irondad drabbles idea??? anniversary of Ben's death and Peter sneaks up to the roof of the tower in the middle of the night and tony comes up and they have a heart to heart/cuddles
its like y’all already know I love the angst ahsjk
Grief was fickle, volatile.
Grief destroyed, it consumed, it tore you apart, taking and taking until you couldn’t stand anymore, and then told you to get up, move on, keep stumbling through the dark until the next tragedy strikes.
Grief waits for the day it can again strip you barren; waits to tear open your chest and delicately embroider your heart with the names of those loved ones now gone.
Grief makes you believe you deserved it.
It’s been a whole year since Ben passed. A year of being without, of having Ben’s name written across Peter’s heart with no one to fill in the gaps between the letters.
They tell him its not his fault, and Peter wishes he could believe the sentiment, but it’s as Ben always believed. Peter had the power to stop the mugging, he had the responsibility to, but instead he watched as his Uncle took his last breath, gasping and sobbing as his bloody hands brushed over Ben’s cheek, begging him, come back, come back. Please, come back.
Ben didn’t, and then it was just him and May. And then it was Peter and Mr. Stark, and Spider-man and the Avengers (sort of).
Peter moved on, not moved past, but he lived; he lived and he lived brightly.
Being Spider-man meant more than anything to Peter. Helping people felt good, felt right, and he knew he was doing what he wanted to for the rest of his life. Peter knew even instances like the Vulture couldn’t stop him from doing the right thing.
Sometimes, though, grief took a strangle-hold around his neck, and the anniversary of Ben’s death was always the worst night.
Peter woke from a nightmare, his chest hot, and the room too small. Cool water trickled down his neck, and his hands smeared red as Peter stumbled to his feet, desperately trying to get out but not knowing where he was going. Only when cool air brushed across his skin, chasing away the heat of blood and the crushing weight of a building, did he realize where he was.
Exhaling shakily, Peter slipped his hand along the railing as he paced the edge of the apartment building’s roof. Queens was quiet, buzzing a warm, sleepy note in the back of his mind that Peter’s pretty sure only he could hear.
His wrist buzzed, and Peter glanced down at his StarkWatch, blearily reading over the words.
You okay, kid? Your heart rate spiked.
Swallowing, Peter made the split-second decision to grab his suit. He rushed down the stairs and into their apartment quietly as he could, trying not to wake Aunt May. The trip to the tower was peaceful, feeling nothing but the tug of his muscles and the gentle thwip and release of his webs.
When he crawled up the edge of the tower and to the roof, Tony was already there waiting for him, an old bathrobe wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders over his familiar black tank top.
Slowly, Peter peeled off his mask and stood up from his crouch. Tony stepped closer, his dark eyes studying Peter with a familiar-sort of scrutiny, before touching a warm hand to Peter’s cheek. Peter shivered as his face tipped unconsciously closer to Tony’s hand, chasing the warmth and familiarity of those calloused fingers.
“It’s okay, Peter,” he said, more gently than Peter’s really ever heard his mentor speak, “Not everyone’s a hero all the time.”
“Ben was,” Peter whispered, eyes welling up with a familiar burn, “Ben was always my hero.”
Peter took a half-step back when Tony inched closer, warily observing Tony as he slowed his movements, hands smoothing down Peter’s arms before gently pulling him closer. Peter could’ve resisted, but there was a magnetic pull in Tony’s chest he couldn’t ignore, and let his mentor guide him forward until Tony’s arms curled fast around him.
“I can’t speak for your uncle,” Tony said, “but he probably saw you as his own hero. And I’m damn sure you’re mine, kid. You’re the best of all of us.”
Hiccupping out a broken laugh, Peter squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of tears, lashes dampening the longer Tony held him.
“I miss him. I miss him so much.”
Tony turned to press his face into Peter’s hair as Peter shivered and fell apart, and pressed a little forgotten kiss amongst the curls.
