Peter struggles a lot with his memories of Tonyâs death. Heâs a little ashamed of how much it bothers him. Heâs an Avenger, after all. Death shouldnât leave these kinds of scars.
But it did. It had. The images of Tony slipping away, the smell of his charred skin, the way his breaths had wheezed in, out, then shuddered to a halt, arc reactor flickering into nothingnessâŚ
The memory of Tonyâs hand falling limply away from Pepperâs was always playing in the back of his mind.
But most of all, he couldnât stop replaying the fact that Tony hadnât said anything to him. Heâd just laid there, still and silent. Peter hadnât gotten any last words, final comforts. All heâd gotten was hazy eyes and a bucketful of trauma.
There was no escaping the memories, no running from the horror that bubbled in his throat whenever they resurfaced. And he knew he couldnât survive like this. Maybe even more so, he knew that Tony would never want him to.
There were only two people on Earth who truly understood. Sure, Steve and the others had watched from afar, but Rhodey, Peter, and Pepper had been on the frontlines. Theyâd been close enough to hear his last breaths, to see the life dwindle out of Iron Manâs eyes.
He couldâve gone to either Rhodey or Pepper, of course, but he chose her because the memory of Tonyâs death wasnât the only one that he could recall with frightening clarity.
In the settling moments, the ones that came in the shockwaves of that final breath, Pepper had kissed Tonyâs cheek. Peter had felt like throwing up. Rhodey had held him back, steel arms around his stomach.
âRhodey,â Pepper had gasped, âRhodey, let him come, now. Let him⌠Just let him come.â
Heâd been released, and he wouldâve face-planted if Pepper hadnât twisted around to grab his arm, steadying him as he sunk to his knees in front of Tonyâs body.
âMister Stark?â He whimpered. Heâd reached for Tony like a child, hands grasping helplessly just inches from his motionless chest. It was a physical call for action, a plea to be held.
Tony hadnât answered it, was far past that, now, but Pepper had.
She had pulled him into her chest, chin resting on the crown of his head. âShh, sweetheart. Itâs alright now. Itâs over. Itâs⌠Itâs all over.â
âTony?â At any other time, he wouldâve been ashamed of how cracked and desperate his voice was, of his entire reaction in general. But then, heâd been strangely detached, out of control. âTony.â
Pepper had been the one to guide him as he tucked himself against Tonyâs chest, had been the one to rub his back as he sobbed. Eventually, sheâd been the one whoâd rocked him while Rhodey scooped Tony into his arms, to carry him back. To carry him home.
Although the memories were hazy, he knew that sheâd stayed with him once he slipped into shock, too. Sheâd filled the role of May, of Tony, without missing a step. And sheâd done it all while struggling under the weight of a loss that even Peter couldnât begin to comprehend.
And, sure, Pepper had always been kind to him, but sheâd taken more of an interest in him after⌠well, after. He knew it was probably only out of a lingering need to protect whatever Tony loved, but he clung to that connection all the same.
So he skips school, comes to the cabin when Morganâs at playgroup. The conversation he needed to have wouldnât feel right with her in the house. It would feel wrong.
As soon as the door opens, he can see Pepperâs surprise, see the reprimand on her lips, but then she takes in the look on his face, the bags underneath his eyes, and she ushers him in.
She makes him sit on the couch, offers him tea. He shakes his head, just curls into himself until she finally sits beside him.
âWhat do you need, Peter?â She asks, voice soft. Peter wonders if thatâs why Tony fell in love with her: because her ability to gentle was good for his rough edges.
âI⌠I keep thinking about it.â
Pepper didnât need clarification to at least understand the ballpark of his meaning. âOh, Peter. Itâs normal to feel the⌠the loss of presence in your life-â
He shakes his head. âNo, no. I mean I keep thinking about it. About the.. the moment. It wonât stop playing in my head.â
âThat moment that heâŚ?â
âWhat bothers you about it?â
It feels like a ridiculous question at first. What bothers him about it? Well, the fact that Tony died, for one. The fact that he was just sixteen and confused and watching something horrific happen without the gravity of the moment really registering until after, until it was too late to really process it at all.
But then⌠but then he realizes that there was a reason behind why it bothered him so much. That despite the generic awfulness of the whole experience, there was one aspect that stung above everything else. One fact that he was constantly tangling himself up in.
âHe didnât say anything to me,â he whispers, voice breaking. âHe⌠I donât even think he knew that I was there.â
He wouldâve comforted me. He wouldâve said something stupid, smiled, cracked a joke. If heâd known I was there, he wouldnât have acted the way he did.
He wouldnât have just laid there.
âHe knew,â Pepper murmured, and she said it like she never once doubted that it was true.
He wanted to believe it. God, he really, really wanted to believe it.
âBecause I saw him recognize you, Peter. He⌠He wasnât at peace until he saw your face. Didnât you notice him look at you?â
âI⌠I donât know.â
If he was being honest, he hadnât been seeing much of anything at the time, besides the blur-wobble of unshed tears.
âHe did.â Pepper tilts his chin up, the same way Tony used to, when he refused to look at him after a rough day at school or on patrol. âHe looked at you like heâd be alright if that was the last thing heâd ever see. And I donât think⌠I donât think he could talk, sweetheart.â
He hated how petulant it sounded, how childish and resentful. Of course Pepper deserved those final words. She was Tonyâs wife, the mother of his child, the love of his life. What right did Peter have to resent Tonyâs last gift to her?
But Pepper didnât seem upset. She just smiled, genuine and sad. âAnd you heard how it sounded, didnât you? He was trying not to scare you, Peter. At least, not anymore than he already had. You were so frightened. I think he knew that if he said anything, it would just make it harder for you to accept.â
He felt a sob threaten to crawl up his throat. When he spoke, his voice was strained with it. âHe just⌠he used to talk so much.â
âI know. But, honey,â Pepperâs thumb swiped under cheek, caught a tear he hadnât even known had fallen, âsometimes we donât need to say anything to tell someone we love them.â
âDid he⌠Do you really think heâŚ?â
âLoved you?â At his reluctant nod, Pepper laughed. âPeter, look outside. Half the birds, half the children, half of everyone: theyâre all there because of you. Tony stitched the universe back together just so that you could live in it. If that isnât love, what is?â
And for once, Peter didnât really know what to say, either.