It didn’t matter how many times Tony walked these halls; the lakehouse still wouldn’t -- and couldn’t -- feel like home.
And Tony built this home. He fucking built it; he drew out the blueprints, and bought the property, and planned the color schemes, and laid the foundations. This house was as much of him as he was himself. This house screamed Stark; coated in his blood, sweat, and tears.
In some sense, this house should feel like a part of the family.
But now, with the final box unpacked and the smell of fresh paint almost gone, Tony can’t help but feel a strange sense of guilt. Dread.
A stone of tangled and unfortunate emotions shifting unevenly in his gut.
Because Tony built this home for four specific people… one of which who would never get the chance to enjoy it.
Tony sits on the large, wrap around porch, swinging softly in the porch swing that Pepper insisted that they have. He just didn’t understand. He should be happy; elated even.
The project he had poured himself into these past couple of years was finally finished. His pet project became a reality. He was sitting on it. The thing that was once a random, spur of the moment idea, was now physical.
Tony plants his feet on the porch and feels the wood under his calloused toes.
Pepper was surprised that he had wanted to move out into the forest. Into the middle of fucking nowhere.
“Are you sure?” She had asked.
It was not long after Thanos. Not long after Tony’s return. Not even a week after they had found out they were pregnant.
“One hundred percent.” He had said.
She ran a slender finger over his knuckles. “It’s just-- Tony… it’s so far.”
“Exactly.”
“The property is in the middle of nowhere.”
“All the more reason to do it.”
She raises an eyebrow; expression puzzled. “Where is this coming from? You’re Tony Stark. Tony Stark has never liked anything rural.”
He lets out a sigh. The exhale is long and deep. Tony was not only physically exhausted but also mentally. He just needed a break.
“Pep, please, just trust me. This will be good.”
Tony just needed as far away from the compound as he could get. As far away from New York. From Queens. From the living reminders of Peter that pulled on the edges of his mind; his very being.
From the memories that hid in everything that Tony had ever once considered home. They would jump out and attack him whenever they could. Beating him black and blue until he knew that he couldn't keep living like this.
This place wasn’t home. The Compound. The city. Those places that he once held dear, were ruined for him. They simply weren't anything anymore.
Pepper just gives a small smile. It’s unsure and still confused, but it’s there. “Alright.”
But after all of that. All the begging. All the work… Tony couldn’t find anything in this building.
And no, it wasn’t empty.
Each room had been outfitted with the finest furniture and technology money could buy -- sure, Tony was grieving, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have any taste.
The house was visually gorgeous.
But in a feeling, it was empty.
Some kind of shell that felt too big. Felt like too much. Like a house that Tony didn’t belong in.
I built this for a family, he thinks as he stares out at the grey water. The day was particularly dreary. We don’t qualify. Not anymore, at least.
And sure, Morgan would be joining them in just under two months, but that thought didn’t give Tony the same satisfaction as it did several months ago. Before-- before…
Before everything shifted. Changed. Ended, his mind supplies.
Morgan was supposed to be joining a family with a spunky mother; and a joyful father; and bubbly older brother. A family who was unapologetic. A family who would take her in with open and loving arms.
But Tony still loves her, of course, he does. She’s his daughter. He doesn't think there’s another word to associate with her, other than love.
This just means that she will be entering a different family then Tony imagined. A family with a mother who had replaced her spunk with soft smiles; a father who’s joy has simply been cut in half, and is only found in the rarest of occasions; a family who has to learn to live with the memories of that bubbly brother.
A family who simply keep his spirit alive by the stories that they will tell the daughter.
“What you got there?”
Tony spins around quickly to see Peter peering over his shoulder. “Oh, um, nothing really.”
“Uh huh, because, to me, it looks a lot like blueprints.” Peter ignores Tony’s gaze and continues to stare at the pages Tony has mapped out on the table in front of them.
Tony just turns back to his work. He’s never told anyone about his pet project before.
“You gonna build an addition to the compound?” Peter asks, pulling up a chair beside Tony. “Maybe another tower?… another tower would be cool.”
“No, not a tower. I think I’m done with the skyscrapers, kid.”
“Oh, then… what is it?”
“I’m thinking, maybe, a lake house.”
“Like one on the water?” Peter almost looks scandalized by the thought.
Tony has to hold back laughter. “That would classify the meaning of a lake house, Pete.”
Peter leans back in his chair. “I just never pictured you wanting to live anywhere close to water.”
“I had a place in Malibu.”
“Yeah, but that was also on a cliff… overlooking the ocean… and it was a mansion. This is a cottage--”
“Lakehouse.”
“-- Lakehouse, in the forest, in the state.”
“Don’t diss New York, kid. It’s pretty beautiful if you actually went outside and looked around.”
Peter’s mouth twists into an almost sour expression. He stares at Tony, and Tony snorts through a laugh, turning back to his blueprints.
“Did you just say “don’t diss”? How old are you?”
Tony rolls his eyes, choosing to avoid the question. “No, but seriously. How do they look?” He pushes the rough sketches of the house towards Peter. “You’re the first person to see.”
Peter leans over the papers, analyzing closely. “They look great, Mister Stark.”
Tony stands outside the empty spare room.
It was supposed to be Peter’s. The kid would have never known he was getting a room when looking at the blueprints -- this room was always just labeled as “spare” -- but Tony had designed it for him.
Even back when he was picking out paint colors, he had absentmindedly chosen a soft blue for Peter’s walls. Something in the back of his head knew that Peter would have liked it, and he had put the order in before he knew what he was doing.
He only realized his mistake when they first started moving things in a month ago, and he had walked into the room. The blue was the perfect shade; not too bright, as to not overwhelm the teenager, but still pigmented enough so it didn’t just feel grey.
Almost like a clear sky just as the sun is beginning to fall. Not a cloud to be seen. The color is absolutely perfect in some obscene way.
Almost too perfect.
If Tony wasn’t able to think so far ahead into the future, he might have taken a spare bucket of white paint and covered the walls of this room. All uneven brush strokes, and spilling onto the hardwood and carpet.
He would make it so this room would be flipped on its head. It would ooze imperfection instead of the suffocating amount of Peter it was trying to shove down Tony’s throat.
But Tony didn’t. Couldn’t. He knew deep down that idea was a mistake. Something he would quickly grow to regret.
So he planted his feet firmly on the floor, not allowing himself to move from that spot. He forced himself to stare down the blue walls. To face the memories that would come crashing down like a tsunami, drowning him in reminiscents.
In the lost feeling of his late son.
It took longer than Tony expected, but when the tears began to fall, they did, in fact, overtake him. He was so glad it was just him home.
He wouldn’t have been able to take it if someone had walked in to find him curled up in the middle of his kid’s empty bedroom floor. To find him sobbing and sobbing for a child who was ripped from his arms far too early.
Sobbing for a boy’s life that would never get to be lived. To be fulfilled.
Sobbing for a reality, an idea, that was nothing more than pure imagination. For a family that he could only dream of.
Tony Stark was a man that used to have everything -- a man who was able to attain anything. So why was he now finding it so hard to do so again? Finding it so hard to finally grab onto what he was looking for -- what he needed-- and just never ever let go.
….
Morgan’s first birthday was a small affair.
The only people in attendance were her parents, Rhodey, and Happy. The adults all sat around the table and watched with cameras ready as Morgan stared at a piece of cake.
There were candles on top, not lit, obviously; it was more for the sake of the moment.
The child watched the dessert in front of her as if waiting for it to come to life and start attacking her. The pure fear in her brown eyes almost made Tony start to laugh. To be that young.
After a few minutes, Morgan eventually reaches out a hand and grabs a handful of the cake. When the cake proves to stay still and not become animate, Morgan looks to the food in her little fist.
She had unfortunately squeezed her hand so tightly that the cake had all crumbled onto her tray, but she still giggled and shoved whatever remained into her mouth.
Rhodey snapped a photo.
“Happy birthday, Maguna,” Tony cooed, kissing the top of his daughter’s head. The brown downy of her baby hairs tickle his lips. He smiles.
“Dah,” she says, patting his cheek in appreciation.
Pepper moves in with a damp cloth to clean the icing around her mouth before it can crust. Tony just watches as his child squirms in her seat, trying to escape her mother’s grasp, and then letting out a loud squeal as Pepper tickles the baby’s sides.
“What?” Peter’s groggy voice is low over the phone.
Tony grins from ear to ear. For a moment, he was wishing Peter could see it. “Happy birthday!”
There is a pause, before a slightly disgruntled, “What…?”
“Check the time.”
“It’s--”
“12:03. August 10th. Happy birthday, Peter!”
“It’s midnight.”
“You’re sixteen!”
“It’s still midnight.”
“I’ve been waiting since eight this morning to make this call.”
“You couldn’t wait another eight hours?”
Tony huffs. “You only turn sixteen once.”
“I’ll still be sixteen in the morning.”
“Wow,” Tony starts, smiling once again, “I know they told me teenagers had attitude, but I wasn't expecting it this suddenly.”
“Maybe try not calling people at midnight.”
Tony looks over at Peter’s present sitting on a lab workbench. Tony had just finished wrapping it a few minutes before he made the call. Peter was going to come over later in the day, and Tony was planning on giving the teen the gift after a hearty lunch and dessert.
“Sorry. Guess I’m just excited.”
Tony picks up on what sounds like quiet laughter on the other end. “That’s okay.”
Silence falls over the call. After a minute or so, Tony assumes that Peter has drifted off into sleep, but he can suddenly pick up breathing on the other end. Peter is waiting on Tony, just like Tony is waiting on him.
Both of them expecting the other to make the next move.
“Peter?” Tony asks.
There’s shuffling, then, “Yes?”
“I mean it, bud. Really.”
“I know.”
“Really. Happy birthday, Pete.”
“Thanks, Mister Stark.”
Nightmares were a disease that Tony was plagued with, and somehow, he seemed to pass it down onto his daughter.
“Daddy!” The little voice screams from her bedroom down the hall.
Pepper stirs next to Tony, but he places a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve got it,” he says. He was awake anyway.
Pepper gives her mumbled thanks, and then immediately drifts back off into sleep. Tony smiles softly at his wife before his daughter starts shouting again, and he rolls out of bed with a stifled groan.
“Maguna?” He says, pushing open the bedroom door and peeking inside.
In the darkness, Morgan’s silhouette is barely visible against the mess of bed sheets and pillows the length of her body. A sniffle rises from the direction of her bed.
“Daddy?” She asks, voice laced with fear.
“Hey, baby,” Tony starts, moving into the room and resting on his daughter’s bed.
The little girl immediately latches onto her father, shoving her face into his chest and starting to sob.
“Aw, darling,” Tony wraps his arms around the shaking child. “Bad dream?”
He can feel her nod. “Bad dream.”
“Okay. It’s okay. You’re okay, right? I’m here now.”
Morgan pulls her face away, “You make the bad things go away, right?”
Tony runs a thumb over her cheek, wiping away tears. “Right.”
“Good.”
Tony ends up holding his daughter close as they lay in her bed; her head resting on his chest as he listens to the steady inhale of her breathing. But after a good ten minutes, Morgan is still awake, and Tony is quietly anticipating the moment he can change positions. The way he is laying is causing an ache to start up in his lower back.
“Can you tell me a story?” Morgan asks, her voice so soft Tony almost misses the question.
“I think I’ve told you all of them, Maguna.”
“Nuh uh,” Morgan shakes her head.
“No? Okay, well, maybe I have one more…”
Morgan was silent, and Tony could feel her anticipating the oncoming story. Tony just had to find one…
His eyes drift up, and his gaze finds the plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars that are tacked to his daughter’s ceiling. Over a hundred, dim, green stars all in a multitude of different sizes. The first time he looked up and saw them glowing, he almost sent himself into a panic attack; all his brain could supply him with was a tidal wave of memories involving Titan and certain experience he would never like to relive.
But now, he seemed to be okay. Not at peace. Not even close to something as relaxing as peace… but his chest wasn’t constructing, and he could keep his breath’s in, so that was a good sign.
Instead, he just takes a deep (possibly greedy) inhale. “Morgan, have I ever told you about the boy who could climb walls?”
Morgan shook her head against his chest.
Tony smiles softly, eyes pinned on the plastic stars above. “Well, once there was this boy who could climb walls and liked to swing around the city. He was a good person. He saved people… he was the greatest hero to ever live.”
….
Tony stood in the doorframe of the room that belonged to Peter.
The room with the almost obscenely perfect, blue walls. With the bed covered in fresh sheets and blankets. The shelves filled with books. The desk housing a new lamp and globe of an Earth still to be discovered.
The large window with soft curtains, and a perfect view of the two-hundred-year-old oak tree in the front yard. The one that had the tire swing his daughter was playing on right now.
It was a room that was once barren.
A room that once resided in a house that Tony thought he couldn’t grow to love as a home. In some sense, that was still true. Even after five years, there was a part of Tony that knew that this place wouldn’t be home without the boy.
But part of him also abandoned that old belief, because now there was a chance.
Now a part of him had hope. Hope. A feeling Tony thought he would never be graced with again.
Cap had presented him with an opportunity -- a Time Heist as Lang had so stupidly put it -- and even though it was stupid and risky, and everything Tony had been trying to avoid; he was going to take it.
If it meant peicing his family back together, there was little Tony wasn’t willing to do.
So before Tony left, he took one last look at the room before everything would change. The letter in his hands crinkled slightly as his fingers ran over the perfect, crisp paper.
Peter, the handwriting on the envelope read.
Tony walked over to the untouched desk, pulled open the top drawer, and placed the letter inside.
Just in case, he thought, hoping that there wouldn’t need to be an in case.
Tony then took one final glance before smiling and departing, the feeling of hope still high in his mind.
….
Peter stared at the house that belonged to Tony.
The lakehouse. He actually finished it, Peter thought to himself. And he said it was a pet project.
If Peter wasn’t feeling so miserable, he might have actually laughed.
But now he just stared. His eyes felt glassy, shining and savory with emotion. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his dress pants.
The funeral was hardly over -- if Peter focused hard enough, he could still spot the speck on the water that was Tony’s flowered arc-reactor -- and people still milled about the property. Peter knew that a few of them wanted to talk. To catch him up on what’s been happening in the time he’s been gone, but the boy couldn’t bring himself to speak just yet.
He had been to enough funerals in his life to know what grieving people's conversation starters would be.
“How are you doing?” “You want to talk?” “Feeling’ okay?”
It was always just questions that Peter didn’t have truthful answers too. Because now wasn’t the time to dump his emotional baggage on unsuspecting mourners. Wasn’t the time to break down, even though this was a place where it would be acceptable.
Tony’s holographic speech was still painfully fresh in Peter’s mind.
The teen had forced himself to watch it. Tears had streamed down his face, and he had to clutch to May’s hand as he stared at his former mentor -- someone he had considered a father -- as the billionaire delivered his final remarks.
“Part of the journey is the end,” holographic Tony stated.
Peter swallowed a sob.
“Everything’s gonna work out exactly the way it’s supposed to.”
Tears ran down Peter’s cheeks, trailing down his neck, and seeping into the collar of his button down.
“I love you 3000.”
And then the message had flickered and vanished. Peter had closed his eyes, never wanting to open them again.
Peter opened his eyes with a jolt. His lungs felt empty, and he greedily sucked in air, feeling his chest expand and filling with a sensation that bordered on painful.
His eyes darted around him. He was on Titan, just liked he was mere seconds ago.
Dust drifted through the yellow sky, and for a moment, Peter’s heart clenched at the thought that maybe the substance was coming from him. But his gaze proved to him that his body was fully formed, solid, and Peter exhaled in relief.
But something was missing.
Seconds ago, Peter was laying in Tony’s arms; being held in a way that radiated paternal love, and now, Tony was gone.
“Tony?” Peter’s voice is scratchy and quiet and drifts into the atmosphere like a soft breeze. Barley there and hardly noticed.
“Get up,” a stern voice says, and Peter sits suddenly, hoping for the best.
Instead, he finds Strange staring at him with a strict expression. Like a parent preparing to punish a child.
“What’s going on?” Peter asks. Around him, he notices other people pushing themselves to their feet, slightly unsteady. All of the people he swore he saw disintegrate just minutes before.
“It’s been five years,” Strange watches the waking heroes. “They need us.”
“Wait, wha-- five years?” Peter rushes over to the doctor’s side. “And who needs us?”
Strange stares at the child for a long moment, looking as though he might take the time to stop and explain, but then shakes his head as if clearing it.
“No time,” he says mostly to himself. His hands start to move a circular pattern. “We need to go.”
Yellow sparks shoot from Strange’s hands, and Peter takes a step back, his heart pounding. Suddenly, a portal opened in front of the two, and Strange looks to Peter, expectantly.
“Get in. Now.”
“I just--” Peter starts, but shuts his mouth when the wizard glares down at him.
“Now.”
Peter gulps thickly and is then running head first into a war without a backward glance.
The lakehouse is even more beautiful than Peter could have even imagined.
He wandered the hallways feeling a flurry of emotions around every twist and turn. Happiness, pride, sorrow, heartbreak, love…
They all hovered above his head like a cloud churning on a grey day. He found himself lingering, taking deliberately slow steps, as he made his way down a hallway covered in dozens upon dozens of framed photographs in varying sizes.
A photo of Pepper holding a box labeled “Bedroom”, as she stood on the front porch of the house on a moving day.
A picture of Tony and Pepper sitting on the huge porch swing together, wrapped in each other’s embrace.
One taken on their wedding day. It looked as though they got married on this property, judging by the backdrop and the lake behind them. Tony held Pepper’s hands as they kissed, both of them showing off bright smiles.
One of Pepper, pregnant with Morgan, and holding the underside of her stomach.
One taken on the day Morgan was born. Tony was holding her in his arms, while Pepper stared at him with eyes full of absolute love.
A photo of Morgan on her first birthday; cake smeared on her face, and her lips broken into the biggest grin a baby could muster.
Peter walks the hallway, touching each and every frame with delicate fingers, and smiling softly at the memories he missed. It made him happy to see that every single photo shows a family full of love, and maybe he might have missed it, but that doesn't diminish the pure joy and overwhelming affection he feels for the people in the images.
But at the end of the long line of portraits, Peter finds a frame that makes him stop dead in his tracks.
The photo shows a slightly younger Tony hunched over a workbench at the compound, fast asleep. In the foreground, Peter is displayed, wearing a pair of Tony’s pink-tinted sunglasses and smiling into the camera lens.
Under the photo, in Peter’s messy scrawl, it says, Happy Birthday, Mister Stark! Thanks for the shades!
Peter stares at the photo for far longer than he did the others. He gave Tony that photo; hell, he even took it. It was Tony’s birthday present from him just a few months before Thanos and everything.
It was the last thing Peter ever gave the man.
He couldn’t believe that Tony had kept it and had chosen to display it for everyone to see. The thought of Tony hanging it up on the wall made Peter give a sad smile, and he bit his bottom lip to keep from bursting into a bout of sobs.
He stared at the photo for so long, his eyes burned, and even a little more after that.
“Are you sure you like it?” Peter asked, wringing his hands nervously.
Tony looks from Peter to the photo in his hands, and back up to Peter again. When he chuckled, it was joyous -- not teasing. “I love it, Pete.”
Peter let out a breath. “Good. Awesome.”
Tony smiles, “Really, Pete, I do. Calm down, bud.”
Peter noticed now that his hands were shaky. He was so anxious that Tony wouldn’t like the gift as much as the others. “It’s just that-- that-- someone else gave you a Rolex! I was afraid that…”
His voice trails and Tony places his hand on the boy’s knee, comfortingly.
“Peter, a Rolex is nothing compared to this. This has personality and comes from your heart. You put thought into this gift. I’m sure that guy who gave me the watch, gave it as an afterthought; he probably even forgot it was my birthday, and just had his assistant order something last minute.”
Tony swipes a thumb over Peter’s knee. Peter itched to place his hand over Tony’s.
“Besides,” Tony continues. “I already own a Rolex… this,” Tony smiles down at the picture. “Pete, I can’t buy this.”
Peter feels all anxious energy flush out of his system. He gives a wide smile; his eyes shining in adoration.
The photo is the one Peter took a month ago. It showcases that day Tony mistakenly let himself fall asleep while working, and Peter took full advantage of the situation, deciding to snatch the man’s sunglasses and capture the moment of triumph on camera.
He had even written a message underneath so Tony wouldn’t forget the context behind what had happened, or how he had acquired the picture.
Suddenly, Tony stands and walks over to his jacket, slung over the back of a chair. He reaches into the front pocket and pulls out the exact pair of sunglasses that Peter is wearing in the photo.
“For you,” the man says, holding out the glasses in Peter’s direction.
Peter looks up at him in shock. “Mister Stark, I--”
“I want you to have them,” Tony says, shaking the glasses in front of Peter, waiting for him to take them. The lights above caught the rose-gold-tinted lenses in a direct beam, and they seemed to sparkle and shine. “Pete, just take the glasses.”
Peter takes them with gentle hands and holds them with the same care someone would a newborn baby. “It’s your birthday,” Peter reminds with a half smile.
Tony sits back down. “Correct, and as the birthday boy, I want to give my favorite kid a gift for being the greatest.”
Peter’s face breaks into a full smile. “But you like these glasses.”
“Eh,” Tony waves off the kid’s remark, “I have others. Besides, I think I’m moving into more of a blue/purple phase. Kinda done with pink. Now, seriously! Try them on!”
Peter slips the glasses onto his face, pushing the connecting piece up the bridge of his nose with the tip of his finger. When he looks up, the world is flushed in pink.
Peter smiles. He had to admit, Tony does look good tinted in this shade of gold.
“See!” Tony says enthusiastically, “A perfect fit!”
Peter just laughs.
The boy ends up wearing them home, feeling proud as Tony watches him drive away in Happy’s car; but Peter abandons the sunglasses to the top of his dresser as soon as he walks into his room. He never feels the courage to wear them out again -- especially in public -- and Tony never asks.
So they sit on Peter’s dresser, slowly collecting dust, and watching the world pass by for him.
Peter finds his bedroom.
He stands in the open doorway; his eyes darting around the room, taking in as much information as he can from his current position.
The walls, the bed, the shelves, the desk, the decor… it’s all perfect. Peter knows the room is for him before anyone even tells him, but he can’t bring himself to go inside.
There is something about the room that feels so incredibly perfect, that Peter knows that if he entered, he would quickly ruin the feeling it portrayed.
It radiated Tony; maybe that was the stem of the intimidation that Peter was feeling about the room. No matter how close Peter got with the billionaire, he couldn’t help but constantly feel intimidated by him. By his voice; his talk; his looks; his overwhelming personality.
This was a room built for Peter but made by Tony. It was as much Stark, as it was Parker. Now, without the other half, it just didn’t feel right to ruin the illusion.
“It’s yours.”
Pepper was suddenly standing beside Peter, yet the boy didn’t jump. He just nodded, as he already knew that.
“You can go in,” Pepper says; her voice sounding… tired. Ever since Peter had returned, everything about Pepper had just seemed exhausted. He couldn’t blame her. “No one’s going to stop you.”
“I know,” Peter’s says, his voice cracking.
Pepper lays a hand on his shoulder for a second, before removing it and turning away. Peter can hear her walk down the hall, and then descend the stairs, and then nothing. He doesn't move until he’s sure that he’s alone.
The moment he steps foot into the bedroom, something like a chill runs down his spine. But not in a bad way; not in the way that his spidey-sense gives him shivers to warn him of danger. This is more of a chill induced by memories. Hidden moments and emotions that are being concealed by these four walls, and just begging to be discovered.
Peter finds the letter in the desk drawer after not even after ten minutes of searching the room.
He stares at his name, written in Tony’s familiar scrawl, on the front of the envelope. He takes a step back, and sits down on the edge of the bed, bracing himself for the inevitable lying inside.
Peter rips open the letter carefully, his hands shaking as he pulls out a page or two covered in clean handwriting. With watery eyes, he begins to read.
Dear Peter,
Currently, it is three in the morning, and I may be sitting here rethinking all of my life’s choices.
I have been presented with an idea that is as equally terrible, as it is genius. Surprisingly, Lang came up with it (you know, the ant-guy?) and I always thought he was a little on the duller side. Not the brightest bulb in the box, kinda thing, you know? Maybe I should rethink that decision as well.
Anyway, this idea, it may just fix literally everything we have been fighting for the past five years… and all the years before that. It might just be the key to fixing all of our problems. All of my problems, Pete.
It might possibly get you back, kiddo.
Because that is my problem. I have everything I could have ever wanted, except for one key factor. My family is missing one person, and that person is a one, Peter Parker.
For the past five years, I have grieved over your loss, and the effect’s your loss has caused. How May has been handling this… how I feel like the stem, the cause, of the entire issue.
And I know that you are reading this and internally screaming at me that it wasn’t my fault, but we’re going to ignore that for just a second, okay? Okay.
I’m going to do it, Peter. I’m going to follow through with Steve and Lang’s scheme because it’s the only way we can fix this. Also, because the team is trusting Bruce to figure out time travel, and I know that’s just going to result in someone becoming a baby.
As the resident genius, I cannot allow that to happen.
But it’s risky. Crazy risky. So that is why I am writing you this letter. This is my just-incase. My final remarks -- my goodbyes to you. Me getting to say the things I never got the chance to say.
So stick with me, bud, alright? I know it might be hard, but you’re going to do it because you can. Because I know you will have too at some point.
Peter, if you are reading this, it means that I am gone.
I already left holo messages for everyone else, but I needed to write this down for you because if I tried to recite it on camera, I know that I would never be able to get through it without breaking down.
If you are reading this, it means that I am no longer here. Means that this scheme ended the way I feared. I just hope that I went out in a blaze of glory.
Pete, I am so incredibly sorry. Sorry for more things then I can count.
Sorry that I wasn’t there for you when I needed to be. Sorry that in the beginning, I underestimated you as a person and as a fighter. Sorry that I am making you go through this now. Sorry that I dragged you into this whole crazy shit-fest in the first place.
But at the same time, I’m not sorry for that last one. Because if I didn’t drag you into this, it would have meant that I would never have met you. Never would have gotten to get to know the incredible, brilliant, mature, loving person that you are.
You never would have saved me.
Because it’s true, Peter; you saved me. I didn’t tell you, but I was so incredibly broken before we met. The fight with Steve… that war ruined the relationships I had with people I once considered family. But it also was a blessing, because it resulted in me meeting you.
You helped me through it. I had something to look forward too. Someone who needed me as much as I needed them.
I invested my time in mentoring you, because that way, I had a reason to keep going. A person who became my pride and joy. My love, my life, my future.
I never told you -- and I know I should have -- but I’ve always considered you my son, Pete.
I am doing this for you. This crazy, “Back to the Future” inspired shit. I’m doing it all, just for the slim chance that I might get you back in my arms again. To feel your heartbeat, and watch you breathe, and hear your voice. Your incredible voice and your fantastic laugh.
I love you, Peter. Please understand that.
I hope you love me as well, or else my ghost is feeling incredibly embarrassed right now.
Okay, sorry. Not funny.
So, in my final remarks, I want to leave you with some small requests:
As you can see, I finished the lakehouse. I hope you like it; the room you are sitting in belongs to you. Pepper outfitted the rest of the house, but your room was all me. I want you to live in this house when you can, or just when you need too. I want you to visit as much as possible, and care for this place like it is your own.
Because in some strange sense, it kinda is. I built this place with you in mind, Peter. You’ve always known about it first, and you were what pushed me to continue it.
I want you to care for Morgan. She needs siblings influence. As much as I think that Pepper can handle her all on her own, that’s not fair on my part. So I ask you to care for her as if she is your own blood.
You will love her, Peter. She’s all of your odds and ends; her personality stretches for miles.
My last request is simple: Just keep being yourself.
Keep being the Peter Parker who stole my heart. The kid who is unapologetic. Who is willing to help even when help isn’t needed. The kid who is selfless; and whitty; and wise far beyond your years.
The person who I have no doubt will grow up to become something unforgettable and will make everyone who knows and loves you proud. You sure as hell have already done so for me.
Be proud. Be strong.
Be our Peter.
Always remember these words, kid. If you ever feel doubt, just come back to these pages. Keep me alive, as I have done for you in these past five years. I’m always here when you need it.
All my love,
Tony.
Peter lowers the letter so it settles on his lap.
Tears have been streaming down his face since the second paragraph, and he quickly tries to wipe away the moisture so it doesn't fall and ruin the papers.
For hours, he just sits on the edge of the mattress and cries, searching for a proper way to follow that incredible speech.
Finally, he settles on just what feels right.
“Thank you,” he whispers into thin air, his voice slightly choked. “For everything. For more than you can know.”
Except he knows that Tony does know. Tony knew before he even wrote this letter. He knew that Peter loved him; that was the reason he spelled it out on these pages.
And Peter knew that Tony loved him back; even if the man didn’t say it out loud, Peter still knew. He always knew. It was just nice to now have confirmation.
Tony knew that Peter was thankful for everything the man did.
But Peter did not know that Tony was thankful for Peter in turn.
Peter can feel it now, the feelings and emotions that this room was holding back when he first walked in. He can feel Tony in here. He can feel him in here right now.
He can feel the way that Tony loved this house. How it slowly became the man’s home over time, over the few years. The love and affection he poured into this project from the very beginning. How this was never just a simple pet project. It was always his future.
Both Tony’s and Peter’s.
Now Peter just smiles.
It would be hard, but the boy knew he could do it. He could make this place become his home, as part of him already knew it was.
As long as the memory -- the spirit -- of Tony continued to thrive, to live, Peter knew he could do so as well. It would just take some getting used to.