buildsomething | Riverview Inbox

[ It’s late, and Peter is drained. It’s nearing the end of a long, long week, and— he’s been holding it together pretty well. He’s been maintaining, with a handful of slip-ups, here and there. But that’s to be expected, right? That’s to be expected, because he literally died, and surely he can be forgiven for a few hiccups.

It’s late. It's seriously late, in that weird hour where night meets morning, and Peter is exhausted. A week, and— he’s not sure if he’s just numb or if he’s getting over it. But—

It's late. And Peter's had a pretty strong drink, and he's been sitting at the crossroads of putting this off and wanting to do this ever since the kid spilled the beans. Apparently, insomnia and a bit of liquid courage have tipped the scales.

So, here comes a voice message to your inbox in the middle of the night, Tony.

In a low, ragged voice: ]

Why the hell didn’t you say anything?

[ So Quill is back, huh. That's...something Tony doesn't not how to process, honestly. He's glad for it, sure, but this isn't something Tony is equipped for. Not like Sam, who's dealing with the same thing. Tony doesn't have to work through the idea of being dead.

But he does owe the guy something. So despite his finger hovering over the delete button, Tony finds himself writing a text instead. If they're doing this, he needs at least some distance. ]

What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, by the way you're going to die'? Would you have believed me?

[ Peter, in the meanwhile, isn't thinking entirely straight. Texting isn't really in the cards, not with the way his hands shake, and he needs to just— do this. Needs to get it out. He's venting, and he's taking it out on Stark, because who else is there?

Not Mantis. Definitely not Groot. And not Parker, who's already dealing with enough grief and guilt as it is.

Obviously, wrecking Thanos' shit would be the ideal here, caving-in his face, over and over and over until his head is unrecognizable mush, but the bastard isn't here, thank every star in the sky.

He pulls a hand through his hair, tries to keep his voice low in deference to the others sleeping nearby. ]

You could've warned me. You could've said literally anything. Even a, "Hey, it doesn't go so good, so maybe you should think twice about redeeming that ticket home."

You— you could've said— you could've told me—

[ —that Gamora is dead, but his voice catches on the words. He hasn't been able to say them aloud, refuses to admit it, because then it's real. ]

[ Alright, so fine. They're doing this. Tony lets out a breath even as he switches to voice, trying to keep his cool. It's not that he doesn't understand what Peter's doing, and frankly he might even agree with it. Which doesn't make it any easier to hear. ]

And how was I supposed to know you were gonna go back, huh? Or when? You know time is fucked up here. Maybe you'd go back, and you'd have years before you had to deal with it. Would you really want to spend all that time knowing?

[ What if, maybe, would. Tony's got a thousand of those and none of them have helped so far. ]

I've only known for maybe a month, if that.

[ Peter falls quiet for a second, jaw clenched and eyes screwed shut.

It’s complicated. It’s so fucking complicated, because Riverview is weird, is slightly out of sync with reality – or at least, out of sync with what Peter knows as reality. He was only gone for a week, and in that week, he lived four goddamn years of his life back home.

So Stark has a point. Peter doesn’t want him to, but he has a point, but rather than concede, Peter just exhales, unsteady and slow. He’s silent for a long while, then, ]

Is Nebula—

[ His voice catches again. He remembers watching Mantis and Drax crumble, and he had turned to Nebula, terrified that she’d be next. Instead, she had caught his gaze, had straightened with alarm before he fell away.

He’s not sure if he wants to know the answer, but— ]

Is Nebula okay? Do you know?

[ Tony's got his own moment of silence before he lets out a long breath. ]

Yeah. I know.

[ And doesn't that just say everything. Tony Stark, once again the last man standing. ]

She was okay the last time I saw her. Well. As okay as anyone is.

[ Not dead, at least. Tony's genuinely not sure whether or not that's the better option. But Nebula isn't him, and he can't say he got much of a sense from her in the five minutes he can remember. She hadn't seemed too terribly impressed with Tony's impending breakdown, but he can't really blame her for that. ]

It was just...me and her. At the end.

[ Peter heaves out a low sigh – not relieved, because how the hell could he be, all things considered? But whatever he's feeling right now might share a few distant cousins with relief.

And what Tony says next answers his follow-up questions: what happened to Strange, and what happened to Little Pete – though if he's honest, he had figured out the latter for himself, just based on how the kid had been acting.

For a long, long while, Peter is silent, and that has to be telling, when he can hardly shut up, when he seems to enjoy the sound of his voice above all else.

But eventually, he manages, ]

I'm— glad you two are okay.

[ If it's even possible for anyone to be okay in a shitfest like this.

But saying "I'm glad you two didn't turn to dust" seems a little too on the fucking nose. ]

[ It earns something that's not quite a laugh from Tony. ]

Sure. As okay as you can be stuck on a planet alone.

[ But that's not really fair to Peter, considering, and Tony's pretty tired of taking his lasting frustration out on other people. It doesn't matter for the moment. He's clinging to that. ]

Anyway. We're going to figure it out.

[ The dismissal gives Peter pause, makes a muscle in his jaw jump.

It’s not easy for either of them, he knows. This whole thing is— a whole new level of fucked up, and making odd jokes as a way to deflect is totally familiar, so Peter lets it slide.

He scrubs his eyes with his free hand, swallows down his impulse to snap, as he has been since he’s been back. Cage down the ugly words, because they’re not going to help – not him, and definitely not anyone else.

He takes a shuddering breath, lets his hand drop to his lap. Then, ]

Nebula can fly my ship. [ and if his voice sounds duller than usual, he’ll thank Tony not to point it out. ] Maybe you can pick it up, too. Half your problem solved, right there.

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voice; backdate to 8/30 or so!

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