Hi Readers!
I know this took longer than usual, but I was very busy yesterday and uninspiring the day before. XD
Thanks for the comments! Please keep leaving them and I'll keep writing chapters!
Rebekah
SIDE NOTE:
I just finished watching Spider-Man: Far From Home and had this idea, so be warned that this potentially contains Endgame spoilers, Infinity War spoilers, Iron Man spoilers, and pretty much every other spoiler for any other movie before and including Far From Home!
If you don't care, I don't care! Just warning you!
Also, no rude comments. Please? If you don't like it, it's called the back button. It sends you back to the previous page. There's also the close button, that shuts down the entire window. Please feel free to use either or both of these.
DISCLAIMER: If I owned Marvel, or Spider-Man, or Iron Man, or any of the characters, you'd know. And I definitely wouldn't be posting fanfictions on a little website. I'd simply put it in the movie.
Tony paced the floor, his footsteps echoing on marble while his eyes stared down the antique clock as though it had personally offended him.
Five minutes passed, and then ten, and then time moved at a crawl, placing in his advanced brain every idea of every thing that might be the cause of the extended time.
Maybe Strange had shown up as Peter was being attacked. Maybe he couldn't bring himself to return to tell Tony that Peter was dead.
Maybe Strange himself was dead...
He shook his head and realized that he'd stopped pacing. He needed to keep his head if he was to be of any use. And so he did what any logical person would: he resumed pacing.
Maybe Peter, in his absolute refusal to return, had killed Strange. No, not kill. Peter didn't kill. Not intentionally, at least. Maybe he just knocked him out. Maybe Strange had-
There was a spark in his peripheral vision, just enough to catch his attention, and then it grew, expanding until it spit out the doctor, the boy following so quickly that Strange's arm went around him to support him.
"There, now," Tony heard Strange murmur, waiting until the child had his bearings before withdrawing his support, though he kept Peter's hand in his own. "You're safe here. Just as I promised."
Tony watched from a slight distance, Peter's wary silence enough to prevent him from stepping into view of the child just yet. And then Stephen made eye contact over Peter's head, confirming that he would take the lead in this position.
There was really no easy way to do this.
"Peter," Strange started gently, "You know how sometimes, people don't tell you things about themselves? Like how you didn't tell people about Spider-Man, even Ned or MJ?"
Peter nodded, looking slightly concerned as to where this was going.
"And you know," Strange went on, "how you still cared about them, even if you didn't tell them that about yourself?"
Peter nodded again leaning heavily on Strange in his exhaustion.
"I know you're tired, Peter," Strange said quietly, "but this is something I... we... want you to know. Someone didn't tell you something about themselves, and it's not because he didn't care about you, or didn't want you."
Peter looked at him oddly.
"Someone in this room," Strange added.
Tony took a step toward them, the sound on marble echoing across the room, and Peter turned toward him suddenly, freezing at the sight of him.
"Pete?" Tony said quietly. "I know that-are you okay?"
In a matter of moments, Peter's face had turned four different shades of grey and Strange was fully supporting his weight.
"You're not here," Peter whispered. "I've seen you before. In my room at night, in the school hallways, in the sky. It's just..." he scrubbed his face. "It's just in my brain. Stephen, make it go away."
"I can't," Stephen told him. "I tried that. Remember?"
It was an ill-timed joke, he knew, but he knew he'd accomplished his intention when Tony scowled at him and Peter released him, crossing the distance between them in moments.
Tony's hands were like iron as they gripped Peter's shoulders, holding him at arm's length as he met the boy's eyes.
"I thought you were better off without me," he choked out as way of explanation. It was no excuse. "Come back with me, Pete. Would you come home with me?"
But Peter only stared at him, tears running freely down his face until Tony released his shoulders, allowing him to bury his face in his shoulder. His arms fell into place around Peter's waist and shoulders, the palm of one hand going flat against his shoulder blade and the other threading through the child's hair, pushing his face further into Tony's neck.
"All I wanted was for you to be alive," Peter whispered into his shoulder. "That was all I wanted, Mr. Stark."
"Tony," Tony corrected gently. "You called me that on the battlefield, you can call me that now."
He glanced over the child's shoulder to cast a grateful look at Strange and saw the fond expression in the doctor's eyes.
"I gotcha, Kid," Tony told him, losing his own composure now that he had his child back in his arms. "I gotcha. I'm not going to let you go. You're safe now."
And Peter's arms tightened around Tony, because he wasn't about to let go, either.
If you were good enough, maybe Tony would still be alive.
Peter whimpered slightly and buried his face into Tony's shoulder all over again.
Tony was still alive... but it remained that Peter had screw up. Maybe there was no permanent damage this time, but what about next time? And the next?
I'm going to mess up over and over again, Peter reminded himself. I'm going to screw up repeatedly, and chances are, someone else is going to pay.