hey. it's ya girl, back at it again. ("it" apparently being torturing my son peter.) so uhhh, sorry for not posting for so long? i have another fic going atm, but it's completely random and not marvel related, so i'm assuming most of my returning readers have not read it. but speaking marvel-wise, i'm back! i haven't written a marvel fic in a while, but i really really wanted to, so i thought i would give this a go. at the moment, this fic is a one-shot, but if i feel like updating it, i will! anyways, if you marvel fans have any requests/ideas/recommendations on what i should write next, leave it in a review! i always read them, so it's a great way to get your ideas to me. what would you like to see?
so basically this is just a quick fic on tony's funeral, kind of a "this is how it should have gone" type of thing. but i tried not to stray too far from the original scenes. so uuuh anywho, here it is! i hope you enjoy it!
-allison
The day of the funeral, Peter could barely force himself out of bed. He didn't want to go. But deep down, he knew he'd regret it if he didn't.
When he finally got up, he sat on the edge of his bed and stared at his wall for nearly thirty minutes. He wanted to cry. He needed to cry. But he couldn't. Peter Parker, it seemed, was all out of tears.
000
He thought that losing his parents was hard, even though he barely remembered them. He knew that losing Ben was worse, because they had been so close. But losing Tony was something completely different. It was the most shockingly painful thing the teen had ever experienced.
The time he had spent in the Soul Stone had felt brief to him, so his return seemed less sudden than it actually was. So when he found Mr. Stark mid-battle, the last thing he was expecting was to be pulled into a tight and desperate hug. Now, Peter would give absolutely anything to go back to that moment; to see him one last time….
He didn't know when he had begun to care about the billionaire so much. It kind of just happened. Maybe it was because of the loss of Peter's uncle, Ben. Maybe Peter had been so desperate for that fatherly relationship that he had unintentionally forced Tony to be more than just his mentor. But Mr. Stark hadn't seemed to mind.
After the Vulture incident, Peter had been visiting Mr. Stark a lot more than before. They would spend genuine time together. It had started out a bit more formal, with most of the time being dedicated to fixing and updating Pete's suit and web fluids. But, over time, the duo became comfortable. They would talk about life; school and work and other seemingly pointless things. On occasion, they would even eat dinner together. There had even been a time when Peter had dozed off in the lab, and Mr. Stark had stopped working to let him rest.
So when Thanos struck and Peter tagged along with Tony to space, he somewhat understood why Mr. Stark had been so upset with him. In the moment, he had tried not to think about that… the possibility that Mr. Stark truly cared about him. He hadn't wanted to get distracted. Not that it would have really done much. Because Peter had still died.
Well, at least that's what they told him. He didn't really think of it as death, especially since he had come back. But it had been painful. Excruciatingly so. "The Blip" hadn't seemed to physically hurt the others, but it had hurt him. Peter assumed it was somehow connected to his enhanced spider senses. And because of that pain, and that trauma, Peter's return had been rough. But it had become much much worse than that when Tony was killed.
It should have been me.
This thought struck Peter constantly. It should have been me.
He'd been too far away when it happened. When Tony took the stones… it was over. Peter had caught on just a second too late. He had run for his mentor, dodging blades and sparks, praying that he would be able to do something. But he hadn't. Tony snapped his fingers. And that was it. The enemies melted away, and the battlefield grew quieter.
Peter's knees hit the ground. His face is covered in dirt and blood, his heart is racing, his entire body aches. But he doesn't feel any of it. He only sees Mr. Stark. He sees his mentor, his guardian, his protector. Covered in blood and grit, struggling to breathe. Peter is finding it hard to breathe as well. "Mr. Stark? Can you hear me? It's me-Peter," His voice breaks. "We won. We won, Mr. Stark." Peter is panting hard, fighting back tears. "You did it Sir…" The tears begin to fall. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, Tony. Please…"
Tap Tap Tap. There was a knock at the door, and Peter snapped back to reality. He inhaled, his entire body trembling. Vaguely, he hears May enter the room. Quickly trying to compose himself, the teen swiveled around to face her. She crossed the room and sat next to him on the edge of the mattress. Without saying a word, she put her arm around him and pulled him closer, in a side hug. Peter rested his head on her shoulder, sighing. "What time is it?" He muttered.
"Eight fifteen. The funeral's at eleven, so… we should get going soon, hon."
Peter sighed again. May stood up, forcing Peter to go with her. "Come on, Peter. Get changed. I won't even make you eat." She paused. "Even though you really should. Just get dressed, and Happy will give us a ride."
Peter bit his lip. Okay. All he had to do was put on the tux. That was it. He could handle that, right?
Ten minutes later, Peter stood at the hotel door, having gotten dressed and brushed his teeth. May had also insisted he wash his face. But he couldn't bring himself to do his hair. He had stood in the mirror for several minutes, glaring at his natural curls. Usually he'd gel them down, to get some kind of control over them, but… Mr. Stark had liked his hair. He recalled one time, after a long patrol day, he had taken off his mask in front of Mr. Stark, and the man had faltered. "Is that your natural hair?" He had asked. When Peter nodded, Tony had asked why he normally gelled it, saying he liked the unruly waves. "I don't know. I just like it better that way," The teenager had said. But now, as Peter waited for his aunt, he decided he didn't like it gelled at all.
000
The drive was long and tedious. Peter stared at the blur of trees as the car raced past them. His mind was blank. He had been doing this a lot lately: becoming this silent and empty shell of himself. May hated it, he knew. But he couldn't stop it. When he wasn't blank, he was crying, or hyperventilating, or waking up screaming because of the dreams.
He would rather be blank.
000
Peter's eyes flew open at the sound of crunching gravel. With a start, he realised he'd dozed off. Probably for only a few minutes, but he still felt bad. He was going to a funeral, for God's sake. And wasn't falling asleep the best way to portray carelessness? Peter shoved the thought away. One thing at a time, Parker.
Together, he, Happy, and May made their way into the Stark household. The home was beautiful. Furnished wood, full houseplants, photos, and… toys. Toys. Peter's heart ached. He had almost forgotten about the girl. Happy had been the one to tell him that Tony and Pepper had had a baby. It had been hard to digest, what with the length of time that Peter missed. But he had, in that moment of discovery, been happy for them. The feeling had quickly been replaced by sadness though… Peter's mind reeled about little Morgan having to grow up with no father. Peter knew the feeling, and wouldn't wish it on anyone.
Now, Peter followed Happy and May further into the house. It was nearly eleven. But, at that moment, it seemed that everyone was doing some somber mingling. Had the circumstances been different, Peter would have been jumping at the opportunity to talk one-on-one to the heroes. But he couldn't bring himself to even try to talk.
The mourning teen was staring absently at the floor when someone gently touched his shoulder. He spun around, still on edge. But it was just Pepper. Suddenly, her arms encircled him and held him tight. It was a strange feeling. To be honest, Peter didn't know Pepper all that well. He had seen her a lot when he worked with Mr. Stark, but from her point of view, they hadn't had an actual conversation in five whole years. But he gave in, and hugged her back, probably tighter than was actually comfortable. After a moment, she let go. Peter's eyes followed her hand as it reached back down, and held fast to a very small one. His breath caught. Morgan. He was staring, and he knew it. But it was Mr. Stark's daughter. She had his eyes… Peter crouched down, meeting her gaze. But before he could say anything, the girl exclaimed: "You're Spider-Man!" He was taken aback. All he could say was: "Huh?"
Pepper gave a small chuckle. "Yep, that's him."
Morgan's eyes were wide. "You're my favorite superhero." She whispered. "Daddy talked about you all the time."
Peter's breath caught, and his eyes filled with tears. Mr. Stark told his daughter about him? He was her favorite?
"And I've heard all about you," He managed, his voice rough. "And I'm pretty sure you're my favorite superhero."
Morgan looked genuinely baffled. "I'm not a superhero."
Peter smiled. "You were to your daddy. And you definitely are to me!"
000
A few minutes later, the majority of the guests were led outside by the small lake. Standing with May, Peter took this time to look at the guests. There were a lot. He immediately spotted Captain America and his metal-armed friend, as well as Thor, Dr. Banner, and Clint Barton. There were many heroes who Pete could have placed if he really tried, but frankly, he didn't feel like trying to do anything. After a moment, he vaguely wondered where Miss Natasha was. Then he remembered that she too, was gone.
A couple more minutes passed, and then the door to the house opened, and out came the remaining guests, led by a crying Pepper Potts. In one hand, she led Morgan, and in the other, she held a small wreath of flowers and foliage. She was followed by Happy and Colonel Rhodes, along with a few others that Peter didn't recognise. Pepper and Morgan made their way through the crowd and onto the end of the dock, where Pepper crouched and placed the wreath in the water. Pete was near the front, and though his eyes were teary, he could see the small metal plate in the center of the flowers: Proof That Tony Stark Has a Heart.
May was rubbing his back as thick, hot tears slid down Peter's face. He could hear other people faintly crying or sniffling, but still tried to stay quiet. But the farther the wreath got from the group, the harder he seemed to cry. Though others got louder, too. Pepper was on her knees, holding her daughter as they cried. Rhodes had his hand over his mouth and his eyes shut. Peter glanced back, and saw Dr. Banner and Thor in similar positions. Even Steve Rogers, who just a few years ago had seemed to hate Tony so much, had tears running. Peter turned back as a quiet sob ripped through his throat. Why? Why am I so affected? Why did I have to get so attached? Peter's whole body ached. Even as the group began to disperse, he had trouble breathing evenly.
Mr. Stark, why did you have to go?
000
When Happy dropped Peter and May back at the hotel, the teenager went straight to his room. May didn't follow. As soon as he was alone, he collapsed. His hands groped at his neck in an attempt to loosen his tie. After a moment, the fabric ripped. Peter made a sound halfway in between a groan and a sob, laying back on the floor. The day had been terrible, he could barely even make it home, and now he'd ripped his only suit. But when he closed his eyes, he instantly regretted it.
Ashes. Screaming. Blood. Light. Stones. Crashes. Thunder. Yelling. Sobbing.
Peter's eyes snapped open again. His breath wheezed, his hands clutched at the rug underneath him. OhGodOhGodOhGod
He knew what PTSD was. Peter was quite familiar with it, actually. After the Vulture, Peter woke up screaming more often than not. Mr. Stark…. Mr. Stark had helped him through it. Apparently after Loki's 2012 attack on NYC, and Iron Man's trip through the wormhole, Mr. Stark had struggled with the same things. And when Peter had confided in him… Tony had been quick to offer help. That had probably been when the two were closest, actually. There had been days when Peter had a panic attack so severe that he could only think to call his mentor. And nine times out of ten, the man would stop what he was doing to help. And on two occasions he had actually driven all the way down to Midtown Tech to pick up the teen. He hadn't ever questioned the attacks, or why Peter refused to talk to May. He understood.
But Peter didn't have Mr. Stark anymore. He couldn't breathe. His vision was blurry and wet, and his ears rang. What would Tony say? What did Tony say to do?
Breathe. Just breathe.
Peter moaned and turned onto his stomach. He inhaled deeply, trembling. He exhaled. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale…
As he breathed, Peter could do nothing but hope that it would get better. He would be okay, right? He had lost his parents. He had been little, but still. His beloved uncle had been murdered. If he had survived those times, and survived being Spider-Man, he could survive this. Right?
is this good? i don't even know anymore asdfghjklotk
so yeah. that's that. this was so painful to write lemme tell ya'll
anyway i don't really have much to say but,,, if you enjoyed it, leave a review and follow me for more ridiculously painful marvel content! and like i said before, tell me what you want to see! well, thank you so much for giving my trash writing the time of day! until next time!
-allison