Archive of Our Own

Saving the universe doesn’t allow for more time, something which is rather unfair in Tony’s opinion. The flow carries on, achingly slow and horribly fast all at once, pulling them all along for the journey whether they like it or not.

Tony used to resent time, despised it for all that it took away as the years passed after the snap, loathed it for the way it smoothed the edges of the pain just enough for him to carry on but didn’t do enough to vanquish the endless sorrow that remained a constant presence in every corner of his life.

Now, he tolerates it, feels grateful for all that it offers him with the dawn of each new day, gives in a little to the melancholy that chases each cherished moment into the past, nudging them into one new day after another without giving them a choice.

He remembers that quote his mom always liked, the one about having memories so that there can be roses in December, and fancies himself as having a whole garden full for all the joyful experiences he has to look back on, for all the moments that are still yet to happen that will only add to the growing bloom of his life since the rebirth of the world.

It’s fleeting though, and there will come a time where more is taken than given, but all that does is instil a desire in Tony to soak up as much of the happiness around him as he can.

It could be worse, he muses regularly as he watches his kids grow, as he watches his friends stroll down the same path together, for once all heading in the same direction.

At least they’re passing time together.

Renewing their vows becomes a yearly event for Tony and Pepper. Each year warrants a new suit, a new dress and a whole bunch of ridiculous shenanigans for how to make the event better than the one before. The third renewal leads to a rather interesting spin on the proceedings that has Tony nearly collapsing to the floor in shock.

''You said they could do what? Are you out of your mind?''

Pepper gives him an innocent smirk over the rim of her coffee cup. ''I’m pretty sure that’s my line.''

Tony rubs a hand over his goatee, worried that his brain is going to short circuit any minute now.

''You’re mad at me. That’s what this is, isn’t it?'' He peers closely at her face. ''Rhodey. It’s Rhodes, he’s trying to get back at me for hacking his legs last week. Is that it?''

''Oh, he’s definitely still mad,'' Pepper says, ''but it's not because of that.''

''Yeah, but – '' he flaps at her, ''dress shopping?''

''May and Morgan are coming too, if that helps.''

''Yeah, no, it really doesn’t.''

Pepper smiles. ''Tough.''

His spluttering does nothing, nor does his pleading or his ridiculous threats of going to live in the woods like a hermit; if anything, Pepper looks rather intrigued by the notion and he slopes away, grumbling about what an evil wife she really is.

He resorts to desperate measures, devising the most ingenious of ways to obtain the information that he needs…

Yeah, okay, he plants a bug on Morgan.

No visual, just audio, because hey, he still wants to be surprised.

But he’s curious. Very curious.

He sits in the garage in the body of a half-assembled T-Bird, coffee in hand, and listens intently.

'' I like this one…''

Happy.

''Mm, I don’t know, man. That’s an awful lot of train going on there.''

Rhodey.

''What’s wrong with a lot of train?'' Happy sounds offended.

''Someone’s gotta carry the damn thing.''

Oh, god, not Clint.

''Isn’t that what Morgan’s meant to do?''

May any excuse to take part in his torment Parker.

''No no, she’s the flower girl.''

Tony nearly spills the coffee at Quill’s impatient huff.

''Step aside, heathens.''

Thor’s voice is authoritative and there’s a grunt, like someone’s been gently elbowed in the side, followed by a silence that can only be described as thoughtful, appraising, considering.

Then -

''Can we see something with sleeves?''

What follows is so unbelievable that Tony has to go for a lie down, convinced he’s seriously ill, because otherwise this just wouldn’t be happening.

Though he must admit, as Pepper glides up the aisle towards him a few months later, as glorious as a dream, they made a hell of a perfect choice.  

It’s a sunny day and Tony is stretched out on the dock, the music playing from his phone just loud enough to cover the birdsong and the lapping of the water beneath him.

Nebula is with him, delicate fingers fiddling with a piece of space tech he plans on stealing later, more out of the desire to tease her than to really do anything with it.

It’s just the two of them, a rather rare thing indeed considering that everybody just seems to always want to be together, all the time, regardless of what's happening. Tony can't count the amount of times he's found himself with more than one casual observer in his garage, watching quietly as he tinkers, or had to hunt for extra plates when someone else arrives for dinner.  

He complains excessively each and every time but really, he doesn't mind. 

Annoyingly, they all know it.

A familiar guitar riff trills through the air then, sparking to life memories of an endless cascade of swirling stars and a fragile hope maintained by the presence of a blue meanie who turned out to be not so mean in the end.

''Dear mister fantasyyy play us a tuuuune,'' Tony croons, side eyeing Nebula with a smirk as he waits for the inevitable glare.

''Something to make us all happy…''

The achingly gentle lilt of her voice makes them both freeze in surprise, not just for the sound but because of the action itself. It happens so naturally, so freely, that Tony can’t form a coherent thought for almost a minute before he chuckles a little breathlessly, eyes sparkling in delight as a darker shade of blue crosses Nebula’s shining cheeks.

''Well, damn, Bluebell,'' he says, moving an arm to nudge her. ''Any other hidden talents you wanna share with me?''

Nebula’s looking at him, still blushing, but there’s an intensity in her gaze so dauntingly similar to the way she looked at him aboard the ship, when the simple act of playing a game purely for fun had baffled her in ways that had made Tony’s already broken heart ache. The song carries on playing, somewhat meaningless in its words but at the same time so profound in what it means to them; to the earth man who had been trapped in space and to the cyborg alien who discovered a deeper sense of her own humanity upon saving him.

He wonders if he’ll ever stop having these moments; moments where he forgets that Nebula is perhaps one of the fiercest assassins in the galaxy and sees her as something else, sees the very real core of her that only needed a little bit of tenderness in order to grow.

He thinks of watching Morgan holding her hand as they walked the clifftops of New Asgard, of that very first smile she gave him on the ship, of the look on her face after he fitted the new headpiece crafted from his own suit onto her, of the way her presence in his life just makes sense in ways he never expected.

He’s saved many people in his time (a whole universe’s worth really) but Nebula is one of the very few people who has saved him, and it’s a rather weighty thought that has him grinning soppily at her, unashamed and emboldened by the familiar tingle of love he feels in his veins.

''Shut up,'' she says in response to his grin, only making it grow bigger as he spots the smile on her own lips.

''What the hell are you all laughing at?''

The group on the couch look up, a mixture of tearful mirth and shit-eating grins, and his suspicions increase tenfold when he sees the photo album spread out across Rhodey’s lap.

''What have you done, platypus?'' he asks in a horrified whisper as he spots a grainy image on the open page, one that features a mildly pubescent Tony hanging off the shoulder of a slightly more mature Rhodey.

''Just showing your adoring fans a bit of history, that’s all.''

The attempt to snatch the album is thwarted embarrassingly quickly, and it’s with a hell of a lot of grumbling and muffled threats that Tony sits, pinned down easily by Thor, and listens as Rhodey, his absolute asshole of a best friend, regales his listeners with tale after tale of their younger selves.

He suppose it’s not too bad as he watches the pages of the album flip over, takes in the candid shot of him buried deep in the body of an engine with a spanner pointed threateningly at Dum-E; the blurred snap of Rhodey dragging him out of a party, face contorted with scolding while Tony grins affectionately up at him; the picture showing the aftermath of an explosion in the lab that tore the paint from the walls and stole Tony’s eyebrows, and the polaroid of Tony at one of Rhodey’s many award ceremonies, holding up a horrendously colourful banner that said ‘I love you, honey bear!’ in glittery letters, all in the name of revenge for when Rhodey had hidden all of his underwear the week before, which had been revenge for something Tony had done the week before that.

Something to do with a blow-up doll and a flagpole if he remembers correctly.

The next page reveals a photograph cut out from the college newsletter, ragged edges and soft with age. It shows Tony and Rhodey sat on the green outside the main campus. Rhodey is sitting up with his arms resting on his knees, looking back at Tony who is sprawled out like a starfish, a blade of grass between his teeth. The glare of the sun that day paints them in a funny yellow glow but does nothing to diminish the easy smiles on their faces.

Tony never did find out who took the picture, which is a shame because he finds himself wishing he could thank them somehow, just for giving him a reminder of those early days of endless possibility and boundary breaking and madcap antics that only seemed to get worse as they got older, turning into dangerous missions and narrow escapes and a defiant need to be there until the very end, whatever that meant for either of them.

He wants to thank them for the reminder of their beginning, of those priceless days of just being Tones and Rhodey before the world truly laid claim to them in some way or another.

And Tony knows as he catches his best friend’s spirited grin above the heads of the others, that’s he’s just as grateful too.

Peter’s first semester drags for them all.

The kid is horribly homesick during the early weeks, calling both May and Tony twice a day, sometimes three times if he’s feeling particularly low, and it takes all of Tony’s willpower to not hop in a car (Happy refuses to tell him where he’s parked the Quinjet) and drive a ridiculous amount of miles just to give the boy a hug.

It eases up though as Peter settles in, begins to enjoy his lectures, makes a few friends. They still talk every day, favouring video calls so they can physically see one another, so Tony can eye him critically when the kid claims that he is definitely getting enough sleep, but it’s only a band aid over the great big gaping hole that is Peter’s missing presence.

Finally the day when Peter comes home for the holidays arrives and Tony’s a restless pain in the ass all day, peering out of the windows impatiently because Pepper actually forbade him from going with Happy in the elusive Quinjet to collect the kid and he watches the snow coming down, paces around, twitches the curtains again and again. Five minutes after May and Pepper arrive back from the city, there’s the sound of another car pulling up and Tony has barely stood up from the couch before the front door flies open and a snow-covered blur rushes through it and crashes straight into his waiting arms. The air is immediately stolen from his lungs and he wouldn’t be surprised if one of his ribs had cracked but none of that stops him from holding the kid tight and burying his nose into Peter’s winter-kissed curls.

''Missed you,'' a soft voice murmurs into his neck, a cold nose pressing into his skin.

''Missed you too, Underoos.''

And god if it doesn’t feel like it’s been forever since he’s held the kid, felt the strong squeeze of arms that could easily break him but never would, and he suspects they’ll go through this whole routine many times yet but he doesn’t mind, merely grips Peter all the more tighter and savours every inch of it, knowing deep down that such delicate moments of a lingering childhood are leading to a nearby horizon of manhood.

Years later, when a Peter in his late twenties crashes through the door with the same boundless energy that he seems to be unable to relinquish and excitedly barrels into Tony for a one-armed embrace, the other arm kept free to lift the hand holding a ring box up high for him to inspect, Tony wonders why he ever thought things would change.

''Oh, having a pyjama party, are we?''

Nat turns her head to look at him and snorts, eyes twinkling.

Tony drops onto the arm of the chair and wriggles until she makes room, allowing him to squeeze onto the cushions. He hooks an arm around her and she leans in instantly, warm and solid against his side. He plucks at the leg of the purple onesie she’s wearing and quirks an eyebrow.

''Not exactly your colour, Tasha.''

''Barton has the black one.''

Tony blinks and jolts as he spots the sleeping archer on the nearby couch. Sure enough, he’s wearing a black onesie and snoring lightly, one arm carelessly thrown up by his head while the other dangles over the edge of the couch, just above the face of Thor who is sprawled across the floor. The ending scene of You’ve Got Mail plays quietly on the television and a half empty mug of cold cocoa on the table hints at the long departed presence of Steve.

''So, what, you have a onesie system now? Is that how retirement works these days?''

''He’s the retired one.''

''Mm, you’re a little bit retired.''

She glares at him without any real heat and he smirks arrogantly as he notices the apples of her cheeks lift in a badly concealed smile.

''You’re so teeny,'' he teases, giving her a little jostle before resting his chin on the crown of her head.

''You’re one to talk,'' she bats him off with a roll of her eyes. ''All those years of being an insomniac stunted your growth.''

Tony harrumphs before elbowing her. ''Why are you flying solo in this little pj social anyway?''

''Had a dream. Couldn’t sleep.''

''Oh yeah?'' he replies, voice soft and inviting.

''Mm. We were eating cheeseburgers.''

''Always a good thing.''

She tilts her head. ''We were dead.''

Tony rolls his eyes. ''Wouldn’t be the first time.''

She doesn’t stiffen like he knows she would have done before, nor does he balk at the hollowness of his own jokes at the expense of their traumas. Instead, she rolls her eyes and digs a playful elbow into his ribs. He can still sense the lingering tension though, just a hint of a haunting that still follows them all.

''Well, Miss Romanoff, as dying dreams go,'' he leans over to place a quick kiss on her hair, ''that’s the best one I’ve heard yet.'' He settles further back into the chair with a sigh. ''Plus I can’t think of anyone better to share a cheeseburger in the clouds with.''

Nat chuckles. ''Don’t let Nebula and Rhodey here you say that.''

''Oh, please. Those two gang up on me every chance they get. My cheeseburger sharing preferences are completely valid.''

They huddle closer against each other, though Nat doesn’t let it happen easily.

 ''Ugh,'' she grimaces, uncurling her legs to stretch them out until her toes point. ''When did you get so cuddly?''

''I don’t know,'' Tony groans, closing his eyes. ''Blame the kid.''

''Which one?'' He can hear the smile in Nat’s voice.

''All of them.''

She laughs again, a merry little sound and they shift closer again, warm and content. Tony murmurs happily as a delicate hand comes up to scratch his head gently.

''Your fault too, you know,'' he grouses, leaning into the contact.

She’s softer now than she ever used to be. Oh, Tony knows that she’s still as dangerous and as fearsome as the legends still say, but there’s no denying that the infamous Black Widow is now equal amounts goo and danger.

''How’s that?''

He hums drowsily. ''Well, after Dum-E, Rhodey, and Pepper…'' he yawns widely, ''and Happy…there was you.''

It hadn’t been instant, they both know that, but somewhere after the fiasco of being slowly poisoned to death and all the madness that followed the morning Nick Fury found him sitting in a donut, a timid and wary burst of friendship had made itself known, and somewhere along the line, it had grown.

And grown and grown.

''So yeah,'' he says, too tired to try and dig for the long-gone bravado, ''you. First friend in the brave new world that started after you snuck into my house undercover and kicked the crap out of Happy.''

They both grin at the memory.

''Aren’t you forgetting Fury?''

''Nope. He’s more like a bothersome ex-girlfriend who won’t stop calling,'' he grumbles fondly, slouching down so their heads are leaning together.

They sit quietly together, chests rising and falling in unison in the calmness, in the security of one another.

''Not gonna lie, still would have loved to have seen you and Pepper fight it out that time at my birthday.''

The chair tilts precariously as she lunges at him, half serious and half laughing in her indignation, and the resulting shock of pain down his back and Thor’s startled shriek as they crash to the floor is totally worth it.

It doesn’t immediately occur to Tony to ask Steve just what he did with the stones.

He knew that they’d been taken back to their correct places within time, allowing for things to go back to the way they were. He figures it must have been the collective will of him and Bruce wishing for the return of all they had lost that allows for Nat and Gamora to still be with them, along with the fact that they’d been used as sacrifices for the Soul Stone itself; the regret of not being able to bring back Vision is something that lingers regularly in the back of Tony’s mind and he still catches the glimpse of sorrow on Thor’s face when he’s thinking of his brother, or at least of the version of his brother that died before another disappeared into the cosmos, all mischievous and deadly and no doubt heading for all manner of things wicked and mad.

Tony wonders if that version is gone now too, eradicated with the other anomalies that would have also ceased to exist when Steve took that final jump.

He regularly thinks about their adventure to retrieve more particles; he’d never said it then but he knew that Peggy Carter would have been somewhere on that base, though meeting a younger version of his own father had all but kicked that thought straight out of his head at the time, making room for the overwhelming need to share a conversation with the man that had done so little and so much for Tony when he had been alive.

It’s three years after the war when he finally gets the courage to talk to his friend about it.

He isn’t expecting Steve to smile up at him, all blue-eyed American boy wonder, but it’s a reassuring sight nonetheless.

''I did see her.''

Tony sinks into the chair beside him.

''Did you talk to her?''

''Not that time.''

''That time?''

He listens in enraptured silence as Steve tells him of his journey back through the timelines; how he encountered an old foe on Vormir and laid yet another ghost from his own past to rest; how he came upon a younger Peggy Carter and stole a dance or two before kissing her goodbye and vowing to see her the next morning, knowing that it wouldn’t be him that she would look upon the following day.

They sit in silence for a long while after he finishes, Tony staring at him and Steve looking back at him, serene and calm and so at peace that Tony can’t quite understand it at first. When he wore the gauntlet, he’d made a choice that should have surely killed him, ripped him away from all that he loved, and he’d do it again and again if he had to, but this seems different somehow. Would he have been able to make the choice to walk away when he didn’t have to?

He tries to picture leaving Pepper behind, knowingly kissing her goodbye for the last time, and the thought is too much to bear before he can even try to imagine himself walking away.

Steve’s eyes are on him, watching him closely, like he can tell exactly what Tony is thinking.

''I told you before that the guy who wanted that simple life, family, stability when into the ice all those years ago.''

Tony nods, once again struck by just how old Steve really is.

''I thought then that somebody else came out,'' Steve continues, locking eyes with Tony. ''I was wrong.''

He takes a deep breath and there’s a hint of a shimmer in his eyes as he looks out onto the lake.

''We can’t go back, even if we want to, and I realised when I kissed Peggy goodbye,'' a rueful smile crosses his features, ''that I didn’t want to.''

The raucous sound of Bucky’s laughter and Sam’s fond japing echoes softly from the guest house and Steve’s head turns instantly towards the sound.

''I remembered what you said,'' he says, face so open and soft as he listens to the noise, ''about keeping what you found at all costs.''

Tony grips the side of his chair as he realises what Steve is saying. The warmth that has been a constant presence inside of him over the last few years is dancing all the way through to his fingertips, and he feels a ridiculous urge to laugh because it’s just typical, so typical, of Steve Rogers to be able to move him so profoundly without even realising.

And it’s not like he doesn’t already know all of this; the fact that Steve is sat across from him is evidence enough, but somehow he just needs to hear it aloud, needs to know that after all this time, Steve Rogers, the man out of time, is exactly where he wants to be.

''I found my family. I found my home,'' Steve says, turning back to look at Tony, smiling that smile again. ''And I’m keeping it.''

Yup, there it is.

Tony likes to pretend that he had the intention of simply nodding at the other man, stoic and understanding without the need for tears or anything more, because there was a time where he would have rather chewed his own arm off than let Steve lay a single finger on him, in friendship or brutality.

Those days are so long gone it’s a wonder that they ever even existed at all.

Besides, only him and Steve need to know that it is in fact Tony who breaks first, standing up so suddenly that Steve actually jumps before meeting him in the middle to share a hug, and it isn’t one full of unnecessary hard back slapping and gruff voices of thanks; it’s a full body chest to chest lock on that has them tilting a little to the left before Steve rights them again with a hand to Tony’s side, steadying and solid.

''Welcome home, Cap.''

A little late, but hey, they’ve been busy.

''Oh my god.''

''What?''

''I have a grey hair.''

Tony looks up from his book with raised eyebrows. Pepper is standing by the sink, a hunk of hair hanging in front of her eyes and a small lock held out separately from the rest by her fingers. She stares intensely at the strands, her mouth slightly open in mortification.

Tony tries not to laugh. ''You? Surely not.''

''I’m serious, Tony!'' she scowls, storming over to him to shake the offending hair in his face.

He makes a point of peering at it and sure enough, there’s a streak of silver pinched between her fingers.

''Can’t see anything.''

''You’re a terrible liar,'' she scolds, dropping the hair so she can glare at him properly.

Maybe he is, but he just doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he’d noticed a few silvery strands amidst the strawberry blonde a few months ago.

''You haven’t aged a day,'' he says, throwing his book to the side and reaching out to pull her against him. ''Here,'' he adds when she continues to sulk, ''I’ll prove it.''

He stands to retrieve one of the picture frames from the shelves and holds it out to her as he drops back onto the couch.

'’Oh please,'' Pepper rolls her eyes after she glances at it. ''We’re both a far cry from that.''

He looks at the picture and smiles fondly at the sight of their younger selves; him with his dark, scruffy hair and a goatee unmarked with grey and Pepper with her radiant smile and fiery hair.  

''You don’t look any different.''

''Tony – ''

''I’m serious! You’re beautiful here,'' he waves the frame, ''and you’re beautiful now,'' he leans over to kiss her on the nose and smirks. ''So no difference.''

He knows that she thinks he’s sweet talking her, and maybe he is a little because yeah, she has a few wrinkles by the edges of her lips and a few lines by her eyes that crease when she laughs and a couple of grey hairs that sometimes sparkle in the right light, but even though he sees all of that, he also doesn’t at the same time. Because when he looks at her, it’s just her, just Pepper; his Pepper.

''Y’know,'' he ponders, looking back at the picture. It’s one of the very first, taken some time during a press conference shortly before Tony’s thirtieth birthday. It’s a candid shot of the two of them standing close together, Tony grinning and Pepper smirking even though she’s clearly chewing him out. ''I think I loved you even then.''

Pepper rolls her eyes. ''You did not.''

''Pretty sure I did.''

''You flirted with everything that breathed near you.''

''Nowhere near as much as I flirted with you.''

''You still flirt with everyone now.''

''And still nowhere near as much as I flirt with you.''

They’re grinning at each other now, faces only inches apart, and it’s the same old song and dance that they’ve been performing for the best part of a lifetime but that doesn’t stop the excited thrill that races through Tony, doesn’t quell the flapping of the butterflies in his stomach or the rush of love that turns him giddy.

He sets down the frame against a cushion and stands up. 

''C’mere, Miss Potts,'' he orders gently, holding out a hand. She automatically reaches out to curls her fingers around his, stepping close to him as he wraps an arm around her waist and starts to sway.

''There’s no music,'' she whispers after giving him a kiss. 

''Since when have we ever needed that?''

He hums a tune under his breath anyway, pressing his cheek against hers as they twirl back and forth across the living room, and lets himself fall hopelessly in love with her all over again.

One of Peter’s last moments as a teenager involves the wonderful experience of having his wisdom teeth removed.

Helen Cho, always happy to help and apparently so skilled that she can study and perform dentistry in her spare time, carries out the procedure herself and emerges from the makeshift medical room with a satisfied smile.

''Everything went fine. He’ll probably be feeling uncomfortable for a day or two so make sure he keeps to the schedule of painkillers that Bruce devised.''

''Can I see him?''

''Sure. He’s a bit…out of it, still.''

''You mean he’s loopy?''

She snorts. ''Essentially, yes.''

Tony heads in and is immediately met with a pair of wide, bright eyes staring at him from across the room. Peter’s cheeks are puffy, a hint of gauze poking out from between his lips, and there’s a pink flush to his skin. The kid waves at him and Tony chuckles before waving back, moving to stand by the beside.

''How you feeling, kid?''

''Fa'.''

''Fat?''

Peter lifts a hand to squeeze his swollen cheeks and immediately cries out at the contact. Tony grabs the hand and curls his fingers over Peter’s, thumb brushing soothingly over his skin.

''How about we don’t do that, huh?''

''Teef?''

''Yeah, you had some teeth taken out.''

Peter frowns. ''Gone?''

Tony’s trying desperately not to laugh, jaw aching from the strain, because even though the circumstances are usually way less than preferable for it to happen, Peter under the influence is so goddamn adorable. They’ve done this dance enough times for Tony to know what the kid gets like when he’s on pain meds, and from the tears that are now beginning to glisten on Peter’s eyelashes, Tony can tell he’s about thirty seconds away from having a sobbing Spider-baby on his hands.

Time for evasive manoeuvres.

''Hey, what’s your favourite food, Underoos?''

Peter blinks, tears easing off, and smacks his lips together a few times. ''Ch’rooos.''

''Huh. Thought it was pizza?''

''P’za.''

Tony just nods, reaching up to push Peter’s hair away from his forehead, smiling as the kid practically purrs at his touch.

''Favourite place?''

''Umm, ‘eiling.''

Tony laughs. ‘’Yeah, I know you like it up there, you little arachnid.’’

Peter smacks his lips again, mashing the gauze in his mouth into a more comfortable position, unblurring his words a little. He moves his fingers to snag Tony’s sleeve, rubbing the fabric of the worn sweatshirt gently, looking so endearingly young that Tony just can’t quite accept the fact that he’s no longer that fifteen-year-old boy he met all those years ago.

Suddenly desperate to push away the creeping wetness in his own eyes, he carries on.

''Favourite sound?''

''Mmmmm Iron Man.''

The answer throws him. ''Say again, kiddo?''

Peter flails a hand grumpily at him. ''Iron Man.''

''Your favourite sound is Iron Man?''

Peter moans pitifully, sounding alarmingly close to tears again. ''Nooo,'' he turns glassy eyes onto Tony’s face, ''sound of Iron Man.''

He’s apparently lucid enough to understand the look of fond confusion on Tony’s face because he manages to elaborate by making a series of odd noises in the back of his throat that could only be described as 'clanking'.

''Ol' suits,'' Peter slurs, waving a hand again. ''B’fore…’’ he imitates the sound of rushing water, causing drool to trickle out of the left side of his open mouth. ''b’fore wet suit, nano suit. Metal goes clang whirr clang…whirr…cla…''

Tony quickly catches the kid’s head as it drops forward, palm braced on his forehead and pushing gently to ease Peter back into the cushions.

''Whirr…'' Peter mumbles with a sigh, leaning into Tony’s hand as it moves to trail through his messy curls again.

It hits Tony then.

Clang whirr clang whirr clang whirr.

The suit. He’s talking about the sound of the Iron Man suits, the firstborn creations that had been the living definition of heavy machinery, all reverberating armour and warbling electrics. He remembers the booming footfalls, the singing of joints as he moved, the high, satisfying hum of the repulsors that remained a favourite feature to this day.

Of all the sounds in the world, of all the possible things that could appeal to the kid the most, and it’s the archaic trilling of Tony’s history that makes the top of the list.

He’s fighting something ferociously warm somewhere in his sternum when he realises that the kid is looking at him again, sleepy-eyed and an oozing semblance of a smile.

''You’re a bit cute, kid,'' Tony says as he grabs a tissue to mop up the pale trail of blood from Peter’s puffy lips. ''Anyone ever tell you that?''

Peter suddenly bolts upright and Tony lets out a little gasp of shock. ''Ohmygod Tony S’ark ‘finks I’m coote.''

He looks so bewildered and delighted that Tony can only laugh, leaning forward to plant a kiss on the kid’s forehead, making him swoon even more.

''Yeah, bud. Tony Stark thinks you’re cute.''

Tony doesn’t need convincing when Peter, visiting during spring break, asks if he’s allowed to have company one evening. May and Happy are due back from their trip to Europe in four days so the kid is staying at the cabin until then, and Tony can hardly deny him such a simple request, though he does delight in letting Peter ramble on to try and justify just why Tony should let him invite his friend over.

''- and I probably won’t see Ned for a while, ‘cause he keeps talking about going to visit some tiny sea village in England called Hastings or something during the summer break when he and his parents go to Endland, ‘cause apparently it holds the world record for most people dressed up as, uh, pirates in one place so Ned’s trying to convince his parents to take him and he wants to discuss ideas for a costume even though they haven’t said yes yet which is totally – ‘’

''Pete!'' Tony claps a hand on his shoulder and gives him a little shake. ''You don’t need to explain. You wanna see your buddy, I get it.''

''Well, it’s not just Ned – ''

''Okay, buddies then. Singular or plural, it’s fine, kid.''

Clint cackles later on that evening when Tony mentions it.

''You,'' he points at Tony gleefully, ''are such a sucker!''

So, apparently Tony isn’t enough of a dad to know that by asking to have his friends over, Peter has essentially gained Tony’s permission to have some sort of wild party. Brief images of going to parties back in his college days where pools turned red from spilt jello shots, light fixtures fell from ceilings and Rhodey had to drag his drunk, underage ass home on a regular basis flit through his mind, and none of it reconciles with the kind of person he knows Peter to be. As far as Tony knows, Ned and MJ are the only ones he's thinking of inviting over. 

''That’s just what he wants you to think,'' Clint says with a teasing wink and darts away before Tony can get hold of him.

Resolute in his trust for the kid, Tony declares the house a no-go zone for any adult in the nearby area, books himself and Pepper into a hotel in the city for later that night and manages to secure a table at a quiet yet popular little bistro where they serve the best spaghetti vongole this side of Italy. Morgan is sleeping over at her little friend Riri’s house (''we’re gonna build a spaceship daddy!'') so Tony figures it’s only fair that mom and dad get a little time to themselves. He promises Peter that he’ll have the house to himself, earning a blink of surprise and a stammer of thanks and assurances that they’ll all be on their best behaviour.

Tony refrains from focusing on the ‘all’ part of the promise.

So he and Pepper pack their overnight bags and, because they can, sneak in a short little siesta, aiming to wake up with plenty of time to drive to the city and straight to dinner. Tony hooks an arm around Pepper, pressing his face into her hair and breathing deep, thoughts of Peter dangling drunk from the ceiling long forgotten as sleep claims him.

Somehow, a little siesta turns into a four-hour nap and it’s only after blinking blearily at the time on his phone that Tony realises what’s happened. His mad flailing off the bed and frantic jabbering is only halted when there’s the sound of cheering and loud laughter from downstairs.

His panic increases ten-fold and he glances around the room for a solution, zeroing in on it almost immediately and he’s halfway in the execution of his plan before Pepper’s long-suffering sigh makes him pause.

''Tony, you cannot seriously be thinking about doing this.''

''Why not? It’s not exactly high.''

''Because you aren’t a damn teenager!'' Pepper hisses. ''You’re a middle-aged man with recurring back problems!''

Tony gasps, a hand coming to his chest to show his hurt. ''Middle-aged?!''

''Oh for god sake,'' Pepper folds her arms and glares at him. ''Get away from the window.''

Tony keeps his eyes locked on her as he eases a leg out over the ledge, willing himself to stay brave as her stare turns all the more deadly. ''I can’t stay up here, Pep! If the kid finds out I’m here he’ll think I stayed on purpose because I don’t trust him.''

''You’re being ridiculous.''

''Am not,'' Tony retorts as he clutches hold of the window frame and hooks a leg around the drainpipe. ''I’ll come back for you.''

''Please don’t,'' Pepper replies, moving towards the bathroom after rolling her eyes at him.

''You complete me!'' he calls softly and disappears from her view before she can glare at him again. He grips the pipe with one hand, glances down at the ground which isn’t that far away but still far enough to hurt like hell if he falls, and swings himself over, grunting a little as he curves himself around the pipe.

He’s barely shimmied down an inch or two when an incessant tapping catches his attention. Clutching the pipe for dear life, he glances round wildly before closing his eyes with a startled moan as his phone vibrates in his pocket.

''What?'' he hisses as he answers it, pressing his face into the pipe as he hangs on, knees popping under the strain of his grip.

''The hell are you doing, man?''

''Rhodes?''

''Yeah. Does Pepper know you’re out there?''

Tony blinks. ''How do you know I’m out here?''

''Turn around.''

Like the character who gets offed first in a horror movie, Tony turns his head in an agonisingly slow movement, and nearly drops the phone with a yelp as he catches sight of the multiple pairs of eyes watching him from one of the upstairs windows of the guest house. There’s Quill and Thor and Steve and Sam and he’s pretty sure he sees a glimpse of Nat’s red hair somewhere behind Bruce’s hulking form in the back. Rhodey gives him a little wave from the centre of the group, Clint smirking brightly next to him.

''What are you all doing here?'' Tony rasps.

He watches as Thor leans over to speak into the phone. ''We wanted to see the party!''

''There is no party!'' Tony snaps, adjusting his position. ''This, right here? Is all your fault by the way.''

Heads turn to glance at one another. ''Whose fault?''

''All of you! Especially you two birdbrains,'' he narrows his eyes across the way at Clint and Sam. ''I told you it wasn’t a party!''

''Yeah, well, clearly the definition of ‘can I have friends over’ has changed since I was a kid,'' Clint quips. ''Such an amateur. Gets the house to himself, or so he thinks, and all he does is invite his two little besties over to watch movies. Look at ‘em. Not even one can of booze to be seen.''

''He’s underage, Barton.''

''Pfft. He’s in college now, you know that means jack shit.''

''…are we sure it’s not a party?'' Sam adds. ''The place could be invaded by excited and horny college students any moment now.''

''There will be no horny or excited college students.''

''Oh, I don’t know…'' Quill’s voice is sly. ''How long’s it been since Peter saw his little girlfriend?''

''I didn’t mean – '' Tony swears under his breath and wriggles another inch down the pipe, dropping his legs a little to ease the pressure on his knees. ''Just – ''

He lets out a squawk as his grip suddenly slips and he scrambles for purchase, clutching the phone between his ear and shoulder as he uses his other hand to hang on tight.

''Jesus, Tin Can,'' Sam says, ''do you need some help?''

''I need you,'' Tony groans, ''to all get the hell outta here before the kid sees any of you.''

''Tony – ''

''Ignoring you, Platypus. Gonna tell on you to Danvers.''

''Oh yeah? You gonna ignore the kid standing beneath you too?''

''Wha – oh.'' Tony grins sheepishly as he looks down at Peter who merely quirks an eyebrow in response. ''Hey, kid.''

''What are you doing?''

''Trying – '' Tony’s hands screech unpleasantly down the pipe, '' - to not break my neck.''

''Aren’t you a little old to be sneaking out of your bedroom?''

''Why does everyone keep fixating on my age lately, huh?'' Tony grumbles. ''Nobody gives Cap any grief and he’s ancient!''

''Yeah, but he looks way younger.''

Tony scowls at him. ''I don’t like you.''

Peter chuckles. ''Sure you do.''

''Nope. Worst Spider-baby ever.''

Peter snorts and then the next thing Tony knows, the kid is scaling the wall, moving up until their eyes are level.

''Hi.''

''Hey, kiddo.''

''Are you gonna tell me what you’re doing now?''

''I am…testing the durability of this drainpipe.''

Peter’s lips press together as he tries to hold in a grin. ''And how’s that going?''

''Surprisingly well.''

''Oh, good. You gonna come down now?''

''No, I don’t think I will.''

''And why’s that?''

Tony merely gives him a look.

Peter grins. ''You’re stuck, aren’t you.''

''Just shut up and get me down, kid.''

It’s a rather ungraceful procedure and the resulting laughter that comes from the guest house as Tony slips and sends them both toppling onto the damp grass is beyond insulting. Peter’s laughing beside him as he groans, back throbbing and pride quite beyond broken.

''I’m glad you find this so funny, Pete. You’ll be the one carrying me when I can’t get up in the morning.''

''That’s fine,'' Peter hums as he stands up. ''Gives me a chance to practice for when you’re a real old man.''

Tony mutters incoherently under his breath but allows the kid to help him up. He sends a vicious glare towards the guest house window and flips the bird at the grinning faces peering out at them, who quickly scatter when Peter looks over at them.

''Is there any reason why you’re all spying on me?''

''Wasn’t spying. I simply…mistimed things.''

''Uh huh.''

''I did!'' Tony protests, squinting sulkily at a spot over Peter’s shoulder. ''It’s those – '' he flaps a hand over at the guest house in lieu of using some rather scathing insults, '' – that came to snoop on your party.''

Peter blinks. ''There isn’t a party.''

Tony groans. ''I know.''

''Aren’t you and Pepper supposed to be in the city?''

''Yeah.'' Tony drags the word out awkwardly. 

''So why were you sneaking out – ''

''Kid.'' Tony interrupts, feeling thoroughly exhausted despite sleeping the day away. The kid isn’t mad at him and as far as he’s concerned, that’s all that matters. ''Why don’t we save this for the morning, huh?'' he jerks a head towards the window of the living room. ''Been a long while since you got to see those two, right? Don’t waste time talking to me.''

This is when Tony realises that he hasn’t thought past getting out of the house, hasn’t considered what exactly he was going to do to avoid Peter knowing he was there, short of just running off to hide in the trees. There’s no way he’s setting foot in the guest house with the smug window-lurkers; he side-eyes the drainpipe thoughtfully before Peter gently touches his arm.

''Come sit with us?''

''Pete – ''

''Please?'' Peter blushes a little at the instance in his voice. ''I don’t get to see you a lot either and…yeah. It’d be cool. MJ and Ned won’t mind.''

Goddamn this kid and his big puppy eyes and unfailing ability to kick down the very weak walls of Tony’s defences.

''Fine,'' he huffs, as though it’s a hardship. ''If you really need me to liven your night up, how can I say no?''

Seeing straight through him, Peter’s grin is megawatt bright and he eagerly leans into Tony’s side as he wraps an arm around his shoulders. They’re about to head up the steps of the porch when a car pulls recklessly fast into the drive, headlights glaring at them before the engine cuts out. A familiar face steps out and Peter has barely shouted in excitement before Tony finds his arms full of two excitedly jabbering brothers.

''I didn’t think you were gonna make it – ''

'' - I managed to finish my assignments early, like I was gonna miss – ''

'' – seeing you, man, this is so awesome – ''

''Whoa, whoa!'' Tony practically yells, unable to hide the stupid smile on his face as he watches them. ''Pipe down, kiddies,'' he says as he gives them both a jostle. ''Let’s take this inside, huh? Before you rupture my eardrums with your shrill little lovefest.''

Harley snorts. ''You going deaf already, old man?''

''Again with the old!'' Tony grumbles as he cuffs him on the back of the head before pushing the two of them up the steps into the house.

He isn’t surprised to find Pepper already downstairs, in the middle of placing an impressively large food order, or when the idiots from across the way burst in five minutes later, refusing to be left out. Ned and MJ’s faces are a picture for all of ten seconds before they follow Peter’s happy lead, relaxing into the pleasant atmosphere and soon forgetting that they are in the presence of some rather impressive living legends.   

Now, they’re just with Peter and (some of) his family, and it’s a pretty wonderful place to be.

''Daddy?''

''Hm?''

''…I don’t want to run Stark Industries when I grow up.''

Tony lowers the wrench he’s holding and turns to look at her. She’s perched on the hood of the car he’s working on, idly stroking Dum-E as she waits for his reaction.

''You don’t, huh?''

''Nu-uh,'' she affirms with a shake of her head, dark hair flying into her face. ''I wanna do something else.''

''Which is...?''

''Be a hero.''

Tony moves to stand next to her, lifting a hand to cup her cheek softly. Three years ago, she declared that she wanted to be a dinosaur and spent an entire week talking in nothing but roars and growls. Tony will never forget the look on Strange’s face when Morgan stomped up to him and bellowed herself hoarse in his ear. Six months ago, she decided that she was going to become a famous discoverer of bugs and would come inside every evening caked in mud, nearly in tears because she hadn’t found anything new.

So her declaration isn’t surprising, but not just for those reasons. Though adorably ruthless and intelligent like Pepper, the whirlwind spirit that she embodies is all Tony; but she’s also kind and brave, so smart and so determined to do some good in the world which, in Tony’s eyes, already makes her a hero. She’s sure saved him enough times, and that was just by merely existing.

Not even a decade old and she’s brought him more joy than he ever thought possible. Even on the days where he has to parent hard, where a firm talking to and many tears take place, he adores her. Even when she scowls, looking terrifying and beautiful just like her mother, he loves her so ardently, more and more each day.

Though she knows about his history as Iron Man, about what he did to help bring the universe back to how it should be, he knows that when she looks at him, she doesn’t see any of that. No dark history, no mistakes, no hardship – all she sees is him, her father, a hero in her life for simply being that and nothing else.

And no matter how old she gets, Morgan never stops thinking of Tony as her hero.

Just like he never stops thinking of her as his.

''Daddy?'' she nudges him impatiently.

''You,'' he tells her, thumb rubbing her soft skin as he studies her perfect little face, ''can be anything you wanna be, baby.''

She smiles widely at him, all innocent childhood and big dreams. ''Because I’m a Stark and a Stark can do anything?''

He shakes his head. ''Because you’re Morgan.''

He tilts forward to kiss her forehead, chuckling as she scrunches her nose up at him in frustration, not understanding what he means.

She will someday.

''So, Morguna, you wanna tell me what heroes eat for lunch these days?''

There’s no hesitation in her answer. ''Fudge sundaes!''

For now though, he’s just happy to help her chase her dreams.

The road trip they take for Steve’s birthday is an absolute disaster.

They don’t even know where the hell they’re really going, aimlessly following whatever road sign takes their fancy and Tony think it’s a goddamn miracle that someone hasn’t crashed yet given all the screaming over the comms, which are essential due to the fact that they’re driving in a three convoy across a highway somewhere in Nevada.

The argument about how old Steve actually is rises to near aggressive levels of ridiculous. It’s been a hell of a long time since he was defrosted and Tony, who is now carrying off the whole salt and pepper look rather well if he does say so himself, has spent more time that he’s willing to admit studying the man, eagerly awaiting a sign to show that a super-solider can age.

Not even a goddamn wrinkle.

The bickering only increases when Tony points this out, leading to all manner of hare-brained theories that just get worse and worse as they drive.

The birthday boy himself, wedged into the custom-built, gigantic beast of an SUV between Tony and Thor with Bruce crammed into the ridiculously large bench seat behind them is all smiles, for once seemingly at peace with the utter chaos surrounding him. It’s been this way ever since they stuffed themselves into their assigned vehicles after disembarking the Quinjet in California; even in the blistering heat of the sunshine state Steve’s happiness doesn’t falter, despite the rather murderous threats coming from Rocket in the car behind as Rhodey refuses to go faster and take out ‘that freakin’ moron’ up ahead.

Said moron happens to be Quill and it’s a collective group effort to keep any weapons from being fired.

It’s long past midnight and they’re not even halfway down the Extraterrestrial Highway when Peter’s voice crackles over the comms.

''What if we find Spock?''

''Spock isn’t real, kid,'' Tony remarks.

It was a conscious decision to not let Peter in his car – as much as he loves the kid, sitting in a cramped vehicle with an overexcited, overgrown spider is not something he can cope with, especially with Thor all but poised to fly out of the window in excitement at any moment.

Also, any excuse to torture Rhodey.  

''Pointy ears? Weird eyebrows? I know that guy.''

Tony nearly chokes before Rocket cackles at Peter’s excited yelp, the sound of a high-five loud over the frequency as Sam joins in, immediately crushing the kid’s dreams.

''Does anyone else find this a bit weird?'' Scott’s question comes across loudly to cover Quill’s humming. ''I mean, we’ve got at least three aliens with us right now.''

''The whole world knows there’s aliens, why would there be any hidden in some old bunker?'' Rhodey agrees.

''And yet here we are, still driving towards it,'' Wanda says dryly and Nat snorts before turning Quill’s music up.

''Wait – Mister Rhodey, you’re in the air force, right?'' Peter asks. ''How come you don’t know?''

''He’s a patriot, Pete.'' Tony quips, grinning as Rhodey’s frustration seeps through the airwaves. ''You won’t get a secret out of him without at least a few tankards of rum and a couple of girls in hula skirts.''

''That was ONE time – ''

The squabbling carries on for a good while, sassy and snarky and fond, and then a scrabbling sound from above has Tony looking up with a frown.

Maybe it’s a sign of their ages (some more than others) or an indication of how easier life is compared to before, how unguarded they’ve become in the face of a more peaceful life, or perhaps it’s simply because they are just, for all intents and purposes, a bunch of friends on vacation that the only reaction that comes from the unexpected appearance of a metal arm through the sunroof is terrified screaming.

The car tips back horribly as Bruce jumps and there’s electricity in the air as Thor panics and Rhodey’s yelling over the comms along with a petrified Scott, demanding to know what the hell is going on. Tony hurls the arm into the front of the car where it narrowly misses Clint as he frantically turns the wheel, whirling the car around with a furious screech.

Peter’s shouting something about close encounters, there’s dust rushing past the headlights as the other cars follow Clint’s example and Tony is pressed protectively against the seat by Steve as Clint swears like a sailor, making the engine squeal as he guns it, narrowly missing a collision with Quill when he shoots ahead. The clamour goes on and on, increasing tenfold when a tap on the windscreen has Clint slamming the breaks on so fiercely that the seats buckle under Bruce’s strength as he throws his arms out to stop himself from going through the window.

Tony, barely breathing and half buried beneath Steve, looks up and swears poisonously, fighting to calm his frantic heart as the smug faces of Rocket and Bucky peer in at them from the darkness, hooting wildly in their triumph.

The arm is lost to the desert, launched impressively far by Thor’s mean swing as they careen back towards civilisation.

Tony refuses to build Bucky another one for a month.

Tony isn’t sure where the idea of a Christmas picture comes from. Everybody blames somebody else or tries to claim the glory, making it impossible to ever determine exactly who decided to start them on a path of utter madness. They’ve spent plenty of Christmases together by this point; chaotic affairs always involving too much food, loud laughter, incessant bickering throughout all the games and inevitably passing out embarrassingly early watching some cheesy holiday movie. Yet, the idea for a group picture has never come up until now.

As soon as everybody is gathered, it’s easy to see why.

It’s a nearly impossible endeavour. There’s disagreements about who should stand where (''Why am I here I’m way taller than Cap!'') and typical sassy teasing (‘You know that shade of pink really brings out your eyes, Bruce') and way too much garish clashes of colour as everybody dons a hideous Christmas jumper, hand chosen by Morgan herself.

They take photo after photo, arguing over each result, grousing at whoever blinked and scolding someone (Quill) for holding their fingers up behind somebody’s head (Rocket) and soon the smiles become too stretched and fed up to pass for anything near festive.

As everybody slopes off for refreshments, Tony finds himself witness to a picture-perfect moment as he watches the figures huddled on the couch together. Before it can pass, he quickly orders FRIDAY to take the snap and immediately pulls it up on his phone, heart turning into warm goo as he studies it.

Harley, all broad shoulders and facial hair, sits on one end of the couch, pointing teasingly at Morgan who is showing off her considerably toothless grin with fervour, her eyes creased in laughter. Peter is in the middle, tilted back in laughter as Dum-E looms over him from behind, wielding a piece of sparkly tinsel that blurs across the shot in a silvery streak. On the end is Nebula, sat still but openly smiling as she observes them all with a fond glint to her dark eyes.

With a bit of subtle shuffling and well-timed distractions, Tony manages to corral the rest of the household into a decent position and signals for FRIDAY to make her move.

The result is a mess of people midway through talking, eating, laughing. Thor has a hand shoved in Clint’s face, Steve’s eyes are half open as Bruce waves a spoon of something in his face, the Barton kids are playing tug of war with a roll of cookie dough, Happy is frowning at a chuckling Carol and Fury looks way too intense for a Christmas party, even in a purple jumper decorated with a smiling snowman.

But somehow there’s warmth and love in every face, a familial glow in every shoulder lean and casual embrace and bright smile and fond scowl, all wrapped up in a hideously festive bow.

It becomes tradition after that, with each picture taking pride of place on the living room wall until there’s hardly an inch of space left.

Much like Tony’s workbench in the garage, which eventually becomes covered in nothing but frame after frame of his kids.

By now, Tony knows that the most precious moments after often the quietest; little seemingly understated pieces of life that are so full of perfection that words just aren't needed. 

The day that Peter places a newborn baby boy into Tony’s arms and softly says ''here you go, grandpa,'' is absolutely one of the greatest of those moments, right up there with the birth of Morgan, marrying Pepper and the day Peter fell into his arms again after being gone for so long.

Tony cradles the baby with all the natural instinct of a parent, tucking the little head into the crook of his elbow and holding the tiny body close to his chest. He smiles at the fuzzy wisp of dark hair and holds back a gasp as a peep of brown eyes, the exact same shade as Peter’s, meet his own.

''Hi there, baby,'' he coos as he feels himself immediately topple headfirst in love. He nudges his shoulder into Peter’s side. ‘’You, uh,’’ he clears the croak from his voice, ''you picked a name yet?''

''Yeah,'' Peter whispers, a hand reaching out to delicately rub the back of the baby’s head, fingers deliberately catching against Tony’s sleeve with each movement. ''Benjamin.''

Tony nods, because of course, what else could it be? He glances over to where May and Happy are sitting in the corner and grins at the bright, wobbly smiles on their faces.

''Benjamin Anthony Parker.''

Tony’s eyes dart to Peter’s face in surprise. Peter smiles at him, his own eyes already shining with so many kinds of tears. Despite being what the world considers a man but still so achingly young in Tony’s mind, it’s still his kid that Tony sees looking back at him, all earnest and gentle and oh so irrevocably wonderful. The youth from Peter’s face is long gone, brushed over with strong features and painted with a grin that seemed to change from sweet to handsome overnight, but the innocent sparkle of his eyes is still the same as it ever was.

''You…''

Peter laughs softly. ''I figured with a name like that, he can only turn out to be amazing, right?''

Tony blinks at him, looks back down at the baby, at Benjamin, and a beaming grin spreads out across his face, wiping away many of the years that now linger on his skin. Once upon a time, such a thing as this would have seemed impossible, would have been impossible, but it’s real, so very real and Tony can barely find the strength to remain standing for all that he feels in the wake of such inexplicable joy.

He adjusts his hold on the baby so that he can wrap an arm around Peter’s shoulders. Somewhere over the years, he’s grown to be just an inch or two taller than Tony, so he dutifully ducks forward so that the hold is comfortable enough for them both, bringing his head to tilt into Tony’s cheek.

''He doesn’t need a name to be that, Underoos.'' Tony tells him, giving Peter a squeeze as he scoffs at the nickname that will never go away. ''He’s yours, that’s amazing enough.''

''Yeah, well,'' Peter replies thickly, not moving to hide the tear that escapes onto his cheek, ''at least the name makes it definite.''

Tony laughs and moves to plant a kiss on Peter’s hair, momentarily closing his eyes as he presses his nose into the forever messy curls, breathing deep, before turning his attention back to the baby as he snuffles a little and takes another look at his surroundings.  

''Welcome to the world, kiddo,'' Tony breathes, still hardly daring to believe that he’s holding such a tiny version of the man standing next to him, still hardly daring to believe that his kid has a kid of his very own. ''We’re gonna have a whole lot of fun.''

There’s still a long way to go, even if everything seem to slip by so quickly, faster than seems fair, and sometimes it’s hard to let go of what was, even when the future grows infinitely brighter day by day. Tony knows that it’s not forever, that the days of glorious sunshine and moments of peace will eventually fade, taking them all along to whatever’s next at some point or another.

Selfishly, Tony hopes that he’s the first to go so that he never has to know a day without any of them ever again, but that’s up to the universe to decide, and it’s been very much on his side for a long time now.

It’s not forever, but nothing ever is, and that’s okay. As a team, as a family, they’ll weather all that comes, steadfast and together until the very end and by now, Tony knows that all that continues to await them is all that they deserve, and they sure as hell deserve the very best. 

Time is fleeting, but that’s okay; even as it rushes by, Tony knows somewhere deep in his soul that they still have plenty to spare. 

They’ve done and will do all that they can with what’s been given to them, and Tony likes to think they’re doing a pretty damn good job indeed.