Tears burn the boy's eyes.

He tries to be silent - to control the stream of tears that leak from the corners of his eyes. He can't stand the thought of the other heroes seeing the tears that so clearly leave visible streams down the side of his face, but he can't ignore the aching grief he's feeling inside. The salty tears continue to burn his already raw skin as a choke bursts it's way through despite his best efforts - his emotions running far beyond his control.

Peter quickly wipes his tears on a stray tissue that he's hiding in his left hand the entire funeral, but there's no doubt that the other heroes catch his movement. He's not hiding his sorrow as well as he wishes.

In the young hero's eyes, he needs to be as strong as the veterans. And none of the other heroes are crying today. They've seen his weakness through his tears. He's too young, too emotional to save anyone. It's this weakness that affected his strength and made him distracted in the final battle. He was too terrified to do anything right.

He doesn't understand the other heroes are experiencing the same damaging pain over losing Tony and Natasha. They are hurting beyond description - filled to the brim with guilt and remorse - but are too stubborn to show their tears in front of the others.

Peter's tears bring sorrow to the surrounding heroes - their hearts swell with their own pain, but there's something tough about watching a long one lose a father figure. Not only is he one of the youngest members among the visitation, but an unofficially adopted son to the man they're trying to celebrate.

There's a protective air over him that Peter can't yet sense. He's too lost in his feelings. He's unaware the other Avenger's have accepted Peter as one of their own - someone who must be protected - and it fills their hearts with pity to see the boy so distraught. He's not only a hero. He's one of the family now.

To Peter's left stands Harley Keener. The name has only been muttered to Peter a few times by his mentor but is heartbroken nonetheless. The similarly aged teenager seems to be just as torn up by the loss. Peter doesn't feel close to Harley, but there's a vague recognition that Harley once saved his mentor's life and for that he's appreciative. It's easy to see why Tony loved Harley.

To Peter's right stands Morgan Hope Stark - a soft little brunette that beams with the same chaotic-good energy as her father. Peter shares no bond with the little girl who's twirling her dress playfully like nothing has changed - they only just met a few hours ago after all - but Peter finds himself completely enamored by her innocence and kindness. He can feel himself becoming responsible for the little girl in Tony's absence.

Tony always saw you as her big brother. He couldn't wait to introduce the two of you.

Pepper's words sting as they echo in the back of his mind. They force him to consider the life Tony's built while he was snapped - the family he's created without Peter. Then he remembers the absolute pain that his mentor must have felt in the destruction of the snap. It's a world Peter cannot begin to imagine, but bears the responsibility of fixing.

And as difficult as the funeral is for Peter, he can't imagine the future that Morgan has ahead of her. Peter knows all too well the pain of losing beloved family members; the complete emptiness inside that swirls within you when you grow up without a parent. It's something he would never wish on anyone, let alone someone that he's to consider extended family. He owes it to Tony to give her the best life possible.

Peter takes a deep breath as the final words are spoken. As the crowd begins to disperse - breaking into small social groups that Peter can't find the energy to deal with anyways - Peter wonders what he should do now. He doesn't belong with any of the other groups, but he especially can't find the willpower to force himself into a conversation when he's feeling so crappy. All he wants to do is break down somewhere.

Happy gives the boy a quick nod as he scoops up Morgan. She's already yawning from the day's events, but there's a sadness to Happy's eyes that she doesn't seem to quite understand. There's also a glint of guilt that Peter catches in the nod as leaves Peter to deal with his grief alone and prioritizes the young girl.

Peter doesn't blame him one bit. He understands that the young girl needs more help than he possibly ever could. And she has a blood relation to the family; something Peter's never truly had. She should be prioritized.

Peter forces a smile and nods to Happy in reassurance. He's okay being left behind a bit. He'd rather be alone right now anyway.

Instead of confiding to the other Avengers or seeing if Pepper could use any help, Peter prefers to find a secluded spot at the end of the dock where no one else will bother him. This will give him some time to think and cry without the invasion of the other heroes.

He lowers himself to the ground, settling himself on the cold, wet wood of the deck. He can feel the dew of the morning soaking into through his newly purchased funeral clothes. The cold sends a freezing shiver down his spine, but the boy can't be bothered to move or care. He's been through so much worse in the last few days.

When he can't bear to listen to his own thoughts any longer, he reaches out his senses to look in to the conversations around him. He knows what he's doing is wrong; he shouldn't be invading other's privacy like this, but he desperately needs a distraction before he spirals further.

"You good?"

"Mhm."

"Okay. You hungry?"

"Mhm," she says so nonchalantly that Peter's heartaches. Why is this so easy for her?

"What do you want?"

"Cheeseburgers."

Peter can't listen anymore. Happy's voice isn't comforting like he had hoped it would be - not when they're talking about the loss in such an effortless way. The words pull up memories that have been mostly shoved down since the battle. And he can't possibly ignore the fact that Morgan shares so many similarities with her father. Every part of the little girl just reminds Peter of what he's lost.

She reminds him of the many evening internship quests to fetch late-night hamburgers alongside his mentor, the banter between the two when a project becomes suddenly difficult, the little sarcastic eye roll that his daughter seems to have copied to a tee. Tony must have been so proud of her. Everyone else seems to be.

He wants to see May. He wants to hold her close and never let her go again. He likes to think that he'd never have left if it'd meant losing May like this, but he knows it's a lie. He will always do the heroic thing. Even when it's hard.

But he still needs his Aunt so badly. She's technically the only family he has left even if they were never blood-related. They were each other's worlds - a little Ohana founded by two lost souls who could find comfort in each other's grasp. He needs her to be here right now so that she can hold him close and remind him that sometimes it's okay to cry.

May should be here right now. She should be helping Peter work through his grief and push through the dark thoughts that are starting to spin in his mind. He should be helping her rebuild in the aftermath of the snap.

It isn't fair that she's missing. It isn't fair that everyone else seemed to get their loved ones back, but he's somehow left here with nothing. It isn't fair that he has no one left. These things always happen to him.

He has no one. Not just here physically, but also emotionally.

All he can do is sit alone on the end of a pier wondering how he'll mend the broken pieces of his life.

He knows one thing for sure. He can't rest until he finds May Parker.