Chapter Text
It takes five days for Tony to be rescued from the deadbeat planet. He’s barely surviving. Guilt, hunger, and his open wound make it hard to do anything but fall into a dreamless sleep that’s riddled with tiny ‘Mr. Stark?’s echoing in his skull. It’s like a never-ending chorus. All it does is make his eyes sting. He blames it on the heat.
White, hot pain laced through every part of Tony as he stood up when he was found, either from the now-infected wound or his stained soul. He had a kid, despite his constant pestering of Pepper for one. He’d had a kid, and now that kid was in another universe – another planet – millions of miles away. Or he was just dead, and Thanos’s act was irreversible. Either way, he’d never see Peter again.
The thought had him springing up, the bright white light stinging his eyes as he quickly snapped them shut. His head pulsed angrily at the sudden assault. For a few dizzying moments he tried to ground himself to where he was. Tony pressed his hands into the scratchy sheets, thick and boxy. Light pressed angrily against his closed eyelids, trying to find a way in. A beeping sounded from his right, and something was keeping his arm from moving freely.
So, a hospital room. Cautiously, he peered through his eyelashes, adjusting his eyes to the light. He was alone, which left a small sting in his heart. He shrugged it off.
Tony didn’t know what was real. Was Pete dead, or was that a Thanos-induced nightmare that seemed way too realistic for his liking? The very thought of the events that (could have) happened on that dusty, bloody planet had Tony throwing his arm to the side, grasping a nearby puke bucket (or so he hoped it was) and dry-heaving into it. Something pricked his skin as he leaned over. Tony tore out the IV furiously, pride making his face hot. He was not a kid. Like he needed some IV shooting painkillers into his veins. Not when his own kid had just died. He was just about to figure out a way to swing his legs over his bed with the least amount of pain when a shoe scuffed against the floor. Tony snapped his head over to look at the door, eyes wild.
Pete, Tony’s mind sang. He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive.
“Tony,” Rhodes’s voice said softly, his arm reaching out to press into his best friend’s shoulder. “Tony, listen.”
Peter isn’t alive. He isn’t going to swing in with his upgraded (and fucking hacked, the little shit) suit. A solemn silence fell over Tony as he drew into himself. His apprentice, intern - whatever – was gone. His kid was gone. A pit formed in his belly, begging him to just toss away all his memories of Peter. To let him erase the kid from his memory so that he could function again. He thrust the thought aside for the moment. He’d leave his mind to break that apart later.
It was then that Tony realizes he has been staring blankly as if he didn’t know him. Rhodey. The sight of his best friend grounded him a bit, like his feet had touched an icy floor. He’s reminded of sharp images from his time in captivity and Rhodey’s care after he’d been found in Afghanistan. A touch of warmth brushes Tony’s heart. It doesn’t erase the pit forming in his belly, but the pain eases a bit. For a moment.
The minute Tony tries to open his mouth to speak, he’s wrecked with coughs. He ignores how it reminds him of ash and dust. His wound sends pain racing up his side, forcing him to hitch his breath. Rhodey silently hands him a glass of water, patient as Tony sips it as gingerly as he can without throwing himself into another coughing fit. He’d rather not have his wound burn his side again if he can help it.
The puke bucket slides off his lap and falls to the floor with a loud thump. It sends an uncomfortable silence through the room as Tony tries to settle his coughs. It takes a while to calm his breathing. His wound throbs.
Rhodes is watching him with a soft, sad gaze. He knows it’s true, but he asks anyway, swallowing down the last of his water. “Is Peter…?”
Silence. The guilt flashing in Rhodey’s eyes are enough to confirm. Tony’s own guilt gnaws away at his heart, reminding him that it’s his fault Pete’s gone. Tony even left his ashes on Titan to be swept away by the unforgiving wind. He ignores that thought too. He’s been doing a lot of that – ignoring.
Rhodey lays a hand on Tony’s knee gingerly, as if he doesn’t know where the pain Tony has starts and ends. He’d like to say it doesn’t end, that Peter’s dead and it’s impossible for it to end, but he knows that isn’t true, so he just keeps silent.
His wound still feels raw and gaping, reminding him of the stab Thanos gave him. Sickness rolls in his stomach again. Did it hurt, Peter?
“Tony,” Rhodey begins, his voice soft. “We didn’t have time to search the planet.” His dark eyes expose his guilt, unwrapping like a sad Christmas gift. Tony had already purchased gifts for Peter this year. Stacked in his bedroom closet, they’ll just gather dust. Like ash. “We didn’t even know which were his-“
Tony forces himself to focus and glares at Rhodey. “Don’t. Don’t even start with that shit.” After a moment’s pause, he adds, “please.” His best friend doesn’t reply, instead opting to seal his lips. The silence weighs on Tony. “When will I be released?”
“Not for a while.” Rhodey seems grateful for the conversation change. “The doc said your wound had splinters in it. Said it’d be raw and sore for a while. Besides,” he continues, eyeing Tony cautiously, “you’re not allowed out anyway.”
Under the bright fluorescent lights, Tony presses his head back against the stiff pillow. Rage squirmed beneath his skin. Pete’s ashes are gone. Pete’s gone. What now? He stares at the lightbulbs, his eyes burning. Tears form in his eyes, and he angrily blinks them away. He glances down at his hands.
Rhodey keeps silent, though he looks confused. He doesn’t press, instead moving to sit in the chair next to Tony’s bed. He leans back with a loud sigh, running a scarred hand across his face.
Tony remembers Peter talking to him a week ago about his adventures as Spider-Man, despite Tony’s constant bugging that he was gonna get hurt.
“-and it was amazing, Mr. Stark! The dude didn’t even know what hit him! Well, he did, but like, he didn’t know it was me. He only saw the toaster. A toaster!” Peter was laughing, his face dimpled. “He thought it was a cop or something, so he started sprinting, and-”
“Why were you even out that late? Didn’t you have schoolwork?” Tony had crossed his arms, scowling at Peter’s carelessness. He had a lot going towards MIT, and was supposed to be working on his end-of-the-year project. Yeah, he wasn’t a senior yet, but Peter’s school program had integrated some hands-on work to boost their resumes.
“Yeah, but listen, Mr. Stark. This dude had like at least thirty guns!” Peter was paying him no mind, only leaning forward and waving his hands around as he reenacted his patrolling from the previous night. “Besides,” Peter said, eyeing Tony slyly, “I could use some help on that project, y’know. I’m stuck on some formulas anyway. Why did you make it seem easy?”
Tony fought a smile. “What happened with the toaster?” Peter brightened immediately, already distracted again.
“He tried to kick it, which was already really funny, but then he missed! And fell over! I was laughing so much I had to have Karen mute my voice so I wouldn’t get detected.”
“Who’s Karen?” Tony wrinkled his brow. Surely he wasn’t talking about F.R.I.D.A.Y.?
“I named the woman in the suit that.”
“Why Karen?”
“It seems like a good fit, don’t you think? Anyway, pay attention, Mr. Stark! So, I was swinging in, ready to tase the heck out of the dude, right?” Tony just rolled his eyes and kept listening. A smile hung on his lips. “And I did! He fell to the ground, just like those action movies. Man,” Peter says dreamily, breathing out a nostalgic sigh, “it was fun. I love being Spider-Man, Mr. Stark.” He leans back in the chair and grins at Tony.
“I know you do, kid.”