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  "What do you mean, 'after the funeral?' I can't have them coming home with me just after my kid buries his aunt!" Tony shouted into the phone, anxiety crawling up his throat.

"Tones," came Rhodey's calming voice. "Maybe it'll be good for Peter. Every kid dreams of meeting the Avengers."

Tony paced the conference room. "No. No, you don't know my kid. He's like- he won't want to meet them. He met Nat this morning and I'm pretty sure he shit himself at my kitchen table."

Rhodey sighed, clearly exasperated. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. They'll be there when you get back. See you at the funeral," and he hung up.

  Tony blinked, almost in disbelief that Rhodey hung up on him. He slammed down his phone in frustration. "Dammit!" He screamed, an unwanted tightness suddenly present in his chest. He sat down. "Dammit."

  "Boss, you should leave in five minutes if you want to be at May Parker's funeral on time," Friday said.

  Tong groaned, running his hands through his hair, fluffing it up. He breathed, once, twice, before pulling himself to his feet.

  C'mon, get your shit together, the billionaire chided himself. Be strong for Peter. You can freak out later.

  Tony reentered the kitchen to find Peter sitting at the kitchen island still, a plate of untouched buttered toast in front of him. Nat was nowhere to be found.

  "You gonna eat that?" Tony's voice came from behind Peter. His spidey sense flared as the man's hand came over his shoulder and snatched one of the pieces of toast.

  Peter shook his head even thought Tony was already chowing down. He knew he'd throw up anything he tried to eat.

  "Where's Nat?" Tony asked a moment later, swallowing thickly.

  Peter shrugged. "Where ever spies go when they don't have a funeral to attend."

  Tony nearly choked. Shit, kid. Depressing much?

  "Uh, you're right. Speaking of which, we do have a funeral to attend. Let's get this show on the road."

***

  Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

  Peter dug the heels of his palms into his throbbing eyes, a sob echoing in the microphone in front of him.

  "'M s-sorry," the grieving teen blubbered as Mr. Stark came up behind him. "I-I'm just-i-i can't. I'm sorry."

  Mr. Stark places a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder, escorting him down off the pedal stool and down to May's open casket. Tony tried to urge the boy to keep walking past it but Peter held on to the casket.

  "I'm s-so, so sorry, May," Peter muttered, tears dripping down his chin. He could barely see the white linen of her dress through the tears blurring his vision.

  I'm sorry i couldn't save you.

  I'm sorry I'm so selfish for missing you this much.

  I'm so fucking sorry.

  "It's alright, Peter. It was never your fault," Tony whispered, pulling the boy away. Peter didn't want to let go; he wanted to stay next to May.

  The teen wailed as Tony forced him away. He beat at the man with curled fists, swinging wildly and not connecting. He just wanted this to end, he wanted this nightmare to end, for him to wake up in the reality he knew and understood.

  This was some kind of cruel joke. It had to be.

  Tony grasped both of Peter's wrists, bringing them away from him and pulling the thrashing boy into his chest. Peter fought weakly before giving in and burying his head into his mentor's chest.

  "Mr. Stark, i-i don't wanna b-bury her. I can't," Peter mumbled into Tony's dress shirt.

  "Who we burying?"

   Tony froze, his heart dropping into his stomach. Fuck, he thought before slowly turning around. They can't be here. Not now.

  "Go home," Tony Stark demanded, keeping a protective arm wrapped around his kid.

  Sam Wilson crossed his arms over his chest. "And miss all the fun? I don't think so."

"Go home, Sam, and take everyone else with you. You're not welcome here," Tony's voice was steely, merciless, icy cold.

Peter sniffled, lifting his weary head to see the rogues standing before him. Steve Rodgers, Sam Wilson, James Barnes, Clint Barton, and Wanda Maximoff in all they're betrayal-glory.

Under any other circumstances, Peter would've at least introduced himself, maybe fanboyed a little here and there, but no.

"Who's the kid?" Said Steve Rodgers, taking a predatory step forward. Tony took one back.

"None of your damn business," Tony snapped.

"Peter Parker," Peter said at the same time.

Tony's eyes snapped to the kid. Fear blossomed in his chest like a blooming flower of panic. These people aren't friends, Peter, he tried to send the message telepathically.

  "Who the hell is Peter Parker?" Bucky asked, glancing around the quiet viewing room. Most of the guests had already headed out to the cemetery to wait to bury May.

  Peter wiped his eyes, squaring his chest as he faced the rogue assassin. "I am," he said, trying so hard to make his voice sound, but it still shook with unshed tears.

  Steve cocked an eyebrow, looking to Tony. "And what? He's your kid?"

  Tony wasn't sure how to answer that question.  I mean, yes he was his kid, but he wasn't his actual kid.

  Though, maybe i wished he was.

  Tony shrugged. "What's it to you?"

  Sam scoffed. "We're only living with you."

  Just then, Pepper Potts poked her head into the room. "Tony? People are getting restless." She spotted the standoff. "Oh. I see."

  Strawberry-blonde hair swinging behind her, Pepper marched up to the group. "Okay," she said, clapping her hands together. "Hate to break up the meeting, but you need to wrap this up. This conversation can happen later. But right now, this is all about Peter."

Tony had never loved his fiancé so much. "Thank you, Pep," he said, shooting a glare Captain America's way. "You're right. See you later boys and girl." He dismissed the rogues with a curt wave of his hand, guiding Peter out of he building after Pepper.