𝖘𝖓𝖆𝖕;
Broken bones healed, bruises faded, new friends were made and new enemies founded... But the echoing void inside his chest remained.
Peter had returned to high school - an attempt to find some normalcy in a world forever changed, hoping to find a way to claw back five mysteriously absent years. However, the familiar surroundings of lockers and friends did little to quell the hollowness that lived inside his super-powered body.
With every whiff of expensive aftershave, every bottle of bourbon stacked on shop shelves, Peter's mind wandered back to his martyred mentor. Just the chrome curve of some modern computer would send him reeling back to the days of old. Of course, Peter didn't regret the way things had happened. Strange had pursued a lengthy conversation with him, assuring him that Stark's sacrifice was inevitable. But even otherworldly reassurances were little comfort to a kid from Queens missing his father figure.
It's why, perched high above the streets of New York City, Peter sat before a gargantuan graffiti tribute. Something bright and illegal, autographed with a hastily scrawled 'Morales,' it had become something of a comfort to the mourning boy. Glancing up at the house-high mural, his own body clad in armour made by Stark's clever hands, Peter propped a bouquet of sunshine-yellow tulips against the base of the artwork.
The longing at Peter's core didn't feel so vast as he stared up at the gold and crimson dome, one hand slowly settling against the colourful wall. Fingers outstretched, he could almost feel the warm buzz from Tony's armour, smell the fancy cologne that ebbed off him, catch a sarcastic barb or two dripping from his viper-fast tongue.
"Hey, Mister Stark, can you hear me? It's me. It's Peter," Peter's head tipped forward to rest against his lost mentor, voice trembling as tears began to crest his cheeks, "You did it, Sir. 𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘯."
At least here, committed to bricks and stone, Tony felt eternal.
Originally written and shared as part of Verbuary 2020: https://tinyurl.com/nhjs53je
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