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Tony woke up to a tiny finger poking his forehead.
He was too old for that.
Too old for children to wake him up from his slumber, and old enough to be aware of his achy back once he was.
He opened his eyes with a snap. A mop of curls was the first thing that came into his blurry, morning vision. The curls bounced when the boy they belonged to started giggling.
“What’s so funny?”
“You were snorin’,” said Ben. “Grandma Pepper was right, you sound like a train.”
Tony frowned, and felt how heavy his eyes were, how his body craved a bit more rest, just a few more minutes of sleep. Ben wouldn’t allow it. He hopped up on the bed, creating just enough movement to snap Tony out of the daze that was about to pull him back to sleep.
“Come on, Grandpa, you sleep too long,” said Ben, with a whine. “It’s time for breakfast!”
Tony looked at his grandson and smiled. “You hungry?”
“Yeah! And you promised to make pancakes.”
“What if we had oatmeal instead?”
“No way!” said Ben. He rolled back off the bed and pulled on Tony’s prosthetic arm. “You promised pancakes!”
“Alright, alright,” said Tony, pulling his aching muscles out of bed. Ben let go of his arm and bolted from the room, his feet pitter-pattering against the floor as he went.
Seeing as Tony didn’t have a choice, not with those big brown eyes pleading with him, he headed down to the kitchen and began making pancakes. He got caught up in it, the way the morning sunlight trickled in from the windows, the sound the spatula made when Tony gently scrapped pancakes off the grill to flip them, the sound of Ben scratching into fresh paper with a crayon while he waited for breakfast at the kitchen table.
It was wonderfully mundane.
It had a peaceful rhythm that spread through Tony, making him suspicious. The complete absence of weight, having nothing to worry over, both those things were too good to be true, almost as sweetly suspicious as the boy sitting at the kitchen table.
Tony plated the pancakes on a Spider-Man plate and put them in from of Ben.
“Thanks,” said Ben, looking at him. He put his hand into the pocket of his pajama pants and pulled out a bracelet made from thin string. “I made this for you.”
“For me?” asked Tony. He carefully took the bracelet from Ben and put it on his wrist. “You’re absolutely spoiling me. What have I done to deserve a grandson like you?”
Ben giggled, then his face grew serious. “You’re my best friend, Grandpa Tony.”
It was odd how often Tony let his children make him on the verge of crying.
“You can’t tell daddy, though,” said Ben. “He thinks it’s him.”
Tony smiled, regained a little control, then nodded. “I won’t say a word. Your secret safe with me, kid.”
“What’s this about secrets?”
Tony and Ben turned at the same time and let out near identical groans when Peter walked into the room.
“Aww, dad,” said Ben, looking down at his pancakes. “You promised you wouldn’t pick me up til ten.”
“Sorry, buddy, but it’s time for us to go,” said Peter, his voice gentle.
Tony smiled at it, despite being sad his favorite little guy was about to leave. Peter never failed to make him proud, that included the way he carried himself as a father.
“Okay,” said Ben. He let Peter pluck him up out of his chair.
“Don’t worry,” Peter told him. “We’ll be back to visit. Soon.”
“I’ll pack some breakfast up,” said Tony. “Pepper has some…”
He trailed off, catching the empty look in Peter’s eye, one that drained the peacefulness from his body and replaced it with grief.
“We’ll come back. Someday.”
Tony’s eyes snapped open, for real that time, and he wasn’t standing in the middle of a family kitchen. He was in a bed, at the compound, hooked up to machines. The last memory he had was a heated speech to Cap and a hard fall to the floor.
Of course it had just been a dream.
Too good to be true indeed.
“You’re awake.”
Tony turned his head. Pepper sat in a chair, at his bedside, her cheeks wet with tears.
“Y-yeah,” said Tony. He couldn’t believe she was there. That she was real and hadn’t been taken when Thanos snapped his fingers. Taken like Peter. “I – I was having a dream.”
“A dream?” asked Pepper. “Or another prophecy?”
Tony narrowed his eyes at her in confusion.
“I should probably wait to tell you this,” said Pepper. “But… I’ve been thinking I was going to have to do this alone for the last couple of days… and I – I have to tell someone.”
Last night… I dreamt we had a kid… it was so real
“Pep… are you…”
“I am.”
Tony looked away from her and gripped the sides of the bed, as he struggled to control his breathing, as he struggled to understand how he felt. It was the wrong time to be having a kid, and yet… there was still a small thread of happiness, a glimmer of hope. He relaxed in his bed, then returned his eyes to Pepper and stretched out his hand.
She took it, covered it with her own.
“So, what,” Pepper said, with a broken sort of laugh. “Are you psychic now?”
Tony wanted to be, wanted to hold onto to any chance of his most recent dream being a reality. He needed to hold onto Peter’s words.
That they would be back someday. That Tony would live to be a Grandpa to the best little guy. That the was a future where sunlight streamed in through the windows on gorgeous mornings.
When Morgan was finally born, kicking and screaming, after nine hours of labor, Tony gave her middle name. Hope. Every time she laughed or smiled or screamed her head off until he finally figured out what she wanted, he remembered to hope, remembered that once she had been a dream and was now a reality.