@lyssismagical, this one’s for you 🥺🥺🥺
they come together at the funeral of the man who saved the world, and when they do, it feels like the star in each of their cores has effectively imploded, leaving a vacuum of butterflies and blue skies and rain.
peter sees him near the back of the avengers as tony’s arc reactor floats out into the center of the stark family’s lake. he knows he shouldn’t be thinking like this at a funeral- he should be paying attention, should be standing by pepper and morgan, should be honoring the memory of his third father.
somehow, though, he feels, this feels pretty on-target for tony stark.
peter thinks he’d want this. he’s probably laughing up in the sky, staring down at peter’s internal conflict. you think my other adopted waif is hot? you dare to dishonor my memory with impure thoughts at my funeral? go for it, underoos.
this seems like something tony would want.
the blond boy’s suit is well-fitted, the combination of his black dress shirt and jacket making him look much taller than his already-intimidating height. his hair floats around his face in messy waves as wind blows through the clearing. he’s not crying, this boy, but the downward tilt of his lips says more than any tears ever could.
peter watches him out of the corner of his eye, keeping him sternly in his peripheral vision as the avengers slowly disperse. some go to their cars, some into the cabin, and others into the woods, a veritable group of misfits that can’t even seem to fit among themselves.
natasha had fit, peter thinks. she was the only one who truly meshed with all of them.
he waits, patient, to see if the boy will follow any of the others. he doesn’t move- and, if peter’s senses are accurate in any way, he’s watching peter, too.
when footsteps start to crunch over the gravel of the backyard, peter doesn’t move. his feet feel as if they’re rooted to the ground, pointed toward the lake. he’s a tree, his hair leaves, his arms branches.
without a second thought, peter nods.
the blond boy settles to his right, sticking his hands into his pockets, and nods.
“i’m peter.” he holds his hand out, fingers trembling ever-so-slightly- they always do. he can’t seem to stop it, no matter how many breathing exercises he does, how much medication cho perscribes him.
harley’s hand is big and warm around peter’s. his knuckles are calloused in the same way tony’s had been, and when he moves to let go, his touch seems to linger on peter’s skin.
they stand side-by-side and watch, staring out into the distance, as the cluster of flowers topped with tony’s reactor floats further and further away, turning from a dot to a speck to nothing.
peter takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, tipping his head toward the sky.
he can feel harley do the same.
and, alone by the lake, they thank the powers that be for tony stark.
