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Peter was worried the ground would be wet because of all the rain earlier, and he spreads out the orange blanket, directly in front of the tombstone. The blanket is big, the one he and May usually use for picnics, and he folds it over a couple times until it almost feels like the comforter on his bed in the compound. Plushy. None of the wetness clinging to the grass seeps through.
He sits down, and Tony sits beside him.
This is only the second time they’ve visited Ben together. The first time was before the snap, before the dusting, before the subsequent insanity that put everything back together again. This visit seems like it holds more weight, since they’ve gone through all that. Because there was a time when Peter was gone too, when May and Tony were thinking about putting a tombstone with his name on it right next to Ben’s, and beside his parents’. Because there was a time when Tony came here alone, something he only admitted recently, months after everything ended and began again. He came here begging, pleading for answers from one of the people that knew Peter best. Of course, he didn’t get any. There were no answers for anyone that lost someone in the snap. Only dust in the wind. But nothing ever holds Tony up for long. Especially when he sets his mind to it.
Now Peter’s here, he’s here and alive, and Tony is too, despite what he had to go through to get Peter back.
Peter remembers what May said, when he reunited with her after everything, while Tony was still laid up. Ben would like Tony. Especially now. Especially after what he did to bring you back to me. Peter had been used to vitriol, directed at Tony from May, so that—that felt good to hear. It hasn’t been sunshine and kittens between them since, but it’s closer than Peter ever expected.
“Ben,” Tony says, before Peter can find his own words. “Your kid is a maniac.”
Peter snorts. “Don’t tell him that.”
“He already knows that,” Tony says, picking at his nail. He’s still wearing sunglasses, even though the sun is setting. “I mean, who runs into a bank whilst it’s being robbed? We were gonna take them down when they got in their escape vehicle, but Spider-Man—”
“Spider-Man saved a cool couple million,” Peter asserts, holding his chin high, no idea of the actual numbers. “Dudes are in custody. I have no idea why you’re judging me.”
“No judgement. You just have to be the most dramatic at every possible moment,” Tony says, looking at him like he’s proud of that fact.
“Yeah, I wonder where I got that?” Peter says, eyeing him.
“May,” Tony says, resolutely. “One hundred percent May Parker.”
Peter snorts, shaking his head. He shifts a little bit, sitting criss cross applesauce, and he knows that’s what most school teachers call it, but he got that phrase from Ben. He remembers him calling it out every time they’d situate themselves in front of the TV on Saturday mornings, and Ben would tickle him if he got there first.
Ben’s favorite cartoon was He-Man. Peter’s was DuckTales. They’d eat Froot Loops with too much milk, and that’s when Ben started Peter working on his posture. Straight up and down.
Peter thinks about birthdays after someone is gone. Where that energy goes. What it’s supposed to mean, now that they aren’t alive anymore. But the day still means something, it still carries some weight—they’re here, at the cemetery, and it’s Ben’s birthday. It’s like they’re with him, in a way.
All of it is really weird. Peter doesn’t like thinking about death, despite how much it’s touched his life. He’ll never be able to make proper sense of it.
“He always liked picnics,” Peter says, picking at the edge of the blanket.
“This is your picnic blanket, isn’t it?” Tony asks. “I remember, from that time by Belvedere Castle—”
Peter snorts, remembering himself soaked and wet, and Tony’s broken phone. “Yeah, it is.”
“Was he a frisbee man?” Tony asks, tilting his head to really look at Peter. He takes off his sunglasses, folding them up and hanging them on his shirt. “I can’t exactly picture you catching a football, as that little—glasses-clad child—”
“We used to catch M&M’s in our mouths,” Peter says. He can almost taste the chocolate, even now. Can almost hear Ben’s laughter, May warding against drawing ants with the ones that didn’t make it to their destinations.
“Now that I can see,” Tony says. “Always M&M’s? Anything else? Cheeseballs for a cheeseball?”
Peter smiles to himself. “We tried Skittles once but for some reason it wasn’t as fun.”
“Completely different dynamics,” Tony says. “Totally get it.”
“He always liked to do dinner picnics so we’d be outside for the sunset,” Peter says. “About like, this time of day, really. He liked to take pictures, he had like, a million pictures of May and me posing with the sunset in the background. It’s like he was trying to capture every sunset he ever saw.”
Peter looks around, the pinks and brush strokes of purple, a few stars peeking out through the clouds. He looks at Tony, finds him smiling. Peter feels like he would have been nervous, to talk to him like this when they first met, but now he wants to tell him everything. He knows he actually cares. Genuinely wants to know.
“New York’s got a particular quality to it, especially right now,” Tony says. “You guys ever travel? Somewhere without so much—activity? Damn buildings blot out half the sky.” He clicks his tongue, looking up. “Could get a real good sunset picture somewhere quieter. I can’t remember what May said, were you guys—planning a trip way back, or—”
“We were talking about the Grand Canyon, a long time ago, but uh, things happened, got too expensive, and then, uh—” Tony knows the end of that story. Peter doesn’t need to say it.
“I’ll take you two,” Tony says, fast. “Well, uh. If you want. I mean, I don’t wanna step on any toes. But the invitation is there.” He clears his throat, steals a quick glance at the tombstone that Peter almost doesn’t see.
“That would be awesome,” Peter says, his heart beating a little faster just thinking about it. “May would totally freak out.”
“Good, that’s my favorite,” Tony says. “Like I don’t see enough of her freaking out.”
“But this would be the good kind of freaking out,” Peter says.
“Yeah, I’ve only seen that a couple times,” Tony says.
Peter smiles to himself, looking at the tombstone again. He doesn’t really like looking at the dates, like a span of time can really properly explain the extent of Ben Parker’s life. Like what he gave to Peter isn’t still running through his veins, like his love for May isn’t still carried in her heart and her hands every day. Peter feels a slight pull in his chest, and sometimes he feels guilty. Guilty, that he’s happy. Guilty, that he’s found another father figure in Tony. Guilty that he doesn’t cry anymore when he comes here. He does other times, when it hits him the wrong way, when he falls too deeply into his own head. But not here, not anymore, and he wonders why. He should, shouldn’t he? Here, of all places? Like there’s a heavenly spotlight on his head, when he’s in front of this tombstone. His voice and thoughts amplified for Ben to hear.
He cracks his jaw.
“I’d say what’s wrong,” Tony starts. “But, uh, I get it, bud. No matter how many years pass, the birthdays and the death days never feel real. It’s like they stand out among the rest of the days and every move you make doesn’t feel right. Like you’re sort of...ghosting through. Trying to honor them.”
“Yeah,” Peter croaks. “May and I went to Dumpling Galaxy earlier because it was his favorite, we always do.”
“Man had good taste,” Tony says.
Peter smiles again. “I, uh, was just thinking, I don’t know if I—should feel guilty, or...or wrong, or something, because I don’t cry when I come here anymore. I used to, like, really bad, and it was embarrassing, and I felt like I was disrupting other people’s mourning or something, but lately, uh—since I got back, and like, a little bit before I came back, I was—I wasn’t crying here anymore.”
Tony stares at him for what feels like a long while. Then he clears his throat. “Pete, he—he’d be glad,” Tony says. Peter looks at him, and Tony tilts his head again, smiling softly. He reaches out and takes Peter by the shoulder. “He’d be happy you’re happy. I feel like I know a lot about him, from what you and May have said, from—just knowing the two of you, and he was a lighthearted guy. He loved life and he loved you and your happiness was the thing he wanted most, and nobody we love wants us to sit around being sad because of them. He wouldn’t want you to cry, here or anywhere else—he’d be glad you’re—it isn’t moving on, it’s...it’s healing.”
Peter nods, blowing out a wavering breath. “I wish you two could have met,” he says. “I think about it all the time.”
“Me too,” Tony says, genuinely. “I mean, I feel like he was the one who...how do you say, condoned the Peter antics—”
Peter snorts, grinning. “Uh, yeah.”
“That’d be fun,” Tony says. “I know I would have liked him. I mean, look at what he did with you. He was obviously a master at kid crafting, along with May.”
Peter smiles, and he can’t help it, shifting over and leaning on Tony’s shoulder. Tony wraps his arm around him and hugs him close, squeezing his far shoulder.
“I’m real proud of you, Pete,” Tony says. “I know he would be too. He is.”
Warmth blooms in Peter’s chest and he nods, hoping he’s right.
They sit there for another twenty minutes or so, talking about Ben’s favorite movie (Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade), and that time he took an entire steak from a buffet because the servers were being too stingy with their cuts. Peter laughs and Tony does too, in appreciation of someone that is very much still present, despite being gone.
“Okay,” Tony says, pushing himself to his feet. “Lemme get one of those sunset pictures before the sky goes dark. This one’s for Ben, specifically, looks like he’s had a real hand in it.”
Peter looks up as Tony moves, and sees what he’s talking about—it really does look like a watercolor, shining and drying in the sun. He looks back at Tony, and thinks this is the most Dad he’s ever looked—holding his phone out in front of him, aiming, eyes narrowed in concentration.
“God, what did I say?” Tony asks, taking tiny steps to the side, obviously trying to get a better angle. “Goddamn buildings in the way—apologies to all the religious ghosts for cursing—”
He takes one step backwards, and falls, disappearing with a wide-eyed look on his face and a little, surprised yelp.
Peter is almost sure he hallucinated it, but Tony doesn’t reappear.
“Oh my God,” Peter gasps, scrambling to his feet. “Tony! Tony!” He rushes over, kicking up wet clumps of dirt, and he sees that—Tony fell into a hole. Tony fell into an open grave. He’s just—standing there, in the hole, his hands on his hips, a horrified, confused look on his face.
He glances up at Peter, his lip drawn up in consternation, and Peter can see mud on his pants, caking the long sleeves of his shirt, a smack of it on his cheek like he slammed into the wall of the hole on his way down.
Peter busts out laughing, covering his mouth so he doesn’t spit. “Oh my God,” he says, against his palm. He can’t stop laughing. He can’t stop laughing. His body is racked with it.
“Yeah, nice,” Tony says, pointing up at him. “Glad you’re liking it.”
Peter closes his eyes shut tight, his sides hurting, and he can’t stop he can’t stop. “Are you—are you okay?” Peter asks, the last word drawn out in the middle of a delighted wail, and Tony glares up at him.
“Don’t ask that as if you care at all,” Tony says, wiping his hands on his pants, but only spreading more mud.
“No, I care—” Peter stutters, but he cuts himself off by cracking up again, and he falls over into the mud himself, in stitches. “Oh my God, everything hurts.”
“Yup, yeah, just keep—”
“You just disappeared,” Peter laughs, tears racing down his cheeks. “You just—you just dropped, and your face—”
“Alright, alright, alright,” Tony says. “Get me outta here, c’mon, if you’d be so kind. Pretty sure I broke my phone again. Apparently that’s a theme for my outings with you.”
Peter tries to stop laughing. He’s muddy now too, and he bends down, leaning into the hole and grabbing Tony’s hand. He hauls him up, still giggling, and once Tony’s out of the hole Peter nearly roars with laughter, watching him stand back up. Peter clutches at his stomach, wheezing.
“Get up, you maniac,” Tony says, and he’s smiling now too. He holds out his hand and Peter takes it, and the two of them stumble away from the hole, which really has no business being there at all. Or maybe, like, a sign should be up to warn people. Or some cones.
“I’m sorry,” Peter says, hiccupping, reaching up and wiping at his eyes, trying not to get mud all over his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, that was just—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tony says, chuckling a little bit. “I can imagine. You and only you get a pass on laughing at me, let’s just hope falling into what looks like an open grave isn’t some kind of bad omen.”
“No,” Peter says, still laughing, trying to stop, trying really hard to stop. “No, no. No way. It’s not. It’s not.”
“Hey, check it out,” Tony says, grinning at him. He reaches up, smearing mud across Peter’s face.
“Ugh,” Peter groans, swatting him away.
“I’m absolutely sure those are the only tears Ben would ever want you to cry,” Tony says. “Tears of joy. At watching me make an ass of myself.”
“Yeah,” Peter grins, wishing Ben was here, but knowing he’s watching. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”