#though maybe that would have been too much like a PSA like the locker room talk last episode lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spine-buster · 4 years

Text

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 21

A/N: I’ve always wanted to write a super-tropey scene like the bar scene in this so I went ahead and did it and I LOVE IT, OKAY?! Also, if you haven’t seen, I posted Part 3 of my Elias story last Thursday. It’s linked on my Masterlist!

Also, just a quick note that I will be returning to a full-time job after Labour Day today. I have enough chapters written out that I don’t think I will have to skip a week of posting, and I organize my time wisely so that I still give myself time to write, but this is just a PSA/FYI that I may not get to your asks/canon questions super quickly like I have been over quarantine. They will still ALL be answered, though, so don’t worry about that!

Anyways, enjoy this!

February 18th, 2020

Aberdeen Bloom was dejected.

The Leafs had lost their last two games, but these felt different. They’d lost to Buffalo on Sunday 5-2, and Buffalo was one of the worst teams in the league. It didn’t even matter that there were a majority of Leaf fans in the building. Now, tonight, they’d just lost 5-2 again, but this time to Pittsburgh. She couldn’t keep her eyes off her phone, with tweet upon tweet upon tweet calling this the worst game of the season for the team. Just an absolutely awful game. No effort. No heart. No soul. One that they would have to answer for at home, since they faced them again on Thursday, but this time at home. She didn’t even like hockey and she was taking everything to heart because, well – she was part of the team now. Everybody had told her that since day one. And now, at one of the lowest points in the season, she felt that.

She couldn’t stop scrolling. Couldn’t stop reading what everybody was saying.

It was Tyson who had volunteered to drive her home tonight. Ever since Morgan broke his ankle, it was a rotation of Tyson or John. When Emma picked up Tyson, she was just as nice, but she missed Bee. She missed seeing the way Morgan looked at Bee when they were in the car, because it reminded her of how William looked at her when they were alone.

Aberdeen shuffled into the backseat of Tyson’s SUV. Tyson was in the driver’s seat, and Emma was the passenger. Everyone was silent as Tyson began driving into the city – she and Emma could tell he was dejected and mad at the game that had transpired just a few hours ago. The short flight did nothing to quell his emotions. And as Emma laid her hand on his on the gearshift, Aberdeen watched as she moved her thumb back and forth, trying to tell him that it was all okay.

“Tys…it’s not your fault,” Emma said softly, finally, after what felt like a lifetime of silence.

“Em—”

“Tyson, listen to me.”

“—Emma, please, not right now—”

His eyes flashed to hers through the rear view mirror, but Emma wouldn’t listen to him. “I know it and you know it too. The whole defence is flawed. Plus, you guys are missing Mo. It’s not just you and you know that—”

“—Emma, I really don’t want to talk about it right now—”

“—and besides, if – or should I say when – you’re traded at the deadline, none of this will matter,” she dropped a bombshell. “Everyone knows you’re unhappy and it’s not working out and that you’re much better suited to play somewhere else.”

Aberdeen felt her body stiffen at the revelation. So Tyson was unhappy. Unhappy with playing on the Leafs. She knew he wasn’t having the best season, especially considering how successful he’d been in Colorado, but she didn’t think it was that bad. He’d gotten better when Sheldon came in, but apparently that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to make him happy. And in Aberdeen’s life, happiness was important. It was almost paramount. What you did and who you surrounded yourself with and your work should, ultimately, make you happy. Was it the same in hockey? Were hockey players allowed to be happy? Were hockey players on the Toronto Maple Leafs allowed to be happy? Or was everything just a business transaction? A long road to the ultimate success of lifting the Stanley Cup, regardless of who got hurt along the way?

Tyson let out a long sigh as he continued to drive, choosing not to answer his girlfriend or say anything else. When they got off the Gardiner and into downtown, Aberdeen was almost desperate to get out. She felt very awkward. Clearly Emma and Tyson wanted, needed to have a conversation, and she was stopping that from happening. Just by being in the backseat. She almost wanted to just tuck and roll out of the car. Tyson could return her suitcase later. She really didn’t care at this point.

When he pulled up outside her condo building, Aberdeen almost didn’t want until he stopped the car and put it in park to click her seatbelt off. “Hey Aberdeen,” Tyson looked at her through the rear view mirror. She paused all her movements to stare back at him through the mirror. “I uh…I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention to Brendan, uh, you know…what you heard…” he trailed off.

Aberdeen stared back at him doe-eyed. She shook her head slightly. “I don’t…I don’t tell Brendan about anything I find out about you guys. I mean I would never…” she said softly, trailing off too.

Tyson nodded, smiling slightly. “Thanks, Aberdeen.”

“Yeah, it’s no problem.”

When she got out of the car, Tyson popped the trunk so she could get her bag. After one last thank you, a polite wave, and a push of the button to get it to close, she walked into her condo building. She nodded towards the security guard before walking towards the elevators.

She wondered if William felt that same way when he played last year.

***

February 20th, 2020

“Get ‘em!” Aberdeen growled as she looked down onto the ice. “Get ‘em!!!”

Brendan chuckled as he watched Aberdeen, her hands balled up in fists as she practically hung over the box. He’d never seen her so into a hockey game before, and he didn’t know what had gotten into her. “You alright, Aberdeen?”

“Get ‘em!”

He got a kick out of it. Kyle, too, was doing one of those silent chuckles and getting redder by the second. “Aberdeen, you’re going to blow your heart out. We’re gonna need to put you on meds,” Brendan commented. “You gotta remember that you’re staying until the proofs get here. You can’t waste all your energy now.”

Aberdeen calmed down a bit, but she was still on the edge of her seat. “Sorry,” she said. She knew she was maybe taking it a bit overboard, but she couldn’t help it. After the awful game against the Penguins on Tuesday, the Leafs were dominating them right now. Freddie was playing phenomenally, Jake Muzzin had just scored to put them up 1-0, and they were getting really good chances. It’s like the team did a complete 180 from what they were. She also knew, though, that she needed to stay at the arena later tonight, because the final proofs for the St. Pats jerseys were coming and she was the one who had to sign for them and place them safely and securely in Brendan’s office to see tomorrow. She didn’t know how long she’d be up tonight, and she’d need to conserve energy.

“Don’t apologize. I just don’t want you to have a heart attack,” Brendan smiled.

With the Leafs on a powerplay, Aberdeen was like a hawk following the puck. With Tavares, Matthews, and Nylander on the ice, she was praying for a goal. And then—

“YES!!!!!” she screamed as William scored a beautiful goal, jumping up in her seat and throwing her fist in the air like she was Bender at the end of The Breakfast Club. From beside her, Brendan and Kyle stayed unnaturally calm. Aberdeen looked over at them and tried to settle back into her seat calmly. “Sorry. Again,” she said, gripping the armrests of her chair. “But how can you guys be so calm?!”

“You get used to it,” Brendan smiled.

“Well, maybe you do, Mr. Hockey Player,” Aberdeen joked.

“Especially when the camera is on you,” Kyle added.

Aberdeen’s face dropped. “Oh my God, I’m not on camera, am I?!”

Kyle shook his head, his smile spreading from ear to ear. “We’ll have to see, Aberdeen, but I don’t think so.”

The Leafs dominated the rest of game. Kasperi scored another goal only three minutes after William, and Zach scored in the third to make it 4-0. Freddie got the shutout. She knew he’d be happy about that, despite his stoic reserve. As she, Brendan, and Kyle made their way to the locker room, Aberdeen saw the media already speaking to Jake Muzzin. She knew they’d want to speak with the goal scorers too, and so when she saw William and Kasperi heading to the media room, along with John, Freddie, and Sheldon, she wasn’t surprised. It was a good game. Hopefully the media would back down a bit.

She congratulated the guys and stood on the sidelines as Brendan and Kyle spoke to some of them once the media left. By that point, some of them were dressed and ready to head home. “Hey, you want a ride?” Jason offered as he approached her, tightening his tie around his neck.

“Oh, I’m staying back, actually,” Aberdeen informed him. He looked at her skeptically. “The final proofs are coming in for your St. Pats jerseys in March and I have to receive them and put them in Brendan’s office under lock and key.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Well, I can wait with you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Aberdeen, it’s fine. We can grab a bite to eat afterwards.”

“Jason, I might be here until, like, eleven.”

“So we’ll have an authentic Italian-style dinner then. All the more reason since I miss my motherland.”

“Jason—”

“Aberdeen, are you really going to say no me?”

She glared at him. It was like St. John’s all over again. Before she could open her mouth and say something else, another voice interrupted her. “Why’re you giving Jason the stink eye?” William asked as he approached them.

“I’m gonna wait with Aberdeen until the proofs come and then we’re gonna grab dinner. You in?” he asked William, but everybody already knew the answer.

William shrugged his shoulders casually, like Jason hadn’t just invited him to dinner with his own girlfriend. “I’m in.”

Aberdeen rolled her eyes. “You two are insufferable.”

“I like to think it’s part of our charm,” Jason smiled. “Let me call Jen and then we can go trash Brendan’s office.”

*** It was about 10:45 when Aberdeen, Jason, and William ended up at a small bar none of them had ever been to that served small pub-style plates. It was crowded, for some reason, even though it was a Thursday. Aberdeen quickly learned, judging by the drink specials, that it was their grand opening weekend, and tonight was their first official night open. Opening on a Thursday meant pandering to the university crowd for sure (whose pub nights usually took place on Thursdays), but this place was pretty full with an older, gruffier clientele that were seated at the bar and congregated in small groups around the open space in the centre of the room, away from the few booths against the wall. She wondered if they marketed the place wrongly, or if they just wanted to fill the place so they could say they had a successful opening.

It was a bit loud, but she, Jason, and William ate their late dinner in relative peace. They spoke about the game only for a little bit before they moved on to other topics, making it abundantly clear to Aberdeen that they didn’t want to discuss hockey at all. The food was fine, and so, too, were the beers William and Jason had, but Aberdeen’s Long Island Iced Tea had way too much rum in it so she couldn’t finish.

By the time they finished, it was almost midnight and Aberdeen was starting to feel her fatigue. They were told to pay at the bar, so they gathered their jackets. Aberdeen insisted on paying for her meal, ever going so far as to run up to the bar herself, inching between some patrons in order to pay, before William or Jason could even get out of the booth. William, however, was right behind her, ready to Jason’s meal on his card.

“H—Hey! Hey! Look what we have here! Y-You’re Wiiiilliam Nylander,” a guy, older and very clearly inebriated, slurred out as he laid his eyes on them.

“That’s me,” William gave a tight-lipped smile, standing just slight behind Aberdeen, waiting his turn to pay.

The drunk guy focused his attention on Jason now. “You. Spezza.”

“Yup.”

He turned back towards William, shaking his head. “Teams like this can’t win the Cup. Esp-p-ecially not with this guy around.”

That caught Aberdeen’s attention. She furrowed her brows as the friend of the guy, obviously just as drunk, nodded his head in agreement. “Don’t have the heart like Dougie or Wendel. All a bunch of pussies now. Especially you.”

Aberdeen pulled her card out of the reader dramatically, turning her body so she could face them head on. “What the hell is your problem? There’s no need to be rude,” she said, her voice loud and firm.

“Aberdeen, stop it,” William said loud enough for her to hear.

“Y-Y-Yyyyou shoulda just sssigned the contract, man,” the drunk man grumbled out.

Aberdeen tried again, ignoring William’s plea. “Sir, this isn’t the time or place,” she intervened, but William’s hands went straight to her waist to move her out of his way so she wasn’t standing in between them anymore.

Suddenly, it was William closer to the drunk man that Aberdeen. The drunk guy apparently didn’t like that very much. “You’re damn – you’re damn selfish! Ssssselfish and greedyyyy,” the man continued to slur drunkenly. “Seeeelfish, no good—”

“Sir—” Aberdeen showed up beside William, refusing to stand behind him.

“I oughta hurt you like you hurt the fffranchise.”

Aberdeen’s eyes widened. That was a threat if she ever heard one, and even though he was drunk, Aberdeen didn’t like the tone of his voice. “Okay sir,” she chastised. “You need to stop overreacting. We’re just here trying to pay for our meal. This is no time to be a dick.”

“You know what? Let’s just pay at the other end of the bar,” Jason said, trying to diffuse the situation as much as possible. He even started to herd William and Aberdeen away from the drunk man and down the opposite end of the bar. “You have fun with whatever whiskey you’re drinking,” he gave one last look to the man before walking away himself.

“Fuckin’ pussy!” the friend yelled loudly at William, already half way down the bar now.

Aberdeen looked back. William had grabbed her wrist and was dragging her through the crowd so she’d get to the other side with him. She watched as one of them slammed his glass down on the bar dramatically. “Willy—”

“Ignore them, Aberdeen.”

“Yeeeeeah, fuckin’ pussy! Fuckin’ lowlife! Worst Leaf on the team! Shoulda traded you back to Sweden, ya Swedish piece of shit!”

The men continued to yell obscenities and taunt William as they stood at the other end of the bar. Aberdeen stared at William as he stuck his credit card into the machine, quickly punching in his pin. “Does that happen often?” Aberdeen asked him.

“Aberdeen, don’t,” he shook his head, refusing to answer her as he pulled his card out of the machine and stuffed it back into his wallet. It was as if he didn’t want her to know; as if he wanted to protect her from learning just how awful some “fans” could be – at least to him.

“Did you pay?” Jason showed up beside them. William nodded. “Alright, then let’s get the hell out of here,” he ordered, herding them again to lead them out.

It all happened so fast that Aberdeen didn’t really know exactly that – what happened. All she knew was that she heard the guy yell from down the bar. Then she heard the breaking of glass (commonplace in bars, really) and someone else yell “Put it down!” as she, Jason, and William continued towards the door. Then another voice screamed “Watch out!” and she, Jason, and William turned their heads to look behind them.

Then it hit her.

Literally.

A glass had been thrown – obviously by one of the drunk men who had been harassing them – intended for William, but it hit Aberdeen right on the forehead instead. She staggered backwards but didn’t fall. As she brought her hand up to assess the damage, she could almost immediately feel blood dripping down the side of her eye.

“Aberdeen!” Jason screamed.

William looked over and saw the blood on Aberdeen’s hand and it dripping down the side of her face. His eyes filled with anger. Jason, who was still looking at Aberdeen, saw the look she was giving William. He whipped his head towards William, who appeared ready to murder everybody in the room. “Will—William—” Jason tried to get his attention, but to no avail.

“Ohmygodareoyouokaaaaay?!” voices began to ask as they huddled around Aberdeen, William, and Jason worriedly, forming a protective circle around them. There were so many people, so concerned and so loud asking if she was okay that Aberdeen couldn’t even respond – she was too overwhelmed and too confused to even comprehend what was going on.

That’s when the two men ran out. When most of the people in the bar were distracted trying to see if Aberdeen was okay, the men had the wherewithal to completely book it out of the bar with nobody stopping them. It was only William who noticed, screaming out a loud “HEY!” to try and get somebody’s attention to stop them, but nobody moved enough for him to get out of the scrum around Aberdeen to chase him. William focused his attention back on Aberdeen even though he could feel his cheeks flush red with anger and tears forming in his eyes. She was still holding the area above her eyebrow cautiously as the bartender waved her over. Jason and William led her towards the bar, making sure she didn’t step on any of the shattered glass that now littered the floor. The bartender was already opening the first aid kit. William heard Jason tell everyone “It’s fine, it’s fine, we don’t need your help, it’s alright, we’ll handle it, we’ll handle it.”

Aberdeen was offered a bar stool to sit on, but she turned it down. She didn’t want to be on display for everyone to see; she was already embarrassed enough as is. “You wanna go into a washroom?” the bartender asked, and Aberdeen nodded her head. He led them to the wheelchair bathroom, since there would be space for all of them, and ushered them in. “The emergency rooms are just up the street. They’ll do stitches.”

William glared at the bartender. “Aren’t you even gonna call a paramedic or something? What about the cops?” he demanded, his voice shaking from the anger he was still feeling. “Can we look at security cameras to get a face?”

“Bro, we don’t want cops or paramedics here opening night. That would kill us,” the bartender said. William couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “We don’t have cameras installed yet, either. Just clean it up and take it to emerge. It’s, like, two blocks north.”

William felt like punching the bartender square in the jaw. And he would have, too, for being so insensitive about it, if it wasn’t for Jason opening the first aid box loudly against the counter. Jason, for his part, glared at the bartender too. “You can leave now,” he growled, focusing his attention back on finding what he needed within the kit. “Useless piece of shit,” he mumbled under his breath.

Aberdeen sat on the toilet, trying to collect her thoughts and emotions. She’d gotten hit with a fucking flying glass in the middle of a bar. A glass seemingly intended for Willy, thrown by a drunk guy, but it had hit her. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. She was sure her hand was covered in blood at this point; she didn’t even want to know what her face looked like. “Did I get busted open?” she asked, even though she was well aware of the answer. She needed someone else to confirm it so this all felt real and not like a nightmare.

“Yeah,” Jason said softly. “Listen, if that dipshit isn’t gonna call the cops or paramedics, I want to clean it before we go to the walk-in. Your face has a lot of blood on it.”

Aberdeen nodded her head slightly. There was nothing else she could do, really. It wasn’t like she was going to reject any medical attention, from Jason or otherwise. “Is it gonna hurt?” she asked.

“Of course it’ll hurt, but I don’t want any of the blood to crust and dry,” he said.

“Am I gonna need stitches? I’ve never gotten stitches before.”

“Move your hand a bit and let me see,” Jason said. She moved her hand the slightest bit, too scared to move it anymore out of fear that blood would gush out like some Halloween decoration, and Jason looked up close. “Yeah, probably,” he deadpanned. William winced at the thought.

“Oh, Jesus. Is it gonna scar?”

“No. Not deep enough to scar. At least not to me,” he said. She trusted him, if only because he was a father of four and had been around the block a few times. He cleaned her face as much as he could of the blood that had streamed down. She watched as he got some alcohol and put it onto a pad, prepped a sterile gauze, and whatever else he needed. Now, are you ready?” he asked.

“I guess so,” Aberdeen braced herself. She took her hand off the injury, relieved that no blood gushed onto Jason’s shirt. “On three, okay?” she asked. Jason nodded his head. She began to count. “One…two—”

She let out a guttural scream as Jason put the rubbing alcohol on her early so she wouldn’t wince away. It fucking stung. The sound that escaped her made Will’s heart drop into the pit of his stomach. He never wanted to hear it again. When he looked over, she was writhing on the toilet seat. Even Jason’s face was pained at her screams, but he was doing what he needed to do. After doing as much as he could, he took one last look at it before putting the sterile gauze on it, grabbing Aberdeen’s hand to hold it against the cut.

“You ready to go to emerge?” Jason asked.

Tears had streamed down her face at this point. She didn’t have a good tolerance for pain. She nodded her head. “Let’s go.”

***

It was just past two in the morning before an emergency room doctor saw Aberdeen. Jason had called Jen to let her know what happened and let her know that he was going to be extra late, and William…well, William was silent. He was still red with rage as they sat in the emergency room, with Jason and Aberdeen making conversation, but he was silent. Truthfully, all Aberdeen wanted to do was hug him, hold his hand, and nestle into him, but she couldn’t. It would have made things a hundred times better, but Jason being there meant that it was impossible. She noticed William’s silence from the moment they were in the washroom at the awful place and Jason had cleaned the wound. She was hoping that he wasn’t blaming himself.

“So, Miss Bloom, what happened here?” Dr. Behari asked as she sat on the gurney, Jason and William standing near her with their arms crossed.

“Some guy at a bar threw a glass and it hit me,” Aberdeen explained simply. “I think I’m going to need stitches.”

The doctor nodded, then looked towards Jason and William. “And you’re her bodyguards?” he joked.

Jason smiled, but William didn’t. “Friends,” Jason said. “I cleaned it up a bit with rubbing alcohol at the bar, doctor. I – It was the only thing I could think to do.”

The doctor nodded, stepping closer towards Aberdeen. “Let me take a look, Miss Bloom, and I can clean it and see if you need stitches.” Aberdeen took her hand and the gauze off the cut and the doctor put on his gloves. “Aallllllright…” he mumbled as he checked it, Aberdeen wincing in pain slightly as he pressed down on it. “You’ve got no residual glass in it, which is great. All we have to do is clean it up and give you some stitches.”

The thought of stitches made Aberdeen a bit woozy. She tried not to think about what they’d have to do. “Is it a deep cut? Like is it gonna scar?” she asked.

“Not a deep cut at all,” the doctor shook his head. “I’m only putting it one layer of stitches. You’ll probably have the slightest scar once it’s all healed but it’s easily covered with makeup, and due to placement, it won’t be too noticeable.” Suddenly, the curtain that blocked off the room opened, and some supplies and medical equipment were ushered in. Jason and William looked to see everything that Dr. Behari would need laid out on the tray. “Ah! Here we go. Have you ever received stitches before, Miss Bloom?”

“No sir.”

“Think of it as me putting this beautiful masterpiece of a face back together,” he joked, causing Aberdeen and Jason to laugh. William still wasn’t laughing, and Jason took notice.

“You’re great, Doctor Behari,” Aberdeen giggled. “I’m gonna get a scar like a real hockey player now.”

“Ahhhhh, so you guys are hockey players, huh?” he gestured towards Jason and William. “I’ve stitched up a bad hockey injury once or twice in my day.”

Dr. Behari continued with what he needed to do, cleaning up the wound and making sure everything was well and prepped for the stitches. The second he picked up the needle filled with lidocaine though, to numb the area so Aberdeen wouldn’t feel the stitches as much, William became more visibly upset. For the last two hours he looked like he was about to cry, and now he just looked extremely pained, distressed at the thought of what Aberdeen had to go through.

It took Jason intervening for William to stop thinking over and over about when the glass met Aberdeen’s head; the look in her eyes and the blood on her face as she tried to stop the bleeding with her hand. “Will, can you breathe for me?” he mumbled, Aberdeen and Dr. Behari too deep in a conversation to hear them.

William started shaking his head. “He needs to be arrested. He needs to be charged with assault. We need to find him,” his voice was still trembling.

“Will, we’re not gonna find him. He ran off,” Jason tried to reason with him. “There aren’t even any cameras we can check – the manager said. We just have to let it go.”

“No. That’s not good enough,” William was persistent. “We need to—”

“Listen to me,” Jason said in a low voice, grabbing William’s forearm and turning him away from Aberdeen and the doctor. They stood right in between the hallway and the curtain sectioning off the room. “I understand this is personal for you because it’s Aberdeen, but you need to be level-headed right now, because as much as the doctor is making her laugh, she’s gonna see the stitches and probably get scared. And she’s going to be looking at you to help calm her down and tell her it will be alright.”

William stopped breathing during the first part of Jason’s sentence. He furrowed his brows, trying to brush it off, and brush off what Jason was implying. “I don’t know what you mean about this being personal for me—”

“Will, come on,” Jason interrupted him. “I’m too old to be fucked with. We all see the way that you look at her and we know you have the biggest crush imaginable on her. It’s not like it’s a fucking secret.”

“H—How do I look at her?”

“She’s the only person you ever see, Will,” Jason deadpanned. “But…beyond that. You have to remember Brendan’s gonna be asking questions tomorrow at the office. I’ll handle a majority of that but he’s going to want the story from you too and you better be on your best behaviour or else he’ll figure out your little crush and Aberdeen will be fucked. Do you understand?”

William couldn’t look Jason in the eye anymore. He bit down on his bottom lip nervously, knowing that he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. “I think he already knows…” he mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

“I think…Brendan already knows about the crush. At the Christmas party out on the ice I guess he caught me looking and he told me she can’t do anything with me until she leaves, and more importantly, I can’t do anything with her.”

Jason looked like he’d seen a ghost. “And?”

“And what?”

“Are you doing anything with her?”

Here it was. William’s first opportunity to lie outright to a teammate, a friend, a colleague, a guy that he looked up to immensely. Aberdeen had had to do it with Siena, now he’d have to do it with Jason. His girlfriend was a mere fifteen feet away and he had to deny that anything was going on. “What?! Of course not!” he said angrily.

“William I swear to fucking God—"

“Nothing is happening,” he stressed. “Jesus, Jason. How awful do you think I am? I wouldn’t do something like that to her.”

“Don’t fuck with me Willy. She’s got too bright a future for you to—”

“I know that,” William stressed. “I. Know. That. That’s why nothing has happened. That’s why it’s stayed a crush.”

“You promise me right here, right now, in the middle of this hospital while she’s getting stitches, that there’s nothing going on between you two, or so help me God, Willy—”

“There’s nothing going on between us,” William said bluntly. He saw Jason’s face relax slightly, meaning that he was buying it. “I’ve got my crush and that’s it. But there’s nothing going on between us. Nothing.”

“Woohoo! Boys!” Dr. Behari called out, interrupting their conversation. “Miss Bloom wants to hold one of your big strong hands just in case she feels anything. Any takers?”

Jason raised his eyebrows at William and gave him a look. William gave Jason one last look before walked over, stood next to Aberdeen, and offered his hand. She grabbed it without hesitation.

Jason watched.

***

February 22nd, 2020

“What in God’s name happened to your eye?” Brendan demanded as he got his first look at Aberdeen Saturday morning. In the town car, Lou had already commented on it. Now Brendan got to see it, bright and early in the morning before heading towards the office.

“It’s a long story,” Aberdeen mumbled.

“Well we’ve got a long drive to the office.”

She sighed. She recounted the events of the previous night to Brendan, from Jason and William agreeing to stay back with her, to them going to dinner, to the rude men, to the bottle throwing. Brendan looked more and more horrified as time went on, and especially angry when she got to the part with the rude men. They were essentially targeting one of his players, one of his star players, with assault; instead, that assault ended up hurting his executive assistant. And when she mentioned the no cameras and the clueless bartender, he got really angry, because there was nothing he could do either.

“And so, here we are,” Aberdeen finished. “I’m three days out from my 22nd birthday and one week out from my party and I have a giant scar on my face.”

Brendan could tell by her tone that she wasn’t necessarily upset about it, per se, but that she was more so a bit self-conscious about how it looked. “It’s not that big,” he said, trying to not make it a big deal. “The stitches will be out soon anyway. You don’t want to see some of the scars I’ve gotten. I mean…” he trailed off, pointing to the one on his top lip and the one on his chin, “yours won’t look as bad as these. Won’t end up as bad as these either.”

“You don’t think so?”

Brendan shook his head. “No chance. It’s only three stitches. Did you tell your parents?”

“Yeah, we FaceTimed so I could show them. They don’t want me in bars past sundown now,” she giggled slightly. “I’m going to have to go to my doctor before we leave for Tampa Bay to see if they can get taken out though. By then it will have been four days. The emergency room doctor said it should be okay by then.”

“I’ll call Noah and have him take a look at it once we get to the arena,” he said, referring to Dr. Noah Forman, the team’s head physician. “I’ll call Jason and Will in, too. To let me know what happened.”

Aberdeen nodded her head. It was only logical to talk to them about it to. William had been the one targeted, after all. “Are you excited for tonight?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

Brendan shrugged. “Last time we faced Carolina it was an…interesting game,” he said. “How much more interesting can it get?”

***

Aberdeen was absolutely horrified. Just absolutely fucking horrified at what was transpiring in front of her very eyes. A complete and utter collapse. Something that couldn’t be real. Something she didn’t want to be real. Something that was affecting her more than she ever thought hockey would. If Aberdeen thought that Penguins game on Tuesday was bad, this was a hundred times worse. A thousand. A million. A billion times worse.

The Leafs were losing to the Hurricanes. 6-3. And who was in net for the Carolina Hurricanes? Their emergency backup goalie, who was, somehow, also the Toronto Marlies’ Zamboni driver. Yes. The Toronto Maple Leafs were losing to a Zamboni driver. Their own Zamboni driver.

She wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

Brendan had already left the box. He’d asked her not to follow him. That made her incredibly nervous, because usually when he was upset or disappointed about games, she was still following him like a little puppy. That wasn’t the case now; he clearly wanted to be alone and alone he would be, wherever he happened to be.

When the final buzzer rang, Aberdeen felt her heart rate go up even more, because it now meant that she did have to go find him. She didn’t want to be in the locker room right now. The team needed to be with their coach, and she didn’t exactly want to hear whatever was going to go down in there. She wanted to remain willfully ignorant. So instead, she began walking towards the offices, where a part of her knew Brendan would be.

She was quiet as she walked down the hallway and towards her desk. She saw Brendan’s door almost closed, and knew he was inside his office. She gathered her things, grabbed her jacket, and took a deep breath.

She knocked lightly on his office door. “Come in,” she heard him say absent-mindedly.

She pushed the door open slowly. When she revealed herself in the doorway, Brendan’s eyebrows rose slightly. He was surprised she’d come and find him. But he didn’t want her to know that. Most other personal assistants he’d had usually let him be when he did something like this. But Aberdeen was different. “Oh, there you are,” he said, his voice low as he cleared his throat. There were a few moments of silence as he thought of something to say. “We need to go over the, uh…the proofs for the St. Pats jerseys,” he held out his hand.

Aberdeen was nervous. He was a bit too calm for her liking, considering what had just happened. She knew he wouldn’t want to talk about it exactly, but still. “Okay. Um, yeah, sure. I have it right here,” she said as she began digging through her bag with all the files in it. There were so many to sort through, and she knew she was taking a while.

“By all means, move at a glacial pace. You know how that thrills me,” Brendan said.

She pulled the proofs out of her bag and handed them to him. He took them, a bit dramatically she thought, and opened them up. “Okay, so…they’re done. They can be sent,” he said dismissively, putting his signature at the bottom of every page of proofs.

Aberdeen was shocked, slightly. There was so much back and forth on them because they had to be perfect and now he’d just signed off on them? “They…they’re done? So I don’t need to bring them back to the artist and fetch them back tomorrow?” she began to pull out her iPad so she could change her schedule.

“Well, if you think the team is worthy of even wearing these jerseys and want to convince me to not just scrap the whole damn idea…then yes, fetch away. You’re very fetching, so go fetch,” he grumbled out with a resolute emotion of nothingness in his voice.

Aberdeen stopped her movements. Okay, so he was affected by what had just happened. And he was going to let it all out now, in front of her, with no-one else around. No Kyle. No Sheldon. No team. Nobody but her. As she continued to stare at him, he couldn’t look her in the eye; he was looking everywhere in his office but her, even though she stood right across his desk from him. “You’ll need to contact PR, um…Leslie, to see what she can do to minimize the press on all this,” he continued, pursing his lips together, looking out into a void. “Another humiliating loss splashed across the Toronto Sun. I can just imagine what they’re going to write about us. The Toronto Maple Leafs lose to a Zamboni driver who works for them. The most embarrassing loss yet, and it’s under my watch. Every newspaper in this city should cut me a check for all the papers I sell for them.” He shook his head, pausing for a few moments to collect himself, and finally looked at Aberdeen. “Anyway, I don’t…I don’t really care what anybody writes about me. But the team. I just…the team. It’s just another disappointment…another let down. Another bad game. Horrible game.”

Aberdeen didn’t know what to say. She knew this was Brendan’s version of spilling his guts out to her. This loss had taken its toll on him – was going to take its toll on everyone in the organization, and he was the guy heading the entire operation. It all fell on his shoulders. And Kyle’s. But he was the overseer of it all. He put the brunt of the blame on himself – not on the players or the general manager. “Anyway, the point is…the point is…” he cleared his throat. Aberdeen could see him visually recollect himself. “The point is, we really need to get these proofs sent first thing tomorrow morning, because I’d like to see the jerseys before they get sent to the players.”

It was weird to Aberdeen how he could just switch like that – from experiencing the lowest of the low to going back to normal again. She wondered if it was a hockey thing, because Willy did it too – he would be upset after losses, especially bad ones, but it would quickly become dirt off his shoulder. She held on to her emotions and feelings much longer than them. “I’m so sorry, Brendan,” she offered. She knew there was nothing else she could say to him. “If you want me to cancel your morning tomorrow, I can.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would we do that?” he asked.

Aberdeen offered a tight-lipped smile. “Is there anything else I can do?” she asked.

Brendan nodded quickly. “Your job.”

***

Aberdeen called Siena the moment she was out of the office and walking home. She’d been okayed to go home by Brendan. She’d texted Will, but he wasn’t answering, so God knows what was going on in the locker room right now. She didn’t want to stay at Scotiabank Arena for that very reason. She just knew it was too much for her to handle.

She knew it was too much because she was already crying. Silent tears, but tears nonetheless. She prayed to God that Siena picked up.

“Hey,” Aberdeen finally heard her voice. “What’s up?”

“Siena…” Aberdeen’s voice was shaky. “Siena did you watch the game?”

“No, why? What’s wrong?”

Aberdeen sniffled. “I never thought I’d be crying about sports but here I am crying about the Leafs!” she blubbered out.

“Why? What happened?”

“We just had the most God awful game,” Aberdeen huffed out. “We lost to our own Zamboni driver.”

There was a pause on Siena’s end. “Aberdeen, are you drunk?”

“NO!!!” she exclaimed. “Go check the highlights or whatever. Go turn on TSN. It was humiliating. We’re going to get absolutely roasted. It’s going to be so bad and—”

“Aberdeen—Aberdeen you need to calm down,” Siena urged on the other end of the phone. “It’s not your fault, Aberdeen. And it’s not your problem. Why are you so upset about it? It’s not like you’re a part of the team.”

Aberdeen felt a punch to her heart at Siena’s words. But she was. Everyone had told her that she was – Brendan, Kyle, the guys, everyone – and she had no reason to think otherwise. It was hammered into her since the beginning. For all intents and purposes, she was a member of the team, which is why it hurt her so badly. Siena didn’t understand that. Siena didn’t understand how all the traveling together made them closer; how all the guys looked out for her – not in a patronizing way, just…in their own way – like they were her older brothers, especially after what happened at Christmas; how the word family was tossed around so often that Aberdeen really felt that this was a family in its own way, with a bunch of moving parts, often dysfunctional, but a family nonetheless. Siena didn’t understand any of it. “Yes I am,” Aberdeen said meekly, offering nothing. She couldn’t put into words what she’d just thought, and even if she could, Siena, with all her smarts, wouldn’t understand them. “I am a part of the team.”

“Just sleep on it, alright? I’m sure everybody is going to forget about it by tomorrow morning,” Siena offered, showing truly just how much she didn’t understand. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

At that exact moment, a car pulled up on the curb alongside Aberdeen. When she looked over, she saw William in the driver’s seat. He was already looking at her. “Okay, bye,” she ended the call abruptly, stuffing her phone into her coat pocket before approaching and opening the door, slipping into the passenger’s seat easily.

When Aberdeen looked over at William, he immediately noticed her red eyes. His heart tightened in his chest. “Why are you crying, minskatt?” he asked.

“How could you not be?” she asked back.

He leaned over the centre console to kiss her. “Please stop, minskatt. I can’t stand to see you cry.”

“I don’t know what to feel – what to do – I don’t know what to say to you to make you feel better about this,” she lamented.

“Shhhh shhh shhh,” William kissed her again, bringing his of his hands up to cup her face. “You don’t need to say anything.”

“Don’t I?”

William shook his head slightly. “You’re here, aren’t you?” he asked, as if that was enough. As if that’s all he needed, when really, Aberdeen knew he’d need so much more. That she would need so much more. “D’you want to come back to my place?”

Aberdeen looked William in the eye. He wasn’t asking politely. He was begging. She nodded. “Okay.”

***

Aberdeen was getting scared at how good she was getting at lying. She’d made up a stupid story about needing to stay late at the arena again for the trade deadline so Kasha would go to bed and not wait up for her. Kasha bought it. Aberdeen didn’t even know if she was staying at William’s tonight or if she’d walk into her apartment at three o’clock in the morning again, for the second time in two days.

(As if William would bring her to his apartment and then tell her to leave in the middle of the night.)

He took her to a tall, glass condo building, only about a ten minute walk from hers but closer to the south core that made him possible to practically walk to all the games if he wanted to. He held her hand firmly in his once they got out of the car and walked through the parking garage, getting on the elevator. William pushed the button for one of the top floors. Of course he’d have a penthouse.

Aberdeen was still too caught up in her own emotions to realize how big this was – every other encounter had been at her place, and now she was finally seeing his space. When he opened the door, she was pleasantly surprised at what she was greeted with. She knew it was rented, and so she half expected it to be kind of dull with no personality, but that wasn’t the case. There were touches of William everywhere in the apartment – the slight, boyish messiness just adding to it. Expensive shoes scattered at the entryway. A few plants that weren’t dead, so she figured they were fake. A giant, comfy looking couch in the main area with a massive TV that was hooked up to every gaming console known to man. And pictures. Lots and lots and lots of pictures everywhere. All of his family.

She could tell that there was a spare bedroom on one side of the apartment, and she saw a door leading to the master. William put his keys in the bowl in the middle of the kitchen island, watching her as she looked around his apartment. “So what do you think?” he asked.

“Do you miss your family on nights like this? When it’s a really bad game and really embarrassing?” Aberdeen asked, staring at a picture he had of him and him sisters together, holding them all in a giant bear hug as their smiles stretched from ear to ear.

The question caught him completely off guard. “Of course I do. I miss them all the time,” he said.

“What do you do on nights like tonight?”

“I sit on my couch and watch TV until I’m not thinking about it anymore,” William admitted. “Lately I’ve really been meaning to do it with my girlfriend.”

Aberdeen couldn’t help but smile. Even after a night like tonight, he was still flirting with her. “Do you have a change of clothes?”

They went into his bedroom – bed messy, but huge; closet overflowing, but orderly; giant floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the other skyscrapers around them – and she changed into a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt that looked Supreme-branded but instead said ‘spaghetti’. It smelled like him, thoroughly, and the second she put it on she felt like she was being hugged, even though it was about six sizes too big. They changed together, and when they were done, they made their way back to the living room and William turned on the TV, pulling her towards the big couch. He made her sit down first before kneeling down between her legs, resting his head on her stomach just beneath her breasts before wrapping his arms around her.

It was calm. It was nice. It was mindless. William was mindless as he laid there, his arms wrapped around his girlfriend in his clothes, watching TV but not really watching TV. Aberdeen was mindless as she laid there, running her fingers through William’s hair soothingly, watching TV but not really watching TV. It was a while before Aberdeen decided to speak again. “You know, it’s not healthy to not talk about it,” she said.

She felt William sigh. “You know I’m not good with words, minskatt.”

“Oh, I think that’s a lie. You’re great with words,” she said.

“No I’m not.”

“William, every author in the English language wishes they came up with the words, ‘I think about you when I’m not even thinking’, including me,” she countered.

William couldn’t help but smile. “Those words are only for you,” he said.

“I know,” she said, “but can you please give me some other words so I know that you’re okay? Because I’m worried.”

The fact that he was making her worried made him compelled to talk. That was the last thing he wanted. “I just…I just know that we’re never going to hear the end of it. And I hate that. I hate that it’s gonna be the big joke now. Because hockey isn’t a joke to me. Neither is the Leafs.” He paused and Aberdeen was silent, and he knew that silence was urging him to continue. “It happened because…it happened because they rallied around their goalie. They protected him. They had his back. And we didn’t. We just…we didn’t. And I hate it when we do that. Because I have…I have every guy in that locker room’s back. I do. But sometimes it just…” he sighed, shaking his head. “Sometimes it just doesn’t work out how I want it to.”

Aberdeen had continued to run her fingers through his hair. She nodded at the end of his speech. “I’m not going to pretend that I know what it feels like, because I don’t,” she said. “I haven’t been a fan of hockey and I don’t understand it like you do but I know how much a game like this can affect the group, especially with the media in this city. But I got emotional about it because I know how much it affects you. Even if you won’t tell me about it.”

“I don’t mean to not tell you,” William said. “I just…” he paused again, thinking if he should even say anything. “It’s that besides my dad and brother, nobody’s ever really…you know, listened. So I just stopped talking.”

Aberdeen’s heart broke. At that point, she stopped running her fingers through his hair and forced him to sit up, even though her legs were still wrapped around him, so she could look him in the eye. She thought about Mike Babcock and what he’d done to Will. She thought about all the other hockey coaches he had and wondered if they were just as bad. “Willy…” she said softly, running her thumb along his jawline and lips. “Willy, I want you to talk to me more. About hockey. About your family. About your feelings. About everything. Please. Please.”

William nodded. He understood completely what she was asking him to do, and he was going to make a concerted effort to do so, because he loved her. He loved her so much and he didn’t want to see her worrying about him. “I will, minskatt. I will, for you,” he said, kissing her quickly. He shifted them so she was straddling his body. “I just have to get used to somebody listening.”

“Willy, I’m always going to listen to you. Don’t forget that, okay?” she asked, cradling his face in her hands.

He nodded, quickly kissing her again. The words were coming now, and he couldn’t stop them. Aberdeen had that power over him. “What happened the other night at the bar was my fault,” he said.

“What?” Aberdeen’s eyes bulged out of her head dramatically. “Willy, that was not your fault at all—”

“Yes it was—”

“No it wasn’t—”

“Yes, yes it was,” he said sternly. “And I couldn’t take it. I was so mad, minskatt. I was shaking. I wasn’t able to stop it or to protect you or—”

“Willy—Willy, stop. Willy, it wasn’t your fault at all,” she repeated. “Those stupid guys were drunk.”

“But they were aiming for me. They hated me. I wish that glass would’ve hit me instead,” he said, bringing his hand up to her scar and touching it lightly.

“Don’t you dare say something like that. It was a freak accident, Willy. There was nothing either of us could do,” she said, hoping he would soon realize it.

William paused for a moment. “You’d talk to me too, right? Like you want me to talk to you?” he asked. Aberdeen nodded her head confidently. “Were you scared that night?”

Aberdeen shrugged her shoulders. “Just a little bit. But you were there. And Jason. And when I realized that, I wasn’t so scared anymore. I’ve been scared before in my life much worse and with less blood.”

William nodded. “Are you listening?”

“Yes…”

“I love you.”

Aberdeen smiled. “I love you too.”

They began kissing. Lightly, at first, and then Aberdeen couldn’t help but stick her tongue down his throat, and William couldn’t help but squeeze at the flesh of her thighs. As they made out like teenagers on his couch, Aberdeen placed her hands over his and guided them to her ass.

William giggled slightly into the kiss. “Aberdeen…” he said in a playfully accusing tone.

“I only want to remember feeling your hands there instead,” she mumbled against his lips.

William froze. Suddenly and all at once, her words hit him like shards of glass, cutting him to his very core. “I’ve been scared before in my life much worse and with less blood.” Ethan. She still thought about what happened with Ethan – she still thought about it and it affected her and it made her scared, something she hadn’t admitted to before. William felt like killing Ethan all over again right then and there, with Aberdeen sitting on his lap. What affected her wasn’t a physical wound; what affected her was something much deeper.

“Listen to me,” he said, his hand cradling her chin, thumb gliding over her lips softly as she’d done to him earlier. “Nobody is going to do that to you again, okay? Not while I’m here.”

Aberdeen nodded her head. She believed him completely.

“I mean it, Aberdeen,” he pressed.

“I know.”

“If I ever saw him on the street, I’d fucking kill him for what he did to you. For how he made you feel. And I want you to know that, like…you’re not what happened to you. You’re so much more. He was a pig who couldn’t see that but I can,” William said.

Aberdeen almost burst out into tears at his words. You’re not what happened to you. You’re so much more. She could have cried right then and there. But instead, she nodded her head before kissing William again, even more eager this time, wanting to show him just how much she appreciated him, just how much she believed him, just how much she loved him.

197 notes · View notes

ironfidus · 4 years

Text

(un)breakable

Post-IW Iron Dad fanfic.

Read here on AO3 (@a_matter_of_loyalty).

☔︎

Summary:

“We all lost people,” Tony Stark says, his eyes unblinking and sad, devastated and broken, and the heavens weep.

He‘s right, of course: they all lost people they loved in the Decimation. But it isn’t until the people of Earth realize that even the greatest heroes have been transformed by grief that they finally see the severity of the situation.

(Three weeks after the Decimation that robbed the universe of 50% of its inhabitants, Tony Stark finally re-emerges in the public eye. Only this time, he doesn’t broadcast his message through a press conference, or a professional interview, but rather a televised speech from inside the gym of Midtown School of Science and Technology.)

Or, Tony Stark has everything—until he doesn’t.

☔︎

“What do you think the assembly’s going to be about?” Ned asked quietly. He sounded as curious as ever, his question still drenched in the innocent wonder he always seemed to have an abundance of, but this time his eyes were dull, miserable. His voice, too, was inherently different, no longer carrying his particular brand of cheer and excitement. Instead, his voice was joyless and muted, as if there was no one left to listen to him.

At the very least, that was how Ned felt. Ever since they’d first met in primary school, he and Peter had been inseparable. Whether he was happy, or excited, or upset, or angry, it was always Peter he vented to, rambling on and on to Peter’s seemingly unending patience. Ned had never once imagined that there would come a time when Peter wouldn’t be there to listen to him.

MJ, beside him, blinked almost uncomprehendingly at the question. “I don’t know,” she said honestly—she seemed to do that a lot more now; be honest. “A memorial service in commemoration of all the students and staff members lost, maybe. Or, knowing our school, they’ll just glaze over the Decimation and start lecturing us on safe sex as if—“

She stopped abruptly, her lips slamming shut. For a second, just a second, Ned swore he saw tears gather at the corners of her eyes. But then she blinked again, and the trace of sadness was gone.

Ned swallowed and looked away. MJ may not have been able to bring herself to say it, but he heard the rest of her words regardless: As if anything matters now, in the wake of half the universe going up in flames.

“Right,” Ned croaked out, barely able to recognize his own voice. It was a familiar feeling by now—too many times he had listened to himself speak about meaningless things to his parents over breakfast, or stared into the mirror at his red-rimmed eyes and haunted gaze, and realized he no longer knew who he was.

He hated it. He hated that losing Peter had cost him himself.

He hated that he had lost Peter at all.

“Hey, Leeds,” MJ’s voice broke through his despair. He gazed across the lunch table to find her smiling sadly at him. “You okay?”

Ned flinched at her words. What kind of a question is that? he wanted to demand, wanted to get up in her face and shake his fist and shout until the reality of their situation hit her and her nonchalance fell away. For a second, he thought of doing it, thought of throwing caution to the wind and shattering the fragile balance that had settled between them amidst Peter’s disappearance.

But the second the words gathered on his tongue, he noticed the tension laced in the hunch of her shoulders and knew he couldn’t do that to her—to either of them. He heaved a sigh, his own shoulders slumping and his anger crumbling.

Because of course he wasn’t okay. Neither of them were.

Frankly, he thought, he would be genuinely surprised if anyone on Earth was okay right now.

“I’m sorry,” Ned said, then, because he didn’t know what else to do. What words were there left to say when everything seemed lost?

MJ stiffened. Ned wondered, for a moment, if she would dismiss his apology and go back to pretending she was unscathed by the Decimation.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she smiled, a crooked smile that twisted her face and left Ned frozen, and said, “Don’t.”

Just... don’t.

Ned took in a breath. “Okay,” he said, “okay.” Sorries are useless here, Ned, he scolded himself. You know that. Stop throwing words at a problem that can’t be fixed by anything, much less worthless platitudes.

Neither of them were okay.

The other students looked at MJ and saw a heartless girl, emotionless and unbroken when everyone else seemed left in tatters. But Ned looked at MJ and saw someone who wasn’t whole: he saw the falter in her steady stride when she passed Peter’s locker every morning; he saw the furrow in her brow whenever a teacher still called out Peter Parker during attendance and was met with nothing but silence; he saw the way her eyes would dart to the empty space beside Ned every lunch period during their stilted conversations that was always missing something (someone) nowadays; he saw the strain in her expression every time she turned on her phone and was confronted with her wallpaper—Peter’s beaming face pressed between hers and Ned’s.

He saw all the ways she felt Peter’s absence.

Grief didn’t affect MJ the same way it affected Ned. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t affected.

It didn’t mean that the grief didn’t linger, in every nook and cranny of both their lives.

☔︎

When their lunch period ended with the loud, startling ringing of the bell, neither of them jumped. (They didn’t react to much these days.)

MJ simply marked her place in her book with a bookmark (gifted to her by Peter, Ned knew, god he knew), stood up slowly, and offered Ned a nod.

The show of solidarity left Ned breathless. He stared blankly up at her, and a part of him was waiting for someone to chime in with a teasing “Are you waiting for us, MJ? Aw, I always knew you cared!”

But the remark never came. He knew MJ heard it, too—the deafening silence that took up the space left behind by Peter.

Ned pushed himself to his feet eventually, noticing that everywhere around him in the cafeteria, everyone else seemed to be affected by the same sluggishness of loss. He couldn’t blame them.

Every second, he found it harder and harder to breathe in a world that was no longer home to his best friend. It was difficult, almost impossible, to find motivation when Peter used to be the one urging him along at every turn, an encouraging grin on his face.

Ned exhaled shakily and turned away from the memory. He knew if he let himself dwell on Peter now, if he let himself cry, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Come on, Leeds,” MJ murmured to him as he rounded the table and stood beside her. Together they stood in silence for another moment, and Ned realized all at once that he hadn’t heard MJ call him ‘loser’ since the Decimation.

He didn’t dare ask why. (He figured he already knew why, anyway. ‘Loser’ was her term of endearment for both him and Peter. It didn’t feel right to leave Peter behind and be the only one worthy of MJ’s bestowed nickname of ‘loser.’)

“I hope they don’t hold a memorial service,” Ned whispered as they crossed the cafeteria and began to head towards the gym. He didn’t know why he said it, only that he meant it. “It feels... condescending, somehow. I don’t know, I just – the other students, they...”

“They didn’t know him,” MJ finished knowingly.

Ned nodded. “They all – they didn’t see the Peter I did.” He paused. “The – the Peter we did, I mean. Sorry, MJ.”

MJ just nodded understandingly. “Yeah,” she said, her voice hushed and almost reverent. It was times like this that reminded Ned that he wasn’t the only one who’d lost Peter. MJ had, too. And – and May, oh god.

Peter had been all May had left. (Had been. The past tense was killing Ned.)

“Maybe it’ll be a Rapping with Cap video,” Ned mused, and was rewarded with a small, amused smile splitting MJ’s face. It died a second later, but he counted all the victories he could get, no matter how small they were. He had to, or he knew he would go insane.

“Maybe,” MJ agreed. “I hope it isn’t the puberty one.” Her nose scrunched up in distaste, and Ned cracked a quiet laugh.

“Oh my god, please don’t be that one,” he snickered.

All too quickly, though, the mood grew somber, their grins fading into frowns. The moment felt so incomplete without Peter there to shudder and point out that ‘the puberty PSA isn’t nearly as bad as the sex-ed one, come on guys.’

“Okay,” MJ interjected sharply, “you need to lighten up, pronto.” He just looked at her, unimpressed, and she pointed a finger at him in warning. “That’s an order, Leeds.”

Ned squinted. “Says you,” he snorted, pushing her playfully on the shoulder.

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m the exception,” she said arrogantly, because she could.

Ned stuck his tongue out. “Conceited, much,” he snarked. “You’d think you—“

His voice died abruptly when they stopped in front of the gym. He wasn’t sure if they were some of the early ones or some of the late stragglers; he used to be able to tell by the degree of chatter and noise escaping through the tiny crack between the gym doors, but these days even a room full of teenagers could be as silent as a graveyard in the dead of night.

Ned winced. Not the best analogy at a time like this, he conceded.

“Well?” MJ’s eyebrow was arched, almost challengingly.

Ned sighed. “Let’s get this over with,” he mumbled, pushing the doors open and ducking inside.

Luckily, they weren’t too late—most of the students had already arrived, but the assembly hadn’t officially started yet and there were still a few seats left untouched. Ned and MJ quickly claimed seats of their own, Ned feeling Peter’s loss especially hard when he found himself looking for only two empty seats side-by-side instead of three.

Once they had settled in, MJ returned to her book, and Ned ended up pulling out his phone. They were both trying, so hard, but sometimes it was just too much of a struggle to pretend that Peter’s absence wasn’t affecting every minute they spent together.

They were still a team, and they still had each other’s backs—he didn’t they could ever stop having each other’s backs, not after everything they’d been through—but it was different now. And sometimes, every time he looked at her, all he saw was Peter not with them. Sometimes, when it was too hard to even try to carry on a conversation, all Ned could hear in the unbearable silence was all the words Peter would have said. All the words he would never say anymore.

Ned hated to admit it, but it was draining. (Everything was draining.)

He realized all too quickly, however, that drifting back to his phone was a mistake. He hadn’t really had the chance to aimlessly browse his phone since before the Decimation—in the past few weeks, he’d only ever used the device to call or text his family and MJ.

But his parents were busy at work, his little sister busy at school, and MJ busy beside him. Without a reason to be on his phone, Ned inevitably found himself launching his photo gallery—

—and staring down at his phone, breath stolen from his lungs.

The most recent photo in his album was of him and Peter on the bus to MoMa. They were both beaming into the camera, Ned’s eyes wide and full of excitement as he flashed a peace sign. Peter, who’d been responsible for capturing the selfie, had been mid-laughter when he took the shot, evident by the blur around his doubtlessly shaking shoulders and the way he’d thrown his head back slightly, mouth wide open in a gaping laugh.

(If Ned tried hard enough, he could practically hear Peter’s laugh echoing in his ears, fond and exasperated and too loud. He missed that laugh. He’d give anything just to hear it one more time.)

Ned didn’t remember what they’d been talking about, or why Peter had been laughing, but... God, Peter looked so carefree, liberated by joy.

(Oblivious to the fate that would befall him before the day was over.)

Before Ned could start falling to pieces over a single photo (just one out of hundreds, Jesus, thousands), his phone was snatched out of his hand. He looked to the side to come face-to-face with MJ glaring at him, shutting off his phone without a second glance. “Stop it, Leeds,” she glowered. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

Ned sniffed. “Peter loved taking pictures,” he whispered, like it was a secret. “It used to annoy me so much, how he would sometimes make us stop whatever we were doing just so he could snap a photo of us.”

(“Come on, Ned,” Peter cajoled, eyes bright with laughter. “It’ll only take a minute.”

“More like ten,” Ned grumbled, jabbing Peter’s ribcage accusingly. “I know you, Parker.”

Peter grinned sheepishly. “Please?” he tried. When Ned didn’t budge, he whined, “Look at it, Ned—it looks like it belongs in a museum! It’d be a crime to just walk past it.”

“It’s graffiti, Peter,” Ned deadpanned, unamused.

“Good graffiti,” Peter argued.

“No.”

“Just one picture, I’m begging you.”

“No!”

“...please?”)

MJ was breathing heavily. “Leeds—“

“I want to get mad at him for taking photos of me when I’m not ready again,” Ned blurted out, remembering all too well Peter’s protests of but it’s called a candid, Ned, you’re not supposed to be ready in response to Ned’s complaints.

MJ froze, her grip tightening on her book until the papers creased around her fingers.

Ned didn’t seem to notice. Now that he’d started, he couldn’t swallow down the rest: “I want to roll my eyes at him for making me stop eating just so he can photograph our food first. I want to take another stupid selfie of us in front of some random statue or other. God, MJ, I’d take anything. I just – I want him back. I want him here so I can yell at him and joke around with him and gossip about how Star Wars is better than Star Trek and be his guy in the chair. I want to make fun of his dumb science pun t-shirts—”

MJ snorted at that, the spike of amusement muting the anguish for a brief moment, her mutter of ‘you wear the same lame t-shirts, Leeds’ falling on deaf ears.

The moment passed, and MJ had to redirect her focus to keeping her tears at bay.

“I want to ask him a thousand and one questions about his crime-fighting alter-ego. I want to get mad at him for leaving footprints on my ceiling. I want to tease him about Liz. I want to build LEGOs with him. I want to have a seven-hour Star Wars movie marathon in his tiny bedroom. I want to... I want to pretend to be annoyed with him when he steals one of my sandwiches during lunch.”

Ned stopped suddenly. MJ was silently glad for the reprieve—all the memories she’d tried to hold back of Peter were flooding to the surface, and she didn’t know what would happen when they broke through.

“I just want my best friend back,” Ned said finally, brokenly. “That’s—that’s all I want, MJ.”

“Yeah,” MJ said hoarsely, wide-eyed and trembling minutely. “Yeah, me too.”

Ned squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck. I don’t know if I can—“

He was cut off by the lights turning off suddenly. He froze, startled, and was privately relieved that he had been interrupted before he could confess that he was lost without Peter. MJ doubtlessly already knew it, but it made it feel less real, somehow, if he didn’t admit it to himself.

On the makeshift stage, Principal Morita took a few steps forward and gripped the edges of the wooden podium. “Good afternoon, students,” he greeted into the silence. Even he seemed less cheery than usual. “I’m sure you’re all wondering what’s keeping you from your last classes of the day.”

When MJ held out Ned’s phone, it took Ned more than a few seconds to realize she meant to hand it back to him. Ned pocketed it without a word, chest still heaving from the effort of his rant, eyes still stinging with the thought of Peter.

“To be honest,” Principal Morita carried on, “I had no intention of calling an assembly when I woke up this morning. But before lunch, I received a very interesting phone call.” He paused, briefly, and the smallest of smiles crept up his face. There was an uncanny excitement there that Ned hadn’t seen in what seemed like forever.

Whatever this assembly was for, it was clearly something big.

“So it is with immense pleasure that I introduce our guest speaker today. Truthfully, I’m not quite sure myself why he’s chosen our humble school to make his first public appearance in – in weeks, but for some reason, he has.”

Ned and MJ exchanged a wary glance. Guest speaker? Public appearance? Ned mouthed at MJ, who looked just as confused until she glanced around the gym and finally realized that students and faculty members weren’t the only ones present. She gaped, stunned, and nudged Ned until he, too, followed her line of sight and spotted the crowd of reporters and cameramen gathered to one side of the gym.

“Who the hell...” MJ whispered.

The rest of her question went unspoken, but she didn’t have to wonder for long—seconds later, the principal grinned proudly and spoke into the microphone, “Without further ado, I’d like to call Tony Stark, owner of Stark Industries and Iron Man himself, to the stage.”

Ned’s jaw dropped. MJ’s book nearly fell out of her lap. And all around them, dozens of students came to life with hushed whispers that weren’t hushed at all.

Indeed, not two seconds later, Tony Stark sauntered onto the stage and met Principal Morita at the center. Principal Morita held out his hand hopefully, and Mr. Stark indulged him; Morita looked dazed the entire time they shook hands.

“Thank you for arranging this on such short notice,” Iron Man said eloquently, his charming words a jarring contrast to the solemn mood that had preceded his entry.

The effect of Tony Stark’s presence was immediate: the cloud of misery seemed to lift from the crowd, replaced by excited chatter and awe-filled stares.

Even now, amid the fallout of the world’s end, the public loved Tony Stark.

The billionaire smoothly replaced Principal Morita behind the podium, turning to smile at the audience. His familiar sunglasses were already perched on his face, and his signature smirk ready for the cameras—the same cameras that immediately set off with endless flashes and shuttering noises as the press began taking pictures of Tony Stark for the first time since he disappeared into a spaceship weeks earlier.

(The world hadn’t even known Tony Stark was back, Ned remembered, until Stark Industries’ CEO Pepper Potts released an official statement over a week following the Decimation. Evidently, he’d clawed his way back to Earth and landed in Wakanda, welcomed by the mourning and newly-crowned Queen Shuri.)

Mr. Stark tolerated the flashing cameras for a minute longer before he held up a single hand. Almost immediately, the audience obediently fell silent, and the cameramen stopped snapping photos of the billionaire.

The influence he held over them all was undeniable.

“Thank you,” Mr. Stark said again when everyone had complied with his non-verbal command.

Ned felt his jaw unhinge for the second time in five minutes. Now that the excess noise had died, he could hear Mr. Stark all too clearly, and he sounded... he sounded so different. In all of Mr. Stark’s extensive record of interviews, press conferences, and public appearances, Ned had never heard him this subdued.

In that moment, Tony Stark sounded just like anyone else: lost, broken, grieving.

But Ned knew, just as the rest of the world did, that Pepper Potts was alive. And so was Colonel Rhodes. Even Mr. Stark’s Head of Security, Mr. Happy (as Peter loved to call him), had survived the Decimation.

To everyone else, it would appear as if Tony Stark’s found family was still whole and complete.

Ned realized otherwise. His heart lurching to his throat, his mind flashed to Peter without his permission, to his best friend’s contagious grins and giddy laughter and uncontrollable rambling (Oh my god, Ned, you won’t believe what happened on patrol yesterday—I was caught up in this gang fight, and the men had guns and knives and everything and – and they had a dog, a dog, Ned! He was so brown and furry and cute and I just wanted to hug him, I—), and he wondered if Tony felt Peter’s loss the same way Ned did—like a gaping wound, an amputated limb, a missing heart.

And then, faster than the audience could react, Mr. Stark reached up to take off his sunglasses in one swift move, and Ned figured he must.

Because the man staring back at him was not Tony Stark. He couldn’t possibly be Tony Stark.

Tony Stark was untouchable, infallible, unmovable. Tony Stark was proud and witty and sarcastic and arrogant to a fault.

(“Peter, are you okay?” Ned asked urgently. His friend’s dazed eyes and trembling hands made him more than a little uneasy. “Is it... one of those days?” Is it a sensory overload? was what he didn’t say. He didn’t need to—they both knew it was what he meant.

Peter blinked, stuck in a haze that didn’t seem to want to let him go. “I – no,” he shook his head. “No, it’s...”

He hesitated.

Ned’d heart plummeted to his feet. How bad did it have to be, he wondered, that Peter didn’t want to tell him?

Peter told him everything.

Five minutes later, long after Ned had lost any hope of getting a real answer, Peter twisted the thick fabric of his sweater in his hands and whispered, as if he still couldn’t believe it himself, “It’s Mr. Stark.”

Ned sucked in a breath. He didn’t know Tony Stark as well as Peter did—all he knew was what Peter told him.

But Peter had always painted ‘Mr. Stark’ out to be a hero, resilient and strong-willed and indomitable.

Today, though, Peter stared at him through bleary eyes and confessed, “He’s not okay, Ned. He—he had a panic attack yesterday and I was there and I didn’t know what to do, I—“

Ned gathered Peter into his arms wordlessly, pretending he couldn’t feel the wetness that immediately soaked into his t-shirt.

“I don’t know how to help him,” Peter gasped through a muffled sob. “He’s not—he’s not the Tony Stark the public sees. He’s not the heartless monster everyone makes him out to be.”

Ned closed his eyes and drew Peter in closer. He didn’t tell Peter it would be okay, because he didn’t know if that would be the truth.

“He’s – he’s hurting, Ned,” Peter stuttered. “He’s been hurting for a long time.”

Listening to Peter cry into his shirt, Ned felt his chest tighten with fear, and he had to ask himself:

If the heroes are all out there saving us, then who’s saving them?)

The man standing on that stage today was anything but emotionless, Ned realized. The tinted sunglasses had hidden Mr. Stark from the world before, but now, with them hanging loosely from Mr. Stark’s fingers, everyone could see the exhaustion weighing down his gaze, the tired lines framing his forehead, the red that colored his eyes with the telltale sign of grief.

Mr. Stark had never looked more vulnerable.

Naturally, because the press was full of the type of vultures MJ so often complained about, the cameramen and paparazzi impulsively began snapping photos again, rude and obtrusive. Ned expected Mr. Stark to immediately put his sunglasses (read: his shield) back on, but he didn’t.

He didn’t even seem to fully register everyone’s reactions. Instead, the expression on his face was dazed, unseeing even though his eyes were wide open.

(Ned knew the feeling. All too well.)

When the commotion finally died a second time two minutes later, Mr. Stark leaned towards the mic and started speaking, his eyes dark for a reason other than the dim lighting.

☔︎

Everything—everyone—was so loud. Tony had never hated high school more than he did then, walking up to the stage and greeting Peter’s principal with a handshake and a “thank you.”

He hated it even more when the same cameras he’d been accustomed to his whole life snapped more photos of him than they had in months.

After he removed his sunglasses, it took the press even longer to calm down. Personally, Tony wanted to scream at them all. He felt like his world had ended, and yet all they cared about was who could take the best (or worst) photo of him to spread to everyone in the states.

It made him more than a little uncomfortable, staring into an ocean of Peter’s peers and ruthless reporters, knowing that they were all staring back at him. Knowing that they could all see him for the hollow shell of a man he was now.

He felt so exposed.

But even though every whisper felt like another dagger stabbing into the still-healing wound Thanos had carved into him, Tony couldn’t bring himself to re-armor himself with his sunglasses. He wasn’t doing this for himself, after all.

He was here for Peter. Peter, who’d admired him unquestioningly and called him his hero. Peter, who’d always been thrilled to spend time with Tony even if only in the lab, geeking out over all the newest technology. Peter, who was so smart and so kind and so selfless and – and just so much better than everyone (than him).

Peter, who deserved so much more than the ending he got. Who deserved to be seen as the hero he was. Who deserved to be remembered.

(Tony would always remember him. He didn’t think he could forget.)

Tony had been lying to the media his entire life, but Peter was worth more than another deception. Peter was worth everything, and Tony wanted nothing more than to give him exactly that.

Standing here in front of dozens of impressionable teens, preparing to pour his heart out about the boy who’d snuck into his life and into his heart, Tony knew he couldn’t pretend. He couldn’t just hide behind a pair of sunglasses and play Peter’s death off as anything less than the end of his universe.

(Thanos had thought that he was only taking 50% of the universe when he snapped his fingers, but he’d been wrong. Because Thanos had taken the entirety of his.)

It was with Peter’s selflessness in his mind that Tony took a breath and began:

“I’m sure you’ve all noticed that everywhere around the world, people began to fade three weeks ago. The Avengers and I have been calling it The Snap, but word on the street is people are referring to it as the Decimation. I suppose the Decimation is more accurate, given the sheer magnitude of all we’ve lost.”

Tony quieted for a moment, trying to ignore all the cameras pointed at him, undoubtedly recording his every word. But this wasn’t for the cameras. It wasn’t for the rest of the world.

It was for Peter, who was already dead and gone. Who’d already moved on, yet Tony couldn’t seem to do the same.

“I know you’re all looking for an explanation,” he said. “For an answer to why. But the truth is, I don’t have one for you. All I can tell you is this: three weeks ago, we fought a beast who called himself the Mad Titan. Thanos. The monster responsible for killing 50% of all life in the universe, and destroying the lives of all those who remain.”

50% of all living creatures. In the universe.

Tony could practically feel the horror of his audience. He’d been fighting off the same horror ever since Titan.

And he knew—he knew—that everyone watching him could also hear the words he didn’t say: We lost. The Avengers failed.

It was their fault. His fault, because what nobody else knew was that Strange had given up the Time Stone, which had been instrumental to Thanos’s victory, in exchange for Tony’s life.

Tony still didn’t get why. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth more than half the universe. More than Peter.

(It should have been him.)

“In the aftermath, the rest of the world has been trying to move on, and I don’t blame you. It seems impossible, after all, to reverse a situation like this. But no matter how slim our chances, I can’t move on,” he exhaled raggedly. He paused, let his gaze fall briefly to the floor, and then straightened his posture, staring fiercely at the audience, mimicking a confidence he did not feel. “Along with the rest of the Avengers, a few warriors from across the galaxy, and Queen Shuri of Wakanda who has been generous enough to lend us her help and her lab, I’ve been trying to find a solution.”

All movement in the gym careened to a halt, shock and disbelief filling the air. Around the globe, everyone else watching Tony Stark’s speech stilled in much the same way.

A solution? they all asked themselves. Is it possible?

“And I’m not asking you to believe me,” Tony continued. “I’m not asking any of you to have faith that we will succeed. I’m not asking you all to get your hopes up if you don’t trust what I’m saying. But what I am doing is telling you that the Avengers will do whatever it takes to get back all the people we’ve lost. All the people we didn’t get to say goodbye to.”

He smiled then, grim and mirthless.

“We call ourselves the Avengers because if we can’t save the people we love, then at the very least we’ll fight to avenge them,” he broke off, stumbling over silence for a belated moment.

The people we love. His words echoed in his mind. Love, love, love—

Peter.

He loved Peter. His kid.

“But this time, revenge isn’t enough,” Tony snapped back to himself, pulling himself together long enough to glare into the nearest camera, imagining Thanos on the other side. “I refuse to allow Thanos to take half of our people from us.”

The crowd’s murmurs grew louder.

“So I promise you all”—Tony swallowed, remembering his last promise (to Peter), remembering hitched sobs and quivering hands and shallow breaths and you’re alright, remembering that the last thing he’d ever said to Peter Parker was a lie—“the Avengers will find a way.”

The cameras went wild. The reporters did, too, jumping up into his line of sight over and over again, trying to catch his attention, roaring question upon question at him.

The students and the teachers—they were left in silence, staring at him with a worshipping kind of wonder that reminded him all too vividly of Peter.

(Peter used to look at him like he’d hung the moon and the stars all for him. What Peter didn’t know was that if that were the case, then he was only capable of doing so because he had Peter.)

For you, Peter. “We’ll find a way,” he repeated. “We’ll get them back, however long it takes.”

He let the claim settle for a few seconds before nodding once, sharp and certain, and pointing at the first reporter.

In the end, it only took four reporters to get to the question he’d always known was coming.

“Kelly Robinson, from the New York Bulletin. Mr. Stark, your fiancée made it clear that the press was to leave you alone following your return to Earth because you were heavily injured. Given the losses we all faced, and the personal wounds you already received, why haven’t you given up? What are you still fighting for?”

Tony’s facade of growing confidence immediately collapsed at her words, crumbling into dust the same way Peter had. How could he stay strong in the face of those questions?

What are you still fighting for?

Steve had asked him the same thing, after he’d woken up in the med-bay to the concerned stares of the Rogue Avengers. Clint, too, had been curious, Tony had known.

After all, in their eyes, Tony hadn’t lost anyone. He still had all the people he loved—Pepper, Rhodey, Happy.

He’d walked through fire and come out on the other side unscathed.

(Except he hadn’t.)

At the time, Tony had recoiled away from the question. He’d frozen up and refused to answer, hearing his heartbeat grow louder and quicker and more panicked through the machine hooked to his heart.

And Steve and Clint both had taken one look at the tears in his eyes, the desperation with which he’d clutched his chest, and the insanity in his stare, and wisely stopped asking.

They’d realized he was determined to see this through, and it had been enough.

Tony knew the press wouldn’t be so kind.

What are you still fighting for?

He didn’t answer her question, not immediately and not directly. He knew she wouldn’t get it.

None of them would.

He needed them to understand. To see just how good a person Peter had been.

(Too good for this world.)

“My name is Tony Stark,” he said instead, “and I am Iron Man. I’m sure you’re all wondering why I need to say that—you all know who I am, after all.” Tony cracked a smile, but it was weak and the joke fell flat. No one laughed—it wasn’t funny, not anymore.

“But today, standing here in the gym of Midtown School of Science and Technology, I am not that man at all. I am not Tony Stark—Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist. I am not Iron Man, the superhero, the Avenger. Frankly”—his voice was bitter, venomous—“I don’t feel like a hero at all these days.”

He broke off into a chuckle that was more pained than amused.

He sought out Kelly Robinson amongst the reporters, locking eyes with her until she flinched and stepped backwards uncertainly. “Today,” he began, and though his voice was quiet, it still carried over the silence, “I am just another man who’s been hit by an unimaginable tragedy.”

Robinson’s eyes widened. Tony didn’t have to look around to know that everyone else’s did, too.

“We all—“ Tony stopped, stumbling over words and choking back his grief. “We all lost too much in the Decimation,” his voice was strangled, nothing at all like what they knew of him.

They were beginning to think they didn’t know him at all.

“Three weeks ago,” he started over, “some of you lost friends, some of you lost family. Some of you lost your mother, your father, your brothers and sisters. Three weeks ago, I—“

He breathed in a desperate gasp that didn’t seem to fill his lungs with air, feeling the ground crack and splinter beneath his feet, the air grow cold to his skin, the world start to crash around his ears.

His composure broke apart at the seams.

“Three weeks ago,” he repeated, a whisper of loss, “I lost – I lost my kid.”

And the world stopped spinning.

Tony found Robinson’s eyes again. He pretended not to notice the ashen complexion of her face, or the regret in her eyes.

None of that mattered.

“You asked me why I still fight.” His words punched through the curtain of silence, cutting like the serrated edge of a knife. “The answer is simple.”

He smiled, lips curling to reveal teeth, a vengeful snarl. Thanos would pay.

“I fight for him. I fight for the smile on his face. I fight for movie marathons and game nights and afternoons in the lab.” He shoved his fists into his pockets, not caring that he was making the expensive fabric crease and crumple, ruining the lines of his suit. His PR managers would have a field day with that. “I fight for the day I can hold him in my arms again and tell him I love him.”

If he’d thought the crowd had been loud before, it was nothing compared to the noise they emitted now, screaming over one another to be heard. And yet despite the cacophony of sounds, it was Ned’s gasp and quiet holy shit Tony heard, his voice deafening to Tony’s ears after all the ridiculous videos Peter had shown him of he and Ned doing stupid things.

Tony found Ned easily, Peter’s best friend a familiar face to him even though they had personally only ever met once. Ned looked devastated.

Tony flinched. God, he should have approached Ned personally first, should have gotten over his own fears and told Ned the truth of what had happened.

Ned deserved better than finding out Peter had died in a speech open to the rest of the world. (It was one thing to suspect Peter had been Dusted. It was another thing entirely to have it confirmed.)

I’m sorry, Ned.

He was such a coward. He’d almost been too afraid to tell even May. It had taken him almost two weeks to remind himself she had the right to know. It was the least he‘d owed her.

He’d been terrified of her lashing out at him, even though he knew he would have deserved it. But Peter’s aunt... she was even stronger than he’d realized.

It was no wonder Peter loved her so much, Tony had realized when he’d finally let the words he died fall from his mouth like a confession. Because May had thanked him.

Her nephew, the last of her family, had died and she had thanked him, as if he deserved anything more than her wrath—

(“Thank you for being there,” May whispered, her eyelashes thick with tears. “If it couldn’t have been me, I’m glad it was you who held him as he—“ she flinched and cut herself off. Shaking her head, she finished, “I’m sure he was glad, too.”

“No,” Tony’s voice was hoarse. “No. He begged, he begged—“

“He looked up to you.” May’s smile was a sad, lonely thing, dripping of misery and defeat. “You were his hero.”

“I couldn’t save him.”

May swallowed and looked away. In the quiet stillness of the Parker residence, Tony’s voice was quiet, small, broken. It was nothing like the confident facade of the great Tony Stark, smirk ever-present for the cameras.

May knew that this, here, was the real Tony Stark. The Tony Stark who loved her nephew, who told Peter jokes when he was upset, who bought Peter new shoes and jackets and backpacks no matter how profusely both Parkers tried to deny him, who guided Peter into the life he deserved.

“He believed in me,” Tony’s hands were shaking, violently, “he had faith in me and I failed him, God, I—“

The Tony Stark who was always trying to give parts of himself away to save the people he cared about.

“It’s not your fault,” she shook her head, even though grief and anger burned in her throat, itching to reveal themselves in a hail of thunderous words aimed at the man she’d trusted to protect her boy. She wanted to be mad, God did she want to (because if she wasn’t angry, then she would have to dwell on the despair and she didn’t think she was strong enough for that), but the look in Tony’s eyes made her stop.

He was just as devastated as she was. He lost Peter, too, she realized.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, a stuttered gasp, and May closed her eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” she repeated, more slowly and with more conviction this time. She knew he wouldn’t believe her, but she needed to say it anyway—part of her knew she was only trying to convince herself. “You... you weren’t just a hero to him, Tony Stark. You made him into the hero he was, too. You inspired him to be brave and uphold the mantle of Spider-Man even when he felt powerless. He was strong because of you. Because you gave him purpose.”

“I didn’t deserve him,” Tony whispered, soft and sure.

May didn’t say that she doubted either of them deserved Peter.

Instead, she shuffled forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing him close. It should have felt uncomfortable, her hugging Tony Stark, but it didn’t. Because this wasn’t really Tony Stark.

This was just Tony, someone who was grieving just as she was.

Tony choked back a cry and let her hold him up, let her support him like he might drown without her there to keep him above water. “I miss him,” he said honestly, “so, so much.”

Tears stung at the backs of her eyelids. She ignored them. “I know,” she whispered hoarsely. “I know.”

She didn’t tell him she missed Peter, too. She didn’t have to—Tony already knew she did.)

So. May had thanked him.

She had thanked him and then she’d fixed him a cup of tea and a horrible meatloaf that had reminded him of the first time he met Peter and he’d ended up crying all over her again.

She had thanked him and then she’d pressed a framed photograph of him and Peter into his shaking hands (“That boy loved you so much,” she whispered, a wistful smile clinging to her lips the same way tears clung to her eyelashes, and Tony stared at the picture like he’d seen a ghost, a ghost with the most adorable brown curls and the happiest, happiest eyes and an innocent grin and two fingers sticking up from behind Tony’s head in an imitation of bunny ears and – and Tony couldn’t do anything but stare), pretending not to see the way Tony had to choke back a sob when she told him keep it, he would have wanted you to have it.

She had thanked him and then she’d gathered him into another hug, warm and engulfing, and whispered bring our boy back, Stark into his hair and he’d known, he’d known, he couldn’t fail her.

He couldn’t fail Peter.

And yet, when the door had swung closed between them, locking shut with a solemn click that had left Tony breathless and weak in the knees, mind struggling to wrap around the sheer finality he’d heard in that sound, Tony had collapsed against the door and realized he was already failing Peter again.

He was failing Peter by giving up. He was failing Peter by hiding away with nothing but himself, a seemingly endless supply of liquor, and his own goddamn fears to keep him company. He was failing Peter by burying his head in the sand and turning away from the world that needed heroes, especially in a time like this.

He was failing Peter by not doing everything he could to bring him back.

…Tony was tired of letting Peter down.

Happy had arrived to shepherd him away like he was a lost soul desperately in need of guidance, and Tony had let himself wallow in his grief for only the hour it took to drive back upstate before he’d picked himself up, gathered the shattered pieces of himself in his bleeding hands, and called Peter’s principal with an unprecedented request.

It was time he let Peter’s death bolster him rather than cripple him. His kid was counting on him.

☔︎

There seemed to be no end to the noise. Everyone had something to say.

It was so overwhelming that Ned couldn’t, in fact, hear a word of it. He doubted anybody else could, either.

In the wake of Tony Stark’s—he’s Iron Man, Peter, Iron Man!—admission, it felt as though everyone in the entire gym (and perhaps everyone in the entire country) had been sent to their feet, gasping and exclaiming excitedly to their friends and bellowing questions of disbelief.

Ned and MJ were the only ones whispering.

“Holy crap,” MJ said eloquently, having given up on her usually robotic composure after Tony Stark first took off his sunglasses. “Well shit.”

“You don’t think...?” Ned trailed off.

MJ’s eyes were blown so wide open it would have been comical if Ned wasn’t sure the size of his own eyes rivalled hers. “Peter?” she asked, needlessly.

They exchanged a look. They were both thinking the same thing: Who else could it be?

“Oh, my god,” Ned breathed. “Oh, my god.”

“Peter fucking Parker,” MJ muttered. “Damn. Of course Peter is the one person who can make Anthony Edward Stark admit he loves him in front of the whole world.”

MJ laughed, then, sharp and loud, drenched in torment. Ned watched, concerned, as her chuckles grew less amused and more hysterical, her eyes tearing up despite herself.

“Of-fucking-course.”

“MJ—”

“It should make me feel better,” she cut him off before he could say anything more—not that he even knew what he’d been about to say, “knowing that so many people cared about Peter. Knowing that we aren’t the only ones who miss him. Knowing that even Peter’s hero is grieving for him.”

It should, MJ had said. Should.

(‘Should’ applied to a lot of things.

Peter should be alive.

Ned should be able to hug his best friend after school.

Queens should still have its favorite web-slinging vigilante out keeping the streets safe at night.

But none of those things were true.)

“It should make me feel better,” MJ repeated, tonelessly. The hysteria in her voice had died, but remnants of it remained in her eyes, opaque and unnoticeable.

Ned noticed.

“But it doesn’t,” she said. “It just makes it all harder.”

Ned didn’t reply. He didn’t have to for MJ to know he agreed.

“Peter’s still dead,” MJ whispered.

Those three words made up the saddest sentence Ned had ever heard. He immediately wished he would never have to hear it again, but even then, even as he recoiled away from MJ as if struck, he knew he would—in his nightmares, in his daydreams, in the recesses of his mind where the voices refused to shut up.

Peter’s still dead.

Peter’s still fucking dead.

Ned wanted to scream at MJ—at everyone—to leave him alone. Instead he swallowed down the urge, felt it go down his throat like shards of glass, and turned back to the stage. “I want to hear what else he has to say,” was all Ned said.

MJ said nothing. After all, what else was there to say?

(Nothing. There were no words at all, not for this.)

Ned drew his knees up to his chest and wished he was seven and innocent again, giggling with Peter over his new Star Wars figurines under the green-tinted lights of the glow-in-the-dark star cutouts decorating his ceiling.

(He wished the stars would shine again for him.

But the stars had long vanished, and with them, so had their light.)

All there was left for Ned to do was tune back into Iron Man’s speech and act like he cared at all about the reporters and their burning questions, when all he wanted to do was take Tony Stark aside and demand, Is it true? Are you going to bring them all back? Are you going to bring Peter back?

For a moment, Ned could have sworn Mr. Stark’s eyes locked with his, and his breath caught in his throat. He wondered if, even from all the way over there on the stage, the scientist could hear his thoughts.

Could hear his prayers.

Then Mr. Stark flinched minutely and took a step back, hurriedly averting his eyes, and Ned exhaled heavily.

Come on, Mr. Stark, he thought, pleaded, begged, you’ve always been Peter’s favorite. You’ve been saving him from day one, from even before you knew who he was. You rescued him at the Stark Expo, you rescued him constantly when he was getting himself into world after world of trouble as Spider-Man—you rescued him all the time.

Be his hero again. Please. Just save him one more time.

Mr. Stark cleared his throat up on the stage, shook off whatever stupor had seized him, and quickly pointed at another reporter.

Please.

“Josh Anderson, CNN News. Mr. Stark, you claim that you and the Avengers will give us back the people we’ve lost. But what about right now? What do you plan to do to help those that remain, those who’ve lost their families, their jobs, their financial security, their motivation? What will you do for everyone who is struggling to come to terms with the Decimation?”

Please.

“Thank you, Josh from CNN News, that’s an excellent question,” Stark responded. The raw anguish had been pushed back, replaced by the steely fierceness Ned had always associated with the Great Tony Stark. Yet even still, there remained traces of the other Tony in the newly-appeared smattering of salt and pepper in his hair, in the way he rocked unsteadily back and forth on his heels, and in the haunted look in his eyes.

It was barely there, but it still existed.

“To answer your concerns, Pepper Potts and I, on behalf of Stark Industries, wish to reassure you all that you are not alone.” There was a softness to Tony’s voice, a certain wrecked quality that made Ned think it was Tony who needed to be told he was not alone. “We are here to help. To prove this, we’d first like to offer a solution for those who are suffering financially due to the Decimation.”

Please.

“Thus, as the Avengers continue to fight for all of your loved ones, it is with great pride and joy that I announce to you all the inauguration of the Peter Parker Foundation, after – after my kid.” Tony had said pride, he had said joy, but though there was indeed a modicum of relief in his expression, it was greatly outweighed by the sheer heartbreak.

Please.

The breath whooshed out of Ned in a speedy exhale. Beside him, MJ really did drop her book this time.

“Whoa,” Ned mumbled quietly. Three weeks ago, he would have laughed excitedly, cheered, and hugged Peter as he confidently proclaimed this to be the greatest day of his life.

(Three weeks ago, Peter had been alive.)

“‘Whoa’ is right,” MJ agreed, just as dully. She looked surprised, but not amazed. “That’s—wow. Peter… Peter would have been beyond thrilled.” And MJ was right. Peter would have been ecstatic. He would have stared at Mr. Stark in awe and cried, probably, upon realizing just how important he was to a man he’d looked up to his entire life.

Ned couldn’t find it in himself to be anywhere near ‘ecstatic.’

Meanwhile, all around him, there were whispers everywhere. Of course there were; Peter’s classmates hadn’t even believed that Peter had been an intern at Stark Industries, much less Tony Stark’s ‘kid’, apparently.

If Ned possessed the energy to feel anything but overwhelming and all-encompassing devastation, he would have probably been delighted to finally have it proven that Peter really had known Iron Man.

But as it were, he couldn’t even bring himself to seek out Flash in the audience and revel in the doubtlessly shocked, deer-caught-in-headlights look that he could vaguely imagine on Flash’s face.

What did it matter that they’d finally vindicated themselves when Peter wasn’t here to celebrate with?

Below on the stage, seemingly unaware of (or, more likely, completely aware of but indifferent to) the chain reaction he had set off, Tony continued to elaborate on how the Peter Parker Foundation would be aimed at helping any and all people with everything from providing their kids with an education to paying for funeral costs. He explained it all with an ease that spoke of his experience, but a stiltedness that betrayed his discomfort.

Ned didn’t care. He tried to listen, tried to pay attention, but he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the roaring in his ears, the stampede in his chest, the shrieking in his skull, the rattle of his bones.

He couldn’t hear a word Tony said.

☔︎

Flash was not afraid to admit that he admired Iron Man. In fact, he had admired Iron Man since the hero first revealed himself in a dramatic moment worthy only of Tony Stark.

He admired Tony Stark, too.

But that didn’t mean he was blind to the genius’s faults—because he wasn’t. He knew who the Avenger was; he knew that, for all his greatness, one of Tony Stark’s most prominent flaws was that he was utterly incapable of processing his own emotions.

Hell, the entire nation knew that. Tony Stark’s emotional shortcomings had been documented since before Flash had even really known who Tony Stark was besides the fact that he shared the name of Stark Industries.

And yet.

And yet…

Flash found himself gawking at Tony Stark, whose presence was currently gracing their humble school. He didn’t think even the announcement that the billionaire CEO of Stark Industries was Iron Man had shocked him this much.

…It is with great pride and joy that I announce to you all the inauguration of the Peter Parker foundation.

…with great pride and joy that I announce to you all the inauguration of the Peter Parker foundation.

…and joy that I announce to you all the inauguration of the Peter Parker foundation.

…I announce to you all the inauguration of the Peter Parker foundation.

…inauguration of the Peter Parker foundation.

...the Peter Parker foundation.

...Peter Parker foundation.

…Parker.

Holy shit.

Parker. Peter fucking Parker.

Flash whimpered. (He would never admit it to anyone else, but yes, he whimpered.) He couldn’t believe he’d been bullying Iron Man’s kid.

He wasn’t given the chance to wallow in his self-pity, however, because Tony quickly continued to speak, changing the subject to all the other ways he and Stark Industries planned to help the world heal.

But even as he spoke of rebuilding efforts and pardons for the previously-Rogue Avengers and alliances between governments, Flash could tell that everyone remained hooked only on the news that Tony Stark had a kid.

And Flash looked at Mr. Stark, and he saw a sadness in his smile—the same sadness he saw every morning when his mother came into his room just to make sure he was still there and whole—that made Flash’s chest tighten.

Peter Parker did that. Parker put that look on Iron Man’s face.

It was all too clear that Mr. Stark genuinely cared about Flash’s classmate. Peter must be something, Flash mused, to make Tony fucking Stark, genius, billionaire, philanthropist, give a damn.

And what did it say about Flash, then, if he was capable of hurting someone so undeniably good that even Mr. Stark could see it?

☔︎

Fifteen minutes later, the reporters were still unsatisfied, each of them putting their hands up over and over again, clamoring for his attention even if they’d already had their chance to ask a question just moments before.

Tony was exhausted.

All they see you as is ‘Tony Stark’s kid’, Tony thought regretfully. That’s my fault. You’re... you’re – so much more.

You’re everything, Pete.

“That’s enough,” Tony snapped, corralling his misery back into its cage. He was sick of standing here and regaling the world with stories of how great Peter had been when none of these people had even known his kid. Peter was beyond all of them—none of them, especially not him, deserved Peter Parker (or Spider-Man).

Peter Parker and Spider-Man were one and the same, but Tony knew better than anyone that Peter didn’t see it that way. Peter had been so unaware of his value that Tony found it inconceivable.

How was it that the best person he knew hadn’t even been able to see his own worth?

(“I don’t get it,” Tony said, frustrated. “You could knock your bully out in a single punch. Why don’t you?”

“Because I’m Peter Parker!” Peter answered heatedly. “Because when I’m at school, I’m not Spider-Man. I can’t fight back because I’m supposed to be a weak nobody.”

“You are not a nobody. Don’t you dare say that about yourself again,” Tony hissed. His gut churned to hear Peter put himself so down. “Suit or no suit, you’re still Spider-Man.”

Peter was so good. Why couldn’t he accept that?

But Peter just shook his head stubbornly, a hint of sadness in his gaze. “No, I’m not. Spider-Man is strong, brave, invincible. I’m nowhere near any of that. When I put on that mask... I’m a different person. The thing is, Mr. Stark, Spider-Man possesses a greatness Peter Parker cannot even hope to touch.”

Tony wanted to throw up. God, his kid. His precious, precious kid who he loved so much. He wished he could just hold Peter tight and make Peter see himself the way Tony saw him:

Selfless, kind, intelligent. Powerful beyond measure yet compassionate to the extreme.

Perfect.)

(“Holy crap,” Tony breathed, staring wide-eyed at the finished equation scribbled on his whiteboard. He knew without a doubt that he hadn’t yet had a chance to fix that equation.

He also knew who that handwriting belonged to.

He spun around in his chair and pointed accusingly at Peter. “Peter Parker, you are a genius,” he praised, grinning widely when the boy’s head jerked upwards and Peter was left blinking at him, confused.

“What – what did I d–do?” Peter stammered.

Tony’s grin broadened. “You solved my equation is what you did, you little prodigy,” he teased. “Honestly, Pete, I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure that out for days now, and you’ve been here for, what, two hours maybe? That formula is way beyond high school maths.”

Peter’s cheeks pinked. It was adorable—Tony almost cooed at the sight. He didn’t, of course—he wasn’t a blubbering toddler or a gushing grandmother—but it was a tempting urge. “I – I don’t... I don’t know,”—Peter was fumbling to find words, looking anywhere but at Tony—“I was just playing around with the numbers and I thought I recognized something. I’m – sorry...?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Don’t apologize, I’m complimenting you. You did good, Pete.” His eyes twinkled proudly. “You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you, you little rascal?”

“That – that’s not...” Peter shook his head, and the twin roses on his face abruptly faded as his expression morphed from embarrassed to disheartened. “You’re wrong, Mr. Stark. I’m not that smart.”

Tony frowned immediately. If it were anyone else, he would have dismissed the words as teenage angst, but there was something about the look on Peter’s face that didn’t sit right with him.

“No, you’re not,” Tony agreed, and watched as Peter flinched visibly and blinked his eyes rapidly like he was trying not to cry. A little smile crept up Tony’s face as he finished, more sincerely than he’d intended, “You’re smarter.”

Peter’s eyes widened again. This time, the tears that formed were less dejected and more grateful.

Still, his stubbornness persisted. “But Mr. Stark, I—”

“No buts, Pete,” Tony said gently. “You’re a genius, kid. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. You – God, Pete, you’re smarter than I could have ever hoped to be at your age. And I know you’ll be even smarter when you grow older.”

Peter sniffled and looked away, less out of shyness and more out of disbelief. Tony hated that disbelief.

Peter should know how amazing he was.

“And you know what?” Tony carried on. “I can’t wait until you surpass everyone else in the field, including me. I just know you’ll impress them all—you’ve already impressed me.”

“You’re – you’re lying,” Peter protested, but his voice was weak. Peter wanted nothing more than to be able to believe Tony was telling the truth, but how could he? He was just a nerdy kid from Queens. “That has to be an exaggeration, or—”

“It’s not,” Tony said firmly, so sure and full of conviction that Peter faltered. “I would never lie to you, not about this. Peter, I’m so proud of you.”

Peter brought his wrists to his eyes and wiped hastily, turning bodily away from Tony.

Tony pretended he couldn’t see Peter break down in the corner of his lab. He pretended it didn’t break his heart to think that Peter genuinely believed himself to be worth so much less than what he was really worth.)

(“Well, don’t you look down today,” Tony joked when Peter walked into his lab like someone had killed his puppy.

Except Peter didn’t laugh. He smiled pathetically, an obvious farce that even a toddler would be able to see through, but he didn’t laugh.

“Hey,” Tony frowned. “What happened? Who do I need to beat up?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “No one,” he muttered, the frown never leaving his face.

“Peter,” Tony sighed, “seriously. I can’t do anything if you don’t tell me what’s wrong. So please, tell me. I want to help you.”

Peter shook his head. The phony smile on his face grew wider, as if that would distract Tony from noticing the lack of luster behind it. “It’s really nothing,” he lied. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Stark.”

Tony worried. He let it go, and he didn’t prod any further, but that didn’t stop him from worrying.

He kept a close eye on Peter as Peter manouvered around the lab as if he belonged there, bringing a smile to Tony’s lips for a fleeting moment before he remembered something was wrong.

All throughout the hours Peter spent working in the lab, Tony watched him, waiting for him to slip up and give Tony something to work with.

But Peter never did. He looked at Tony over his shoulder once every few minutes, chewing his lip intently, but he didn’t say a word.

In the end, Tony was forced to let Peter go back home, eyes still dull and joy still muted. Usually, Peter would skip out of the lab with a bounce in his step, not even trying to hide how happy he was, but this time, Tony’s brows knitted when he saw how Peter seemed to be hunching in on himself as he walked, his legs practically dragging behind him.

It only reinforced the thought in Tony’s mind: Peter was upset.

Tony stressed over the question of what exactly Peter was unhappy about for hours until he finally received a text from May, instantly cluing him in on the situation.

Aunt Hottie: Hey, Tony. I need a favor.

Aunt Hottie: I’m sorry to ask you this, but Midtown offers an out-of-states field trip to its students every year. Peter was really looking forward to go and have some fun with his friends, but I’m not sure that’s possible anymore.

Aunt Hottie: I really wish I could let Peter go, but it’s just that the trip is so expensive and we’ve been struggling lately.

Aunt Hottie: You know I hate to accept charity, but I was wondering if you could help us out, just this once. I know it would make Peter’s day.

Tony stared at his phone screen, his chest stuttering in his ribcage for a moment. His eyes skipped over May’s text messages a second time, and he knew how to read between the lines—May didn’t just want Peter to enjoy a trip with his friends; she wanted him to enjoy himself and just be a teenager for once, a kid instead of a hero shouldering the weight of the world.

“Oh, kid,” Tony whispered to himself, feeling his heart shatter. God, Peter was too fucking selfless.

Tony closed his eyes. “Peter, goddamnit, I’m a billionaire,” he sighed, thinking of all the times Peter had glanced uncertainly at him during their lab session. “And funding your field trip is probably the best and most worthwhile thing I could possibly spend my money on.”

Didn’t Peter know that Tony would bend over backwards to make him happy?

He shook his head and started to type out his response, fingers flying furiously across the keyboard. If he focused on the menial task hard enough, he could even ignore the few tears that had gathered in his eyes. It physically hurt to know that Peter was too afraid to accept his help even when Tony was so desperate to give it to him.

Helicopter Mentor: Of course I’ll pay for Peter’s trip, May. You don’t even have to ask.

Helicopter Mentor: You know I’m more than happy to lend you guys a hand anytime. And trust me, it’s not charity. I don’t pity you. I know you want to provide for Peter, but I have the money, and Peter’s worth it.

Helicopter Mentor: Why didn’t Peter ask me when he was over at the lab?

He didn’t have to wait long for a reply.

Aunt Hottie: Thank you, Tony.

Aunt Hottie: I know it’s not a handout, Tony, but can you blame me for being proud?

Aunt Hottie: You and I both know Peter. He feels bad. He doesn’t want to be a burden, or feel like he’s using you for your money.

Tony’s frown deepened. He rushed to deny Peter’s assumptions, the tears finally spilling over.

Helicopter Mentor: Peter could NEVER be a burden.

Helicopter Mentor: And I know he wouldn’t deliberately use me, May. Peter’s a good kid. He deserves the world.

And Tony had every intention of giving Peter exactly that.)

No, these people had no idea who his kid was.

They didn’t know anything about Peter. They didn’t know that Peter had laughed at every little thing, heart full and happy and unburdened by hatred. They didn’t know that Peter used to constantly wow Tony with his brain—Peter could catch one glimpse of a complex problem that confused even Tony and immediately spit out a thousand and one ideas of how to solve it. They didn’t know Peter had a nervous tick; whenever he was self-conscious or flustered or anxious, he wouldn’t be able to help but stammer out every second word. They didn’t know Peter had a moral compass stronger than Captain America; they didn’t know Peter would have gladly risked his own life if it meant saving even one other person.

They didn’t know that Peter’s favorite color had been red, after the Iron Man suit, or that Peter had made Tony cry when he’d admitted that his favorite hero was the man behind the mask, Tony Stark. They didn’t know Peter had defended Star Wars to the very end. They didn’t know Peter had cried every time they watched Coco, even though he knew the movie by heart by now. They didn’t know Peter had been so well-versed in gamma radiation and nuclear physics that even Bruce Banner would have been stunned.

They didn’t know that Peter’s favorite ice cream flavor had been Hunka Hulka Burning Fudge, but that he had always eaten Stark Raving Hazelnuts anyway to make Tony feel better. They didn’t know that Peter used to love eating pancakes with gummy bears mixed into the batter—much to Tony’s unending disgust. They didn’t know that Peter would turn into a squealing seven-year-old at the slightest mention of Thor, God of Thunder (and no, Tony was not jealous, thank you very much).

They didn’t know Peter had loved his friends dearly. They didn’t know that Peter would have never bailed on even a simple movie night with Ned, even if it was Tony Stark himself asking him to. They didn’t know that Peter had catalogued all of MJ’s favorite genres and authors just so he could surprise her with a new book every so often and make her smile. They didn’t know that Peter would have moved heaven and earth for Ned and MJ.

They didn’t know that Peter had swung his way into Tony’s heart and refused to leave. They didn’t know that Peter’s innocence and childish glee had effortlessly gotten Tony wrapped around his finger. They didn’t know that Peter had showed up on Tony’s doorstep with a sheepish grin and a clumsily-wrapped present on Father’s Day (or that, for the first time in his entire life, Tony had finally experienced a Father’s Day he could look back at with a smile). They didn’t know that Peter had warmed up the cold rooms of Stark Tower without even trying. They didn’t know that the first time Peter had stumbled upon Tony panting on the floor, in the throes of a panic attack, Peter hadn’t shied away; Peter had stayed by Tony’s side unhesitatingly, murmuring words of love and comfort to the wounded man. They didn’t know that Peter had patched up Tony’s heart and trust after Steve Rogers had broken both with his betrayal.

They didn’t know that Peter’s first priority had always been his aunt—they didn’t know that Peter was always thinking up new ways to earn money just so he could ease the financial strain May struggled with. They didn’t know that Peter gave before he took. They didn’t know that Peter used to cry himself to sleep at night imagining all the people he hadn’t been able to save—and all the people he hadn’t even known needed saving. They didn’t know that Peter had always put everyone else before himself.

They didn’t know that Peter had made Tony’s life so much better, or that Tony was flailing without him now. They didn’t know that the Peter-shaped hole in the universe had made the lights in Tony’s life go out.

They didn’t know that Tony felt so incomplete, so broken and empty, without Peter. They didn’t know that Tony would still miss Peter long after the world had forgotten all about Spider-Man.

They didn’t know that Tony had loved, and would always love, Peter as if he were his own son.

They didn’t know that in the seventeen years he’d been alive, Peter had touched the hearts of so many—Tony, May, Ned, MJ, even Happy and Pepper and Rhodey.

They didn’t know shit about Peter Parker.

“That’s enough,” Tony echoed his earlier words, loud enough to punch into the ears of everyone present. The racket slowly died down. Tony breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll be taking only one more question.”

Instantly the hands were back up, desperation rushing through the reporters.

Tony scanned the group slowly, and his eyes subconsciously hooked on one of the younger reporters, a man with unkempt brown hair and an eagerness that had already left his more senior peers. He was wearing a checkered shirt and a sweater that reminded Tony of Peter more than he’d like to admit.

Tony’s throat dried.

Pete.

Tony couldn’t escape him. (He didn’t want to. He’d give away all of his fortune and fame if it meant getting Peter back.)

“You, with the red sweater”—Peter preferred blue—“and square glasses.” He couldn’t help himself. He’d always been fantastic at self-sabotage.

The man blanched. It was easy to see that he hadn’t expected to be chosen—Tony could figure why: he was on the young side, and obviously inexperienced.

But so was Peter, Tony thought, and he was smarter than even the best and most accomplished of my highest-paid scientists.

Tony watched as the young reporter recovered his composure admirably, a practiced smile falling onto his lips as he asked, much more smoothly and charmingly than Peter would have, “James Hall from The Post, sir. Who was Peter Parker to you? What exactly do you mean when you say he was your kid?”

James Hall was not Peter. Peter was awkward and a stammering mess and endearingly terrible at social situations. James Hall, on the other hand, was mustering a confidence that Peter would never have been able to fake.

It brought him both unexplainable relief and despair to recognize that this reporter, who resembled Peter only in his brown hair (Tony had loved Peter’s hair, had loved running his hand through those untamable curls) and nerdy clothes, was completely different in the ways that mattered (it mattered because Tony had adored Peter’s shy stammer more than Peter had ever known).

Tony couldn’t see Peter in Hall anymore. His kid was gone.

But the reporter’s question nevertheless made Tony’s breath still in his lungs in a way only Peter’s questions ever had before—Why won’t you let me fight with you? Why did you give me back the suit if you don’t want me to be a hero? Why don’t you care?

(He cared. God, he cared too much.)

He was my son, were the words that impulsively formed on his tongue, begging to be let out. The need to shout the claim from the rooftops burned bright inside him.

He had already opened his mouth, ready to let those four words chase out of his chest, when he realized that they were a lie.

Peter hadn’t been his son. In fact, May—who’d raised and loved Peter for far longer than Tony had even known him, who had more of a claim to Peter than Tony ever would, who’d lost everything in Peter—was probably watching this impromptu ‘press conference’ right now from the safety of the Parker apartment.

Tony had entertained the idea that Peter was his for so long that he’d almost had himself convinced of the idea. Ever since Toomes, and ever since Tony had taken a shine to Peter and his incredible mind, Tony had discovered it was impossible to keep Peter out. As the weeks and months had flown by, he had caught himself staring at Peter more and more often, trailing his eyes over Peter’s curly brown hair and doe brown eyes and cheeky smile and thinking, fuck, I wish he was my son.

But Peter had never been his.

“He – he was my intern,” Tony finally answered, unable to fight off the wobble in his voice, the falter in his words, the shudder in his breath. “Peter was the youngest intern Stark Industries has ever had. Despite his youth, however, his application immediately stood out to us—his ideas were brilliant, full of the kind of revolutionary genius that evades men twice his age. It seemed like the only option available to us was to make an exception for him. So we did, and Peter continued to prove himself, time and again, until eventually I took him on as my personal intern.”

The cover story dripped from his lips like honey. Tony had never wanted to lie about Peter, but he knew Peter would never have agreed to revealing his identity so soon.

But there was one truth he could admit to. “Over time, I saw him as less of an employee and more of a son. I mean, who could blame me? Peter was undoubtedly one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, and believe me, I’ve met a lot of smart people. Hell, I’ve met me. Plus, I’m sure everyone here is more than well aware of my eccentric nature—pseudo-adopting a teenager with an ingenuity to put my own to shame is far from the weirdest thing the press has reported me doing.”

It was the most honest he’d ever remembered being.

He paused. “So when I call him ‘my kid,’ it’s not because he’s biologically mine. We’re not related in any way—though I’m not ashamed to admit I wish we were. Peter was, well – I guess you could liken him to a leech who stuck to me and refused to let go, though I promise you he’d detest the comparison.”

He grinned, mischievously, but the amused laughs that ran through the audience did nothing but make him all the more aware of the one laugh he couldn’t hear.

I wish I hadn’t told you off for being so loud so often, because right now there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to hear that laugh just one more time.

God, he missed Peter.

☔︎

After he’d answered his last question, Mr. Stark walked away from the audience to the sound of their continued yells. Principal Morita had barely returned to the stage to dismiss all of the students before Ned was leaping off his seat and rushing down the aisle.

“Ned!” MJ’s voice halted him in his tracks, her fingers wrapping around his arm. “Where are you going?”

“He knew Peter was dead,” Ned hissed. “He knew, but still he left us hanging for weeks on end, forced to accept the fact that Peter’s gone and we never even got to say goodbye. We didn’t even know if Peter had – had vanished in the Decimation or if something else had killed him. We didn’t know.”

“Ned…” MJ sounded devastated.

“And he just left us in the dark, MJ. He has the nerve to tell the whole world about Peter Parker before telling us, his friends.” Ned shook his head furiously, tears falling onto his t-shirt, distorting the words I Make Horrible Science Puns But Only Periodically even more than he already had by crumpling the fabric in his fists, desperate to ground himself (the shirt had been Peter’s, dubbed one of his favorite ‘comfort shirts’ thanks to its large size; Aunt May had given it to Ned four days after the Decimation when she’d found him curled into a ball on the floor of Peter’s bedroom). “Didn’t we deserve to know? Didn’t we have the right to know?”

“Ned, please.” MJ’s voice quaked, her chest convulsing. She stared at him with wide, skittish eyes like she was afraid he was in danger of exploding at any moment. “St–stop.”

Ned didn’t stop. “I’ve been asking myself what happened to Peter for three weeks. Three weeks. I couldn’t shake the thought that maybe he didn’t fade in the Decimation. Maybe he was killed in battle—by Thanos, apparently. I kept remembering that moment on the bus when Peter asked me to cause a distraction and the first thing that popped into my mind was we’re all going to die. And everyday, I wonder, why did I have to say that? Why did the last thing Peter heard me say have to be that?”

Ned was inconsolable.

MJ, listening to Ned’s outpouring of grief and anger and guilt, felt much the same way. It was as if Ned’s words had collapsed her chest in on her heart, crushing her.

She couldn’t breathe. She opened her mouth, not knowing if it was to agree with him or reassure him or beg him to shut up shut up please shut up, but no words escaped her.

Ned shook his head, tore away from MJ, and rushed after the disappearing form of Tony Stark. He was vaguely aware of her pinching herself out of her stupor and calling after him, but he ignored her, his focus tunneling in on Mr. Stark.

He found the Avenger marching down the hallways in front of the auditorium, flanked by two large, imposing men.

Ned ground his teeth together. For a split-second, he saw Peter dance into his vision, eyes pleading and teary, begging him to leave Mr. Stark alone. Begging him to see that Mr. Stark was suffering, too.

And Ned knew. Ned knew Mr. Stark was suffering—there was no denying that, not when he had been able to see all the evidence of it just minutes before on the stage.

But Ned had also been suffering. He’d been miserable for every second of the last three weeks.

(“Do you still hear him?” MJ whispered one afternoon, when they were sitting in silence in the library, side-by-side but separate.

Ned felt like drowning.

“Because I – I do,” she answered herself a second later. “I can’t help it. He’s everywhere. He’s here now.”

Ned knew what that felt like.

“Y–yeah,” Ned whispered. “So do I. I hear him all the time.”)

“Stark!” he shouted. The students who were lingering in the hall started, turning to him with wide, horrified eyes, as if scandalized by his impertinent use of Iron Man’s last name. The old Ned would have been just as appalled by his abject disrespect towards one of his childhood heroes, but that Ned had died with Peter.

The two men guarding Tony whirled around in a flash, a glare on one of them and a tired look on the other. The angry one immediately lifted a hand to the bulge in his suit jacket, chest shoving forward like he wanted to lash out and barrel towards a high school student.

Ned wouldn’t have cared. Peter had been his best friend, and now he was gone.

Nothing else seemed to matter.

But the other man faltered, and lifted a hand to stop his colleague. Ned recognized him as Happy, who had picked Peter up after school everyday without fail, who used to buy Peter and Ned ice cream if he saw them celebrating their test results, who’d honked rudely at Flash and then ‘gently’ nudged the bully with his car when he overheard Flash mocking Peter.

“Ted,” Happy said.

Ned didn’t care about that, either. Peter wasn’t here to roll his eyes at Happy and pout, Happy, I know you know his name is actually Ned. You’re not fooling anyone.

Ned nodded at Happy, unable to so much as smile. “Mr. Happy,” he greeted, and suppressed a flinch when he couldn’t help but remember all the times he and Peter had laughed at Happy’s obvious distaste for his nickname.

Who would he laugh over stupid things with now?

“I need to speak with Mr. Stark,” Ned insisted.

Before Happy could protest, Tony pushed forward and offered Ned a single nod that spoke a thousand words. His sunglasses were still off his face, and Ned could see the entire array of emotions that crossed his eyes.

“Well, I’m right here,” Tony said, too numbly to be the man who’d played Mario Kart with Peter at 1 A.M., thrilling Peter so much he’d jabbered endlessly about it to Ned the next day. “Speak away.”

Speak away.

There were so many things Ned wanted to say.

Why didn��t you tell me?

Why did you let me wonder what had happened to Peter for so long?

Did you know that the last thing I ever said to him was “we’re all going to die”?

Why didn’t you save him?

You were supposed to save him.

But all of the words died in his throat.

Instead, when he opened his mouth, what came out was a plea—“Promise me you’re going to bring my best friend back.”

Tony didn’t blink. He didn’t falter, he didn’t flinch, he didn’t hesitate. “I’m going to bring all of them back.”

It should have reassured Ned.

But he’d been through too many days without Peter to take even Iron Man himself at his word. He didn’t trust many things anymore.

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” Ned forced out through gritted teeth. “Not about this.” Not about Peter.

This time, Tony did flinch. “Like I said,” he said finally, “I’ll do whatever it takes. I – I swear.” Tony tore his eyes away and cursed, rubbing his face tiredly, his breath tripping over itself. “I’m bringing Peter home if it’s the last thing I do.”

Ned had no idea what to say to that.

Luckily, MJ responded for him, having caught up to him by now, “You better.” She paused. “Though try to make it out alive. Peter will have both our heads if he knew we let you sacrifice yourself for him.”

“I’d do it, you know,” Tony interjected, half-desperate and half-determined. “If it comes to it. Peter – Peter’s life is worth more than mine.”

MJ gave him a long, searching look. “I know,” she said at last. “But I meant what I said. Peter would want to come home to you, too.”

This time, it was MJ who left Tony speechless instead of the other way around. He stared at her like he didn’t quite know what to do with that information.

“That’s – I – he—“

“She’s right,” Ned said quietly when it was clear Tony was too shaken to speak coherently. “You have to stay alive. For Peter.”

Their gazes met again. In Tony’s eyes, Ned saw a plea, an apology, a denial. He saw please I miss Peter too and I want him back and I’m sorry and Peter deserves better than me and so long as Peter comes home at all, I don’t care what I have to do and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.

For the first time, Ned felt like he could empathize with someone like Tony Stark, so seemingly untouchable from a distance. He glanced sidelong at MJ, and imagined that she might be thinking the same thing, if only she let herself feel these days.

(Ned didn’t get it. He was completely incapable of even trying to hide away from his grief—he felt Peter and Peter’s absence wherever he went, like a second skin he could not shed—but MJ seemed to be the opposite. Whereas he was stuck suffocating in his sadness, unable to leave, she had mostly detached herself from it, able to survive only because she had pushed it all away.

Ned thought he would die if he let Peter go. Even now, he didn’t want to.

Peter had been his best friend. That would never change.)

Then Tony swallowed and shoved his sunglasses back on, fingers shaking around the frame, and Ned was left to face his grief alone once more.

☔︎

It took Tony’s bodyguards over twenty minutes to fight off the stragglers and carve Tony a path to the carpark through the crowd. When Tony finally reached his car, Happy held open the back door for him, and then, instead of climbing into the passenger seat, slid in after Tony while Jim started the car.

Happy waited until they were already in motion, the sound of the engine constant and reassuring, to speak up: “Thank you.”

Tony froze. He could barely hear Happy, quiet as the bodyguard was being, over the vibrations of the car, but there was no mistaking Happy’s words.

“Hap,” his voice cracked, “don’t – don’t thank me. Please. I didn’t—”

“Thank you,” Happy repeated. “You know we don’t blame you, Tony. And – it’s nice to finally see Peter get the recognition he deserves as himself, too, not just as Spider-Man.”

(Spider-Man was great, yes, but Peter Parker was braver, stronger, better—

Even if he couldn’t be heralded for it right now, Peter Parker was the real hero.)

Tony didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t done what he did to be thanked. He’d just... he’d just wanted to celebrate Peter. To honor his kid.

Happy exhaled slowly. “It doesn’t make things better, not by a long shot. It doesn’t bring Peter back. But... it’s easier, somehow, knowing we’re not the only ones who see that kid for his true potential anymore. Peter deserved to know he was appreciated. I regret not telling him that more often. I wonder if he even knew – if he knew I cared.”

Tony’s eyes burned. God, but he hadn’t even remembered that Happy had loved Peter, too—that, sometimes, when Happy was so exhausted of the other aspects of his job, it was only Peter’s text messages and long rambling voicemails that could get him to smile.

And he hadn’t even realized. He’d been so consumed by his own grief that he hadn’t been able to see that Happy had been missing Peter, too; that even though he was a terrible substitute for Peter and all his goodness, Happy had needed him.

Happy had needed him to admit to how much he cared about Peter, too, and Tony hadn’t been able to get his head out of his ass long enough to see that.

Christ, how selfish have I been that I’ve holed myself up in my room, as if I’m the only one allowed to grieve Peter? I don’t own exclusive rights to his absence.

There are others whose lives have been irreparably damaged by Peter’s loss, too. Just take a look at Happy, you asshole. He never admitted it to Pete’s face, but you saw the change in him: you saw the way he smiled whenever the hour-hand on a clock drew nearer and nearer to 3:00 P.M. on a weekday; you saw him listen to all of Peter’s voicemails eagerly even though he’d complain about it to the kid’s face; you know he memorized all of the kid’s favorite haunts and hobbies.

When Tony looked at Happy, he could easily see the new frown lines and worry wrinkles marking Happy’s face and wondered how he could have been so blind to have missed it before. Happy wasn’t crying—Tony didn’t think Happy had shed a single tear since that first day Tony had come back without the Spider-Kid in tow, and he’d been forced to admit that he’d (they’d) lost Peter Parker—but he might as well have been, for all the pain Tony could see in his eyes.

And Happy wasn’t the only other one who’d known Peter the same way he had: as the kid worth giving it all up for.

What about Peter’s friends? They didn’t look fine back at the school. They’re grieving for him, too. And what about May?

What about May, Stark?

Tony knew he’d been selfish for too long. He’d thought that he was the only one who felt like Peter’s death had crushed the heart in his chest and transformed his universe irreversibly, but he knew now that he’d been wrong.

He stared at Happy, at this man who’d been his friend and who’d had his back for so long, and shivered at the gratitude reflected in his eyes. Tony didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve Happy looking at him like he’d done something good, when in reality all he’d done was what he should’ve done when he first landed.

Suddenly, a bone-deep weariness seeped into Tony. He needed to be better. He needed to see Peter again.

He’d told the world that he’d fight to the end to right Thanos’s wrongs. And he would. He’d fight harder than he ever had, because this time, it was Peter’s life at stake.

This time, he had so much on the line.

(“You need to get up, Tony,” Pepper whispered into the silence of their bedroom one night. Even their relationship had been stained by Thanos’s deeds. “You need to get better.”

The first time she’d begged him to stand, to rise again, he’d snapped at her. This time, he just looked at her, sad and weary, and asked searchingly, “How?”

Pepper flinched. “Call – call him, please. You don’t have to forgive him, but... the world needs the Avengers right now. And I need my fiancé. Please.”

“What can the Avengers do, Pep?” Tony was drained. “It’s already done. Thanos won, we lost. Half the universe is gone. There’s nothing anyone, even us so-called superheroes, can do now.”

“You can try,” she pleaded. “You can get back up on your feet and try.”

Tony’s open, vulnerable gaze shuttered. “I thought you hated that I was Iron Man. You’ve never wanted me to risk my life out there.”

“And I still don’t want you to now,” she admitted. “But I know who you are, Tony. And I know… I know that this—staying still, doing nothing—is killing you more than being Iron Man ever did. So get up, Tony. Bring Peter – bring him back. And come home to me, please.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Tony said weakly. “I’m not the Iron Man you know anymore. The fight with Thanos changed me. I used to be fearless, but now...”

“No,” Pepper shook her head resolutely, defiantly. “You weren’t fearless, Tony. You were reckless—there’s a difference.”

“Pep—”

“You dove headfirst into anything that would get you in trouble. You never thought of the consequences. You just... took risks. You lived like you didn’t have a care in the world.”

“And now?”

“And now you have more to lose,” Pepper said it like it was a fact, like it couldn’t be anything but the truth. Her words hit Tony harder than any of Thanos’s attacks had. “You can’t afford to be reckless anymore. If you’re more afraid nowadays, it’s because you care.”

Pepper molded her hand against his cheek, eyes soft and loving, but honest, too. “And it’s exactly because you have more to lose now that you’ll win.”

“I love you,” Tony choked out. “I love you. I love you.”

A sad smile tugged on her lips. “I love you, too. I believe in you.”)

Tony’s entire perspective had been shifted by Peter. Before he met Peter, he used to switch between categorizing the parts of his life as “Before and After Pepper” and “Before and After Iron Man.”

Now all he saw was “Before and After Peter.”

Pepper had been right. He had more to lose now. He had more to fight for, too.

Tony nodded at Happy, didn’t tell him You’re welcome, and knocked on the partition separating the front of the car from the back.

A second later, the divider rolled down. “Yes, Boss?” Jim inquired.

Tony smiled a smile he didn’t feel. “Change of plans, Jim,” he announced. “Take us to May Parker’s apartment, please.”

Jim nodded obediently, already pulling up the address from FRIDAY’s database.

The partition went back up again.

“Tony?” Happy’s question went unspoken.

Tony looked back at the man. His smile grew a touch more real. “She shouldn’t be left alone,” was all he could say to that. “Not right now.”

Happy nodded in understanding, and that grateful look Tony felt so undeserving of took over his face again.

Tony ignored it.

☔︎

When they came knocking, May opened the door with a knowing look on her face. She’d clearly expected them to come her way, after watching the speech.

“May,” Tony greeted. He didn’t feel like breaking down at the mere sight of her anymore. That was something. Progress, am I right?

He chuckled bitterly. Would you have been proud of me, Peter?

May nodded back. There was gratitude in her eyes, too, so akin to Happy’s that Tony had to look away briefly. When he turned to her again, though, the expression was still there, shamelessly coloring her face.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You shouldn’t have to thank me,” Tony insisted. “It’s what Peter deserved.”

May smiled sadly. “He would have thought otherwise.”

The look on Tony’s face mirrored hers. “I know,” his voice was hushed. “I know.” He was wrong. He was so, so wrong. He deserved the world.

May swallowed tightly. Her eyes drifted from Tony to Happy, and the soul-crushing grief was back. “Oh, Happy,” she whispered. “You’re here.” May looked back at Tony. “You’re both here.”

Tony nodded. May, wordlessly, moved away from the doorway so they could both enter. Tony watched, guilt brewing in the pit of his stomach, as May slowly returned to the living room, moving with a decided lack of liveliness that unsettled him.

May was one of the strongest women he knew. She ranked right up there with the likes of Pepper Potts and Natasha Romanoff. To see her like this, so defeated, was wrong.

There was nothing he could say about it. How could he judge her when he’d been the same way? When he still felt like that?

“Tea?” May offered, sinking into the sofa like it was the only thing holding her up. “Coffee?”

“No, that’s okay,” Tony shook his head politely, following May onto the sofa. Happy quietly settled in beside him.

“How are you doing, May?” Happy asked when Tony couldn’t, because how could he ask her that when he wouldn’t even know how to answer, if he was the one on the receiving end of that question?

May seemed to struggle with finding an answer, too. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m just getting through all of this—life without Peter—day by day. Everyday.”

What else was there to do, when there was no reason to smile anymore?

“I’m still sorry,” Tony blurted out when the silence in the apartment and the restlessness in his head became too much. He pressed the underside of his palm against his head, willing away the voices to no avail.

May nodded. “I know, Tony. And you still have nothing to be sorry for.”

He looked away. Why didn’t she blame him?

It was his fault. Peter was gone—gone gone gone—and it was because of him.

“I dragged him into this life,” he argued. Why couldn’t she see that?

“He became Spider-Man before he met you,” she pointed out.

“But he went onto that spaceship because of me,” the words stung to say, but they were true. “His exact words were ‘speaking of loyalty.’ He was there because he was blindly loyal to me, and I didn’t even have the decency to turn the ship back around. I have everything to be sorry for.”

“No, you don’t,” she insisted. “You were his hero. Of course he came after you.”

“I never meant to... I didn’t want him to get hurt. I just wanted to give him everything he wanted and more. I wanted to see him win over the whole world the way he won me over. God, May, he could’ve achieved so much,” his throat constricted around the words, and he had to fight to see, to breathe through the pain. “He could’ve done so many great things.”

“Amazing things,” Happy murmured.

“He had his whole life ahead of him,” Tony whispered, like it was a secret. “And it was stolen from him, just like that. Now he’ll never have the chance to show everyone else why he was the best kid all of us knew.”

“The very best,” May agreed, laughing wetly. “He could’ve changed the world.”

“He did change the world,” Tony corrected. “Spider-Man changed so many people’s lives for the better. He went out there every night and saved people who’d already resigned themselves to believing they couldn’t be saved. In every possible way, he was so much better than the Avengers, than me, because where we didn’t even realize we had a duty to save the ordinary people, too, Peter was already looking after all the little guys. Peter cared so much.”

A strangled sob tore out of May’s throat. She fell back against the sofa and cradled her head in her hands, crying violently, desperately.

“But Spider-Man wasn’t the only one who made a difference. Peter Parker changed the world, too,” Tony said earnestly. “He changed mine.”

May cried harder.

“I’ll never stop being sorry,” Tony whispered the words like a prayer. “He was my kid, but May, he was your son, and I – fuck, I can’t—”

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do this,” she denied hoarsely. She didn’t know how many times she had to repeat it to get him to believe it. “I know you loved him, too. Better than anyone, I know the effect Peter has on people. He’s been changing my world since he was six, after all.”

Tony closed his eyes.

“I hate Thanos,” May‘s voice quivered as her chest heaved and she gasped for breath. “He took Peter from me. He took my boy, Tony. He was – he was all I had left. When Ben died, I felt like drowning, but Peter was always there to save me. But what am I supposed to do now? How do I bounce back from losing my child?”

Tony didn’t have an answer.

The truth was, he’d been asking himself the same thing over and over again, on repeat, for three weeks.

How am I supposed to say goodbye to you?

How am I supposed to live like this?

How am I supposed to heal?

He couldn’t.

All he could do was hold onto Peter’s memory like a lifeline.

All he could do was keep fighting for the day Peter, and everyone else who’d disappeared, could come back.

#marvel #iron dad #fanfiction #iron dad fanfiction #peter parker #tony stark #post infinity war #spiderman #iron man #irondad and spiderson #ned leeds #michelle jones #irondad angst #marvel fanfiction #faye writes

19 notes · View notes

marigorbital · 6 years

Text

Dumb Ducks in the Water: Part 14

IT’S FINALLY HERE. Three actual years later, but it’s here.

A lot has happened in my life for the past three years and, to make a long excuse short, I was doing a lot of life questioning and dealing with events. And once I got out of my dark cloud, I decided to return to this fic while returning with my own writing projects. So I’m here to finish this fic, though I’m not sure how long it will take (I hope within a year?)--I’m just promising not to go MIA again, is all.

Anyway, some notes on this chapter:

- Listen, I did NOT plan on returning when the 3rd season of Free! came. This is pure coincidence, honestly. That being said, SO MANY THINGS HAVE CHANGED. Side characters have personalities now... Isuzu exists (I’ll have to, at some point, change Yukiko’s name)... People are in college now... Anyway, I want to remind folks that I started this fic in 2014/2015 and I’m trying to stay true to that, so anything that doesn’t match up with the current season is kind of like oh well for me.

- This chapter features tweets. Yeah. I used some website that make them look like they were written in 2009, lol, but we’re just gonna go with it. Also, want to give a shoutout to my best friends, who spent like five hours coming up with the twitter handles.

- Speaking of which, trigger warning possibly: cyber bullying (?) and rumors. Now, I generally try to keep this fic lighthearted, so I am also touching the mentioned subjects in a lighthearted manner for the most part, but I also know that if what happens in this chapter ever happened to me in high school, I would have been mortified. So I tried to respect that and take it a little seriously, which also pertains to the rest of the plot--but this is still Dumb Ducks. No PSAs, just some self-awareness.

- I am a little worried the quality is not up to par with this chapter because it’s been a while and I just wanted to get this chapter over with because I’d rather write other scenes, so I’m super sorry if it’s only sort of funny/cute or too serious. It’ll be better next chapter! (Which hopefully comes out by December?)

Anyway.

Start from the beginning or go to the handy-dandy tag page and pick up where you left off.

Enjoy.

------

It was still Tuesday.

But worse yet, it was time for him to face the swim team.

And to be honest, if you asked Nitori, that was kind of bullshit.

There he stood, observing the pool of sharks in the distance just waiting for him to make a move. A whole lot of damage had been done in the past eight hours since Rin shouted a profound WHAT THE FUCK at Nitori and Momo’s dorm doorway, which immediately stirred up a banana telephone game of epic proportions throughout Samezuka Academy. Pair that with the fact that both of the dimwits were publicly announced to head to the principal’s office together and that something amiss had happened in the cafeteria last night—and boy, oh boy, were the rumors trending the social sphere like something straight out of Nitori’s nightmares. They had gone viral, top of the chart gossip among their peers, who were all too ready to roast the couple into infamy.

It all started with a tweet.

Some rando on the basketball team had overheard Rin catching Nitori and Momotarou getting caught in an explicit position at their dorm, and what with the rumors of Samezuka’s swim team having more tea than a J-drama now stirring, this caught the attention of several bored teenage boys before classes had even started.

The sports news network was simple. Basketball passed the rumors around to get some details. One teammate asked who found out about this and were replied to with the captain caught them. Another asked, which one’s the captain?? And another replied, the guy who cries all the time.

Once the rumors spread over to other sports teams at the academy, the Samezuka Swim Team Thot Conspiracy began. It was the volleyball team who mentioned that both Nitori and Mikoshiba were sent to the principal’s office that same day, as sourced by a classmate in Nitori’s homeroom. A peculiar detail because how did the school find out about what the couple was doing in their bedroom? Did someone rat them out?

Then someone on the tennis team who was also in the culinary club mentioned, I heard they got caught doing shit in the cafeteria.

Cue the controversy.

This made folks on the baseball team wonder just how many times the two had done it and bets were being taken about when the relationship started. Someone on the bicycle team hashtagged the gossip thread as #bombezuka, which set off a flurry of well-intentioned, damage control tweets from students who didn’t want the reputations of Aiichirou Nitori and Momotarou Mikoshiba to get tarnished.

Things like who cares if they’re banging and let them live in PEACE to they’re not gay and who are we even talking about flooded social media circles as the rumor spread outside of Samezuka’s sports clubs and into the general student body. Did things get out of control? Naturally. Details were being made up, people weren’t entirely sure who was involved in the cafeteria fucking, and lavish erotic assumptions about who had the biggest dick energy on the Samezuka swim team were battling it out for all of this side of Japan’s internet to see.

One person assumed the captain (Rin) was angry because he was in a secret love affair with “the silver twink” or something. Another person insisted, Mikoshiba-san has been bragging about being with Nitori-san since last weekend. Another student saw them nuzzling faces on the metro train, claimed they were on a date. Oh, definitely, said another, saw them on the beach making out.

Eventually someone had the nerve to try to confirm some things with the swim team by messaging Toru Iwashimizu, who only responded:

But because Iwashimizu had responded, the #bombezuka thread had popped up on the rest of the swimming team’s Twitter feeds, who righteously had mixed reactions of freaking out to defend their teammates’ honor and freaking out because their suspicions had finally been confirmed.

To no one’s surprise, Nagisa Hazuki caught wind of the frenzy, despite being from another school entirely.

And with Rin Matsuoka’s name mixed in with the rumors, it did not take long before six degrees reached his younger sister Gou, who could not believe what had unfurled throughout the day without any comment by her brother. In a desperate attempt to get him to notice the Twitter storm, she tweeted:

The only silver lining of the tweetastrophe was that at least no one was being inherently meanspirited about the potential lust blossoming between Nitori and Momotarou, which was partially due to the swimming team’s notoriety. On paper, sure, the swim team was the pride and joy of the Samezuka Academy, but that’s not why they were famous among their peers. They were famous because the rest of the school viewed the swim team as a group of guys obsessed with swimming. They did nothing but swim. The whole point of the indoor swimming pool was for the team to practice even during the winter—when they didn’t even have to swim—or whenever it rained.

Barely anyone knew anything about the students in the swim team, so many folks figured they had the stock personalities of a school of fish. All going for the same goal to be a professional athlete and not much else. They were untouchable; their schedules surrounding practices, training camps, and swim meets, with not much room for dating in between. The only other thing people knew about them was their annual tradition of hosting a maid café at their school’s cultural festival, which no one could reasonably explain.

That was it. Listen, people figured if there was ever going to be a scandal coming from the swim team, it was probably going to be about some guy shooting up steroids in the locker room or wearing unapproved swimsuits for better aerodynamics in competitions or maybe even something crazy like the students were all brainwashed and manufactured into disciples of Poseidon himself to carry on the legend of Samezuka forever. They weren’t known for actual drama, not even while people heard about Rin Matsuoka swimming for some other school’s team halfway through a competition for some reason last year (that was weird, but okay) or even this year when some folks whispered about Sousuke Yamazaki having a hurt shoulder and, like, that was sad, but he still swam in the championship, so other students figured it wasn’t so bad. Hell, if you even heard about those two so-called incidents, you had to be real close to the swim team—and the fact of the matter was, what happened in Samezuka’s swim team generally stayed with the swim team.

So, when rumors spread about last year’s swim team captain’s little brother possibly dating this year’s captain’s ex-roommate, who some said might be next year’s captain, too, things got a little bit juicy.

To the student body of the Samezuka Academy, this was like finding out the royals were having incestuous affairs behind the castle doors, which got people thinking: maybe the reason no one had ever heard of the Samezuka swim team dating anyone outside of school was because maybe the swim team was dating… each other.

Yet, while folks were reveling in the swim team’s supposed love triangle plot twists, it was all at the expense of Aiichirou Nitori’s dignity. People were quick to forget that. It was one thing to be teased by his teammates about possibly dating Momotarou, but to witness his reputation get warped into being the promiscuous sexpot darling of the swim team was a level of humiliation Nitori had never known. He read tweet after tweet, seeing his name become the butt of a thousand jokes by students who he had never heard of, let alone spoken to.

It was a wild exchange. There were positive messages at first that called him cute, saying no surprise he’s dating someone, remembering him as the second-year breaststroke swimmer, saying how quiet in school he was, saying how small he was, saying well, if he’s still on the swim team, he must be good, right? They said he must be flexible, then mentioned Momo and Rin and Sousuke and Seijuro and damn near any teammate people saw him with at some point during the school year. They got more invasive, calling him relay boy, and assumed he was experienced, assumed he was bottom, assumed he was easy.

He cried about this, locked his dorm room and wept at his desk as he used his laptop to delete his Twitter and turn all his other social media accounts private before the gossip switched platforms. And once it was done and he could finally use his phone again without notifications stalling the system, Nitori stared at his last text message, one from Sousuke that read, emergency meeting at the pool now.

There stood Aiichirou Nitori at the entrance of the indoor swimming pool, with eyes puffed red and swollen, just like his ego.

“I hate this,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

No one wore their swimsuits, which was good because like hell was Nitori going to do some goddamn laps after all the bullshit he went through today. As he sauntered down the gym in his hoodie and sweatpants, he looked down at the tile floor and listed the day’s events in his head. He woke up at 5:30 in the morning, broke into the cafeteria to smuggle in paper cranes, got caught, kissed Momo, had a nice breakfast, kissed Momo again but in his underwear so Rin could catch them—and thus the downward spiral set off. Today was the first day he started his first relationship. He should have been happy. It should have been a good day, really. But all Nitori felt was tired.

He was so, so tired.

“Honestly, fuck ‘em,” said Toru Iwashimizu, who sat at the edge of the pool with his feet dipped in the water. “Summer break is coming up anyway. They’re going to forget all about this.”

Most of the swim team sat down on the floor as a huddled group, with a few teammates just off to the side by the pool edge or by the wall. Nitori couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with anyone, knowing what had been rumored, but he saw someone approaching him and stepped back.

“Nitori-senpai?” whispered Momotarou, still in his school uniform. Not because he couldn’t get into their dorm room to change clothes, but because he chose not to.

“Where were you?” asked Nitori. He looked up at Momo then, pointing an incredulous glance at his manic kouhai, and didn’t care if anyone noticed their confrontation.

There was no question that Nitori-senpai looked like a wreck. His eyes were bloodshot, his nose and lips cracked at the irritated dry patches he must have wiped too many times, and his skin dulled from exhaustion. Once he found out about all the rumors, Momo’s first reaction was to go straight to his dorm room and talk with Nitori, but when he heard his senpai’s sobbing and how obviously hurt he was, his next impulse was to stop the madness. For the past twenty minutes, Momotarou went to several sports teams and people whose names he recognized in the tweeting threads and made a small statement to each of them in person. He needed to come up with a better solution, he knew that, but it was all he could think of for now.

He told them, you have hurt someone I care about.

“I was trying to fix this,” he told Nitori, even though he also knew the concept of fixing their shattered reputations might have been impossible by now.

“How could you possibly fix this?”

“Oy, Ai,” interjected Rin, who like the rest of the swim team had been taking note of Nitori’s dejected state. “That’s what we’re all trying to do now. Come up with a way to fix this mess.”

Fix messes, huh, Nitori thought. It seemed like he was always caught in some mess that needed to be fixed, at least for the past four days. Eventually the escalation must stop and crash, that’s what he was learning. He just never thought it would crash on him.

Nitori looked up to evaluate the rest of the team, taking note of their worried yet puzzled expressions as they looked back at him. He saw Minami and Uozumi sitting up against the wall, their lips pursed as if holding back their own commentary until they felt safe to do so. Off to the side, where most of the team sat, lied Nakagawa on his back and yet he averted his attention up at Nitori, then began to sit up when he noticed Nitori staring down at him. Iwashimizu took his feet out of the water and turned toward Nitori, sitting cross-legged and cross-armed. They looked guilty, or maybe Nitori just wanted them to feel that way. He wanted to blame them for their casual teasing as some sort of fuel for the rumor fire, even if he couldn’t prove it as the catalyst to the day’s events.

There was a moment when he wanted to blame Rin for shouting so loud that morning, for getting involved, for being so known at school. It didn’t last long, though, because even with everything that had happened, Nitori couldn’t muster up the nerve to blame his senpai for caring about him and his reckless behavior. As he looked Rin directly in the eyes, Nitori noticed the accountability Rin felt for his part of the scandal, how much of a captain he looked during this crisis—if you could call it that, Nitori wondered, feeling dumb. God, he felt so dumb, standing dead center at an emergency swim team meeting—a meeting—over rumors about him fucking—fucking—Momo.

Over fucking Momo.

When it came to Momo, his anger was complicated. It wasn’t the rage of someone who felt betrayed or even the kind of frustration someone felt because of how stupid their friend was. His fury was much more personal, a fury that made him obsess over every bad mistake he made in the past few days because of Momo’s whims and how any sane person would have said no, would have said the line was being crossed, would have realized they were setting themselves up for a messy catastrophe, but not him. Truth was, as Nitori realized it after sobbing at his desk, that he was, in a way, having fun. And the reason he was mad was because it had been spoiled.

He looked back at Momo and weakly raised his hand with his fingers twitching in frustration, pulling the air as he pulled his thoughts together.

“Nitori-senpai,” said Momo, who stepped closer ready to accept any punishment he was about to be given. “I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this.”

Yeah, he got anxious. Yeah, what they were doing was stupid.

But it was fun.

Nitori got mad because he hated how everyone wanted to rewrite his memories. They weren’t there watching the sunset at the beach with Momo while eating ice cream after a day of dancing and shooting water guns. They weren’t there going into downtown to shop for origami paper and eating lunch while binge-watching anime in their dorm room, just hanging out together and enjoying each other’s company for like twelve hours straight. They weren’t there eating breakfast in a little kitchen shop, planning dates and dodging bashful glances on the morning of their first kiss. They had no idea how much of a big deal it was, how it felt, that first time. All they had was this idea of who they were—just a couple of zany kids, off to the side, doing nothing important, just messing around. Who were they to try to tell Nitori the story of (maybe) the first time he fell in love?

Momo and his big mouth, his stupid ideas, his dumb heart.

Nitori dropped his hand. He took one step forward and plopped his head onto Momo’s chest, letting out a deep sigh. First day of a relationship and he was mad. God, he felt so dumb.

“Is it worth all this?” he said to Momo. “How long are we going to hide this secret?”

This secret, of course, referred to the surprise party they were planning, which had clearly become the bane of their existence. What started out as a prank turned sentimental gesture had wildly spun out of a control as the basis of their public outing for all to jest—and there was still another half of the week to go through before it was even supposed to happen.

Yet, given the rumor situation, when the swim team heard “secret,” a slight misunderstanding prompted folks to speak up.

“Oh, well, you don’t have to hide anymore, Nitori-san,” said Minami from the back, a little preemptively. “We’re totally cool with it.”

“Uh,” Momo stuttered, looking down at Nitori, who merely closed his eyes and sighed further. “That’s not—”

“That’s right, Ai,” said Rin. “We’ll make sure this doesn’t get out of control.”

Sousuke also chimed in with a supportive, “You’re not alone.”

And while it was sweet how quickly the Samezuka Swim Team turned into the Momo-Ai Defense Squad, hearing the phrase you’re not alone had channeled the exact reason Nitori was furious in the first place. He wasn’t alone, was quite prophetically forced to not be alone—when that’s what he wanted. He gripped Momo’s shirt, tugged down at the neckline as his silent call for freedom, and whispered into Momo’s ear, “Fix this.”

As more teammates spoke up to lend their support, it dawned on Momotarou that despite the fact that there was no real plan on how to come out as a couple since they were originally just rolling with the team’s own suspicions, this was probably not it. This was not how anything was supposed to go. He wrapped his arms around Nitori, feeling his senpai give in the embrace and start to choke up. Things had gone too far over nothing and no amount of white lies could change the fact that Momo, frankly, messed up.

“Stop,” he announced, then groaned as he gave in to surrender. “We were just trying to plan a party.”

Huh?

Even Sousuke, who was helping plan the party, wondered why the flustered ginger had snapped out and revealed the party plans. Collectively, no one on the team could tie the connection between Momo and Ai’s relationship outing and a… party? Unless, maybe it was a coming out party? Were they gonna be that elaborate about announcing their relationship? Wouldn’t that be a little much? Was that even a thing?

“What are you talking about?” asked Rin.

But the truth had to come out, and so with Nitori still in his arms, Momo exasperatedly confessed, “It started with the bread, but then you saw the bread, so then we couldn’t use it anymore, but I didn’t want to give up on—well, see, I was trying to plan a surprise because, come on, look at this pool, it’s so big! Like, how am I supposed to be at this school and not put stuff in it, so then why not origami cranes? No one can get mad at origami cranes—because they’re beautiful—and it’s barely a prank if there’s 5000 origami cranes—I mean, that’s practically art—like, honestly, I think it’d even be a good idea for the summer festival, just putting it out there because I’ve been working really hard on making them, you can ask Yamazaki-senpai, who—actually—is the reason we started planning a party. Yeah, ugh, because it was just a really good idea and we couldn’t explain why we are on the beach on top of each other—but nothing happened! We weren’t even thinking about that yet! We were just having a good time and then Yamazaki-senpai was like oh, what are you doing, give me my radio back, you’re planning a party, right? And we were like, yeah, that’s a great idea because it was, so then we had to go through with it, which is why we were always together, but then everyone kept thinking we were together together because we took a shower together and like, yeah, okay, so I checked Nitori-senpai out, but who wouldn’t? Look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn’t—no, you can’t, because Nitori-senpai is an amazing person who deserves to be checked out and, you know what? I’d do it again, honestly.”

Momo took a moment to breathe.

“Ugh, not that it matters,” Momo continued, his confession getting louder, “because then everybody was getting suspicious because of how much we hung out and Yamazaki-senpai couldn’t take the cranes to the cafeteria, so we had to, and the freaking cafeteria manager came in too early, so we had to run and run and it was sunrise and Nitori-senpai looked beautiful and, like, that was the moment—I couldn’t just not kiss him, especially after last night’s failure, so I did and it was great and today was supposed to be a great day because today—TODAY—was the first time I’ve ever kissed someone and today was supposed to be special because I asked Nitori-senpai out on a date and he said sure and I was,” Momo panted before he calmed down and finished, “I was really happy about that.”

Nitori looked up at Momo, then softly uttered, “Momo-kun…”

“I’m angry, too,” said Momo, meeting Nitori’s gaze. “I ruined our first day.”

The team stood there, stunned.

It was a lot to digest, particularly since Momo gave no context to anything he said, just spouted out a stream of consciousness that only select people could put together in a coherent timeline. But while some team members were trying to figure out the missing details, Rin—who felt he understood most of the Momo speak—hesitantly spoke up and said, “So, you two were planning a party here in the gym?”

Momo and Nitori nodded.

“And you knew about this?” Rin asked, turning around to Sousuke.

“Yup,” he said.

“But you two,” Rin turned back to the frazzled couple, “weren’t dating until… today?”

“Right,” confirmed Momo.

“But I saw… you both… this morning,” said Rin, trying to make sense of the lewd scene he walked in on earlier in the day. Who hooks up on the first morning they’re together?

“We were trying to distract you,” explained Nitori, who stood straight while still in Momo’s embrace and motioned his hands toward their intimate hug. “And it worked really well because we ended up distracting the whole school.”

“I can’t believe this.” Rin threw his head back, trying to be respectful toward his kouhais’ newfound relationship, but also absolutely using every fiber of his being to contain his frustration over the day’s events. “You guys literally test me every goddamn day.”

Sousuke chuckled, covering his mouth with his hand.

“What are you laughing at?” snapped Rin. “This is a disaster!”

“Yeah.”

Still waiting for an answer or a punchline, Rin bucked his shoulders for Sousuke to continue.

To which he shrugged and said, “Oh, nothing. I just think they’re funny.”

“Oh my god,” groaned Rin.

A sense of freedom washed over the two kouhais, who both took in a relieved breath about not having to keep up the lies anymore. They looked at each other then and sort of smirked at each other. Nothing was fixed by confessing about the party and, now that they confirmed they were interested in each other, the dating jokes were probably only just beginning, but it was their truth and they just wanted to live in it. For a moment, neither of them wanted to feel anxious about what was going on around them, even as the team shouted more questions about why were they throwing a party in the first place or why were they showering together if they didn’t like each other then or why would they go to these extremes, dear god, and why weren’t they answering?!

Toru Iwashimizu, who knew very well that today was the first day of their relationship, called out to the team, “Let them have a day, guys. We’ll rag on them later.”

All Momo and Ai wanted was a simple moment together.

They lied on Nitori’s bed together on top of the sheets, facing each other with a quiet acceptance. So much chaos in one day, but for a moment, it didn’t matter. They could just enjoy being near each other. Give them a chance to get used to each other. Be with each other.

“I’m sorry I ruined today,” said Momotarou.

Nitori reached his hand out to Momo, twiddling their fingers.

“You didn’t really,” he said, accepting that fact. “You didn’t start those rumors.”

They scooted closer to each other, enough to press their chests together and nuzzle their necks like swans. Let them feel each other’s heartbeats, that’s all they wanted. Just enough to hear that they were still excited about each other even with clothes on, that their breathing was still deep for each other because they were comfortable in each other’s arms, that when it got quiet it was intimate, not awkward. Maybe they couldn’t have a first day, but they could have a first night.

“Can we kiss again?” asked Momo, who gently tucked some fallen bangs away from Nitori’s face in case he said yes and who noticed the faint blush creeping up his senpai’s ears.

“Sure.”

Their noses bumped, as they realized they weren’t sure how to tilt their heads for a kiss in bed. A soft giggle slipped out as Nitori pointed his finger to the right, and they both adjusted their heads for a second try. A sweet kiss for an evening, involving parted lips and heated cheeks.

Just a moment to relive that morning, that’s all they wanted.

Another kiss.

#dumb ducks in the water #momotori #momoai #free!#free! es #free! dive to the future #momotarou mikoshiba #nitori aiichirou #rin matsuoka #sousuke yamazaki #samezuka #ALSO let me know if the tweets don't show up and I'll just put the text back in #I hope you guys like this...

29 notes · View notes