the truth that I have been struggling for so long."
Here, MJ inhales sharply— surely, he wouldn't—
Peter takes a step back, his grip on the microphone tight, but restrained, "Who am I?"
But he's got this look of set determination, like whatever it is that he is about to do, he's going to fucking to do no matter what. And MJ, she shares a desperate look with Ned, who she's certain is already thinking of various distractions, plans to mitigate whatever the hell Peter is going to do—
She looks up and catches his eyes, those young, soulful eyes that seem to speak to MJ more than his words could.
And she doesn't know it, isn't exactly comfortable with this, but one look at Peter's eyes, and she knows that whatever he is about to do, it's always been leading up to this.
This— whatever this is.
She puts a hand on Ned's shoulders, tense just as he is. And when Ned relaxes, she knows he's also found Peter's eyes.
And so, it is settled.
Peter inhales deeply, "Well…"
He sets the microphone down, something that's really only for show, something to hold on to ground himself.
This time though, he thinks he doesn't quite need it as much as he thought he would. Because he's calmer now, has befriended reality in a way that it helps make it more tolerable. He can breathe now, the confusing cloud over his head dissipating with every word of the truth—of an answer to the question he never really thought he would have to ask himself.
It is with a sense of rightness, and the feeling of freedom as he stands before them, finger on his chest, screaming, beseeching—
The truth, and the one truth that matters—
(MJ forces her eyes to lock on Peter, breath stopping, hands shaking. And Ned is holding onto her hand, like she is the only thing he's not running toward Peter. Because even though Peter looks like he knows what he's doing, MJ vehemently disagrees.)
(She is about to lunge forward, ready to grab the damned mic, to save his privacy before he completely ruins it when Ned's hold stops her. She looks back, beseeching, but he is shaking his head no.)
(MJ thinks that if there is anyone who she would trust about anything relating to Peter, it would be Ned. Because he was the first to find out about Spider-Man, and he was the first on the team. So, she forces herself to relax. Forces herself to accept that whatever is happening, it is what Peter wants. And she will stay by that. She will stand by him, no matter what.)
(Peter is looking at something beyond, and she sees the catharsis in the moment, the relief, as if a burden has flown away, and he is only left with what is right.)
(There it is—)
(Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckit—)
(The truth.)
(The answer.)
"I am Peter Parker."
MJ melts into her seat.
"What the fuck—"
"—phew—"
"Why so stressed guys? Look! It's Peter, and he remembers his name!"
MJ ignores the snickers Abe and Charles share, noting at the back of his head how Flash is just sitting there, wordless for the whole thing.
She sags into her seat, shaky laughter escaping her lips. A great wave of relief passes both of them, and MJ looks at Ned to see that his eyes are on the ceiling, white knuckles from gripping Peter's empty chair finally regaining color.
MJ wants to punch Peter right away, because how dare he make them think that he was even doing it. Outing himself to everyone when the world can see him. But she can't, right now. For the exact reason that the world is watching. Or, will be.
She settles on watching him from her seat. Peter looking like he's finally breathing again. And she knows he's experienced some sort of freedom, like a bird flying from its cages, because Spider-Man has been locking him in for things he was not ready to confront in the past year.
It is ironic then, MJ observes, that in the process of letting go of his secret identity, he is able to confront the things he's been avoiding, and in turn, accepts that the one identity that everyone does know is enough.
Peter exhales, breathing as if it is a sacred thing, (for him, it might as well be), "I am Peter Parker," he repeats, a reassurance.
"And whatever else you think I am; it doesn't matter. Because I am here to give you something more important than that. I am here to show you who Tony Stark truly was."
Peter is standing right in the middle—at the point of intersection between the wide stage at the back and the platform that extends to the crowd.
All the lights simultaneously close. And within seconds, the hall is enveloped in darkness.
Peter lets it settle for a few quiet moments, the feeling of anticipation for the unknown coursing in their blood, like they are floating in black water.
It ends when a strong, and startling sound of air pressure— sort of like a small jet— resounds across the room. And Pepper is met with a familiar, almost rhythmic thrum of—
Iron Man.
He lands on the platform just a few steps from Peter himself.
If you look at it from the front of the platform, Iron Man completely eclipses Peter's solitary figure. But for MJ and Ned, who are at the crossroads, sitting just at the right angle to see everything— they notice that Peter looks completely mirrors Iron Man. Like a reflection of the man—not a shadow, but an image in and of itself.
And if Ned could go past the shock and wonder, and MJ would allow herself to think of it more than just a fun observation, they would agree that it is just like a reflection.
Because all of the light that bounced off Tony Stark in his life, they all came together to create the one image of pure and utter morality— that is, Peter.
The room is cold in that way you get when you're anticipating something. Chills run down Ned's spine because just before this morning, he didn't even know Peter had a tribute— and whatever this is, it didn't seem like all the other tributes they've seen before.
This one is special. And to those who didn't even know Peter before today, they can see that this, too, is personal.
"Tony Stark was Iron Man. We all know that. But I don't think you quite understand what that means."
Iron Man begins walking towards the stage, a clank in every step.
"Because beyond that suit, beyond the glamour and the fame that he had gotten for it…"
This time the suit begins sprinting, every clank made to show the desperation and the need to just—
Breathe.
The suit opens up, just at the edge of the platform, and in shows Tony Stark, wild fear in his eyes, looking around to the people around him.
Peter is looking at the image with deep desire to help him, but he dispels it, instead his emotions making way into his voice. It is a deeper octave, a soft mutter whose hoarseness becomes amplified with the company's sound system.
Because this was another revelation that he had had to discover in a crushing way, this thing he is about to tell them.
"…he was really just a man."
Tony collapses into the stage, taking wild, erratic breaths, looking like he had seen the end. But as his eyes sweep those that surround him, he stands up slowly, and then firmly. He is looking at them all, walls beginning to rise, and despite all he tried to look like he's got it handled, they've already seen it. And they can't ignore the look of utter devastation in his face.
"And like all men, he's made mistakes."
He had started walking from the end of the platform back to the stage. And as he does so, after images follows behind him.
The voice of a woman pools into the room, "—ny Stark, billionaire CEO of Stark Industries, has gone missing after attempts of assassination—"
The after-image is based off a snap-shot taken of Tony just after he was rescued. Thin and hollow, bruised and broken. But willful.
Another, more frantic voice of a man announces, "—Avengers have split and factions between Steve Rogers and Tony Stark have formed. Is this the end of the heroes—"
This time it is Tony, as Peter had first seen him. With the black eye and the worn look that he had, on that day. He is wearing the same clothes, and holding himself with the same air of importance—but Peter would later learn it to be a façade.
It walks past Peter and he fights his hand from reaching out, for it would disrupt the image and his composure.
The next one is more unforgiving, scalding, ruthless, "And that Tony Stark—he thinks he can go away unscathed, with what he did with Sokovia—that man is a menace—"
Peter cuts it off, feeling hot under his skin and also afraid that it might have had said too much, Morgan in mind.
So, he continues, this time with Tony already at the end of the stage at the back.
"These mistakes... they left him wounds. Wounds that we can never hope to know, never hope to see. But wounds that we are all too familiar with."
Peter's eyes leave Tony's figure for a moment, taking emphasis in addressing everyone.
"Before you put him in a pedestal, and worship him for the hero that he is, I think it is important that we see him for what he really, truly was. And after that, we can honor him further by learning, and then by becoming."
Peter is standing there, looking as if he hadn't had to literally break down just to realize everything he's saying right now.
Pepper is looking at Peter like she might just burst into tears, because here he is, Pete, strong enough to become vulnerable, brave enough to hold on.
And beyond the remnant of redness in his eyes, and the rasp in his voice, Pepper is sure that Peter has more strength in him than anyone gives him credit for. Sans Spider-Man. In fact, she knows Peter could just be as good a hero without the mask.
Pepper thinks that if Tony would see him right now, he would be proud.
Peter continues, promise in his stance, and the power of knowing in his eyes that speaks just a bit stronger to everyone, "And I don't know what or who you're going to be… You could become what you were always meant to be, or you could become what you always wanted to be. It doesn't matter. Just that, you do this despite your wounds. Or, better yet, you do this because of your wounds."
He pauses then, and looks down on his feet— phantom cuts and shadows of old blood dripping down his skin, feeling more real than ever. He shakes his head, determined to finish this, and Peter finds his voice again.
"To be good and to do good… what a beautiful way of life," his eyes take a faraway look, and his voice, a softer tone, like he doesn't want to be heard at this part, because it's a truth that hurts, a hard pill to swallow, but needed nonetheless.
"But it doesn't always return the goodness. Sometimes, it's going to be hard. And my friend once said that the pain—it will always be there," Peter finds Clint and nods at him in thanks. "In that case then, we make do with what we have and then we make it better. That's what Tony represents."
He won't tell you this, because he would be opposing everything he had ever stood for in his past. But when the applause comes, overwhelming Peter who had been standing there, talking, solitary but all the more uniting—only Flash would know that he was the first person to clap.
Not Ned, or even MJ—
Flash.
And Flash, while he feels old envy in his blood, like muscles that move on reflex, he strives to push that down. Secretly, quietly, he allows himself to root for Peter.
(And maybe spares just a little energy to root for himself, too.)
But Peter, he isn't done.
Not even halfway.
Because he's talking again, and the image behind him, has changed.
There is a larger, scarier robot—dark in both color and intentions— as a little boy stands in front of it, with his small hands outstretched, led light on plastic gloves—a $2 repulsor jet.
The robot charges its guns, aiming to kill. The kid stands, undeterred.
But that doesn't matter, Flash thinks in bated breath, because he's going to die and no one is coming—holy shit just run away, you stupid kid—
And Morgan could be heard screaming for the child—Pepper calming her down.
As the gun has fully charged, light shining to burst, everyone stops breathing.
One. Ned closes his eyes. Can't see this—
Two. MJ looks on despite this, but her heart still clenches.
THREE. Peter sees it before everyone else, before the exact moment it builds up completely, the sounds of a shooting beam at the ready, because he's lived this already.
And seconds before it charges at him, with the rest of the audience feeling fear and dread at what could happen—
BOOM!
The grey bot explodes.
And Iron Man is there, right behind him.
"The one reason he ever made Iron Man was so he could protect us. And the actions he took to do that— it's what makes him a hero. But let's look closer."
The image fades just as Tony is telling him, "Good job, kid."
It is replaced by the sound of metal on metal, and the stage is filled with a brilliant blue hue.
It is Tony in a grey shirt, eyes heavy with bags but laden with an extreme focus.
Friday had given him this clip from Jarvis' old logs, titled "Tony discovers a new element."
He is moving around, muttering to himself—or to the A.I. in his lab. The blue hologram twists and turns, stopping only at Tony's urgings. He sits in front of it, Jarvis asking, "…what is it you're trying to achieve, sir?"
"I'm discovering—uhh… correction, I'm re-discovering a new element."
After that it is a collection of Tony playing with the holograms, commanding it where it should go and piecing together something that they can't quite comprehend yet.
He stretches the globe with his hands, yawning as he does so, watching along with them as all the information processes, forming another globe, dotted this time, all connected to each other.
Tony leans in, the others doing so as well, curious as to what this could mean.
His hands hover over the globe, stretching it with his hands.
It expands the dotted blue holograms across the stage and into the crowd—and they couldn't help it, their hands find the holograms. Fingers, tentative, excited, touching the blue dots that are more than what they understand.
An element that don't quite know yet. And one that Tony Stark discovered.
The others who aren't distracted by the element, are instead mesmerized by the look of pure wonder in Tony Stark's face.
The worn look is replaced by one of pure, unadulterated joy—and the smile that graces his face is one that they are fascinated to watch.
Here, they are seeing Tony stripped off any facades, with only his basest, brightest self in the center of it all.
What's more, after that moment of pause, when he's looking at his creation as if he is only realizing it, his face breaks into the most genuine smile—
And Pepper melts a little, so very aware of her baby Morgan who is seeing her father as he had never been before.
Harley moves to take Morgan's hands. Not to give her support, because she doesn't need it now, with the way her eyes are so wide with discovery, lips in a brilliant smile that reflects her father's—but so he could gather some strength from her.
God knows he needs it.
And Peter, that bastard, Harley knows he also needs it. So, it is really a thing of great curiosity itself when he continues to speak, unflinching.
Something about the strong kid Tony always said he was, shining at this moment.
"Before anything else, Tony was a learner. His love for science, and for discovery the one thing he's always found comfort in."
The blue light dissipates again, this time, replaced by two figures in the right side.
"Tony, don't do it."
Rhodey stands on one end, exasperated and… exhausted.
Tony, on the other hand, is reeling with mischief and defiance.
When he says what Rhodey knows he's going to say, the inevitable, "Yup, I'm definitely doing it," he doesn't get mad, though, as one would expect. Because he's finally let it show, the smile he's been biting since the beginning of their argument, and he's following Tony into wherever else, laughing along with him.
Peter found this in one of the oldest archives, the youngest memories Jarvis has ever had—of Tony at age 22, an adult living the high life with his best friend.
As they run to the other end of the stage, they walk past another two figures. This time it is Happy and Tony.
Happy is filled with bandages and is standing on a crutch, with Tony holding Happy so he wouldn't fall, despite the latter's insistence that he wouldn't.
This was just after Happy had been discharged from the hospital, so persistent in protecting Tony that he was willing to be seen as weak and fragile by everyone else just so he could stand beside him.
And Tony, he is being delicate with Happy—both with his emotions and his body. It is made clear with the way he flinches and activates the suit when Happy trips a little, causing the bigger man to stare at him for a long, weird time.
That is, until Happy starts laughing, Tony following suit. And it's not a thing between the boss and the employee—but of friendship between two men, the depth of their loyalty, and everything in between.
It comes as a surprise, then, when Pepper comes in, heels clicking with purpose.
Morgan exclaims loudly, cutely, "Wha—Mommy!" as she stares in excitement between the two Peppers.
Her hands with a clipboard and hair tied back in professional haste, she calls Tony with the command of a tired tiger.
And Tony, who is casually running on 2 hours of sleep a week, with the coffee machine running every other hour, and metal scattered everywhere with motor oil spilled, he looks up at Pepper and everything seems just a bit lighter to him.
It's in the way he relaxes, his hands pausing from its jittering, and his smile coming easier than ever.
Pepper, despite her own justified stress, is also a bit more open—freer to express her opinions and speak her mind, with the way she fires off one after the other, forsaking the professionalism she had had to endure from earlier.
"—then you blew off the meeting again even though I specifically told you to go, because it's always me who receives the brunt of it—and Tony, every second I spend explaining for your carelessness is ten years reduced from my life span—"
It's more a nag than any traditional sense of 'expressing her opinions,' but by the end of it, Tony is offering her his thousand-dollar coffee from Vietnam, and giving her a shoulder massage that is far from platonic.
But Peter recognizes this, and finds the one thing in Pepper and Tony's relationship. And he put it there because before they were lovers, they were also friends.
And it's in the way Tony fires off one joke after the other, not afraid of using obscure sci-fi references that Pepper would have already understood by just spending time with Tony. Or the way Pepper sighs into his hands, swatting them when they try to tickle in a way that demonstrates familiarity.
"Tony was… a friend. And sometimes, not always a good friend. But he was someone who tried anyway."
Images of Rhodey in his metal braces, looking tough as ever, of Happy in his suit and scowl, looking as the ever-so threatening guard that he was, and Pepper in her smart suit and sharp eyes, come forward.
Ned thinks it's cool because they're cool, and adding one with each other just makes it even cooler. (And also, wow, Peter worked with them before, so by association he worked with them as well—)
MJ sees the similarities with her friendship with Peter, sees beyond the glamour and is confronted with the darkness it entails. She finds that she respects that more, to look at Pepper and see someone unfaltering as she, and to know that at least once in her life she had the choice to leave Tony Stark, and more than once did she come back for him.
Flash just thinks he's lucky to have people around him, who are really in it for the long haul. What a wonderful thing to have.
The figures fade to the background, not entirely disappearing, but hiding just in plain sight not to be seen too prominently.
What comes next is a boy with tousled brown hair, talking with distracted vigor, eyes focused on the tech on his hands.
This, Peter found in the archives from the log cabin, Friday having had access to it as it had been Tony's headquarters slash home for a while.
"And if you turn this thing, the, the whatever, I forgot, it would have been better— efficient, and cooler looking, actually."
Tony is by his side immediately, looking down interested, not even deterred by the blatant insult the kid pulled.
"Harley, did I ever tell you that you're a genius?"
"Every night, when you're asleep, that's all you ever say—"
Uh…
"…was I supposed to hear that or…"
"Let's just say, I'm a genius, okay, Tony?"
"Yeah, I'm kind of backing that up because you're creepy—"
"That wasn't what I meant!"
Harley feels cold on his feet, and it's like he's both grounded to the floor, so tightly bolted that he can't move, and also like he's floating in a realm he does not recognize,
This was year two of the Awakening.
As Harley chases Tony away with more insults than he weighs, Peter pauses.
He's thought of it before, putting himself in the video. He's actually worked on it for a few minutes, ended up with something that's still too raw, or still too much like the old days that he couldn't show it to anyone.
So, he stops there, adding his narration, "He was also a teacher. Because one genius, billionaire, philanthropist isn't enough— he had to make another one."
Peter shoots a look at Harley, feeling light and mischievous. Harley's face, slack and eyes looking torn, immediately morphs into something more familiar. He grins at Peter back, pulling a thumbs up, looking at him with the same fondness that he was received yesterday.
Harley's image grows into that of an adult. And joining him is Morgan who is so small, so pure. Pepper walks in, this time a motherly aura in her smile, stopping just beside Tony.
It isn't only MJ who notices it. She's sure Ned also saw it. Recognized it for what it is. Because they're standing there, looking like every bit the family that they are, with Happy and Rhodey by each of the sides, and Pete in the middle of it all, just beside Tony.
"…and he was a father."
It is a beautiful picture of what could have been— and melancholic melodies pull a string in MJ's heart. Because, yeah, she kinda gets it—the what could've been's, and the what-if's.
And while Peter is out there looking like he belongs, MJ is also sure he knows that this isn't the reality that they have.
So, it goes.
Peter begrudgingly walks out of the group, a certain type of emptiness filling his chest. But one look at the real Pepper, who is looking at him like she's trying to drown him with encouragement, and to Morgan whose beaming at him like he deserved it, Peter finds a semblance of courage once again.
He has to finish this.
Because this is the end of his suffering.
And he has to honor the beginning of this new path he's taking.
"Tony was a lot of things in his life," he starts, throat rasping, "but let it be said that he was not a perfect man."
He stops in the middle of the platform, the same spot he took at the beginning of this tribute.
The only lights in the room are the glowing images, and it lends a sort of somber tone—like the forlorn tunes from the end credits scene of a movie, camera panning as the character walks alone on the road.
Peter shifts.
"But see, that's what makes him all the more a hero. Because he took a look at his past, and consciously, intentionally chose to be better every step of the way. And that's what I want you to take from Tony's life. An ever so incandescent will to change, and becoming better."
Iron Man lands a few steps in front of him. He eclipses Peter from the front, as Peter mirrors him from the side.
"So, when you say that Tony's a hero, I want you all to understand…"
Tony appears a few meters in front of Iron Man, and the two are looking at each other from afar.
Of human and robot, of heart and body.
"That the deepest truth lies in what we act on. And here, the only truth is that…"
Tony Stark begins his walk, a slow stroll to something that could only lead to the inevitable. Iron Man follows suit and with every step—clank, clank, clank.
It is only music to Peter's ears, a familiar comfort that should never fade away with time.
And so, it is knowing he has been talking for far too long, maybe showing a bit too much, that he closes it all off.
When Peter smiles, it is of finding peace and acceptance—of looking forward to tomorrow, and closing this journey off with the best way that he can—and it is—
"And the only truth is that…"
Tony and Iron Man are face to face, like a reflection of the other, a symbol of whatever that runs too deep to be excavated—a symbolism that historians will embed in their books, and one that storytellers will tell in every tale.
Flesh touches metal, and Peter swears he can feel a deep surge of something run down his spine. Just watching it happen—with the way it glows, of white and red and black and gold—the blend of colors melding with one another, becoming a painting that is far more than the individual parts—and Tony is merging with the suit, becoming one in a way that they all don't understand yet.
And Peter—well, that's why he's here, isn't he? To make them understand.
So, he breathes out, tangible electricity in every finger tips, and a growing anticipation with every second. His eyes are bright with knowledge, and of excitement building in his chest— of giving life to new truth— he breathes—
"Tony isIron-Man."
An iridescent glow bursts across the room, and the air takes a certain charge to it—and they know, they know what just happened—
There, in the stage, with Peter in the middle of the intersection, and the darkness giving way to the light—
There is Iron Man, and there is Tony Stark.
There's the man who gave them their future and—
"And see, it wasn't just Tony who saved us all."
Peter's voice is the only sound in the hall, everyone recognizing the coming of something great— of waiting and wondering for what is to come.
"We had Natasha."
Natasha saunters from the intersection of the two stages, walking just past Peter's shoulder, and toward Iron Man who is standing in solitary fortitude.
"And Steve."
Steve walks from the other side, a slow but confident stride, humble and reassuring. He stops by Tony's left, Natasha on the right.
Peter is standing directly behind Tony, and when he says it, the command for Friday to finally do it, it is like old and new spirits alike have gone through him, and his own old soul is rejuvenated—gaining a new vitality to it that could only be brought by peace.
Because one second it is just the three of them, and everyone is looking in awe, at how real it is—at how very amazing it is, the tech—the detail—
And the next, Peter is speaking into his microphone and into the world, "And everyone else who had something to fight for. They, too, are heroes like Tony…"
All at once, a gust of wind that couldn't have come from anywhere fills the room, a bright blinding light—so much blue—and—
An army of phantoms.
Each soul an image, and each one, life within it.
And MJ—she couldn't help it when she gasped out loud, because she sees her distant uncle, the medic one, Uncle Ronney, and she remembered how she never shed a tear for him—too confused, too unsure on how to feel.
Ned is right by her side immediately, holding her for all the way she's shaking now—and she knows this is embarrassing, feels the cold drip of shame begin to pool its way down her shoulder. But one look at Peter and she thinks that, fuck, it's okay… it's alright. I can… let it out.
There are nurses and firemen and police enforcers all around. Across the army are Wakandan soldiers—Dora Milaje— and those of the American forces.
They are all the people who have tried to help, people who have done their all to bring goodness in this world, in the darkness that preceded and stayed with the Shadow Period.
If Flash looks further, beyond that of his own father's image, he would have seen the teens that look so young, standing there as if they can still expand their own potentials.
Hell—there are children, in that crowd.
It extends to the very ends of the stage, and in every space that it takes, is a story that it tells. They stand there, in their eternal glory, of humble wills and pure motivations—these people who were almost forgotten, these people who fought and saved and did everything for what they believed in.
With each face, and each name, is a legacy that they all behold. And they are all here to remember that. For it is in their memories that they live forever.
Up there, they're looking so real you could almost touch them.
(Flash is extending his hand, his feet moving instinctively. But Abe is there to hold him, with Charles whispering him some sense. And Flash—Eugene—he is confused, because his dad is there—what—why are you trying to stop me?—
"Come on, Flash, look, it's just an image."
"But you gotta understand, dude. You're father? He's there. That means he's a hero.")
A dog barks cheerfully from inside the army.
Peter's hands are outstretched on either of his side, and in his hands are the power to command these images. He watches them for a moment longer, relishing in the adrenaline and the appreciation. He sees the wonder in the eyes of his peers, pools of emotions breaking free from their restraints.
And together everyone understands a little bit more.
Stop for a moment.
Look at the sky.
And when you've seen it, seen the way the colors meld to make that picture— and the sheer beauty of what he is trying to say, you must calm down.
Breathe.
You have to.
Because there's more.
And after that is more.
Peter flicks his wrist, and all the phantom souls come rushing to the air above him—they're flying toward the center stage above, merging one by one by one, each soul completing the image, forming something—
An obra maestra? The piece de resistance?
…Peter's masterpiece.
And the grandest story to behold.
(They all look up, expecting something great. And when it comes, you can hear it when they breathe in unison. The small gasps that reverberate, and then the silence of crying in a crowd.)
(MJ's mind, always full of thought, is suddenly quieted by the power it all—the command and the softness, all in demand for her attention. The colors, they blend into a realistic render. And the feelings, they translate so well, like a spoken language, more universal, more inclusive, than English could ever bring. She feels it in her chest, the moment she lets out a soft gasp, and then the swell of pride. Because Peter—he's— finally—)
(Flash doesn't know how he feels yet, just that he understands it. And he doesn't know how to feel about that. Understanding Peter Parker. But he keeps it close to his chest, hoping that later he could try to understand it as well as he understood the person.)
(If they aren't crying, they are certainly feeling every emotion to its highest form. Pepper tries not to cry, holds on to the cloak of professionalism while in front of the students, but a tear betrays her, and she lets it all out.)
(Morgan is just confused. But in her six-year old heart, she feels a certain tightness in her chest, and a hollowness in her stomach. She is sad, even though she doesn't not quite understand why. But she is also happy. Because there is her daddy—and they're clapping—they love her daddy and that's already good enough for her.)
Because up there, is not just the image of Tony Stark in all his blazing glory. Up there is a mural of all the heroes that have fought for the last five years—for the countless of people who had stood up and decided that this life was worth saving, and that they could do something.
It is the fire man, the kid and the superhuman, all in one cluster together—a portrait of colorful dichotomy, heroes, with Tony Stark in the middle, laughing, and everyone else doing what they did before fate decided they were too good for this world.
It is the perfect end to this bittersweet journey, an image to look back to that could become the best jump off point for a hopefully better future.
And it is great, this warmth he's feeling right now.
When he feels, it comes from the tips of his fingers, to the core of his chest—a deep, burning feeling that does not have to do with heaving chests, but of a mind that is so, wonderfully calmed—calmed to the point of clarity, a crystal brightness that goes beyond his super sights, and an inner strength that surpasses even his own super strength.
He thinks, that if there is any other time to say it—to admit it to the world and appreciate it—it's now.
Because after everything that he had had to go through—after so many people he had to talk to, to understand just a little bit of the revelation that he got after last night—
He's finally, truly got it.
"And us? We're here to remember them. To look back and give thanks. Through us, they become immortal."
The applause comes from a singular unity. It doesn't start from a single point, but from across the room, and it fills the hallway, even reaching as far as the other floors. There are cheers and sobbing and Peter takes it all.
In the middle of the chaos, of the people trying to get his attention, of Betty calling for his name, and of Ned running up to hug him from the other end, he reaches a point of complete stillness.
A quiet calmness in his inner being that he welcomes so warmly.
With it comes a sort of disassociation, or well—more like an acknowledgement of what is happening and what it might mean even as it is happening.
Because for all Peter knows, this is how it'll end. And this is how it'll start.
Ned reaches him at the stage, his other friends starting to run up to him as well, and crushes him with a hug that begs him to breathe. He feels complete safety, and upon feeling MJ's own hand on his, he feels something more than that.
And Peter, he looks up at the sky, at Tony. Because he feels that he's finally got it.
He closes his eyes, and relishes in the celebration of the crowd. And the closeness of family. Thinking of home, and seeing May and MJ and Ned and Pepper and Happy and Harley and—
And even Morgan.
He will have to do a lot of things, to make up for them, to continue being better, but as of now, he's content just being in the arms of his best friend.
And since Peter feels like he's brave enough to do it, he dares to think that maybe— surrounded by friends, with family looking on in support, giving tribute to the one that he called his father, and looking forward to what he can do tomorrow—
Maybe…
Maybe—
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
This is how peace feels like.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
And that's when the explosion comes in.
A/N. The way removes all spaces without a word or punctuation mark really ruined the surprise. But please, tell me what you think!