“no I am not about to write about Peter falling asleep on Tony in a shawarma restaurant while all the other Avengers awww at how cute my sons are nope”
*slowly, painfully scrolls back up*
“FINE GODDAMN IT ILL DO IT”
Tony whispers the name with the reverence usually afforded to scripture. Steve spins from where he was clutching Bucky to see the billionaire wavering on his feet, eyes locked on a teenager standing just a few feet away.
He’d heard a lot about this kid over the past month. It was difficult, fighting for a cause that had already failed. Hoping for an outcome that was dauntingly uncertain. They’d all stayed sane by talking about what they were fighting for. Who they were fighting for.
So Steve talked about Bucky and Sam. Rocket talked about Groot and the other Guardians. Thor talked about Loki and his people. Clint talked about his family. Natasha talked about Wanda and Fury. Okoye and Shuri talked about T’Challa.
And Tony? Tony talked about Peter.
(”He can’t use chopsticks.”
Tony is sitting on the floor of the Guardians ruined ship. He, Steve, and Rocket are working on repairing it. Well, Tony and Rocket are working on repairing it while Steve does the heavy lifting.
The genius has a faraway look in his eye as he tells the story. “He’s so bad with them. I tried to teach him once, but we spent hours and by the end he was just as hopeless as when we started.” Tony shoved his fist against his thigh. Grates the knuckles against the leg until they crack and pop in protest. “When I get him back, I’m going to make him learn. I won’t let him out of my sight until he’s a chopstick pro.” The man’s eyes wander to his lap, and his next words come out strained. “Won’t let him out of my sight after that, either. Just to be safe.”
Steve is quiet for a moment before answering. “Because of the chopsticks.”
Tony gives a jerky nod. “Of course. Because of the chopsticks.”)
The kid’s eyes widen when he catches sight of his mentor, and then he’s just a blur of motion until his smaller frame slams into Tony’s. Steve is more than a little impressed by the fact that the older man manages to stay on his feet, rocking back with the force of Peter’s jump both otherwise seeming unphased.
“Mister Stark!” The teenager’s voice cracks as he breaks into sobs. “God. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I missed you so much and it was so dark there and all I wanted was to come home and oh my g-”
“Shh, Pete.” Tony threads his fingers into Peter’s hair and rocks him back and forth. There is a paternal gentleness in the man’s movements that Steve has never seen in him before. “It’s alright. You’re alright. Everything’s alright.”
They both drop to the ground, then. Tony pulls the kid into his lap and continues their swaying motion. Peter is babbling nonsensically, violently distraught and shaking with sobs. Steve’s a good few meters away, and the teenager’s frantic gasps are making him feel panicky, but Tony takes it all in stride. He just holds him close and murmurs gentle, comforting words against the kid’s hairline.
“I’ve got you. It’s okay. Let it out. Just keep breathing for me, okay? Don’t stop breathing. I’m here. You’re not there anymore, buddy. You’re not there. You’re home.”
By the time Peter’s sobs fade into oblivion, the rest of the team and their recently resurrected friends have gathered in an awkward circle. Tony glances up from his kid’s curls, notices their presence, and sighs deeply.
“C’mon, kiddie. Going up.”
The billionaire tugs Peter to his feet, but doesn’t relinquish his grip. He tucks Peter firmly against his side and wraps his arm so tightly around his waist that he pins the teenager’s arms to his sides. The kid doesn’t seem to mind, however. He just leans into the contact with a heavy, exhausted sigh.
“So,” Tony says, projecting his voice across Wakanda’s battle-scarred forest, “is everybody up for some shawarma?”
Steve laughs, high and hysterical. “Really, Tony? That’s what’s on your mind right now? Shawarma?”
Tony shrugs. “I’m hungry.” He turns to Doctor Strange, who is smirking slightly at the billionaire, evidently amused. “So, what do you say, Doctor? Willing to help us get back to New York for some grub?”
The man laughs. His infamously prickly exterior seems to have been softened by the relief of, well, not being dead. “Why not?” The sorcerer conjures a portal with an absent gesture before catching the billionaire’s eyes and giving him a surprisingly sincere nod. “Well done, Tony.”
Tony regards the man silently for a moment. “You knew what would happen. You knew what I would lose.”
“I did.” Strange’s eyes flicker meaningfully Peter, who seems to be dozing on his feet. “I also knew you’d do anything in the face of that loss. Including, it would seem, the impossible.”
Something unspoken passes between the two men. Steve cannot fathom out what it is, but the moment passes and then Tony is turning to everyone gathered with a smirk.
“If you want shawarma, hop on through.”
And just like that, Tony pulls Peter through the portal and disappears.
“Well,” Natasha drawls, giving Steve a small smile as she saunters after him, “I assume he’s paying. And I could use a good meal.”
The adrenaline fades, and exhaustion creeps in.
Half of the group is asleep before they can even fill their stomachs. Steve would be, too, if it wasn’t for his super metabolism tearing through his fatigue and demanding to be sated. He stuffs his face and alternates between staring at Bucky and watching Tony with his kid.
The billionaire refuses to eat until Peter does. The kid tentatively gnaws on his first serving before his appetite finally kicks in. He ends up keeping pace with Steve, Bucky, and Thor for a while, which is impressive. By now, though, the kid is drifting off just like the rest of the superhero congregation.
Tony, on the other hand, seems wide awake, which Steve can tell is bullshit. The man has barely slept a whole night through since Titan. But every time his eyes start to droop with sleep, he shakes himself awake and keeps on staring at Peter.
In a way, Steve understands the feeling. When he isn’t watching Tony, he’s watching Bucky. Memorizing him. Try to push it through his head that he’s alive. That the universe fell apart but they pieced it back together.
(”He took half the universe.”
Steve looks at Tony sideways. “Yes.”
“He took the entirety of mine.”
Peter was the kingpin that held Tony together. The point on which his everything pivots.
Just like Bucky was Steve’s.
“We’re going to get them back.”
“I know. I just wish I hadn’t lost him in the first place.”)
By the time Steve shakes himself out of the memory, Peter has slipped sideways until he’s half propped against Tony’s chest and half slumped against the table. His head is pillowed against the billionaire’s arm, which is resting between the pair’s forgotten plates, while one of his shoulders is pressed against his mentor’s ribs.
Tony’s gaze is latched onto the steady rise and fall of Peter’s chest, which is soft and even in sleep. His free hand is alternating between brushing through the teenager’s hair or rubbing circles on the nape of his neck. Steve studies his expression. There is something impossibly tender, and impossibly sad, on the man’s face. He seems completely oblivious to the rest of the world.
(”He took the entirety of mine.”)
Slowly, ever so slowly, Tony starts to slump forward. Within minutes, he’s curled over Peter’s body, face pressed against the crown of the teenager’s head and face relaxed in sleep.
And for the first time in months, Tony Stark rests.
Natasha’s voice sounds from the soldier’s left. “Isn’t that a pretty picture?”
Steve glances over to see her watching Tony and Peter with a fond smirk curling the corner of her mouth towards the sky. “Guess it is.”
“Don’t worry,” the ex-assassin is twirling a straw between her fingers, “I think Rhodey snapped one on his phone.”
He laughs, careful not to disturb the myriad of sleepers littered around them. “Tony’ll kill him.”
Bucky slips his hand into Steve’s and squeezes. He squeezes back. but keeps his eyes on Natasha. “I’ll have to get Rhodey to send me that picture.”
Nat smiles. “We could frame it. Give it to him for Christmas.”
Peter shifts, and Tony’s hand curls instinctively in his hair, soothing him instantly. Even in sleep, the billionaire is looking out for his kid.
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