Chapter Text
Mrs. Potts had led him with a gentle hand upon his shoulder into the Stark home soon after the formal session of the funeral service closed. Peter had seen how fragile she truly was beneath the small, reassuring and grateful smiles she'd given to anyone who provided their private words of sorrow. It wasn't exactly hard to piece together that she was struggling to keep a brave face on for the sake of her daughter. He could see past the facade because it was the exact same one he had been wearing following the final battle so as not to worry May. Of course, it didn't seem to be working, but she was yet to confront him about it. He's not sure how long he would last if she actually did try and bring it up anyway.
He'd allowed himself to be steered into a private room, the quiet discussion of attendees in the other portions of the home almost inaudible, even to his enhanced hearing. Numbly, he acknowledges that he's been sat down on a small sofa, a holographic device placed on the coffee table in front of him. The hand is still barely a ghost of a touch on his shoulder, and he finally looks up the arm to meet the gaze of the woman he would have hoped to meet in any other set of circumstances. Her eyes show understanding, and her thumb slowly glides across the fabric of his tweed suit jacket in a consoling gesture. What's intended to be a reassurement only succeeds in tightening the knot in Peter's chest that had been yet to fade since that fateful moment.
He should be the one providing stability in this scenario, not the other way around. Mrs. Potts has been widowed, and was there to watch the life drain from her husband's eyes after fighting what was possibly one of the greatest threats the universe has ever faced. When compared to him, he had barely known the man he'd grown to consider his mentor, and something closer that forever remained unspoken. He never got to share the moments Mrs. Potts did with the man. She likely knew more about him than anyone could have dreamed of, and Peter thinks that's probably why it had to be her to tell him he could finally let go and rest peacefully. He's not jealous of this fact, but he's regretful that he didn't get to have more time. He's regretful that he couldn't have done more when it would have counted, because then perhaps he would have known what could have been. The future did not seem so bright when the mind of Tony Stark was gone. He's regretful that now his daughter will live in a world similar to the one Peter was forced to mature in.
He's regretful of a great many things, but the people he's failed in saving are perhaps what will forever plague him the most.
"Peter," her voice is as gentle as it was by the waterfront, though now it is much softer, almost cautious. She's now sat at his side on the couch, "I needed to let you know that Tony left a message for you; a private one. He left some of these for those he was closest to." Peter squints minutely at this, though his confusion is pushed away for later concern. "I was wondering if you wanted to watch it now. If not, that's perfectly fine. You can take it and watch it whenever you feel you're ready. You don't have to rush into it if you can't do this just yet, alright?" His chest still feels heavy, so he simply nods, eyes not entirely focusing on the woman before him. It prompts her to continue, "Verbal confirmation is also appreciated, if you can manage it."
The phrase is enough to make him want to both laugh and cry, because it's the sort of thing Tony would have pushed for from Peter whenever he was coming down from a panic attack. Even so, he takes in as deep a breath as he can muster, and begins working on untangling the knot that constricts his lungs. "It's just… If I don't do it now, I don't… I don't know if I'll ever do it," he confesses. He's sure that if he doesn't do it while it's fresh, the fear and anticipation will get in the way of ever being able to step up and face the music. He knows that denial of the reality is only a miniscule step away from where his emotions already lie. But he can't say that, not only because he can't bear displaying his weakness, but because his throat is already twisting itself up again, and his breathing feels harder to control by the second. "I would rather… just know , I guess, if that's okay." He barely staves off the wavering of his volume, jaw clenching together as the last word leaves him breathless.
Mrs. Potts doesn't seem to notice this, or at least doesn't call him out on it, because she merely gives a slow downward tilt of her head in response. Her eyes fall to his loosely clasped hands, balled in his lap, before her free hand goes to gingerly lay across them, her other still a comforting weight upon his shoulder blade. She meets his eyes again, and in that moment he can't help but see the state he'd witnessed May in the night Ben died. She looks exhausted and utterly devastated, almost lost in how to proceed from here. But beneath it all, he sees the strength that he always saw the media portray when it came to the woman. Never had Peter thought of her as weak or incapable, and everyone knew better than to try and make her appear as any less than the intelligent, professional, and competent CEO of one of — if not the most — renowned companies of the century. He sees all that and more, and wishes with a subdued hopelessness that he could find that amount of robust power within himself as well.
"Alright," she says, what could be a genuine twitch at the corner of her mouth the only crack in her mask. But before she stands, she squeezes his hands, drawing Peter's full attention to her. "If you ever need anything, or your aunt ever needs anything, I want you to know that you are always more than welcome to ask me for help." Her eyes hold a kindness that spurs a burn to the back of his eyes. "Consider this a safe space. You are allowed to not be okay, and no one can say you're any less for it."
It leads Peter to wonder just how much Tony had told the woman about him. She would surely know about his typical evening ventures, because this is the one person his mentor trusted more than anyone else. His persona as Spider-Man must be nothing compared to what other secrets she must hold, about everyone and everything. Actually, he suspects she'd be more than capable of bringing down entire large scale organisations with the information she must have stored in her head alone. Her lengthy time as a significant figure in the business field could have only offered such extensive insight into issues beyond the public eye. It would likely only take her opening her mouth a single time to cripple the reputation anyone she wished. He trusts her, though, because that very evidently is not the type of person Mrs. Potts is. She would never threaten another's status unless in response to direct action or equal opposition. It makes her all the more admirable.
So he responds almost tearfully, suppressing the wetness that very nearly leaks into the two simple words. "Thank you." And it must be enough for her, because she delicately rubs her thumb over his clasped hands. She gives that same gentle smile she'd shared with everyone else earlier that day before getting to her feet and making her way to exit. She looks back one last time to him in the doorway, and when he nods to her with what he hopes is a grateful expression, she slips out of view, the door clicking closed behind her.
Then, he's alone, with nothing to distract him from the overwhelming reality that brought him to be sitting in this very spot. All his eyes can focus on is the small metal device that's perched almost mockingly in front of him. The room's lack of noise and motion presses down on him, causing his stomach to turn in unease and anticipation. He knows he should just let the recording play, let it be over with so he can run away from his problems and sleep for the next couple of centuries. At the same time, he doesn't trust his emotions to stay in tact the moment he sees that frustratingly familiar face. He has no guess as to what words the man may have left behind, but every part of him hopes that it will be something negative. Anger would be much easier to handle than anything else. He surely would deserve the malice anyway; Peter could have hardly been a pleasure to have to lead around the moment he got himself into more trouble.
He shakes his head, forcing his eyes to look away and to the wall of the room. He desperately tries to rid of the moisture that rapidly begins to rise behind his eyelids.
You're being stupid , he tells himself. You're acting just like the child everyone thinks you are. It's no wonder May hasn't left you alone for more than a minute before running to your side. Face it so you can move on — you did the same with your parents.
You did it with Ben.
He brings his chin to his chest and tangles his hands in his hair. His breathing has picked up in the short time he's been left alone, causing the tightness around his lungs to increase in a rising panic. It takes all his effort to not get up and begin pacing the room in his current state, but when he brings his arms back down, he does the opposite, laying himself against the back of the couch. He counts out his breathing; five second interval, inhale. Another five seconds, then exhale. Repeating until his mind is more clear and controllable. This would be nothing less than the worst place to lose his composure.
He brings his hands up to his tie, loosening the knot so as to ease the overwhelming feeling of constraint that writhes within his chest. It helps, but barely, until he finds himself back at square one when his eyes once again drop to the holographic device.
We're gonna be okay , Mrs. Potts had said, as the light of the arc reactor flickered out. No matter how he's tried to look at the future, though, Peter just can't bring himself to quite believe it. A world without Iron Man seems like a vulnerable one. A world without Tony Stark simply feels incomplete, uninhabitable. But some people had been living that for five years, hadn't they?
That was something else he was going to have to adjust to, somehow. Five years of time, gone in what was the equivalent of, quite literally, a snap of the fingers for him. It was surreal, and still is, to even attempt to comprehend. Surreal and so absolutely terrifying. So much can change in so little time; nothing feels like it fits in place. This message is probably the only chance of starting on a path to the road to recovery and acceptance, but living in denial of the world around him is just… easier .
He drags a hand along his face, taking a deep breath.
But it's not how he should deal with all of his problems. He's had enough personal experience to know that it will just make things so much harder in the long run. He'll end up indirectly hurting himself in one way or another, and Ben was always the type to give him the look whenever he was heading down that lane. He had always been able to tell, always great at being able to read people, no matter how closed off they may have been. It was something he had envied for many years, though he now realises that it probably only caused more worry than anyone should have to face off against. He wonders what he would have thought of Tony, had they had the chance to meet.
Blinking back wetness behind his eyes, he sits himself back up onto the edge of the cushion, tentatively reaching his hand to the device. His fingers brush the metal framework, and the realisation of what this means is nearly enough to have him retreat away.
The official last words he will hear through Tony's voice that are directed towards him specifically. He's not sure how to feel in regards to that, but there must be enough emotion coursing through his brain to cover all his bases. Regret and guilt are most prominent, so perhaps that, but the nervous anticipation of what may come is also most certainly not helping his case. He hadn't noticed it before but his hand is shaking where it hovers just slightly above the glass lens of the device.
He takes in one final deep breath, finding he can't even force it out as he tentatively brings down a finger onto the only lit sensor along the glass, signalling the recording to finally play.
The moment the video is projected beyond the table to the empty space ahead, all of Peter's walls crumble to nothing. His eyes instantly fill with tears, blurring the image of the man he'd come to follow unconditionally.
"Hey, Pete." Hastily scrubbing at his eyes with his hands, he looks up and can't help but let out a weak, choked sob. His mentor looks out with the faintest of smiles, seated with his arms resting on the back of a chair he must have pulled up. It's the same exact image from the first recording they'd all watched together. The casualwear is in stark contrast to the formal attire Peter had been advised to bring along, and it's certainly something he never really had the chance to see the man wear. The domesticity of it all only adds to the stream of tears that rush along his cheeks. "If you're seeing this, then that should mean we did something right. In that case, I'm… really glad that you're back... You have no idea how hard it's been without you, kid." The words are accompanied with an expression that only contributes to the statement, exhaustion clinging to the lines around and under his eyes. The smile is the only hint that it doesn't weigh him down, or perhaps it didn't even touch him the weigh sleepless nights do with Peter. "However, if you're seeing this, it probably also means I'm not there to say what I'm meaning to in person. In that case, I'll just start by saying that I'm sorry I'm not around for you now, Peter. I can only imagine how hard it might be for you to come back in a time so unfamiliar to you." Tony opens his hands only to clap them together again, lowering his gaze to the floor as his smile drops with it. Peter recognises the look he's giving as thoughtfulness, with a tinge of something like pain or guilt. He subconsciously nods in response to the words, a hand covering his mouth in a hopeless attempt at masking the raw emotion that risks tearing from him.
He shouldn't be the one apologising, and definitely not to Peter, of all people. If anything it should be him apologising to Tony for all that he'd put him through, and for having inadvertently left him to stew in the fallout after he was taken in the Decimation. There's so much he should have been able to apologise for when he returned, but now he'd never get the chance to make right by himself. It took him dying and being brought back to realise just how much of a coward he was for not owning up to himself sooner. Perhaps this is karma for that fact.
"But I, uh… there's a point to this, I swear, just give me a minute." The man takes a moment to draw in a deep breath. "I guess the point I want to make is that I have regretted a great many things in my life. That ranges all across the spectrum of my private and public life, but if there was one thing I've never regretted, it was meeting you." The smile returns now, weak, but something Peter had truly missed seeing in these short few days. There's a few moments silence in which Tony's eyes seem to roam the area ahead of him, before he sighs and minutely shakes his head. "I never know where to look when making these. I should figure that out one day. Later, though." He finds himself giving a faint grin, the change of tone so familiar in what he did whenever conversations became more personal or emotionally spurred than anything. "Pete, I don't know if you're blaming yourself for anything — well, let's be honest, we're both practically the same in that aspect — but… I need you to know that no one feels you're responsible for anything that's happened, and most certainly not me. If anything we're all proud of you for what you have managed to pull off, whether people even knew it was you or not."
Peter thinks Tony could have almost seen him sitting there with the way his eyes almost meet his own. "I'm proud of you, kid. You're a hell of a lot stronger than I could have ever hoped to be, in more ways than one at that. I wish I had half the heart you've got in that pint-sized body of yours." His mentor takes on a devilish grin with the playful jab. It finally brings out a laugh in him, as sad as it sounds in the empty room. "But really, I think you're already more than the world knows, or could ever know, actually. I… well…" There's a long pause, where he just looks at his arms, still resting on the chair back, unmoving. It gets to the point where Peter thinks that maybe that's the end of the message, or it had paused, but his mentor seems to blink back into himself before bringing a hand up to rapidly swipe against his cheek. It's now that he notices how there seems to be more reflective light shining from the man's eyes. "I really, uh… After everything, I've been thinking of you as though you were— are one of my own." The tears in both of their eyes only seem to gather further. Peter gives up trying to hold them back. "I really did, I think of you as if you were my own kid. And I thought this would be harder to admit considering my track record, but... I love you, Pete. You allowed me to see the fact that, frankly, I think I'd be a fantastic father."
Peter uses the sleeve of his jacket to quickly wipe across his eyes, Tony doing the same across his bare arm, focusing back on the recorded figure. To no one in particular, he says "I think I agree." There's no indication that Tony hears the words, but despite everything, he looks happy in that moment. It sparks relief in him, thankful to know the man felt such joy before his book turned its final page.
"You entered my life right when everything went to shit, you know that? With the Accords and the fallout of the Germany airport battle, I was in about as great a mindset as you could have imagined in that position. Being around for you was everything I could have needed to stay afloat, even if it was a few months before I realised that. I'm happy to say it's because of you that I was able to see the virtues of settling down and taking care of my family." The fond smile is yet to have left his face. It's something Peter knows he'll never stop missing. "I think you and Morgan would get along like gas to a house fire. She's been saying for about a year now that she wanted to meet you."
Peter saw Morgan during the service, but he couldn't bring himself to make the move to where she stood, nevermind attempt speaking to her. He'd noticed the girl watching him at times, likely having recognised him if what Tony implies is that she knows who exactly he is. In the end he'd just given up trying to work up the courage, knowing that it would likely be too difficult; he simply wasn't ready. Interacting with Pepper had been hard enough as it was, so when he inevitably ended up looking into those all too familiar brown eyes… He just knows he can't trust himself to not break down crying the moment she says a single word.
"Don't let Rhodey know, but you're both her favourite hero as well as mine. He'd go mental if he found out I favoured a fifteen year old kid over Mr. Ex-Iron Patriot," he finishes, urging another more genuine and lively laugh from Peter's lungs. The knot loosens, not completely, but enough to let him draw in a breath that doesn't feel quite as difficult to hold.
"In all seriousness, you're gonna do the world some good, I just know it. Not to say you haven't already, but everyone will probably need you now more than ever. But take your time with helping people. It doesn't all fall on you, now. You're an Avenger now, so long as you want to keep that title. You've got people backing you up, no matter where you are or what you do." Tony once again almost seems to look into his eyes as he finishes. "Stay safe, Spiderling. You've got a long life ahead of you, and a lot of people to blow the hell away.
"I love you, Pete. Thank you."
With that, the hologram fades from the air, the space now once again empty of the blue tinted projection. Tony's parting words echo throughout his mind as tears slowly fall onto the front of his suit jacket, soaking into the fabric. The emotion that presses through his body is one he can't define. He's crying without even a sob now, but he's sure if he tried to stop himself from letting out these tears, it would only bring them forward.
Without even a thought, he stands from the cushions and tentatively grabs the device from the table, small enough to fit into his palm in a loose fist. Quickly wiping the stream away as he makes across the room and swings open the door, he climbs the stairs and doesn't look at anyone in the main living room as he passes alongside the wall, hopefully going unseen. He slips onto the porch, the fresh air cool against his heated face, enough to draw him back into his own body again. He takes a deep breath before slowly heading down the steps, feet crunching grass before the sound becomes more solid against the wood dock, jutting out and across the lake. The tips of his shoes only just hang over where it comes to a stop, the water below lapping serenely at the wooden posts that support the platform. Peter lowers himself so that he's sitting cross-legged at the edge, looking out to the forested bank parallel to him. He takes in another deep, calming breath and again wipes the tears that have trailed their way down his cheeks, fingers fiddling with the holographic device, the cool metal against his skin grounding him.
He stays like this for enough time that he forgets about everyone else. The voices he can hear from the house are faint enough that he's able to easily zone them out, instead choosing to focus his hearing on the tranquil movements of the water, the faint rustling of the trees accompanied by the odd bird call filtering in as background noise. Every now and again he has to swipe beneath his eyes, until finally the tears cease on their own. He absently acknowledges the distant noise of an engine firing up every once and awhile, before the sound of tires on gravel disappears beyond his hearing range. It happens enough times that he questions whether there might be no one left besides himself, May, and the two remaining inhabitants of the home themselves. Eventually, unfamiliar, heavy footfalls have him realising differently, and their voice is nearly enough to send him jumping into the water face first.
"Peter, right?"
He turns, knowing all too well who to expect. Captain America stands several feet behind him, looking down to meet his eyes with an emotion that he can't quite identify. Part of the man looks hurt, but there's something else there, more repressed. It doesn't help that the suit he wears looks like he's just crawled out of a ditch somewhere, all ruffled and uneven in places. Peter realises he's probably not the only one who's had a long day.
Noting that he's been staring a few seconds too long, he gives a slow nod in response, all too aware of the slight redness that probably still lingers in and around his eyes.
"May I sit with you?" he asks, hand waving to the spot on Peter's right side. When he nods again, the man steps forward and lowers himself so that he sits cross-legged as well, elbows resting on his knees with his hands meeting to clasp together in his lap. He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, eyes having followed Peter's gaze to land on the centre of the lake. It's enough to allow him to collect himself, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. The silence doesn't last long, though, as he sees the hero turn his eyes on him in his peripheral vision. "Are you doing alright?"
The question almost makes him scoff, and before he can think about it, he replies. "Is anyone alright? It seems like the last five years on Earth have been anything but if I'm being honest." The words taste bitter on his tongue, though his tone comes out unnervingly even. He almost wants to start crying again.
"They were… pretty bad, yes," he agrees quietly, disregarding Peter's forwardness. "But I think things will be able to get better from here on out."
"I don't see how they possibly could. Everything still doesn't feel right in the world," he answers truthfully, fingers tightening minutely around the device. He can feel his hands already beginning to shake, pressure once again building from behind his eyes.
Not only has he just lost his mentor, but now he has to find his place amongst his everyday life again. He doesn't remember the five years he had been gone in the slightest, but the other fifty percent of the human population sure does. He doesn't even want to think about how much more displacement will take place now that everyone has so suddenly returned. The economy surely had to adapt to a loss of such a big income market. Inflation probably skyrocketed along with taxes and anything that even slightly depended on having a major population to maintain control. There's also the matter of whether people had moved on after losing their partner by finding another person to tie themselves to, only to then find that their original lovers have returned. What about his friends, who he hasn't even been able to make contact with since the end of the battle. Are they five years older than he is now? Were Ned and MJ taken in the snap as well? The guilt and worry regarding their well-being is nearly enough spin him into a panic, but Captain America speaks up to distract his mind.
"You were taken in the Decimation too. Is that right?" When Peter solemnly nods, he continues. "Believe me, I know what it's like to feel out of place; I was stapled as 'the man out of time' after all. Yes, it's difficult, it always is… but I don't lie when I say that eventually, things will begin to fall into place again."
The words don't exactly reassure him, but he doesn't speak up, letting the hero's statement be something of a dropping off point. It's not that he doesn't want to speak to the Captain, but he just doesn't trust himself to keep going on this topic least he fall into the spiral of emotion that looms threateningly below him. Release is probably what he needs right now, but if there's anyone he would rather not be emotionally vulnerable in front of, it's Steve Rogers. The only person who have may rivalled that would have been Black Widow, but he never knew her personally, so who's he to assume she wouldn't have responded well to a sensitive situation. It dawns on him through that line of thinking that he hasn't been able to much grieve for the assassin. On one hand, she'd done a great service in protecting the world from harm, for which he's endlessly thankful for. On the other, he never actually knew her beyond fighting on the same side as her for a couple minutes at most. He probably doesn't even get the right to grieve her in the first place for that fact. Steve, however, must be feeling her loss just as much as he feels Tony's, and that realisation only spurs on the bitter lashes his mind rages on his conscious.
The weight of a hand sitting hesitantly on his shoulder blade draws his attention back to the hero.
"You know, Pepper told me that there wasn't a day that went by where Tony didn't think about you," he says softly, as though his words would break Peter should he speak any louder. He thinks that it wouldn't have mattered what way he said them, because tears instantly spring to his eyes. He sets the holographic recorder aside on his right in exchange for weakly pressing the heels of his palms into them, willing back the flood of guilt and raw emotion that only pounds against his barriers with equal furiosity. "He did all he could to get you back the moment he realised there was a feasible way to make it happen. Tony may have found it difficult to express how he felt when it came to emotions, but I think you became a rare exception on that front."
Peter speaks without even intending to, his grief dripping from the words. "This always happens. I always lose the only people who are ever there with me through it all as anything more than just… a friend . I feel like the only one left is her," he says, lowering his hands and turning his face behind them and to the house, where May and Pepper have been almost inaudibly murmuring to each other for the past few minutes, even with his enhanced hearing. "She's the only form of family I've got left. I don't know what I would do with myself if I wasn't enough for her… if I failed her like everyone else."
The hero instantly detests. "You haven't failed anyone."
"No offense, sir, but you don't exactly know me. Maybe I couldn't have done anything to save my parents, sure, but my uncle? I was there. I could have pushed him out of the way of the bullet — I was already enhanced for crying out loud — or maybe I could have slowed the bleeding more for the chance that help might have arrived in time." By this point tears are cascading from his eyes again, and he knows he can do nothing to slow them. Grief, both old and new, floods his lungs. "Tony? I could have been stronger way back on Titan. If I had managed to get the stupid gauntlet off of Thanos when we had the chance the first time, then maybe this wouldn't have needed to happen in the first place? I should have been able to rip his arm out of the socket had I thought about it, but I didn't, because I thought I was somehow above injuring the guy. And later, when Doctor Strange brought us all to the fight? I was across the battlefield instead of being there like I knew I should have been. If I had just done what I originally thought maybe there would have been a chance! No one had to die, but I was so useless that I let it happen anyway. Because I didn't do more, two of the world's heroes sacrificed themselves just so everyone else could go home. And I..." He looks down at the device at his side, whole body shaking with the force of his confessions. "And the worst part is? I never even said goodbye to him. I never got to thank him for all that he'd done for me, and all because I had to cry and beg as he died. All I got to say was that I was sorry, because he didn't deserve what came to him when he could have very easily been spared had I just done more. I refuse to believe this was the only possible timeline where we defeated Thanos, there has to have been some other way. I—..." His throat finally closes up, breath leaving his lungs as he hunches over and plants his face in his hands. The hand on his shoulder lifts, then reappears on his other side as he distantly feels himself being pulled around to face the man. Then there's a pressure against his front and he shamefully finds himself desperate for the comfort, leaning into Captain America's careful hold as the tears only slip from his eyes faster.
There's a long stretch of stillness, where the only sound to break the air around them is the quiet sobs that force themselves from his throat and the near-silent words of comfort the man whispers from its perch on his mop of hair. He's almost entirely encompassed in the arms that have wound around his torso. The feeling is so familiar that it only spurs him to slump even further into the embrace as he remembers Tony's final words to him on the recording.
Quietly, he speaks through the tears, muffled by the fabric. "I didn't even tell him I loved him back."
Stillness, again, though now it is accompanied by the stunned silence of the veteran man who holds him. Peter barely registers the way the hand freezes on his back, only sobbing unceasingly under the weight of his changed world.
He didn't deserve this , he thinks. Tony never could have deserved this.
And he believes that with every part of his being. When Peter learned that the man had retired from his hero status to remain with the small family he'd created for himself, he'd been devastated. He had deserved nothing less than to live in peace with his wife and daughter. He owed nothing to the world that never gave him anything in return. When the universe sought to bring his small piece of paradise to ashes again and again, it was so unbelievably unfair. He was never the type to let anyone else take the knife in the back, because he would rather see his own downfall rather than lose those that he always did nothing less than risk losing everything for.
"It hurts . It hurts so much. God, I don't think I can do this again," he cries, his fingers gripping the fabric of the man's suit even tighter. His control slips ever further away. "I just want this all to stop. I can't… I— I can't …"
Not him, not him. Please, God, give him back. His sobbing takes a turn, more desperate, louder. The arms around him start rocking him back and forth, but he doesn't even feel it, too lost in his heartbreak to take notice.
"Please just take me instead, I— he didn't— it's not fair, it never is . He…"
All at once there's more pressure against his spine as another pair of arms slink around his shoulders, loose yet very much present. In that moment, his guard drops so intensely that he thinks he might fall with it through the wooden dock. He physically feels his final tether of resolve shatter like a cracked mirror, and knows there's no point in holding on to something that he's already lost.
He wails with the force of someone who has lost time and time again. He begs to whoever has the energy to listen to return the man who was taken far too soon. He cries for the woman who has seen off the man that she loved, and the child who will grow up without recent memory of her father. He cries out of his own self-pity, his world shaken for the third time over the man who had thought of Peter as his son .
And despite the overwhelming emotion of grief, he at least has the gall to feel embarrassment. Because here he is, tucked between a supersoldier and the last person who considers him family while the widowed Pepper Stark-Potts runs a gentle, comforting hand through the hair above the nape of his neck. He's aware that he's not the only one who has lost unimaginable amounts. However, all he knows in that moment is that he has no idea how the world could possibly go on when he is no longer there to see what his sacrifice has amounted to.
He barely recognises the words over his unwavering lament, but he hears them all the same.
"Oh, Peter…"
And as the minutes pass, when Captain America's position is replaced by May, and Pepper joins the noise with her own quiet, tear-filled words of comfort, his body begins to slump as the emotional and physical exhaustion begins to truly weigh on him. For one, singular moment, just as he's about to fall away from reality completely, his mind falls quiet. He doesn't forget all that's happened, but all the raging intensity of those memories almost seems to disperse, and with the space cleared, his tension follows suit. The blissful peace that floods his thoughts all at once brings such an overwhelming sense of relief that the tears stream for this reason as well.
And when his crying eventually ceases and the wetness begins to dry on his reddened skin, after he's been carried to a guest room by strong, shaking arms and left bundled in the bedding to rest, he dreams. He dreams of a second outcome in which Tony crouches with his daughter and Peter at his side as they stand at the edge of the lake by the man's family home. May and Pepper watch from the porch steps as Morgan attempts to skim a stone across the water's glassy surface, widening her eyes when she appears to be successful. Everyone would happily cheer her on as she goes to try again, and again, until they all retreat back inside, laughing among themselves as they indulge in a late lunch. And when Peter eventually awakens to a dark room with the sound of muffled crying drifting from the semi-open door, he would come to think it would always feel more like a cruel, cruel nightmare.