Sign of the times

Peter Parker had a tie for every funeral he had been too.

They sat in his closet collecting dust because even the thought of putting one of them back on was enough for him to imagine tying his own noose around his neck. Sometimes, on his worst days, he would open the box they sat in and stare at all four of them. Each one darker in color and memories than the one before. 

Four was too many. Four were too many ties to own at the age of fifteen. 

The first two he wore when he was six when both his grandfathers died five months apart. His grandmothers were already gone, both passed before he was even born. The year Peter was six was a somber one, but mostly because his parents distanced themselves from everything, separating real-life and subconscious while they grieved. 

Later, Peter would understand why they did that since he would do much of that himself. But at the moment, his mind couldn’t comprehend why his mom didn’t stare at him the same way she had done only a few months prior. 

The third one belonged to the memorial’s held for his mother and father. 

He was eight then; newly placed in the care of his aunt and uncle, and utterly confused. They never found the bodies of his parents, so Peter was having a harder time wrapping his mind around the fact that they were gone. 

Or maybe it was just grief. 

His subconscious now removing itself from real-life. His mind not fully realizing that the women’s hand he then held was not his mother’s. 

“You’re okay, Baby,” May had whispered while they stood in front of gravestones marking lost bodies. She squeezed his numb hand. “We will be okay.” 

He figured she was speaking more to herself than him. 

“It’s natural,” someone would tell him. “A part of life.” 

If this was a part of life, Peter wanted nothing to do with it. He thought that after his parents passed, and he thought that when he stared into that box. When his eyes ran over the stiff and dusty material of the neckties. 

The fourth one was buried at the bottom. No matter what -- no matter how deep Peter fell -- he never looked at that one. 

That was Ben’s tie. Ben didn’t deserve his tie to lie hidden, but Peter knew that if he stared at it long enough, he would rip it to shreds. He couldn’t do that. 

So little of Ben remained. No more of him could go to waste. 

“It’s natural.” 

That sentence came back when Peter was fourteen. He heard it in the hour after Ben’s memorial; where he stood in the funeral hall, beside the table of finger sandwiches and punch, and watched the rain drip down the window panes. How characteristic of the weather.

The thing that surprised him most was the fact that it was May who said it. 

He had looked to his aunt in surprise, as he had assumed her voice had fled her for the time being. Her gaze was directed outside, and at this point, Peter was the same height as her. They stood shoulder to shoulder, in their black attire and Peter’s fourth tie, and watched the storm grown heavy. 

“As much as I hate it, it’s life,” May had said, her voice catching and becoming impossibly soft. “Life cycles. Like blood, or water, or air… It starts and it ends. Some just end earlier than others.”

There were dark circles under her eyes. Back then, her hair was shorter than in the present. After Ben, she stopped caring so much about how she looked, and by the time she did again, she had grown to accept the new length. 

“I wish it didn’t,” Peter had admitted. His own eyes burned, and he kept waiting for someone to come over and interrupt them. 

May swallowed, and Peter could hear it. That’s how close they were standing. 

“I know,” she said, “I do, too. But… it’s almost ridiculous. We work so hard to bring people into the world, and yet, taking them out of it seems easier than necessary. He was gone so fast, I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” 

Tears of sorrow and guilt roll down Peter’s cheeks. May sighs. She was being uncharacteristically vocal considering Peter had heard her speak about three words in the past five days. 

“But, as we both have learned to come to terms with… death is normal. It’s change-- unwanted change at that, but…” 

May turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were red, full of hate and sadness and love and desperation. Hot desperation for something no one could give her yet. 

“It’s all just a fucking sign of the times, Pete.” 

----

Part of Peter felt bad for choosing to be a hero. 

The times when he felt worst about it was when he would lay in bed after patrols; his mind reeling as he retraced his footsteps during the past few hours, thinking about everything he just did and witnessed while listening to the steady breathing of his aunt sleeping in the next room. 

He imagined how May would react if he didn’t come in through his bedroom window one of these nights. What the grief might do to her if he was the next one to go. 

He couldn’t let her put on her funeral dress again… he wouldn’t allow it. 

But he wouldn’t allow himself to sit around while people got hurt. Ben put himself out there, taking in the bad and wringing out the good, and now… well, now he wasn’t here, so it was Peter’s turn to carry the mantle. 

“You’re okay,” Tony had said to him over the phone. 

Those words instantly send Peter back to the day of Ben’s funeral. Staring out the window, the smell of ham sandwiches, and May’s shuddering shoulder against his. 

Peter sobs, his free hand gripping his blankets to quell it’s trembling. “You don’t know that.” 

“But I do,” Tony’s voice is calm despite Peter calling him at three in the morning. “It was just a dream, Pete. You’re okay. May is okay. I’m okay.” 

“I was gone, and I left her,” Peter says, trying to soften his cries. “I left her like Mom and Dad and Ben. She had too-- she had--”

He couldn’t finish his sentence. He couldn’t tell Tony that his dream ended with May standing in front of a tombstone, wearing that black dress as Peter was lowered into the ground, and she was alone. 

That thought scared him more than imagining his own death. 

“Peter. Buddy. Hey,” Tony had a soft but firm tone that Peter recognized his own father using, then later Ben. It was new for Tony, but the boy liked it. “I know you can’t see me right now, but I need you to know that everything is okay. It was a dream, and everything is okay. You are here. May is sleeping in her room, and in the morning you will see her and give her a big hug. Alright?” 

Peter nodded, sniffing, and whispered, “Yes. Alright.” 

“How about you come over tomorrow? I’ll get Happy to pick you up from school.” 

“Tomorrow is Tuesday.” 

“Yes…?” 

“Lab day is Monday, Wednesday, Thursday.” 

He could hear Tony smile through the phone. “Well how about we make an exception. I think that can be arranged.” 

“Okay,” Peter says, finally feeling better. “See you tomorrow.” 

“See you tomorrow, Kiddo.” 

May gave him his hug in the morning. She thankfully asked no questions as Peter collapsed into her arms, squeezing her tightly and hugging for longer than normal. He muttered his “Good morning” to her, and she smiles, giving him his breakfast of a peanut-butter-banana sandwich before he runs out the door. 

That evening, Peter all but collapsed into his chair at his workstation. Tony chuckled from where he stood, watching as the boy shucked his damp bag and rain-peppered jacked onto the floor. 

“I did tell you to leave the rain outside, correct?” 

Peter looked to his mentor, his cheeks heating as he realized what he just did. “Sorry. I’ll… I’ll get a mop.” 

Peter started for the door when Tony stuck out an arm, Peter coming to a stop with little hesitation. 

“I was kidding, Pete. It’s fine. It’ll dry in like… twenty minutes.” 

Peter allowed himself to laugh, but it felt sheepish. Tony just ruffled his hair -- brown curls springer than usual. They did that in the rain -- and walked towards his station. They start to work on their own projects, and Peter is in the middle of putting his web-shooters back together after taking them apart for the second time when Tony speaks. 

“I hope you got back to sleep last night.” 

Peter looks over, only to find that Tony is staring at his bits of metal. Peter looks away before the man can catch him staring. 

“I did,” Peter says, trying to make it look like he’s working. “Don’t worry. Got a full five hours.” 

He could practically hear Tony wince. “You are definitely not sleeping enough.” 

“Says you.” 

“Hey,” Tony spun around. “I’ve gotten better.” 

Peter smiles, keeping his eyes down. The silence that falls between them is comfortable, but Peter can feel Tony staring. 

“Did you get your hug?” Tony asks. “From May?” 

“Yep, as well as a PB-banana sandwich.” 

“So a win-win.” 

“Yep.” 

More silence joins them, and this time, Tony’s stare itches at the back of Peter’s neck. The boy finally spins around, their eye connection the only thing closing the eight feet of distance. 

“Thank you for picking up my call last night,” Peter says, suddenly wishing they weren’t so far apart. “And also for letting me come over today.” 

“No problem, Bud. For both of them,” Tony smiles, but then it fades slightly, his eyes looking down and then up quickly. “I’m actually glad you called me. I… I sometimes worry about you.” 

“You do?” 

Tony almost scoffed. “Of course I do, Pete. I worry about you every time you go out for a patrol… But last night... That was a different kind of worry. I know you get nightmares. I get nightmares. We all… anyway, um… It made me happy that you called me to let me help you and calm you down. I’m sure you don’t go to May for that.” 

“I’m not ten anymore.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

Peter pushes the pads of his thumbs against each other, “I was afraid you weren’t going to pick up,” he admits. “I thought the phone was juts gonna keep ringing and ringing and ring--” Peter cuts himself off as his breath hitches in his chest, words lodging themselves behind his tongue. His eyes burn and he recognizes the moment Tony knows the tears are going to fall. 

“Hey,” the man says, quickly moving over and bringing the boy into a loose hug. “It’s okay, Pete.” 

The action alone was enough to make Peter freeze, his air getting stuck in his lungs, but then he starts to cry again. He reaches his arms up, wrapping them around Tony’s shoulders and pulling them close. Tony only squeezes back. 

“I will never not pick up,” Tony says, his voice soft and assuring. “I will never leave you waiting.” 

Peter nods, his voice gone. 

“You can count on me, Peter. Don’t you worry.” 

----

A week later, Peter gets a phone call. The number is unknown. He is about to decline when he gets a text from Tony. 

Tony: Pick up. 

Peter frowned at that but did as he was told. 

“Hello?”

“Peter Parker?” 

The voice on the other end was deep and rough, and a feeling of dread clouded Peter’s mind. 

“Yes?” 

“This is Nick Fury, head of SHIELD.” 

Peter balked. “Oh, um… yes. Hello, sir.” 

“Sorry for the sudden call but Stark gave me your number. We are requesting your presence for the Avengers’ next mission. I’m sure Stark will be more than happy to fill you in on the details, but this is all the information I can give you over the phone.” 

Peter was quiet for a moment before he says, “You request my presence?... I’m guessing that I really don’t have a choice whether I go or not.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

Peter hummed, “Okay.” 

“Contact Stark. We’ll see you soon.” 

Before Peter could say good-bye, the line went dead. 

---- 

Peter could tell Tony was upset that Spider-Man had to join the Avengers on this mission. He could tell as they sat side by side in the quinjet, Tony eyes refusing to meet anyone else, including Peter’s. He could tell as they exited the ship; soft, unbroken soil squishing under their feet and Tony stiffly walking by his side. 

He could tell by the way Tony jumped to protect Peter at the first bang. 

Peter himself had found it all just a little overbearing. The mission was supposed to be simple: fly to an abandoned Hydra base -- one the team has already cleared -- and search for any missing tech or weapons. That’s why the group that went was so small; that’s why Fury insisted Peter should go. 

Tony had told Peter that his hands were tied. That Fury wouldn’t let this mission happen unless Peter went. That it would be, “A very good learning experience for him, Stark.”  

And Peter, in his blind excitement for getting to be part of the team, had neglected to take Tony’s reasoning into account. He was ecstatic, bouncing where he had stood outside the base, waiting for Sam to give the go-ahead. 

But of course, that was before the first bang. 

Peter’s vision was gone. He was relying solely on his sense. Jump to the left; down this hall; dodge; punch; kick; run… run… run... RUN. 

Distantly, he could hear the voice of his teammates screaming over the coms. Nobody sounded hurt, but no one sounded safe either. “West corridor is almost secure!” Sam screamed, his voice blending with Clint’s, the archer shouting about people coming from the trees. 

Peter couldn’t see, and even though that should have panicked him, he couldn’t allow himself to focus on it. He knew his vision was still there, somewhere, but right now, the world was dark and the air was hot. 

Run; punch; jump; run; next hallway; down these stairs; through this door. 

“Peter!” 

That was Tony’s voice, and it was close. Closer than the others had been, and before Peter could figure out where his mentor was located, shocking, white-hot pain exploded from his stomach. 

He yelped, the feeling of concrete smashing under his knees, and suddenly he could see. 

He looked up, the man who shot him going down before Peter could get a good look at his face. The Hydra agent’s lifeless body hit the ground like a stone, and suddenly, Peter didn’t care about him. 

Tony was standing in the agent’s place, his hand outstretched, repulser smoldering. “Peter!” Tony cried out once more, stepping over the body and falling to his knees in front of Peter. 

“Tony,” Peter said, his hands coming to clutch at his abdomen. “I’m-- I’m okay.” 

“Pete…” Tony reaches towards the boy, but he pulls back at the last second, “We have to get you back.” 

“No, no, I’m… I’m fine,” Peter reaches up and plants a hand on Tony’s shoulder, trying to push himself to his feet and keep fighting. “I’m okay, my healing will--” 

Peter gasps, pain shooting through his body and he falls, two arms wrapping around his chest and pulling him against something solid. Peter looks up, his vision swimming as vertigo wraps itself around his mind and makes the world unsteady. 

Tony holds the boy close, tears of panic swimming in the man’s eyes despite how much he seems to be fighting it. “You are going to be alright,” Tony says, gathering Peter against his suit and rushing towards the exit. “I gonna make sure of it.” 

Peter smothered a whimper as Tony jostled him, burying his face against the man’s neck. The cool of the metal was nice against his hot forehead. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, sounding on the verge of a panic attack. “I’m sorry, Bud.” 

Peter could feel the blood dripping down his suit and over his legs, leaving a trail of dark read behind them. The smell was overwhelming and accompanied by the voices flooding his ear, he felt himself starting to shut down. 

“Peter,” Tony says, “Peter, stay awake!” 

“No… too-- too much...” 

His eyes start to drift closed, and in his semi-conscious state, he felt his eyes cloud with tears. He couldn’t believe he was leaving May. He couldn’t believe his dream was coming true. 

She was going to have to put on that dress. She was going to have to say good-bye once again. He couldn’t even tell her he loved her one last time. 

“Stay awake!” Tony shouted, his feet pounding the dirt as they ran out into the afternoon sun.

It assaulted Peter’s vision, and with one last wince, he felt himself drift away. The sound of Tony’s cries and a melody of gunshots lulling him to sleep as they ran into the darkness. 

----

When he woke, he started to cry. 

Tony and May were both at his side in an instant. “Are you in pain?” They both asked, Tony already reaching to call for a nurse. 

Peter shook his head, tears rolling down his temples, but his mind refusing his eyes to shut. He was here. He was alive, and he was with May. 

She didn’t have to say good-bye, and neither did he. 

“I love you,” he croaked, May’s panicked expression morphing into one of adoration. 

“I love you too, Baby,” she said, running the back of her finger down his cheek. 

“Thank you,” he says, looking to Tony. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, Bud.” 

Peter had never been so happy to wake up in a hospital room. 

----

Three weeks after the mission, Peter spent the night at Tony’s. His wound was fully healed, and his nightmares had dwindled, each one becoming shorter and shorter until he had finally gone a full week without a single bad dream. 

Of course, the worst one had to strike when he wasn’t home. 

He wakes in a cold sweat, and soon after the tears come. He tries to hide them in his pillow, but that doesn’t help because it only stunts his breathing, and as it turns out, Peter needed air to live. 

He stares up at the ceiling, choking down sobs and hiccuping painfully. The dream replayed in his mind like a broken record; the same scene repeating itself until he had memorized it entirely. 

The next thing he knew, there was a knock at his door and someone was coming in without an invitation. 

“Pete?” 

Peter’s breath hitched, his bruised eyes falling on the figure as it steps into the limited light the outside world gave. Tony looked over at Peter swaddled in his blankets, and the boy knew he must look impossibly small right now. 

“FRIDAY said you were distressed,” Tony says, his voice genuine. 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Peter whispered. He had no one else to wake, but it felt weird to speak any other way considering how late it was. They had stayed up too long working in the lab. Peter didn’t want to disturb Tony while he got his sleep. 

“Well too bad for you, but I was already awake.” He caught Peter’s look of, Really? “Yep, maybe my Tony sense went off. Let me know that my kid was having a nightmare.” 

“Your kid?” Peter’s voice was anything but snarky. 

“What’s wrong, Bud?” Tony asked, and Peter didn’t miss how he skirted around the question. 

“Nothing,” Peter says, suddenly shy. 

“BS.” Tony sits down on the bed next to Peter, not quite touching but close enough that Peter can hear his heartbeat. Steady.  

“It was just a stupid dream.” 

“Not stupid enough that FRIDAY had to alert me because you had an accelerated heartbeat and were on the edge of a panic attack.” When he repeats what FRIDAY told him, he imitates a robot, his voice goofy and mechanical. 

Peter laughs softly. Tony nudges his shoulder. 

“Come on, Kid. Spill.” When Peter stays silent, Tony tries again. “Remember what I told you when you called me a few weeks ago. We all get nightmares. Even me. You don’t have to be embarrassed.” 

Peter inhaled, taking in Tony’s bed-mussed hair and worn pajamas. Right now, he was witnessing a side of Tony only a few got to see. The Tony Stark that didn’t hide behind a pair of sunglasses, scripted one-liners, and too much snark to handle. 

He was just Tony. Just Tony. 

“I have been having these dreams that I’ve been dying, but the scariest part about them is that I leave May. I dream about her going to my funeral and wearing the dress that she wore to all the other funeral’s, and about her having to say goodbye.” A lump forms in his throat, but he powers through. He can see a faded sort of understanding fall over Tony’s face. 

“But tonight--” his breath catches, “--tonight I dreamt that May died. I didn’t get to say goodbye, and I had to wear another tie. I had to wear a fifth tie, and five ties are just too many for the collection. Too many fo-- for the box--” A sob bubbles up from his chest, and he chokes on it. 

He tries to work around the cries, but it’s too much and the tears fall. That’s when Tony takes him in his arms. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the man whispers, running his hand through the boy’s curls. They always went crazy at night, so right now Peter wouldn’t be surprised if they stuck up on their own. 

The ways his hair defied gravity were a mystery even he couldn’t solve. 

But the way Tony’s hands worked through it was nice. It helped to calm Peter down as he soaked his tears up with the shoulder of Tony’s shirt. 

“We’re okay,” Tony says, his voice sopping with affection. “We’re okay.” 

Peter finally pulls away to stare at his mentor, Tony keeping a hand on the boy’s forearm. Peter wipes his nose with his hand, laughing softly at his own mess. 

“I understand,” Tony says, earning a slightly surprised look in response. “Trust me-- everything you just said, I… Okay, wait here. I’ll be back.” 

Peter watched Tony stand and leave the room. An emptiness filled him when he watched the door close, but it didn’t stay long before Tony is walking back into the room, a briefcase in hand. 

“You mentioned wearing another tie. Another one for the collection… well,” Tony patted the top of the leather case. “This is mine. I can’t look, at least not right now, but you can if you want.” 

Tony handed the case over, Peter taking it with gentle hands. He gives Tony one last look, the man giving a nod of confirmation before he cracks the lid. Inside, much like Tony said, are many different ties. 

Most of them in shades of black, although they all seem to vary in shape. Some are small, like a tie a child might wear, while others are long and pointed. Some with blunt, straight ends. One was even ripped. 

But the collection was just like Peter’s. Each one tied to a list of memories -- a person -- that Tony had once known. Each tie was for a memorial that belonged to Tony’s past.

“I don’t remember wearing all of them,” Tony says, his eyes trained elsewhere. “But I can’t look at them none-the-less. I assume it’s the same with you.” 

“I keep mine in a shoebox.” 

Tony chuckles, his expression sorrowful. “I can’t get rid of them. Some of them belong to people who I don’t have the fondest memory of, yet I can’t get rid of them.” 

Peter closes the case, flipping the lock shut and sliding it back over to Tony. “I understand.” 

Tony pulls the boy back in for a second hug, this one softer than before. “I know you do.” 

----

The snap had chosen to take him. 

The snap had taken half of the world, but as Peter was drifting away he couldn’t bring himself to care about any of that. 

A part of him worried about his friends and family back home. A part of him worried about the Avengers who were on his side. But most of him was stuck worrying about what was happening here and now. 

How his hands were turning to dust in front of his very eyes. How his sense was shrieking at him to run. Run away. It’s not safe here. 

“Mister Stark,” he had said, his heart pounding. “Mister Stark, I don’t feel so good.” 

Tony’s voice was hazy, a part of the man’s speech getting lost in the ocean of panic raging through Peter’s mind. “You’re o… ‘onna be ok..” 

The tears burned, gathering in Peter’s eyes but refusing to fall. “I don’t-- I don’t know what’s happening,” Peter tried again, wondering if Tony even heard him the first time. 

And suddenly he was in the man’s arms. That strong, steady embrace that Peter had come to adore, and missed in the worst of moments; now it was around him. Bringing him close to a solid, trembling body and holding him there securely. 

Peter realized that Tony wasn’t going. Tony was staying. Tony was staying and now he was losing Peter. 

Peter clawed at Tony’s back, his arms wrapping around the man’s neck. Maybe if he grabbed on hard enough, some sheer force of will would anchor him to the ground and he wouldn’t disappear. 

But as much as he held Tony and Tony held him back, he could feel his limbs start to dissipate; like ice as soon as it hits the ground. Shattering into a million fragile, irreparable pieces. 

Tony’s voice was back. “You’re gonna be okay, Pete. I’m gonna make it okay.” 

It was steady. It was a lie. 

They fall. The force of Peter’s dead weight must have been too much for Tony’s injured body to bear, and Peter hits the ground first. He doesn’t register any pain, but he still groans. It seems like something he should do. 

Tony cups his cheek, and at that moment, Peter realizes the inevitable. How Tony was going to have to give him a memorial. He would stand at his grave, and cry, wearing a tie that was new and never to be seen again after that service. How Tony would have to mourn. 

How Peter would simply be gone. 

New dread fills Peter’s chest, and he weakly looks up at Tony. “I’m sorry,” the words leaving his numb lips, Tony’s face falling before Peter’s vision fades. 

Now he is nothing. 

----

Peter doesn’t understand. 

Twenty minutes ago he was in Tony’s embrace, fading away into a storm of ashes, and now he was watching the man die. 

The burns were deep. The crawled up his arm like spider webs and crossed up onto his neck and then his face. The gloved had practically morphed with his skin, and they all knew there was no way to get that off without taking the limb with it. 

Peter trembled where he stood, his sight hazy as he stared through a pool of tears. Rhodey was beside him, and then there was Pepper in her own iron-suit. 

Tony’s glazed over eyes scanned the small group, and even though he didn’t smile, Peter could see the same affection fill the man’s gaze when he found the boy. 

“Pete,” the word was almost impossible to make out, but of course Peter heard it. 

Peter stumbled forward, pushing off Rhodey’s hand when it landed on his shoulder and fell to his knees in front of his mentor. One of the boy’s shaking hands reached out, and he placed it on Tony’s chest, just over the man’s heart. 

Peter could feel the slow beats becoming less and less steady. He pushed back a sob, forcing their eyes to meet. The affection was back in Tony’s gaze, and Peter wished in that instant that they could trade places. 

“This is the end,” Tony croaks, “and I love you.” 

“Tony--” Peter cries, his whole body trembling. “It’s not. We’re-- we’re g-- gonna save you.” 

Tony shakes his head, but his neck won’t move, so it looks more painful than affective. “I lo… ve you so much.” 

“I’m gonna save you,” Peter says, his voice more confident. “We’re gonna get away from here, together, and I’m gonna save you. I’m gonna--” He sobs and Tony looks sad. 

“I’m glad you’re back,” Tony sounds like he’s fading. 

Peter knows he’s taking up all of the time, but he can’t pull himself away. “No… no! I’m gonna get you out of here-- come on, we have to get away!” 

“Pete--” 

“No!” 

There are two strong hands suddenly on Peter’s shoulders, and they pull him back. “Peter! Stop it, Bud!” Rhodey says, and Peter just wails. 

Tony’s eyes are devastated. 

Peter chokes on his cries, but as soon as he looks back and sees the way Tony watches him, he muscles the sobs down. The man he loved as a father was dying, and he needed to get his last words in. Tony couldn’t see him like this. 

“I love you more than anything,” Peter says, his hand cupping Tony’s cheek quick, like the man always did for him, and rubs his thumb against his temple. Tony hums in satisfaction. 

He allows Pepper to move in next, Rhodey cradling Peter gainst his chest, but it’s not the same. It never will be. When the light from the arc reactor finally fades, Peter shuts down. 

He is vaguely aware of everyone on the battlefield kneeling for the fallen man. He is vaguely aware of someone escorting him off the grounds and into a hospital room. He is barely aware of May running up and gathering him in her arms, crying. 

Everything after that is dark. 

----

They hold a service for him a week later. 

Tony’s body is cremated, the ashes getting buried around the roots of a sapling so that some part of the man can continue to grow and watch over his family. 

The morning of his funeral, Peter excuses himself to get dressed and May watches him leave the breakfast table sadly, his bowl of cereal left behind. Peter’s outfit is already hanging in his closet, all he has to do is put it on, but even that seems like too much. 

He stands and stares at the suit like he’s dressing to attend his own execution, but the thing that’s really stopping him is the black-tie that hangs against the dress shirt. 

Another one. That’s five. Five people lost in too short a life. 

It feels like only a second, but suddenly May is wrapping him up into her arms and shushing him gently. He realizes that he is sobbing, and once over the confusion of blacking out, he allows himself to fall into his aunt’s embrace. 

“Baby,” May says, holding him close as they fall to their knees, Peter’s strength giving out. “Baby.” 

“No one deserves this,” she says, her heartbeat clear. “You don’t deserve this.” 

“He’s gone,” Peter cries, “we can’t bring him back.” 

“I know,” May’s voice is soft. She wasn’t this articulate when Ben died, but then again, she fell into herself when Ben died. Much like Peter is doing now. “Baby, you know we have him here if we could… but no one could stop it.” 

“I could have!” 

“Peter, you…” She sighs, “I know it’s hard to admit to ourselves, but people have to leave. People have to go. I’ve explained it all to you before. We can’t save everyone.” 

The last part of her sentence is choked, and Peter knows she’s thinking of Ben. 

“Do you remember that thing I told you at Ben’s memorial? When it was just the two of us and we couldn’t feel worse?” Peter nodded against her shoulder, his cries finally slowing. “This is all just a sign of the times… a horrible sign, but it is one. A-- a new chapter. A new page. We just have to go through it.” 

Peter pulls back, sniffs, and looks into his aunt’s knowing eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “I can’t stop crying all the time.” 

May shakes her head. “Never be sorry. Crying is good. It’s the only thing that really gets us through. Letting it out… bottling up isn’t good. Always cry.” 

Peter nods, tears leaking out and slipping down his cheeks. May wipes a few away with her thumb. Peter sighs, leaning into her hand. When she pulls his head forward to press a kiss to his forehead, he closes his eyes and basks at the moment he can pretend that the one holding him is Tony. 

He tries not to look too disappointed when he opens his eyes and sees no other than May. 

----

Peter stays under the tree as long as possible. 

Dad Tree, as the family has affectionately dubbed it, towers above the lake house and stands among the forest like one of its own. When Peter comes to visit Pepper and Morgan, he always sits under the maple and relishes in the peace that finds him. 

Today, he rests among the roots and stares out at the lake splashing against the rocky shore. He knows his slacks are going to be covered in dirt as he didn’t bother to change after work, but that was a problem for future Peter. 

“I knew I would find you out here.” 

Peter looks up to see Morgan climbing the hill towards him. Her long, brown hair blows in the breeze coming from the water, and she smiles. 

“Hey, Mo,” Peter says, patting the spot next to him. She sits, throwing her sneakered feet up and resting them on his legs. “What’s up?” 

“Aunt May says dinner ready soon. Uncle Hap also said it’s gonna rain soon, so you might want to come inside.” 

“Not raining yet. I think we have time.” 

Morgan laughs softly. “Yeah, well, when he comes hollering, don’t blame me.” 

Peter smiles, reaching over and brushing a lock of hair back behind her ear. He watches her look out at the lake -- there was a family of ducks she had been feeding for the past week, and he could tell she was searching for them. 

He can’t help but reflect on his time after the snap was reversed. How he had been this emotionally frail, self-sacrificing, lost teenager who was taken into the Stark’s family as their own child.  

How May had fallen for Happy; how Pepper had held her role as a bad-ass business tycoon, even while grieving, and raising a child. How Morgan had eventually taken to Peter as easily as a fly takes to soda. She latched on and didn’t let go, proving that true even to this day, twenty years later. 

Now they’re both at Stark industries, Peter taking a new mantel as CEO and giving Pepper a well-deserved break, as Morgan heads R&D. A ruthless engineer likes her father, a fearless young woman like her mother. 

Peter thinks about how so much that had happened in his life wouldn’t have been so without the heartache. Without losing Ben, he never would have become Spider-Man and never would have met Tony or his now family. 

Without losing Tony, he never would have had the courage to follow in the man’s footsteps. To take charge of a company that helps millions of people every day, and is on a steady course to make the world a better place. 

And of course, despite it all, he would want more than anything to have both of those men by his side every day… but what May once said was right. It’s a cycle. Things are meant to be, and sometimes you have to lose what you love to realize what you need. 

“Do you think he ever watches us?” Morgan asks, breaking the silence. Her eyes are on the dark clouds rolling in. “Like, in a not creepy way.” 

Peter chuckles, thinks, then says, “I bet he’s watching every day.” 

“Even right now?” 

For a moment, she is that five-year-old that Peter met all those days ago. “Probably.” 

She takes a breath then whispers, “Hi, Dad.” 

The only thing that responds is the wind whistling through the branches of the maple. Morgan sighs and leans her head on Peter’s shoulder. “How do you think we look?” 

Peter stares at his sister. At her thick hair that curls at the ends; her eyes that are so distinctly Tony; at her slender fingers; her freckles that match Pepper. At her knees that are always covered in dirt from a project; her calloused hands; her lab shirt that hadn’t changed out of yet. 

How she smells of motor oil, coffee, and a hint of perfume that is both too expensive and too French. 

Peter wishes she knew how much she was her father. How much she loved her for it. 

“You know,” Peter says, “I think we look pretty good. I bet he thinks so too.” 

“Here you are,” May says, making her way up the hill and stopping to admire her niece and nephew. “Dinner’s ready.” 

Peter and Morgan both help each other up, wandering down towards the house together. Morgan runs in first, the screen door shutting behind her. Before May can follow, Peter touches the woman’s shoulder gently. She stops. 

“Do you remember that thing you told me when Ben and Tony died?” He asks. “About how they were just sign of the times.” 

May nods, her eyes understanding. “Of course.” 

“Well, I think I am finally starting to get what you meant.” 

May smiles, kissing him on the cheek softly before heading inside. Peter turns to look at the tree, standing strong on the hill, its fresh, green leaves swaying in the breeze. If he focused enough, he could picture Tony standing by its trunk, one hand on the bark, the other waving. 

He smiles adoringly, giving a nod of approval. 

Peter grins, takes a deep breath, and walks inside.