Spider-Son & Iron Dad two shots

Beginnings

Spooktober 23: Flowers

Objectively, the service was lovely.

The sun was shining on the lake, and despite all the people there, it was so quiet that Peter could hear the bugs humming, blades of grass nudging gently into each other, an owl or two having conversation way up in the thick forestry above. 

It was peaceful, and calm, and melancholy-- and nothing like Tony. 

It was all jarring. He recognized some people, but not in this new light, this strange warping on everything as he's trying to fit in. He met a lot of them on the battlefield, but not everybody. He wished they had met somewhere better than here.

A better time.

May's gone to the bathroom, so he's left by himself for the first time since they arrived. He feels lost without his person, without his people, and everyone else is divvied up in groups. Hawkeye had his family, his wife, an older son, an older daughter, a younger son who's too small to be at a funeral. Strange and his friend, who's talking with a short-haired woman in a suit, both of their faces stern. Steve Rogers, and the other ex-cons all very quiet in a corner of the room, a morose energy radiating from each one. 

Tony's daughter is--

Tony's daughter, in the arms of Ms. Potts and fidgeting with Happy's tie in her small hands. The Colonel and Ms. Potts seem to be in a very serious conversation. Peter hasn't approached her yet, or any of them. He feels like there's a boundary there that he doesn't know how to cross, or if he's even allowed to cross it. 

He looks away and picks at his fingernails until they bleed.

"I think he would have hated this," a voice says next to him, a twang that tells him he's definitely not from New York.

Peter jumps and looks around. A guy about his age, short, sandy blond hair, grey eyes, is standing in the doorway of the short hall. He's wearing a black blazer, black jeans, and then remarkably, beat up sneakers. Peter doesn't recognize him at all.

"Maybe," he admits in response. His voice is scratchy from disuse and crying. He's sure his face is a puffy red mess, but he's also sure he doesn't care. What kind of guy sparks up conversation at a funeral, anyways?

The guy makes a sound in the back of his throat and walks closer, so they're side by side. He lowers his voice. "So, am I the only one who doesn't know anybody else here, or..."

"I know some people," Peter murmurs. "Most of them are Avengers. Or Avengers-adjacent."

"Who's that guy?" The teen nods in the direction of the back porch. "He looks a little old to be flyin' around a battlefield."

Peter looks over and frowns. "I think that's Secretary Ross. I don't know why he's here though, I don't think Mr. Stark liked him very much."

Then again, last time he checked, Tony and Captain America were fighting on opposite sides of an airplane hangar, and the Avengers weren't a thing, so maybe his memory wasn't reliable. 

"Ah. Did you get dusted?"

Peter gives him an affronted look, his eyebrows furrowing, but the guy just looks at him with an unbridled, unashamed curiosity. 

"Yeah," Peter says hesitantly. He's still trying to figure out if this guy has an angle, and if so, what it even is. "Yeah, I did."

"Same. Where'd you go?"

"I was in..." Peter trails off. He scoffs lightly, feeling a bout of total madness. Why the hell not? "I was in space. You?"

The guy turns to look him, mildly impressed. "Well, that's way cooler than my answer. I was just pickin' the honeycrisps in the backyard, my little sister wanted a pie."

Despite everything, the corner of Peter's mouth ticks up. "Where are you from?"

"Rose Hill," he smiles back. It's weak, but nobody's expecting a big smile during a funeral. "It's a little shit hole down in Tennessee. I'm guessing you're from New York, huh, city boy?"

"Queens," Peter acquiesces. He folds his hands into the pockets of his slacks to prevent him from picking further at his nails. "I'm Peter. Parker."

"Harley Keener."

They lapse back into a silence. Peter watches as Tony's daughter drags Happy by the hand to show off some of her toys. He feels vaguely sick and unconsciously goes to pick at his nails again.

"It's kind of weird, right?" Harley speaks up.

"Hm?"

"All of it," he shrugs. "Y'know? Like... Tony's got a whole kid. That's really weird. And everything's all different. Like, my little sister didn't get snapped. She's like a year older than me now. That's weird."

Peter winces sympathetically, and looks over at him. Harley doesn't seem to be in any huge amount of distress from what he said, though. He's clearly shoved it all away. His jaw is set in a firm line, but his eyes are just... empty. It reminds him of Tony. It all reminds him of Tony.

"That sucks."

"Yeah," Harley said. He blows a breath out from his cheeks. "Well, anyway. It was nice meeting you, even if the location sucks."

Maybe it's the grief, that gaping maw in his chest that's just digging, and digging, but something in him panics as Harley goes to turn away. They've got a weird connection going, both stragglers of time that are left displaced with this massive loss. He wants to know more. He wants to have someone that he can go, "remember when...?"

He wants people, too.

Peter hesitates. "Do you want my number?"

Harley blinks, and then nods. "Yeah, sure. That'd be cool. Sure. Hold on," his hand goes fishing through his pocket, and pulls out a phone, held together with tape and older than a brick.

Peter's quick to pull out a matching pair, equally as beat-up. "Hey, it looks like we match."

"Heh," Harley shakes his head, his eyes holding a small bit of light. "Looks like we do."