Chapter Text
Tony feels like he's underwater, and there is barely a thing holding him afloat and far away from the possibility of drowning.
"Speaking of loyalty," Peter said that day, hanging off the ceiling of an alien warship on one of his artificial web strings.
Tony had never before in his life felt the burning dread quite the same as in that moment. It pooled at the bottom of his stomach together with gut-wrenching fear, combining into an ugly turmoil of guilt.
Tony knew Peter's fate was sealed the second they boarded that spaceship, armed only with their own abilities and no knowledge of aliens beyond Asgard and Chitauri. A disaster it was, and Tony still doesn't know if it would've made any difference had Peter stayed on Earth or not.
"At least," Tony thinks, casting a side glance at the picture of Peter laid out on the holotable, glaring at the sign 'MISSING' right below the picture in bold and underlined, "he wasn't alone when he died."
And it is his only consolation— the same way it is what eats him alive, nagging at his ever-growing guilt and not letting the fresh wound close up— thinking about the other ways their fight could've ended, other scenarios that could've played out had he made different decisions.
Because Peter would've been alone. He would've died right there, on the street, suffering from pain greater than any other because his mutated body forced him to feel every second of being disintegrated alive.
It would be a cruel death, and the only thing Tony could ever be grateful for is that Peter didn't have to experience that pain all alone. He hopes, deep in his heart, that his presence brought the kid enough comfort.
Tony hears footsteps coming from behind him. He doesn't need to turn around, for the mechanical whirring of the braces informs him that it's Rhodey right away.
The man puts a plate in the empty spot on the table, right at Tony's side. It's a full, proper meal, and he wonders distantly how much time he'd spent stuck in the workshop— brooding again. Watching videos recorded in the past two years.
Some days are better than the others. Some days are worse than most. Tony's been living with that uncertainty for the past months, flipping the switch between the two states of mind in something vaguely resembling a regular pattern.
Today is yet neither a bad nor a good day, but once Tony gets some sleep and lets the date on the clock properly register in his head— the tenth of August, something ugly scratches at him— Tony knows he will spiral.
"What time is it?"
"Six in the morning."
"So, this is breakfast?"
"Yup. Orders from Pepper."
Tony hums, reaching out to take the plate. He mindlessly spins the fork in his hand, facing forward and looking at the displayed video. It's a nice one, filmed back during the time Peter still didn't know about the Baby Monitor and used the suit to simply be a kid and have fun. They are his favourites, because Peter is always bright in those, the way he is during the particularly good days.
Rhodey pulls up a stool to sit at his side. A second plate appears on the table, this time for Rhodey. He doesn't talk, and Tony is grateful for that— he was sure that, in his current state of mind, foggy and a little uncertain about his surroundings, he wouldn't have been able to keep his mind off the kid for long enough to have a decent conversation, and he thinks he might start spacing out again if he tries to talk about Peter.
They sit there for a while. At first, until they finish the food— Rhodey insists that he won't leave the room until Tony's own plate is empty— and then for a little bit longer, when Rhodey agrees to stay with him while he finishes the batch of videos FRIDAY got ready for him.
They retreat upstairs a little over an hour later. Pepper holds him as he shivers, memories flashing before his eyes, a voice whispering to him, begging: 'I don't want to go, I don't want to go.'
—
That wasn't the first and would not be the last time he and Rhodey retreated somewhere private to talk about the things clouding Tony's mind. Next time happens a while after Pepper told him that she's pregnant.
He wants to share her happiness. He wants to glow with it just as bright as she does, excited and giddy and so, so beautiful.
But his guilt constantly pulls him back, drowning him in the memories of another child's cries, too young to have anything to do on another planet, surrounded by tragedy and destruction, and Tony chokes back his own sobs every time his thoughts lead him astray.
"This is an intervention," Rhodey cheerfully announces, dragging him out of his workshop for the first time that day.
"It's becoming a habit," Tony half-heartedly jokes.
"Nothing I haven't done before," Rhodey points a finger into his face. "I had this down to a science since college. You can call me an expert on everything 'Stark', from tech to family drama."
"There's no 'drama' for you to resolve, honeybear," Tony argues, but it's weak. "We are perfectly fine. Haven't you heard? I'm married to the woman I love, and Pepper's pregnant now. I thought I told you, no? Is your memory that bad in your old age?"
"Look who's talking," Rhodey laughs. "Seriously, though. I can see that you're freaking out for all the wrong reasons."
"Are you implying there can be the 'right' reasons to freak out in this situation?"
"With you? Yes."
Tony huffs.
They exit onto the rooftop, overlooking the entire area of the compound. It's not a space made for people to walk around in, but there is a door in case of emergencies, so they walk to the farthest end and lean onto the safety railing. Tony takes a look around and breathes in the fresh air. It smells of a river, just like it always does, and he can faintly make out the sounds of nightly birds coming from the forest.
He recalls, then, a memory: when he and Peter took a midnight stroll around the place, taking a breather while the workshop was ventilating from the smoke of an exploded invention. Peter walked with his hands thrown to the sides, smiling widely at the sensation of midnight wind. It messed with his hair, tangling it more than it already was.
He said he could hear every individual critter running around the edges of the compound, where open space meets the forest.
"And here we go again," Rhodey's voice pulls him out of his thoughts. "I just dragged you outside, man. What's up?"
Tony purses his lips, breathing in a lungful of air. He closes his eyes.
"Is it Peter again?"
"Isn't it always?"
It's neither the first nor the last time Rhodey has to drag him out of the workshop, sometimes by the collar of whatever shirt he's wearing at the time, to save him from drowning. They talk a lot. About different things, topics switching left and right with no foreseen premise for it. It helps a little, and things get better the more he talks.
Things are better.
They're not, not really, and sometimes Tony gets those episodes— where grief and guilt over the kid he lost overpowers him, driving him away from human contact, forcing him to lock himself up inside his workshop. But over time, the sight of the compound gets too sickening. There are too many memories— of the team, of Peter, of things that he lost and what he could've had. He convinces Pepper that living in their own little place somewhere remote would make things better, and they move to the cabin right before Morgan is born.
He makes sure to leave an extra empty bedroom.
Pepper looks at him with so much pain and pity as he tells her about it, but she accepts it without protests. What is one more room to clean, anyway, if it's another lifebuoy to keep him from drowning?
He looks at Morgan, at his little girl— flesh and blood— and suddenly he's stricken with a realisation. Because looking at Morgan makes him feel that same fierce and protective love that he'd held towards Peter.
He looks at Morgan and makes a promise. To be a good man and an even better father. He tells her he loves her every day. It helps, a little. Grief fades from a scorching hot pain at the back of his throat to a dull ache of a healed scar.
And for the first time in his life, he's content. He's happy.
Until Lang returns from the quantum realm, and together with Rogers— the star-spangled man with a plan— they present him a new hope.
A hand comes into his view, grabbing at his own, helping him to stand up on his two feet, and Tony's entire world stops. He raises his gaze and meets the familiar sight of a boy he thought he would never see again.
"You will not believe what's been going on—" Peter is babbling on and on about something, but all Tony can do is smile and nod. He's too starstruck right now to register exactly what Peter's saying.
Because Peter's alive, and here, and breathing and talking at full speed the way he always does, and Tony melts— it's warmth from the love he feels that's turning his heart into a mesh.
He reaches out before he can stop himself, with the words 'hold me' escaping him before he could think to swallow them down, as he encircles his arms around the boy, embracing him tightly. So Peter hugs him back, a little more hesitantly— the boy is confused, Tony can tell, and no wonder— but quickly leans into it, allowing himself to enjoy the moment, too.
"Oh, this is nice," Peter says with a breath.
Tony chuckles and plants a kiss against the boy's temple, because he can— just because he can, and so he will, he will use the opportunity to show the boy that he really cares as much as he can in the short amount of time he still has left.
Because Tony's not an idiot. His is the only suit capable of forming a gauntlet to fit the Infinity Stones.
When they finally part, he can see clear as day the way Peter's entire being glows under the affection, looking at Tony with such bright awe that makes him feel like he's the eighth world wonder. There is certain caution to his posture, confusion born out of being thrown into the fray of battle right after escaping another one, but he deals as best as he can, and Tony suddenly feels so, so proud of him.
Okay, so maybe Tony is indeed an idiot for not seeing the obvious and holding the boy at arm's length for so long. His mind briefly flashes towards Morgan, reflecting on the emotions that pulled at his heartstrings as he watched her do anything even remotely impressive by her 4-year-old standards. He thinks of that feeling once again and scolds himself for not noticing the obvious before it was too late.
The ongoing fight around them pulls them back into the fray of battle. Strange is holding up that dreaded finger— "One out of fourteen million," and "Spare his life, and I will give you the stone"— and Tony stops thinking altogether.
He needs to move.
Peter's endlessly unshakeable loyalty and his undying devotion towards Tony— it got the boy killed, thrown into a war he was too young to partake in; and Peter died billions of miles from his home, on an alien planet devoid of all life, because it was important for him to follow in Tony's footsteps.
'I just wanted to be like you,' a memory whispers in Tony's ear. 'You're already so, so much better,' is what he thinks of the words nowadays, a bright contrast to what he said years ago.
He can't say the words to his face, not anymore— but he can repay the favour, at the very least.