Chapter Text
Tony woke up to a quiet penthouse. As any other parent of a precocious, too-smart-for-their-own-good, preteen would be, he was very much thankful for said fact. It was Saturday- neither of them had plans, besides maybe going to a museum or two, and thus sleeping in would be beneficial for both of them. Unable to fall back asleep after a good twenty minutes of tossing and turning, Tony wandered into the kitchen to start on a hearty breakfast.
Since the incident around two months ago, AKA Peter becoming an enhanced child, he’d insisted on his privacy. A day trip to Oscorp went wrong, when Peter burst into fever upon arriving home, and then waking up the next day with a heightened strength and, well, height.
He could also climb up walls- did he mention the walls?
Thus- when the breakfast was ready, he couldn’t ask FRIDAY to call Peter to his plate, as the AI had been disabled in his bedroom. Instead, he called out.
“Peter! I made breakfast for you, up to the table!” Silence. Tony sighed. Of course his kid wasn’t awake. Getting an idea, he loaded Peter’s plate up with a large helping of eggs and bacon, before putting it on a silver tray. He rounded the kitchen island, tray in hand, and wandered up to Peter’s room. “Peter, I’m coming in.” He warned, pushing the door open.
Peter looked… restful. He noticed the duvet was on the floor, which was slightly odd, but made no note of it. Infact, the whole bed looked messy. Peter slept like the dead, normally not moving in his sleep, which was why it stood out to the man. He put the tray on Peter’s bedside table, before moving to wake the boy up. He placed a hand on the child’s arm, and noticed it was stiff.
Tony blanked. He touched his son’s cheek.
It was cold. It was cold. It was-
He checked his son’s pulse.
Nothing.
A freak accident, the doctors said, after a quick autopsy. A seizure, the thing that ripped Tony’s baby from him. Tony had never wanted so badly for the past twenty-four hours to all be a nightmare. He was stuck between screaming and sobbing, his face (and esophagus) red, puffy, and raw. He watched from outside himself as Peter’s limp body was carried out of his bedroom and taken to a morgue by emergency services, declared DOA.
Tony didn’t ask if FRIDAY might’ve been able to alert emergency services to the seizure in time. He already knew the answer- he was a genius, after all.
His baby. His baby.
There was so much to arrange now. A press conference, a funeral, what to do with his body, of course.
Peter didn’t have a will.
He was just a boy.
He mindlessly forwarded all their requests to Pepper to handle, besides the case of what to do with his remains. He didn’t want his baby to be cold, alone, six feet underground.
Cremation it was.
Peter had, only once, spoken of what he wanted to do with his remains, and the only reason Tony remembered it was because they were laughing so hard at the possibilities he’d come up with, never thinking it could be their future. In one of his scenarios, he’d paused, seriously, and mentioned their previous home out in Malibu, it having been destroyed a few months ago.
“I remember the smell of the ocean, dad- vividly. It was so beautiful, I miss it so much- I could spend the rest of my life there.” He said, a wistful look beyond his years in his eyes. “Anyways, did you hear that they can make you into a vinyl record now? Imagine being made into Darude - Sandstorm.” He snickered.
So Malibu it was. He flew out with Peter’s ashes, and they had a quiet ceremony on the cliff where his mansion had once stood, nature having reclaimed the site by now. With Pepper at his side, he fell to his knees crying whilst his son’s ashes blew into the cape. Peter, at this point in his life, had no friends. No children, besides the dead one, were present at the ceremony.
The service afterwards was somber, though the bright Malibu sun mocked him. They’d pitched a tent a little further north on the cliffside, so everyone could get some shade from it. Men and women came up to wish Tony their condolences, some of them appreciated (especially from his fellow Avengers), some that he only tolerated out of politeness.
How could anyone imagine his pain, right now? There were very few people on the planet who’d lost their children so young, like he had, and if anyone else at the service did once share his pain, it was probably ancient history for them. Tony’s wounds were so fresh they were actively bleeding, dripping down his body and covering him in his own misery.
Tony hung back as Pepper read a statement on behalf of him, celebrating and mourning the funny, brilliant, kind kid that’d been torn away from them. Pepper started crying halfway through, which triggered Tony to start crying again, which brought tears to Rhodey’s eyes as Tony tucked his face into his best friend’s shoulder.
All in all- it was a miserable, miserable time.
The press conference started just two hours after he landed back in New York, “gossip” already spreading like wildfire. Tony walked up to the podium, vision blurring.
“The rumors are true.” He started. “My son is dead, and the world is so much worse now.” Ignoring all their questions, he let Pepper take over once more and stepped away. That was, until-
“So, who’s going to be the Stark Industries heir now?” A man in a poorly-fitted suit asked, sounding very serious. For the first time in many days, Tony felt himself fill with something other than utter despair and grief.
Rage.
“My son is fucking DEAD!” He roared, surging forward. “And you care about my COMPANY?”
Meanwhile, Peter tried touching his father’s shoulder once more, his hand immediately disappearing as Tony tried fighting through security to punch the man, who looked taken aback.
“Dad? Dad, I’m right here. Don’t be angry, please. Let me fix this, I promise.” He pleaded. “I'll make everything better again, just you wait.”