![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Reunion
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: G
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Pairing: Tony Stark/Peter Parker
Warnings: Underage, Referenced Temporary Character Death, Mildly Salty references to Team Cap
Disclaimer: I do not own the MCU and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Restoring life isn't instantaneous. It isn't a snap to extinguish half of all life in an instant, but more tossing a stone into a pond. Life is returning gradually, rippling outwards through the cosmos from where they started it. Tony doesn't know how far Titan is from Earth. All he knows is that the ripples will reach there eventually. He waits.
AN: This was written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
starkerexchange, my first Tumblr fest (although it had to move over here because of Tumblr's porn ban) and the second-to-last fest of 2018. My recipient ended up dropping out, so this was a gift to the community.
He doesn’t assume that it’s worked. Not even when Barnes, Wilson, T’Challa and the walking, talking tree come staggering out of the forest looking bewildered. He doesn’t allow himself to hope that one of the fourteen million futures the Doc saw was this one. He can’t hope, not when he can still taste Peter’s ashes on his tongue and hear his panicked whimpers. He can’t do it.
He knows he looks like a lunatic, staring up at the stars every night. Waiting. Not hoping, but wondering – is this one of the futures Doc saw? If it is, then can they make it home? Are they stranded up there on Titan? Or do the Guardians have a way to get them off that rock?
Rogers has tried talking to him. What, exactly, he was saying, Tony has no idea. He’s got a vague recollection of pity in Rogers’ tone of voice, and that’s enough to make him hope he doesn’t somehow remember whatever bullshit he was spouting. Some nights, Nebula stands next to him, close enough that he can hear gears clicking and electricity thrumming under her skin. Most people seem to think that they’re fucking, these days; especially now that Pepper’s thrown in the towel for good. They’re not. But Nebula was there on Titan, she watched him break, watched him try to save as much of Peter as he could before the wind blew his remains away into the desert. She understands.
Sometimes, Rocket and Groot join them as well. They talk more, mostly between themselves; they tell stories about the Guardians that make Tony envy them, in a way. The stories make them sound like the family the Avengers tried (and failed) to be. The one he was held at arms-length from.
It was Pepper who pointed it out. One evening, stood here on T’Challa’s roof, waiting for something to happen - anything. She’d leaned into his side and rested her head on his, and she’d listened to him grieve in between long pauses. She hadn’t judged. Hadn’t shouted at him or berated him like May Parker had when he’d called to tell her. Pepper knew him well enough to know that there wasn’t anything malicious in it; knew him well enough to know that he hadn’t known how much he loved Peter until the boy crumbled to nothing in his arms and left him shattered.
“I can’t marry you, Tony,” she’d told him eventually. “Not when you’re not mine anymore. I’ll be here, I’ll be your friend forever, but Tony? You’re going to get him back. And you don’t need to be married to me when you do.”
Pepper hadn’t stopped hoping. She’s holding down the fort and fielding the press and acting like Tony hasn’t lost his damn mind. There’s an intern position at Stark Industries with Peter’s name on it; reference papers that would guarantee him a full-ride at any university he chose. Hell, she’d not even batted an eye when he bought out Peter’s apartment building and fixed it up, improved the plumbing and the insulation, and even dropped the rent.
Tony, though…he can’t. He can’t help but wonder what would happen if Peter never came back. If he was lost, forever, on that arid, empty planet. Surrounded by people he didn’t know. Gone.
What they did wasn’t immediate, Thor told them. It wasn’t a snap to extinguish half of all life in an instant, but more tossing a stone into a pond. Life is returning gradually, rippling outwards through the cosmos from where they started it. Tony doesn’t know how far Titan is from Earth. All he knows is that the ripples will reach there eventually. And when they do, when… the Doc better have an actual plan, because he’s pretty sure that Thanos is going to notice this eventually.
…
He’s in the lab with Shuri, Rocket and Groot. Thor, too, although he’s less help and more brooding; not that Tony can at all judge on that front. They’re talking tech. Weapons. Weapons powerful enough to send that scrotum-faced asshole straight to Hell.
Tony had sworn never to make weapons ever again, but it’s something he knows intimately. Rocket, he thinks, might be the superior on this one; the guy’s blown up at least one entire planet before, if the stories he tells are anything to go by, and as deadly as the Jericho was, it wasn’t world-endingly powerful. Still, he can talk aerodynamics and propulsion rates and feel like he’s doing something useful. He can talk about the possible blast radius and evacuation plans, and if – outside of the lab – the rogues all give him the side-eye for it, then he doesn’t care.
He doesn’t care about most things these days.
It’s occurred to him that this is the end of Iron Man. The last stand. The last, great hurrah before he hangs up the suit forever and focuses on the next generation. On providing opportunities for supers who aren’t billionaires or superspies or antiquated relics. He’s always known that he wouldn’t be able to fight forever, but he’s coming to terms with the end being now. Or soon, rather. After Thanos. After Peter comes back.
The tremor hasn’t left his arm since the Civil War. The new reactor, with its nanotech and the reinforcements for his ribcage, weighs more than the old one. It’ll kill him, one day.
Not today.
Today, he’s in a bright-lit lab surrounded by state-of-the-art Wakandan tech, leaning over the shoulder of a sentient raccoon and talking explosions with people who see as much merit in the Merchant of Death as in Iron Man. It’s as close to a good day as he gets, these days, and he can feel a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as Groot leans in to observe and Rocket rubs a gentle paw over his kid’s arm.
He doesn’t hear it at first, the sizzling hiss of a portal opening. He does hear Shuri’s gasp of shock and looks up to see her eyes widen. There are golden runes reflected in her dark eyes, and that’s all it takes to get him to turn around. To brace himself. His heart feels like it’s about to batter itself through the metal of his ribs, and he has to steady himself on a table as a familiar masked face peeks through.
Behind him, Titan is still a barren wasteland. The Guardians are gathered and Strange has his hands raised, but Tony only barely notices them because Peter - Peter - is stepping through the portal. And there’s a split second where he can’t move, can’t do anything, before Peter gives a bright whoop of joy and crosses the room in a single bound.
He’s warm in Tony’s arms. So very warm and alive. Tony clings onto him, gripping too tight – he can feel the nanotech of Peter’s suit shifting under the pressure – but Peter just crowds in close.
“You did it!” he whispers in Tony’s ear. “I knew you’d do it! You – hey, Mr Stark, are you okay?”
He leans back just far enough to look Tony in the face, the eyes of his mask narrowing slightly. It’s odd, reading concern into an otherwise featureless face, but Tony can see it even though his vision’s blurring.
“Yeah,” he replies. He sounds like he’s crying and, god, he thinks he actually is. “I’m great.”
…
Peter joins him on the roof. He’s freshly showered and dressed in civvies; he’s as safe in Wakanda as he’ll be anywhere, and Tony had kind of insisted on him giving the suit back for ‘upgrades’. In reality, he doesn’t want to see that Spider-suit ever again, and there’s a new one – several new ones – being shipped from his labs in New York. The shirt he’s found is big on him, though, and hangs loose around his collarbones. With his hair still damp and beginning to curl, he looks frighteningly young.
He is frighteningly young.
He’s also a hero in every sense of the word – he’s Tony’s hero – and he’s far more mature than he should be. But, Tony knows from experience, that doesn’t mean much.
Still.
Peter hesitates only slightly before leaning into his side. He’s warm and he smells of that ubiquitous kind of body spray that every teenage boy in the world uses, and Tony can’t help but slip his arm around his waist and pull him closer.
“Mr Stark?”
“Thanos is still out there,” Tony tells him. “He’s out there, and he’s going to know what we did. He’s going to come back. We’ll fight, and then – I’m retiring, after that.”
The stars are bright enough that Tony can see the expression of horror on Peter’s face, but whether it’s at the thought of Thanos coming back or Tony’s retirement, he doesn’t know. He slips his hand up Peter’s back to cup the back of his neck; damp curls brush against his fingers and he has to resist the urge to bury his fingers in Peter’s hair and guide him closer like he so desperately wants to. He swallows instead, and rubs his thumb lightly against Peter’s throat.
“I need to give up the suit, Peter, but that doesn’t mean you have to. If you don’t want to. If Spiderman is who you want to be after all of this, then you don’t have to give it up. The suits and the tech are still yours. Just. Promise me you’ll always come back?”
It’s not the comforting speech that he should be giving a kid Peter’s age. It’s not the responsible, adult thing to do. It’s more than he should say, closer to his real feelings than anything Peter should be exposed to, but he feels like he has to. Because if there’s one thing he’s learned – and it’s possibly the only thing he’s got out of this mess – it’s that a life without Peter isn’t worth anything.
“I promise,” Peter says. He’s studying Tony closely. Tony can see his eyes moving, taking in every detail. He doesn’t know how good Peter’s vision is – not exactly - but there’s probably enough light for him to be able to see the new lines that have etched their way onto his face and the grey in his hair. It hasn’t been a good couple of years for Tony’s vanity. But as he watches, he sees shadows pool in that precious dimple and the glint of teeth as Peter’s smile widens. He feels muscles shift under Peter’s skin as he tenses up and then relaxes again.
“Suits?” Peter asks. “Plural?”
Tony snorts softly. “I may or may not have used them as a coping mechanism,” he says. “You don’t have to take them all – hell, you don’t have to try them on at all if you don’t want, but… No strings attached. No babysitter protocols. No bullshit, I swear. You can have as much or as little as you want.”
Peter’s laughter is the best thing Tony’s ever heard. He realizes then that Peter’s touching him back: there’s a hand on his shoulder and an arm around his waist. Peter’s strong enough to squish Tony like a bug when they’re out of their suits, but he isn’t. All he’s doing is holding Tony close. Letting him cling. Tony spares a thought to what they must look like, standing like this on the palace roof, but he doesn’t much care; it isn’t like T’Challa or the Dora Milaje have any respect for him anyway.
“So…” Peter says slowly, tilting his head to the side. “Does that mean you’re going to be my man-in-a-chair?” he asks, “or my sugar daddy?”
Tony feels the breath freeze in his lungs. He looks at Peter with wide eyes, but the kid’s still grinning; teasing. He looks perfectly happy with the idea, and…okay. Okay, so Tony might have made him fifty new suits and used his company to buy Peter’s apartment building, but…
Peter’s lips are soft and warm, and he hums lightly as he kisses Tony. It’s light and chaste and oh so perfect that when he pulls back, Tony chases after him. He kisses him deeper, finally giving in to temptation and sliding his hand into Peter’s soft hair to hold him steady as he licks into Peter’s mouth. He feels Peter’s hand fist in the material of his shirt, pulling Tony closer.
Peter, alive, tastes nothing like how his ashes did on Titan. It’s the best feeling in the world.
“I’ll be all of that,” Tony whispers when they finally break apart. “I’ll be all of that and more, if you’ll have me.”
They’re so close that he can feel Peter’s smile. “Yeah,” he whispers back. “Okay.”
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: G
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Pairing: Tony Stark/Peter Parker
Warnings: Underage, Referenced Temporary Character Death, Mildly Salty references to Team Cap
Disclaimer: I do not own the MCU and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Restoring life isn't instantaneous. It isn't a snap to extinguish half of all life in an instant, but more tossing a stone into a pond. Life is returning gradually, rippling outwards through the cosmos from where they started it. Tony doesn't know how far Titan is from Earth. All he knows is that the ripples will reach there eventually. He waits.
AN: This was written for
starkerexchange, my first Tumblr fest (although it had to move over here because of Tumblr's porn ban) and the second-to-last fest of 2018. My recipient ended up dropping out, so this was a gift to the community.He doesn’t assume that it’s worked. Not even when Barnes, Wilson, T’Challa and the walking, talking tree come staggering out of the forest looking bewildered. He doesn’t allow himself to hope that one of the fourteen million futures the Doc saw was this one. He can’t hope, not when he can still taste Peter’s ashes on his tongue and hear his panicked whimpers. He can’t do it.
He knows he looks like a lunatic, staring up at the stars every night. Waiting. Not hoping, but wondering – is this one of the futures Doc saw? If it is, then can they make it home? Are they stranded up there on Titan? Or do the Guardians have a way to get them off that rock?
Rogers has tried talking to him. What, exactly, he was saying, Tony has no idea. He’s got a vague recollection of pity in Rogers’ tone of voice, and that’s enough to make him hope he doesn’t somehow remember whatever bullshit he was spouting. Some nights, Nebula stands next to him, close enough that he can hear gears clicking and electricity thrumming under her skin. Most people seem to think that they’re fucking, these days; especially now that Pepper’s thrown in the towel for good. They’re not. But Nebula was there on Titan, she watched him break, watched him try to save as much of Peter as he could before the wind blew his remains away into the desert. She understands.
Sometimes, Rocket and Groot join them as well. They talk more, mostly between themselves; they tell stories about the Guardians that make Tony envy them, in a way. The stories make them sound like the family the Avengers tried (and failed) to be. The one he was held at arms-length from.
It was Pepper who pointed it out. One evening, stood here on T’Challa’s roof, waiting for something to happen - anything. She’d leaned into his side and rested her head on his, and she’d listened to him grieve in between long pauses. She hadn’t judged. Hadn’t shouted at him or berated him like May Parker had when he’d called to tell her. Pepper knew him well enough to know that there wasn’t anything malicious in it; knew him well enough to know that he hadn’t known how much he loved Peter until the boy crumbled to nothing in his arms and left him shattered.
“I can’t marry you, Tony,” she’d told him eventually. “Not when you’re not mine anymore. I’ll be here, I’ll be your friend forever, but Tony? You’re going to get him back. And you don’t need to be married to me when you do.”
Pepper hadn’t stopped hoping. She’s holding down the fort and fielding the press and acting like Tony hasn’t lost his damn mind. There’s an intern position at Stark Industries with Peter’s name on it; reference papers that would guarantee him a full-ride at any university he chose. Hell, she’d not even batted an eye when he bought out Peter’s apartment building and fixed it up, improved the plumbing and the insulation, and even dropped the rent.
Tony, though…he can’t. He can’t help but wonder what would happen if Peter never came back. If he was lost, forever, on that arid, empty planet. Surrounded by people he didn’t know. Gone.
What they did wasn’t immediate, Thor told them. It wasn’t a snap to extinguish half of all life in an instant, but more tossing a stone into a pond. Life is returning gradually, rippling outwards through the cosmos from where they started it. Tony doesn’t know how far Titan is from Earth. All he knows is that the ripples will reach there eventually. And when they do, when… the Doc better have an actual plan, because he’s pretty sure that Thanos is going to notice this eventually.
…
He’s in the lab with Shuri, Rocket and Groot. Thor, too, although he’s less help and more brooding; not that Tony can at all judge on that front. They’re talking tech. Weapons. Weapons powerful enough to send that scrotum-faced asshole straight to Hell.
Tony had sworn never to make weapons ever again, but it’s something he knows intimately. Rocket, he thinks, might be the superior on this one; the guy’s blown up at least one entire planet before, if the stories he tells are anything to go by, and as deadly as the Jericho was, it wasn’t world-endingly powerful. Still, he can talk aerodynamics and propulsion rates and feel like he’s doing something useful. He can talk about the possible blast radius and evacuation plans, and if – outside of the lab – the rogues all give him the side-eye for it, then he doesn’t care.
He doesn’t care about most things these days.
It’s occurred to him that this is the end of Iron Man. The last stand. The last, great hurrah before he hangs up the suit forever and focuses on the next generation. On providing opportunities for supers who aren’t billionaires or superspies or antiquated relics. He’s always known that he wouldn’t be able to fight forever, but he’s coming to terms with the end being now. Or soon, rather. After Thanos. After Peter comes back.
The tremor hasn’t left his arm since the Civil War. The new reactor, with its nanotech and the reinforcements for his ribcage, weighs more than the old one. It’ll kill him, one day.
Not today.
Today, he’s in a bright-lit lab surrounded by state-of-the-art Wakandan tech, leaning over the shoulder of a sentient raccoon and talking explosions with people who see as much merit in the Merchant of Death as in Iron Man. It’s as close to a good day as he gets, these days, and he can feel a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as Groot leans in to observe and Rocket rubs a gentle paw over his kid’s arm.
He doesn’t hear it at first, the sizzling hiss of a portal opening. He does hear Shuri’s gasp of shock and looks up to see her eyes widen. There are golden runes reflected in her dark eyes, and that’s all it takes to get him to turn around. To brace himself. His heart feels like it’s about to batter itself through the metal of his ribs, and he has to steady himself on a table as a familiar masked face peeks through.
Behind him, Titan is still a barren wasteland. The Guardians are gathered and Strange has his hands raised, but Tony only barely notices them because Peter - Peter - is stepping through the portal. And there’s a split second where he can’t move, can’t do anything, before Peter gives a bright whoop of joy and crosses the room in a single bound.
He’s warm in Tony’s arms. So very warm and alive. Tony clings onto him, gripping too tight – he can feel the nanotech of Peter’s suit shifting under the pressure – but Peter just crowds in close.
“You did it!” he whispers in Tony’s ear. “I knew you’d do it! You – hey, Mr Stark, are you okay?”
He leans back just far enough to look Tony in the face, the eyes of his mask narrowing slightly. It’s odd, reading concern into an otherwise featureless face, but Tony can see it even though his vision’s blurring.
“Yeah,” he replies. He sounds like he’s crying and, god, he thinks he actually is. “I’m great.”
…
Peter joins him on the roof. He’s freshly showered and dressed in civvies; he’s as safe in Wakanda as he’ll be anywhere, and Tony had kind of insisted on him giving the suit back for ‘upgrades’. In reality, he doesn’t want to see that Spider-suit ever again, and there’s a new one – several new ones – being shipped from his labs in New York. The shirt he’s found is big on him, though, and hangs loose around his collarbones. With his hair still damp and beginning to curl, he looks frighteningly young.
He is frighteningly young.
He’s also a hero in every sense of the word – he’s Tony’s hero – and he’s far more mature than he should be. But, Tony knows from experience, that doesn’t mean much.
Still.
Peter hesitates only slightly before leaning into his side. He’s warm and he smells of that ubiquitous kind of body spray that every teenage boy in the world uses, and Tony can’t help but slip his arm around his waist and pull him closer.
“Mr Stark?”
“Thanos is still out there,” Tony tells him. “He’s out there, and he’s going to know what we did. He’s going to come back. We’ll fight, and then – I’m retiring, after that.”
The stars are bright enough that Tony can see the expression of horror on Peter’s face, but whether it’s at the thought of Thanos coming back or Tony’s retirement, he doesn’t know. He slips his hand up Peter’s back to cup the back of his neck; damp curls brush against his fingers and he has to resist the urge to bury his fingers in Peter’s hair and guide him closer like he so desperately wants to. He swallows instead, and rubs his thumb lightly against Peter’s throat.
“I need to give up the suit, Peter, but that doesn’t mean you have to. If you don’t want to. If Spiderman is who you want to be after all of this, then you don’t have to give it up. The suits and the tech are still yours. Just. Promise me you’ll always come back?”
It’s not the comforting speech that he should be giving a kid Peter’s age. It’s not the responsible, adult thing to do. It’s more than he should say, closer to his real feelings than anything Peter should be exposed to, but he feels like he has to. Because if there’s one thing he’s learned – and it’s possibly the only thing he’s got out of this mess – it’s that a life without Peter isn’t worth anything.
“I promise,” Peter says. He’s studying Tony closely. Tony can see his eyes moving, taking in every detail. He doesn’t know how good Peter’s vision is – not exactly - but there’s probably enough light for him to be able to see the new lines that have etched their way onto his face and the grey in his hair. It hasn’t been a good couple of years for Tony’s vanity. But as he watches, he sees shadows pool in that precious dimple and the glint of teeth as Peter’s smile widens. He feels muscles shift under Peter’s skin as he tenses up and then relaxes again.
“Suits?” Peter asks. “Plural?”
Tony snorts softly. “I may or may not have used them as a coping mechanism,” he says. “You don’t have to take them all – hell, you don’t have to try them on at all if you don’t want, but… No strings attached. No babysitter protocols. No bullshit, I swear. You can have as much or as little as you want.”
Peter’s laughter is the best thing Tony’s ever heard. He realizes then that Peter’s touching him back: there’s a hand on his shoulder and an arm around his waist. Peter’s strong enough to squish Tony like a bug when they’re out of their suits, but he isn’t. All he’s doing is holding Tony close. Letting him cling. Tony spares a thought to what they must look like, standing like this on the palace roof, but he doesn’t much care; it isn’t like T’Challa or the Dora Milaje have any respect for him anyway.
“So…” Peter says slowly, tilting his head to the side. “Does that mean you’re going to be my man-in-a-chair?” he asks, “or my sugar daddy?”
Tony feels the breath freeze in his lungs. He looks at Peter with wide eyes, but the kid’s still grinning; teasing. He looks perfectly happy with the idea, and…okay. Okay, so Tony might have made him fifty new suits and used his company to buy Peter’s apartment building, but…
Peter’s lips are soft and warm, and he hums lightly as he kisses Tony. It’s light and chaste and oh so perfect that when he pulls back, Tony chases after him. He kisses him deeper, finally giving in to temptation and sliding his hand into Peter’s soft hair to hold him steady as he licks into Peter’s mouth. He feels Peter’s hand fist in the material of his shirt, pulling Tony closer.
Peter, alive, tastes nothing like how his ashes did on Titan. It’s the best feeling in the world.
“I’ll be all of that,” Tony whispers when they finally break apart. “I’ll be all of that and more, if you’ll have me.”
They’re so close that he can feel Peter’s smile. “Yeah,” he whispers back. “Okay.”
