The tone is so casual, Tony almost doesn’t register it. He’s so used to a world that’s dark and melancholy and hopeless, that he’s forgotten what it’s like to hear a voice like Peter’s; innocent and joyful and childlike.
Tony turns his head. His neck is stiff and his heart is empty. Around him are the joyous reunions of the other Avengers, Steve pulling Bucky into a tight embrace, Okoye and T’Challa, Rhodey and Sam and Nat. Tony stands alone. People have tried clapping him on the back and hugging him and he’s stood there, unfeeling.
But when he hears Peter’s voice the relief that floods his chest might be enough to buckle him. He’s forgotten how to speak, doesn’t know how his voice will sound, but he knows he has to say something. Something pangs in his ribcage; regret maybe, fuck knows, but he doesn’t want it to be like last time. He doesn’t want to watch him go and say nothing —
“Mr. Stark? Are you okay?”
Peter’s standing in front of him, his eyes moving anxiously between Tony and the ground as he wrings his hands together. He’s biting his lip so hard that Tony wouldn’t be surprised if it started to bleed. God – the kid had freaking died and he’s asking if Tony is all right. It’s almost enough to force a laugh from his lungs in the first time in months. Almost.
Tony scans Peter up and down. He’s been tricked by it before – dusk light falling in just the right way that for a split second, he sees his son; then he vanishes into dust and Tony sobs and screams and wakes from the nightmare in a shivering sweat. It feels different, somehow, today. Peter seems more concrete. Steve and Strange and Quill are here, too, their own conversations intertwining in a copious display of victorious banter.
“I’m sorry,” breathes Peter quickly, and Tony’s heart lurches as the tears fill the kid’s eyes. “I’m sorry Mr. Stark, I didn’t mean to -“
“Shut up,” Tony finds himself saying, his voice hoarse and soft at the same time. He clears his throat and continues more gently: “Kid, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, do I make myself fucking clear -“
Peter giggles and wipes at his eyes with his shirtsleeve. He still stands awkwardly, not really knowing what to do with himself.
This time, it’s Tony who rushes forwards and tackles the kid in a crushing hug, who sobs into his hair, who claws at his back as if he’s the only thing keeping him there. And Peter is. Peter is the only reason Tony has kept going for so long, for the miniscule chance that he’d see him again.
Super strength and all, Peter stumbles as Tony hugs him. He gazes ahead in shock for several moments before wrapping his arms around Tony’s back, burying his face in his shoulder, and the tears fall harder. It’s much longer than a hug should be, but neither of them want to let go. Eventually – begrudgingly – Tony does, holding Peter at arm’s length and gazing into the boy’s tearful eyes, but he’s sporting the biggest watery grin in possibly the entire universe.
“Listen up, kid,” Tony chokes out, and Peter listens. “I- I’m so sorry – that I couldn’t – I didn’t even say anything, and I just -“
“Whoa, Mr. Stark,” murmurs Peter. “You don’t think I blame you for that?”
That. Peter’s death. It’s just that.
He continues: “It was like, a random process. Half the universe. Just my luck,” Peter grins. “I’m sorry for freaking out though, Mr. Stark -“
“Oh my god,” Tony groans. “You did not just apologise for being scared when you were literally about to die -“
“You seemed pretty sad, sorry -“
“‘Pretty sad’? Pretty sad is when your favourite program takes a week’s break, not when your son fucking dies, Pete.”
Peter freezes. His eyes widen and his voice has reduced itself to a whisper. “Tony -“
“Uh, anyways, don’t do it again.” Tony claps Peter’s shoulder awkwardly. “I was worried. And you took my cool new suit with you -“
“Tony,” Peter repeats himself, and Tony’s mouth snaps shut at the imploring tone. “You – do you really see me like…?”
Tony sighs. “It’s okay if you’re not there yet,” he says quickly. “I just – fuck, I missed you so much, kid -“
He’s tackled by another hug, this one initiated by Peter. He gazes down at him and sees his hands scrunching his shirt and the tear stains on his jacket and he smiles and he ruffles Peter’s hair and then he kisses it. Peter pulls away and says: “I missed you too. It was so dark and cold.”
“It’s over now,” murmurs Tony. “You’re all right.”
The words are familiar. They’re the last thing Tony told him before, and as always, Tony is correct. Peter is back and he’s all right.
Tony seems to pick up on the bitter-sweet nature of the statement too, because he gazes into Peter’s eyes again.
“Don’t you ever forget, kid,” says Tony, because he missed his chance before, and he’s never going to let it happen again. “Don’t you ever dare forget that you mean the world to me, Peter Parker.”
Peter laughs and cries in the same breath, his eyes sparkling with a life Tony didn’t know he’d ever see again, and a life that any nightmare couldn’t conjure. “I promise.”
“Good.”
Tony ruffles his hair again, and it feels like home.
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