“I know you can- You’re Tony Stark.”
A lone figure stands in front of a tombstone, holding flowers, lost in thought. It’s been a year. A full year. A full year since the Avengers decided that no, they weren’t giving up, a full year since they went back in time to get the infinity stones, a full year since they had faced off Thanos’ army, a full year since the universe was saved.
Peter bends to set the flowers down in front of the tombstone before standing again, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He’s rocking back and forth on his heels slowly- he wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what can be said, knows that whatever is said wouldn’t possibly be enough. He takes in a deep breath around the hole in his chest, and exhales slowly.
“Hey, Mr. Stark.”
Peter bites his lip, letting his gaze wander over the words engraved into the marble.
“Sorry I didn’t come before. I, uh... there’s- there’s been a lot going on.”
He pauses habitually, waiting for a response. He can almost imagine he can feel Tony draping an arm around his shoulders, can almost smell his cologne. Peter’s breath catches in his throat, and he can feel the now-familiar pricking of tears behind his eyes. He forces a choked laugh,
“I got E.D.I.T.H, thank you for her. She uh, kinda got me into some trouble- but it got sorted out!” He rubs the back of his neck, “Kinda.”
Peter sighs, sitting down on the grass. He picks at the blades, jaw working, fighting off the tears. After a few minutes, he speaks again, and his voice is soft and quiet, trembling.
“Y’know, for the first few months, I kept expecting you to pop up. Make a big entrance, scoff at everyone for thinking you’re-“ He cuts off. He can’t say it, not yet, and probably not ever. It’s too hard, still. Too hard to admit, even if everyone else has. He feels the tears begin to fall, and he tries to laugh, but it comes out wet and wrong and Peter knows it doesn’t matter, not anymore, because no one is around to see him break down- which means there’s no one around to comfort him. The laugh turns into a sob, and he lets himself go. He brings a fist up to bite it, curling in on himself as he sobs with reckless abandon.
He doesn’t know how long he’s cried for when the tears begin to slow, and he doesn’t particularly care. The aching in his chest is still there, and he figures it’ll be there for awhile more. When he can finally catch enough air to speak, he’s stuttering, wet and broken.
“I know- I know why you did it- I know, b-but- please. Please- please, come back. I know you can- you’re- you’re Tony Stark-“ He forces a harsh laugh, verging on hysterical. “You can. You can- I know you can- please, just- come back. Please.”
Peter sits in silence for hours, waiting for a response. The sun is beginning to set when he finally moves again, standing slowly. He wipes his tears away, sniffing loudly. Stepping forward and brushing his fingers over the tombstone lightly, he opens his mouth to speak- but he knows, knows that whatever he says still won’t be enough. So, Peter smiles shakily, taps the tombstone lightly, steps back.
“I’ll catch you later, Mr. Stark.”
A lone figure is walking away from the tombstone, leaving more than just flowers behind.