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Some twenty hours later, Tony was still numb.
His parents had been killed. It wasn’t an accident. They were killed.
The Winter Soldier killed his parents. Bucky Barnes killed his parents. Killed his mom.
And Steve had known.
Standing in that bunker in Siberia, Tony didn’t think he’d ever felt more alone.
Staying in the hospital afterwards had been unbearable. He hated being hooked up to all those machines, none of them his own. Happy came by once, but Tony kicked him out in short order, not ready to answer his questions about what happened.
He had no more visitors after that; who would come? T’Challa brought him back to Germany, but he had no further obligation to him. Natasha had disappeared. Rhodey…
Tony couldn’t even think about Rhodey’s condition right now, or he might really lose it. He wasn’t sure how he’d be able to face Vision again after this.
God, he needed to go home. He needed to be in his lab, to build something before he fell apart. He’d finally convinced the doctors that he was fine, good to go, but even in his fastest jet, New York was still hours away.
Happy, thank goodness for him, had boarded the plane and promptly disappeared into the cockpit, claiming a need to monitor the flight systems. Considering the plane had flown itself to Germany perfectly fine, there was no need, but Happy knew that Tony needed the space.
Too bad Peter Parker didn’t get the memo. Maybe then he would have had the good sense to sit on the opposite end of the plane from Tony, rather than in the opposite seat.
After some painful minutes where Peter looked like he didn’t know how to fill the silence and Tony for once didn’t feel compelled to do it himself, Peter mumbled that he had homework and pulled some textbooks out of his backpack.
Tony thought for a moment about acting normal to maybe put Peter at ease. This quiet was uncharacteristic of him, he knew, and Peter clearly didn’t know how to deal with it.
He was about to make some quip about Peter bringing homework with him on a superhero summons, but the words got stuck in his throat as it hit him that he’d brought a kid to what turned out to be a far more serious fight than he’d anticipated.
Peter had a black eye to mirror Tony’s own, and all Tony could think was, This wasn’t supposed to happen.
It wasn’t supposed to be that bad. The fight. Tony figured they would punch it out a bit until tempers cooled. Spider-Man could keep his distance and use his webs to subdue who he could. They’d get those damned Accords signed and take accountability for their messes.
Turned out Tony was a fool for thinking Steve would come around.
In the end, Tony said nothing, Peter slipped his earbuds in, and Tony put on his sunglasses and resigned himself to a silent, awkward flight.
It was just as well; if Peter kept up being Spider-Man and had any more dealings with Tony, that starstruck glimmer would’ve faded soon enough. No time like the present to start.
Still, he could do without the questioning looks that Peter started sending his way every few minutes, an unsubtle glance before he ducked his head and stared at the notebook in his lap again. Each instance prickled under Tony’s skin.
It could only happen so many times before Tony got fed up.
“Okay, what is it?”
Peter jerked in his seat. He pulled an earbud out. “What?”
“You obviously have something on your mind, so come on—” Tony waved his hand impatiently, “—out with it, let’s get this over with.”
Peter shook his head. “It’s really not important,” he mumbled.
“No, I wanna hear it.” Tony felt a little mean. Or maybe a little self-flagellating. It all depended on what Peter said next.
“No, I really, I mean—” Peter sighed. He paused his music and tugged his other earbud out. “Well, okay. It’s about the fight. I just feel so stupid…”
Tony’s shoulders tensed. He was expecting disillusionment, but did Peter regret coming along? There was a minute where he’d fought Steve alone; could he have said something to Peter in that moment, turned yet someone else against Tony?
“I can’t believe I said snow planet and walking thingies when I was talking about how to take out the big guy!” Peter groaned and sank into his seat. “Obviously they were on Hoth fighting AT-ATs. I swear I knew that, I just, like, blanked.”
Tony stared. And stared. He took off his sunglasses so he could stare more effectively. And then he let out a breathy chuckle and said, “Really? Really? That’s what’s got you so worked up?”
He set the sunglasses on the tray between them, crossed his arms, and leaned back in his seat, still chuckling.
Peter flushed. “Told you it wasn’t important.”
“Oh, the things that keep young nerds up at night,” Tony snickered. His heart felt a bit lighter in its ache.
Peter gave him a quick smile, there and gone again, and Tony sighed.
“Hey,” Tony said. “You holding up okay?”
“Huh? Yeah, I mean… Yeah, I’m fine. Are you okay?”
It was on the tip of his tongue, his usual answer: Always. The weight of everything that’d transpired held it back.
Tony took up his sunglasses again and fiddled with the arms. “I’m fine, kid. Keep writing your essay.”
“Happy, um, he said you were in the hospital,” Peter said. “He wouldn’t let me see you, though. What—what happened last night? Did it have to do with the Accords?”
Tony tensed. “It’s nothing you have to worry about.”
“Oh, okay.” Peter paused. “But, like, if you wanted to talk about it—”
“I don’t.”
Peter fell silent, eyes dropping to his lap.
Tony tried not to feel bad. He didn’t owe Peter anything. He barely even knew him.
And yet he felt like he understood Peter. Better than he understood the other Avengers, at least. He’d felt it since their first meeting, after Tony finally got Peter to admit he was Spider-Man.
“What gets you out of that twin bed in the morning?” Tony had asked.
And Peter hemmed and hawed, but then he set his jaw and said, “When you can do the things that I can, but you don’t…”
He paused. Stared at Tony like he wanted to make sure he was really listening, and Tony leaned in.
“And then the bad things happen… they happen because of you.”
Peter wasn’t talking in general terms. Tony knew it keenly, knew it from the haunted look in Peter’s eyes, too familiar and on too young a face. What must Peter have experienced, to already understand what took Tony far too long to figure out?
He felt raw, suddenly, exposed, like he was the one who’d just said too much. He dug his fingers into his thigh to resist rubbing them over the thick scar tissue that laced his chest.
Peter turned away, breaking eye contact, and the motion freed a breath from Tony’s lungs. Tony mumbled something about looking out for the little guy, unsure if it even made sense in the context of what Peter had said, but Peter sounded relieved as he hurriedly agreed.
They had moved on from there, left their ghosts in the past as they discussed what was happening in Berlin.
But Tony couldn’t forget that look in Peter’s eyes.
“Something bad happened after you got your powers,” Tony said now. He grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth. But it was too late to take them back.
Peter eyed him, considering. He looked at that moment older than he was.
“My uncle,” he said quietly. “I let him die.”
Tony’s heart was in his throat. “Let?”
“I could have stopped it,” Peter said. “I should have.”
Tony could give platitudes, but what was the point when Peter wouldn’t believe them? Maybe they would offer a small comfort. But Peter deserved more than that.
For coming along with Tony on this entire mission, for giving an answer Tony certainly had no right to, Peter deserved the truth. Or at least as much of it as Tony was willing to divulge right now.
“It didn’t have anything to do with the Accords,” Tony said. “What happened last night. It was… personal. I found out something, something Cap knew and kept from me. And it hurt. So we fought.”
He didn’t want to share about Bucky yet. That’d be revealing too much. And god, even though it hurt thinking about what Bucky had done, right now, the sting of betrayal cut deeper.
“Do you regret fighting him?” Peter asked.
Tony furrowed his brows, not expecting the question. “I don’t think it would have changed anything, if we hadn’t. The Accords… Look, I had power. And there were so many things that I could have done with it, but I didn’t. And bad things happened. So I tried to fix it. I tried to do better… be better. I became Iron Man to take accountability for the things I let happen, but it became bigger than that.” His mind flashed to a portal above New York, the incomprehensible horrors on the other side of it. “Way bigger. And now I’m just trying to do what I can to stop the bad things, without being the bad thing.”
Once, Tony had refused to hand over the Iron Man armor because he didn’t trust it with anyone else. He still didn’t, but he also realized he couldn’t run around unchecked with it. Not unless he wanted to betray everything he’d believed this whole time. His own reason for getting out of bed.
The Accords weren’t perfect, but they were a start. A compromise.
So why was everything more fractured now than ever before?
Tony stared down at the sunglasses clutched in his hands. “And look where that’s brought me. My girlfriend dumped me, my allies betrayed me, my best friend’s back is broken, and I’m spilling my guts out to some kid.”
Some kid he’d had to recruit because he didn’t have enough people on his side. God, what a fantastically terrible job Tony had done with the Avengers. He never could let go of Natasha’s evaluation of him: Iron Man, yes. Tony Stark, not recommended. Did it still hold water? He’d tried to be a team player, he really had. And it’d felt good to be part of a team, working for something bigger than himself.
It’d felt damn good.
Maybe nobody else felt the same.
Tony puffed out a breath and raised his sunglasses to his face.
“Hey,” Peter said. The mock offense fell flat. “Hey,” he said again, gentler, and Tony felt himself drawn to look Peter in the eye, his sunglasses frozen in front of his nose.
“You’re an inspiration,” Peter said. “What you do, what you believe in… People see it, and it means a lot to them.”
An inspiration. It was hard to wrap his mind around the idea. Not after Ultron, and especially not now after the Accords.
Tony dropped his sunglasses onto his lap. It felt wrong to hide behind them when Peter was being so earnest.
“‘People,’ huh?” he said, for lack of anything better, and Peter coughed and looked away.
“Yep. Lots and lots of people.” He peeked a glance back at Tony. “And, well, yeah. Me. I mean, after I got my powers, I wouldn’t have known what to do with them if I didn’t have you as an example.”
Tony scoffed, his stomach churning with the oddest mixture of awe and shame. “An example of what not to do, sure.”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Peter protested.
Tony shrugged. It was true, though. He should be no one’s example. What had he done to deserve it?
No, if Peter really looked up to Tony, then he should set his sights higher. Be better than him. Peter was still young, still finding his way, but Tony thought that one day, Spider-Man would be amazing. If the next generation of superheroes could be like Peter, then maybe the future wasn’t so hopeless as he thought.
Considering how the past few days had gone, it seemed Iron Man, on the other hand, was meant for retirement after all.
But then Peter took a breath and said, “What I’m trying to say is—you’re not alone.”
Tony’s heart squeezed. There was something about the look in Peter’s eyes. It felt like a promise. Maybe, Tony thought, he shouldn’t give up on this whole “team” thing just yet.
To fight side-by-side as equals one day—Tony would like that.