"I don't feel so good..."

If Tony had been told before that the line, so often uttered by ill children, would make his heart stop, he wouldn't have believed it.

But it had...

He forced himself to remain calm, holding his breath as he gained his footing and nearly whispered the reassurance: "You're all right."

But this was not hitting his finger with the wrench while tightening the bolts on his suit. This was not a minor burn achieved from the blowtorch. This was not brush burns and blisters from a flight in a storm.

Terror shone out in his boy's eyes, his hand already turning crusty.

"I don't know what's-" he stumbled, quickly regaining his footing as he took another step. "I don't know what's happening. I don't-"

He was a blur of red, and blue, and brown hair as he fell into Tony's arms. And Tony caught him, because there was nothing else he could do. Because Peter was sobbing, clinging to him like a lifeline as he choked out one broken line after another.

"I don't wanna go..." he cried out, and Tony felt a shot of pain race through his chest. "I don't want to go, Mr. Stark. Please. I don't want to go..."

But Tony's heart was already broken: shattered into a million pieces as the final words his child spoke to him was an apology. An apology for not winning. An apology for losing. An apology for dying. An apology for failing him.

But the only person who had failed had been Tony, and Peter Parker, sixteen-year-old honor student, good-hearted vigilante had payed the price. He dissolved in Tony's arms, a vacantly terrified expression on his face as he did so.

And Tony grasped for him, silently pleading for him to hold on. Wanting him to just hold on. He just wanted to hold him again. He just wanted to embrace him, and kiss his forehead, and run his fingers through his unruly hair...

But all that was left in his hands was dust: the last remaining piece of his beloved intern.

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4AM.

Tony Stark's eyes shot open and flashed around the room, making out the armchair, the lamp stand, and the closet door in the dim light. The dull glow of the alarm clock was next, assuring him that he was in his room in the Avengers Headquarters and not watching his unofficial child die on a planet far, far away.

There seemed to be something about Pepper beside him in bed that kept many of the nightmares at bay, but it was not one of those nights. Pepper and Morgan were at the cabin, and it was just him and Peter here with the other Avengers.

A week alone with Peter a few times per year was the recent agreement. Mostly Pepper's idea. Peter had already been the model older brother, even in the short time he'd been back, but she decided that Tony and Morgan had father-daughter bonding time, so a week of father-son bonding time was in order.

They'd stopped for pizza on their way into town and then worked in the lab until late. Only when Peter had dozed off with his head on the table had Tony called for bedtime.

The mature adult he'd become had gone to bed, too.

Tony pushed his blankets away and stood up, shivering in the cool air. He pulled on a long-sleeved t-shirt over his sweatpants and left the room.

Peter's room was close by design. Across the hall and two doors down, with Friday given express orders to link the two rooms' coms no matter what time or situation. But now that Tony had stepped out of his bedroom, he suddenly froze.

The obvious move would be to follow his instincts and go to his ward's room. See him asleep, his chest rising and falling with every breath and his complexion pale and smooth and not crumbling to dust in his hands.

But Tony was not a broken man anymore, he told himself. He had a life outside of insane sleep hours and the childish need to take credit for every idea and achievement. He had a family: a wife, a son, and a little girl.

That Tony didn't need to watch his son sleep to know he was okay.

So he turned down the hallway and entered the living room to his private quarters, looking around as Friday lit it up for him. The entire fourth floor was restricted to family and close friends only in case the Stark family had to stay there. Tony remembered drawing up the plan for it, mapping out his and Pepper's room, the connected nursery in neutral blue and gold for any future children, and Morgan's room directly across the hall.

He remembered the look on Pepper's face as he'd drawn in another bedroom directly beside their daughter's. Remembered her sad smile as he'd carefully sketched the words: PETER'S ROOM.

The living room mantelpiece had always boasted a family of four, too. Tony and Pepper's wedding photo, Morgan's newborn pictures, and Peter's school picture. On one wall was a photo of Tony and Morgan, the little girl's smile wide and her pointer finger inserted into her mouth. It had been Pepper's idea to put the photo of Tony and Peter above it.

The opposite wall held a large photo of the members of Stark Industries and the Avengers as they'd been before the dusting. Steve, Natasha, and Bruce grouped together like the close friends they were, Clint's arm around Wanda's shoulders and Thor's mouth open, halfway through asking what an iPhone was. Pepper's exasperated expression had been completely due to the person whose hand she held, and beside Tony had been Peter himself.

Tony could recall Natasha trying to wrestle the high schooler into a t-shirt that said: "Don't look at me. I'm just the intern!" on it. The ex-KGB had actually lost that fight, if the photo was any indication, to the fifteen-year-old kid.

Tony made a full circle around the living room before returning to the mantelpiece where he picked up his and Pepper's wedding photo. He gazed at it a moment, remembering the details of the ceremony: Rhodey as his best man, Nat catching the bouquet and flashing a flirty smile toward Bruce. The chair to Pepper's right at the reception had been reserved, he recalled. Reserved for a certain child who had been a part of their life...

Tony placed the frame back on the mantle and then picked up the next one: Morgan's newborn photo. Tony's girl since the moment of her birth, with his brown eyes and dark hair. A girl after her daddy's own heart. His insomnia had become a help during those late nights, so that Pepper actually got some sleep.

It wasn't as though Morgan calmed down for her, anyway. Only Tony would do.

Tony replaced the photo and moved onto the next one. Peter was dressed in classy jeans and button-down, his hair slicked back and his arms crossed. Photo day for the academic decathlon team had been a cause of great stress for the kid. His hair wouldn't sit right, his shirt had a stain that looked suspiciously like mustard, and there had been an inflamed pimple directly in the center of his forehead that looked like a bindi.

It had been one of the days that he'd stayed over at Stark Tower, and morning had found the child racing around frantically, on the very brink of hysteria. That had been when Pepper had stormed into the kitchen where Tony was browsing for breakfast options, slapped a tube of concealer into the palm of his hand and told him to go "act like a dad."

So he had.

He washed and fixed up Peter's face, laid out a different shirt and sent the original to be laundered, and did his hair, using an absurd amount of gel to which he did a shockingly good job hiding.

May had sent him a copy of the photo in a thank you card the following week, and Tony framed it proudly.

As he turned to place the photo back on the mantelpiece, he noticed the small glass urn behind it.

Oh, yes... how he'd forgotten about that...

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It was in silent mourning that the remaining fighters stepped onto the jet, Tony more so than anyone. There were no smart comments, no insults, and no jokes. Just a hand closed tight as though determined not to let a bit of air enter it.

After taking off, the others laid down to go to sleep, but Tony didn't. He went back into his private mini-lab and retrieved a small ziplock bag, emptying his palm into it.

Tony Stark was not a sentimental person, by any means. It was a weakness, as far as he was concerned...

But nothing meant anything anymore as he stared at the approximate three tablespoons of ashes enclosed in plastic. The only thing that meant anything was that Peter was gone... and it was his fault.

As soon as he'd gotten back and gotten away from Steve and Pepper, he'd put the ashes in the urn. It had been a security blanket for the longest time. He'd clung to it following nightmares, kept it in is pocket during the day, and then finally placed it there on the mantle behind the photo when he no longer needed it on a regular basis like a pacifier given up.

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"Tony?"

He nearly dropped the urn, but Steve caught it. He straightened up, glancing down at the dust-filled container with a sad smile.

"What are you doing here?" Tony managed to get out.

"Your vitals spiked," Steve answered conversationally. "Friday alerted me. Must still be programmed to what it was before you and Pep moved."

"Sorry to wake you up," Tony murmured. He took the urn back and set it back on the mantelpiece, placing the photo in front to cover it.

"Don't be," the captain told him gently. "We care about you, Tony. You're family."

In typical Tony fashion, he stepped back, leaning against the mantle, and didn't reply.

"Was it about the battle again?" Steve prodded, but he already knew the answer. "Why don't you replace the memory," he suggested. "Don't think about him turning to dust. Think about seeing him again..."

Tony's eyes dropped to the floor, but he still didn't speak. Steve didn't speak again, watching as Tony's chest moved with every breath, his brain working him through the memories.

He remembered the boy's spider jump, landing and rolling before pulling him to his feet. He remembered the kid's chattering, going on about Doctor Strange, waking up, and sparkly things. He remembered the moment his brain had realized he wasn't hallucinating, that the boy was back. That he'd been successful. It was all he'd been able to do, twisting his face to stop the tears from falling as he grabbed the child, scrabbling for purchase on him as he drew him close. He remembered what it felt like to wrap his arms around Peter, sharing breath with him as he fell solid against his chest.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh... this is nice..."

The nice part was having him back.

He remembered pressing a kiss to his child's head, burying his face in the sweaty hair and breathing in the scent of mint, hair gel, and something so specifically Peter.

"He's right across the hall from you, Tones," Steve reminded him quietly. "He's not a world away anymore. When I got Bucky back, I visited his room so many times at night. It was easier to believe it had just been a dream when I saw him... could touch him..."

Tony heaved out a sigh.

"Yeah, okay..."

He turned to walk back down the hallway, pausing at Steve's voice.

"Remember, my door is always open, Tony. We haven't seen, or done, or experienced the same things, but I've been through the ringer too and... well... you can always talk to me."

"Thanks, Cap."

There was actually a small smile on Tony's face. He turned back around and walked back to pull Steve in for a hug, something the captain willingly accepted.

"Go hold your kid," Steve said at last, stepping back and patting his friend on the shoulder. "He needs you as much as you need him."

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Peter's brow was wrinkled in discomfort when Tony entered the room and his head turned on the pillow, his lips emitting soft moans.

"Hey..." Tony whispered. He closed the door behind him and strolled over to the bed to take a seat on it. "You're okay, Pete."

His thumb smoothed out the lines on the young boy's forehead and Peter's face seemed to turn instinctively to his mentor. Then his eyes flickered open.

"Mr. Stark?" he uttered, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Kid," Tony told him reassuringly. "I just needed to make sure you were okay."

"Nightmare?"

"Mhm..."

"About me?"

"Yeah."

"Turning to dust?"

Tony flinched, and then Peter was upright, his arms around his mentor's waist.

"Sorry, Mr. Stark."

"For what, Pete?" he questioned. And then, "Tony is fine. We've both been through hell and back. I think that calls for first-name-basis, if nothing else does."

A flicker of a smile passed over Peter's face.

"Okay, Tony."

Tony shifted completely onto the bed and shifted against the headboard, his arm looping around his kid's shoulders to pull him close.

"What about you, Pete? What was your nightmare about?"

Peter's eyes shot up to view him.

"What nightmare?"

He kept the act up for nearly thirty seconds before:

"Oh. That nightmare. Just the usual," he played it down. "Uncle Ben. Vulture guy. Being trapped in rubble. And the newest, too..." Tony felt a shiver run through him as he leaned his head into the older man's chest. "You snapping your fingers."

"I'm not going anywhere," Tony vowed. "I'm not. I didn't want to mention it so soon after May's death, but you are a part of this family, Peter. You don't have to go back to Queens. You're welcome to stay at the cabin for as long as you want. You're a Stark now, if you want it."

"But..." Peter caught for a reason. "But what about Morgan? That's not fair to her that-"

"Morgan grew up hearing about her brave big brother who secretly had spider tendencies," Tony pointed out. "You know she adores you."

Peter did know that.

"You're sure, Mr.- Tony?" Peter questioned tentatively. "If you change your mind in a few weeks I'll completely-"

"Pete. I'm not changing my mind." Tony forced a frustrated hand through his hair. "You-you don't understand, Kiddo. It was hours for you, but it was years for us. Five years, and I wished you were there every single day of them. Our wedding. Morgan's first days. Her birthday parties. Tinkering in the lab, pizza and movies, even mundane things like washing the dishes."

"Why?"

It was asked so innocently Tony nearly choked.

"Because Morgan was not my first child," he told him. "And she wasn't Pep's either. Our first child turned to dust in my hands, begging to stay and apologizing for my shortcomings. Our first was in a little urn of dust on our mantelpiece."

"I would have turned to dust no matter where I was," Peter pointed out.

Tony didn't reply. The fact was true, though, and now he had to turn the guilt back to himself. The truth was, Peter remembered being held by Tony as he faded away. Instead of being on the field trip, he'd been held by his mentor, and that had been better.

"Go back to sleep, Peter," Tony told him. He ran his fingers through the curly brown hair and settled a kiss there.

"Will you stay?"

It was a tentative request, but it needn't have been. Tony had no intention of going anywhere.

"Of course I will."

Peter slipped down to rest his head on his pillow and Tony followed suit. After Peter had set his head on his mentor's chest, he closed his eyes and breathed out.

"Goodnight, Tony," he murmured.

"Goodnight, Roo," Tony whispered back.

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Steve waited an hour, pacing around the living room, rubbing his hands together. If the two were not asleep yet, he'd call Pepper, per her request.

Peter and Tony would be okay if they were together, she'd said on the phone, but he was to call her if there were any problems.

Steve had told her he could handle it, but she'd insisted.

He turned and walked down the hallway, stopping at the door marked with the affectionate but awkward nickname Tony had dubbed the boy with.

He turned the handle and silently pushed the door open, glancing instantly toward the bed. Much to his relief, the two were asleep, pressed close together. Peter's head rested on Tony's chest, his arm wrapped around the boy's shoulders to hold him tight.

Years before, Pepper had made the humerus gift out of the arc reactor which implied that Tony Stark did, indeed, have a heart...

But now, as the World War 2 Captain stared on at the two sleeping avengers, breathing in unison, chasing each other's nightmares away...

No.

This was proof that Tony Stark had a heart...