The door to Peter and May's apartment was cracked at an odd angle, unnatural and eerie and evidence, somehow, that the world just as crooked as the bolts on the Parker's door. They were unhinged, and well Tony was unhinged, too, like the lady he passed by in stairwell, who was wailing and screaming for someone Tony assumed was now only dust.

He paused at the end of the hallway, still listening to her faint howling, and stared at the door. He took a breath, released, and walked forward, towards a sight he was certain would break him.

Tony didn't understand why he was doing this to himself.

He couldn't even remember why he'd gotten into his car and made the drive into the city, or why his heart worked against logic, that he, of all people, had hoped that somehow the Parker's apartment might have remained untouched from the devastation that had ransacked the rest of Queens, or all of New York, really.

Everything, everywhere. The whole universe. It was all broken and grey with grief, and Tony felt confident it was the way it was always going to be. The sun wouldn't sun. There wasn't any trace of hope left in the atmosphere to be kindled or sparked.

The ache in his soul would keep on aching, with nothing to sooth or comfort.

Pepper helped, sure. She was alive and breathing and real, and he could sit with her all day at their cabin and pretend like the universe wasn't collapsing around them both. He could get lost in being with her, in her smile and her wit, but he could never get so lost as to forget that he'd never hear Peter Parker laugh again.

He'd never get to make good on that promise to watch every Star Wars movie with him. He'd never get to eat cheeseburgers with him past midnight, at their favorite twenty-four burger joint, after late night missions and patrols. He'd never get to pretend to be annoyed at his fast talking or his bad puns and jokes, or at the way he never stopped making noise.

The baby growing inside Pepper couldn't replace all that, couldn't replace intern he'd lost and there was no guarantee that the new baby wouldn't crumble to ash in his hands, the way Pete had.

Tony pushed the thought away and took the door all the way off the hinges, set it aside, then stepped into the Parker's apartment, though it was clear it wasn't their apartment anymore.

It was only ruins of what once was.

Stripped of anything valuable, with heaps of empty candy wrappers, beer cans and chip bags littering the floor and spray paint marking up the walls. The couch Tony had sat on and pretended to like May's date loaf was flipped over, sitting diagonal in the middle of the living room.

Um, w-what, what are you doing here… uh, hey, I'm, I'm Peter

Tony

He sucked in a breath and kicked at a pile of trash, before moving on, down the hallway and towards Peter's bedroom. The door was propped open, and as Tony entered, he was greeted with a low growl.

It lasted a half second before the growling stopped, and a dog, a filthy, covered in dirt, dog charged at him. Tony was going to die. He was completely sold on that. He'd survived Afghanistan and the wormhole and space, only to die at the paws of a stray mutt.

He jumped up on him. Dirty paws on his cat t-shirt. He licked him, wagged his tail happily, and barked.

"Hey, hey," said Tony, moving backwards and pushing the dog away. "We just met, alright? Give it some time."

The dog sat in front of him and looked up with big, brown eyes, pleading, begging eyes, that had soul and spirit behind them. They were hauntingly familiar, and the memories came unbidden.

Please, Mr. Stark. May won't let me keep him, and it's totally unfair. I could hide him from the apartment management, you know.

Sorry, buddy, I don't have time to take care of a dog.

Tony crouched down, hesitantly reached his hand out, stroking the dog's fur. "So, you're Peter's stray, huh?"

The golden retriever titled his head at him, listening, then barked once, and turned. He trotted off to the corner of Peter's room, where two cardboard boxes sat. He dug his nose around in one, scooped something up in his mouth, then brought it back to Tony, dropping it on the floor and nudging it at his feet.

Tony picked it up and shattered his heart. Just one cheap frame with a picture inside was all it took to make Tony stumble over, butt on the floor, back against the wall. He swallowed and stared at the picture, looking at a happier version of himself, with Pete by his side. They were holding a certificate upside down and giving each other bunny ears.

They had laughed a lot that day. The echoes rattled around in Tony's head.

The dog barked and Tony looked up. "You're… you're waiting for Peter to come back."

He stared intently back at Tony, with eyes that convinced him that he somehow understood what he was telling him.

"I don't really know about to tell you this, buddy," said Tony, taking a shaky breath. "But Pete's gone. I lost him, and he won't be - He isn't coming back."

Tony sniffed and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, while the dog made a noise that was somewhere between a whine and groan.

"I know, I – I'm gonna miss him, too." He reached out again, giving the dog another good pet, and watched his eyes. There was warmth behind him, warmth that reminded Tony just how compassionate and caring Peter had been.

The dog whined as Tony lifted his hand and wiped his eyes again with his sleeve. He straightened out and stood up, looking around the ravaged bedroom and gripping the picture frame. It'd been pointless. Thinking he could save any of Peter's stuff or somehow get transported back to the past.

It was clear why he really came there, now. To say goodbye.

Even still, the two boxes in the corner of the room looked savable. Tony put the picture frame back inside the first box, stacked them on top of each other and picked them up. He walked towards the door but stopped before stepping out in the hallway. He turned, and the filthy golden retriever was still staring up at him, expectant, waiting for someone who'd never come back.

"Wanna come home with me?" asked Tony. "Look, I'm not Peter, I'm nowhere near as good and kind, hell I don't even really like dogs, but… I have a house with a big yard and plenty of squirrels and rats to chase and… if you're lucky, I might even feed you."

The retriever barked and followed Tony as he left Peter's room, and eventually the apartment building. It only figured, and brought the briefest smile to his face, that Peter had won the dog argument. Tony ended up with the stray after all, and even in death, Peter was getting his way.

Pepper had been waiting for him on the front porch, with a book in her lap, and an unreadable expression on her face, as Tony watched her watch him park the car, get out, and open the back door, releasing the hound.

He jumped out and put his nose straight into the grass and dirt. He sniffed around, before yelping out a few happy barks.

"Who is this?" asked Pepper. She shut her book, put it down on the chair next to her, and stepped on the porch. Her eyes moved back and forth between the dog and Tony, until Tony turned, distracted himself from Pepper's question by fishing Peter's boxes from the car.

"Tony," said Pepper. "Why do you have a dog?"

He turned back around, with two boxes gripped in his hand, and shut the car door with his foot.

"Tony," she said, louder. She beckoned at the dog. "Who is this?"

"He's my new best friend," said Tony. "You'll have to break the news to Rhodes and Hap that they've been replaced, I don't think my heart could take seeing their faces when they find out."

Pepper stared at Tony, while the retriever stopped sniffing the dirt and sat directly in front of her, looking up, giving her actual, literal puppy dog eyes. She didn't look down. Refused to acknowledge him. If she did, Tony knew that, just like he had, she'd cave within seconds.

"Just look at him, Pep. Isn't he adorable, uh, under all that dirt?"

"We can't adopt a dog."

"Why not?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Pepper. "Maybe because we're about to have a newborn."

"I know that."

"Do you know that, Tony? Because I'm starting to wonder… I know, I know things have been a nightmare, since the snap, it's been hell, but I thought we at least had each other… but sometimes, it's like you're not even here. Like you never came back from space."

"I'm right here," said Tony, though even to his own ears, he sounded far away. "And I'm really excited for the baby. I'm pumped."

"Oh, you're pumped?" asked Pepper, with a raised eyebrow. Tony gave her a nod. "Then why haven't you painted the nursery?"

"I'm gonna paint it. I'm gonna do it tomorrow."

"That's what you said yesterday."

"This time I'm serious," said Tony. He swallowed and shifted his eyes back to his dog. He still sat at attention, waiting for Pepper to notice him, the same way he'd been waiting for Peter to come back home. "Look, Pep, he's Peter's stray. I couldn't just – I couldn't just leave him there by himself."

Pepper released a breath, her body relaxed, her eyes went softer, as she finally looked down to give the dog attention. "Does he at least have a name? Besides Peter's stray?"

"Buddy," said Tony. The name rolled off his tongue without any thought. It didn't require any. Buddy was his name, and Tony, somehow, just knew.

"Buddy," repeated Pepper, crouching down, and patting him on the head. She massaged his ears. "Welcome to our mess." She straightened out and leveled her stare back at Tony. "He gets a bath before he comes in the house or you're both sleeping in the shed."

She snatched the boxes out from Tony's hands, turned, and walked back inside, the outer door swinging shut behind her.

"Better get used to that, boy, she's your overlord now, too."

Buddy barked and followed Tony as he walked around to the side of the cabin, searching for the hose.

The sun beat down bright and hot as Tony dragged a metal bin he found, that he could only assume belong to the cabin's previous owners, from the garage to yard and stuck the hose inside, letting it fill with water while Buddy watched with mournful eyes.

"Okay, we're good," said Tony, when the tin was half full. He took the hose out and held it out away from his shoes, so he wouldn't get them wet. "Well go on. Get in."

Buddy didn't move.

Tony stuck his hand in and flicked water at him. "It's not that cold. It's just like swimming."

Buddy laid down on his belly, stretched his front legs and paws out in front of him, and whined.

"Don't be a drama queen about it, alright? We gotta get all that dirt off you," said Tony. He hoped just plain water would do the trick. He didn't have any dog shampoo, and he knew, thanks to one of Peter's rambles, that he shouldn't use human shampoo on dogs.

Grief hit him like an icicle through his heart. He'd never get listen to Peter rattle off rambles while he was trying to work.

Buddy barked, loud and abrupt, breaking Tony out of his stupor. He was suddenly up on all four of his legs, charging at Tony. He bit down on the hose, tried to wrestle it away, and in the process, sprayed Tony first in the face, then the chest, and then finally, his shoes.

"Hey! You little shit!"

Buddy released the hose, and Tony fall backwards, landing with a thud on the ground, his hair dripping wet, the hose spilling water out on the ground.

"Really, that's how it's gonna be, huh?"

Buddy titled his head, then raced off towards the lake, where he jumped in the water with no hesitation and happily swam around.

This dog was worse than a teenager.

He released an annoyed, slow sigh, before standing up and switching off the hose. By the time Buddy was done with his afternoon swim in the lake, Tony had a towel waiting. Predictably, Buddy had another method of getting dry. He shook the water from his fur, right in front of Tony and his towel, and had the audacity to look smug about it.

"Now you smell like lake water," Tony complained, as he kneeled on one knee and ruffled the towel through Buddy's fur. He wagged his tail, nipping and licking at Tony's face while he attempted to help him get dry. "Uh-uh, no way, don't even try making it up to me now."

Buddy stared at him, with wide brown eyes. Tony melted.

"You're just lucky you're Pete's stray or else I'd take you straight to the pound."

Tony tried to ignore it.

He squeezed his eyes shut and clung onto to sleep, trying to block out the loud, repetitive and persistent barking. He groaned, and shifted under his covers, and burrowed his head under his pillow, holding the sides against his ears. It didn't help, did not do a thing to block out the noise, but Tony wanted to pretend.

He thought Buddy would tire out and let him sleep.

Tony had no reason to think this, other than being overly optimistic, or maybe, more likely, in denial. He'd suffered through three mornings with Buddy. All three of those went the same way. The dog was an alarm clock without a snooze button. A needy, attention hungry pile of golden fluff that refused to let Tony sleep past ten.

In the past, anxiety and nightmares would not let him rest, and now, that grief and depression sapped his energy dry, it was Buddy who would not let him sleep stay sleeping.

Life, he supposed, was unfair that way.

Tony lifted his head from under the pillow and opened his eyes.

Buddy stared back at him, looking serious and intent. He barked.

"Go away."

Buddy stuck his head up into the air and howled.

"Alright, alright, Jesus, mom," said Tony, raising up, out from under the covers. "I'm up."

The golden retriever ran out of the bedroom once he saw Tony put his feet on the floor, his claws scrapping against the wood as he went, just another example of how damn noisy that animal was.

If he wasn't barking, he was howling. If he wasn't howling, his tail was thudding against the floor or the wall, in a rhythm only Buddy understood, reminding Tony of the way Peter used to tap his pencil against his notebook when he concentrated.

Tony slipped on pajamas pants and headed down to the kitchen, before Buddy got impatient and started howling again. When he passed by the room Pepper designated as the nursey, he stuck his head in and looked at the paint and brushes she had laid out in the center of the room.

They were unused, and the walls were still off-white.

He shook his head and continued downstairs, on to his morning routine, which consisted only of eating pop-tarts and watching TV with his dog. He plopped down on the couch, ripped the tin foil off the first packet and laid it down for Buddy, then opened his and took a bite.

"Breakfast of champions," said Tony. Buddy was too busy eating and licking up crumbs off the couch to bark his usual agreement. "That's right. Good boy. Get rid of the all evidence."

Pepper didn't like him feeding Buddy human food, but Tony couldn't help it. Buddy didn't seem to like the dog food very much and Tony couldn't blame him. The stuff looked and smelled disgusting.

Tony mindlessly flipped through the channels as he ate, with an actual, physical remote, since he hadn't bothered with installing FRIDAY into the cabin yet. He stopped when Buddy started barking and landed on a channel that displayed two cloaked figures fighting each other with laser swords.

"This?" asked Tony. Buddy barked, his head looking back and forth from Tony to the TV. "You watched this with Pete, huh? At least one of us made time for him."

Tony put his thumb back on the button, about to push down, and keep channel surfing, when Buddy stopped him with a low, menacing growl.

"Okay, okay fine. We can watch this," said Tony, but Buddy didn't take his eyes off him until he put the remote down on the coffee table.

He barked, jumped off the couch and trotted out of the room, only to return seconds later with a teddy bear in his mouth. On his first night in the Stark cabin, he'd dug it out from one Peter's boxes, and slept with it every night since. Familiar smells, Tony guessed, comforted him.

He jumped back up to sit next to Tony, eventually laying down, stretching his legs and his paws across Tony's lap, then using his leg as a pillow, with that old ratty teddy bear still nestled in his mouth.

Tony let it happen, cuddled him, even, massaged his head and played with his ears as they both watched space wizards fight each other, movie after movie. They spent the entire day watching Star Wars, only stopping for bathroom breaks and that time between movies when Buddy sat in front of the fridge and howled until Tony made them both something to eat.

Tony woke up the next morning on his own, without any barking. His mind and his body automatically jolted him from his sleep before ten, proving to Tony that he wasn't just being dramatic, the world really was off its hinges and as a result, everything was crooked.

He was supposed to be training the dog, but instead, the dog was training him.

When he opened his eyes, Buddy came into focus first. He was staring at him, with a paintbrush gripped between his teeth. His woof was muffled by the object he held.

Tony blinked.

"Not today, Buddy."

He made a sound of disapproval and ran out of the room, only to return seconds later with his leash in his mouth, instead. Tony let out a breath. He didn't have the heart to tell Buddy no twice in the span of a minute, so he forced himself out of bed, then forced himself to get dressed.

He didn't regret it.

It turned out to be a perfect day to be walking around in the park, or rather, Buddy had taken a regular day and turned it into the perfect day. Tony watched him chasing and barking at ducks, smelling every new smell, letting random children pet him and pull on his ears. He was living it up, having the best time, and it was hard for Tony to remember he was miserable and sad watching Buddy attempt to play with stray cat, who hissed and swatted at him.

A little girl holding hands with her mother walked by as Buddy retreated from the cat with a whine, nursing a scratch on his nose.

"Cute dog," said the girl. "Can I pet him?"

"You know, he'd really like that," said Tony, watching the girl smile and reach her hand out. "He never says no to extra attention."

She laughed, pet Buddy, who wagged his tail and sniffed her, then the girl and the mother continued on their way, saying thanks as they waved goodbye. Just for a few flickering seconds, Tony pictured Pepper and their child, here at this park, with him and Buddy, and for the first time, in a long time, he looked forward to the future.

Quiet moments were rare after Buddy joined the family, but when things got still and the noise in Tony's head got loud, he would sit on the back porch with Buddy and watch the lake. That night, the breeze was gentle, and the moon was high. It's light reflected in the water below.

Nature was peaceful and calm, and yet, all Tony could hear was Peter Parker and the words he said right before he died.

I don't wanna go

That moment, those words, they replayed over and over. They stabbed at his heart and made him wish more than anything that it'd been him instead of Peter. That kid, he just really loved being alive, and the more Tony remembered him, the more that was evident, by his laugh and his smile and the way he threw himself into everything he did.

Thanos had wanted balance, but this balance wasn't fair.

Buddy stared up at him from his resting place on the porch, next to his feet, and Tony refused to look down, into those eyes. It was too damn hard. Buddy, though, never liked to be ignored. He only tolerated it for a few minutes before he sat up and nudged Tony's knee with his nose.

Tony forced a laugh, and gave in, just like he always did.

"I bet Peter loved you," said Tony, giving him a good pet. "Spoiled you, probably, with the way you behave. I guess I should've listened to him more and took you in when he asked me. Let him have a dog while he was still here. Truth be told, bud, there's probably a lot of things I should've done."

Buddy titled his head at him, something Tony learned to associate with listening. Really, he was starting to believe he was losing his mind. He was starting to believe Buddy the golden retriever understood everything he said. Empathized with him. That the two of them were grieving Peter together, and they both understood the paralyzing silence he'd left behind.

"I should've-" started Tony. He stopped. Closed his mouth, then opened it again, forcing the words out. He had to get it out. "He… he was my son, and I never told him how much he meant to me."

Buddy laid his head down on Tony's knee, and let out a sad, pitiful whine.

The admission was a heavy, heavy sorrow, that somehow got lighter after he spoke it out loud. Before he denied it for fear he'd be a repeat of Howard, and then, after the snap, he'd been denying it because it just hurt too much to admit he was a grieving father.

Speaking the words out loud opened up something in him that took him by surprised.

Tony needed to feel close to Peter again, even if he knew it would hurt.

"You like cheeseburgers, boy?"

Buddy perked up with a bark and wagged his tail furiously.

"Of course you do, let's get out of here."

Plastic crinkled under Tony as he shifted his position in the booth. Buddy sat across the table from him, in his own booth seat, and they were silent while they waited for the waitress to come around and take their order. They were just man and dog, waiting for their cheeseburgers come and their grief to end.

Tony knew he'd be waiting forever.

He wouldn't ever get over losing Peter Parker, but he could celebrate his life, by doing all the things Peter loved doing. He could still go out to diners after midnight and have cheeseburgers and remember the way Peter couldn't ever eat without making a mess.

Tony hadn't driven to their exact favorite burger joint, the one in Queens they had eaten at together, countless times before, but the one he found had the same vibe, the same checkered floor and greasy smell in the air.

"What can I get for you two fellas?" asked the waitress, still grinning, still wildly amused by the way Tony bullied the manager on shift into letting Buddy come inside the diner and eat at a table.

"I'll take a cheeseburger," Tony told the waitress, "And he'll have the same."

Buddy barked three times.

"Scratch that, three cheeseburgers and a bowl of water for my friend," said Tony, catching the eyes of a group of men that sat at a table across restaurant. "What are you all staring at? It's a dog, alright? What? Never seen a guy having burgers with his dog before?"

The men went back to their own business, whispering with raised eyebrows, and the waitress took the menus and walked off towards the kitchen. Their food arrived in under fifteen minutes, and together, Tony and Buddy went to work on their burgers.

It just was the sort of absurdity Peter lived for.

Really, he just lived for anything, no matter how absurd or crazy. Cheeseburgers at midnight, Star Wars marathons, school trips to places the rest of his classmates considered boring, and, the thought hit him sudden and hard, his new baby sibling.

If he'd had the chance to know about baby Stark, he would've been excited, would've happy for him.

He would've bought Spider-Man onesies and Iron Man plushies. He would've swung to the tower with late-night pints of ice cream for Pepper.

He would've helped Tony paint the nursery.

"For Peter," said Tony, holding up his burger, the same way a champagne chute would be held during a toast. Buddy gave a quiet, sorrowful howl, then they both finished their meals.

On the drive back to the cabin, Tony cranked the music up and drove with the windows down, allowing Buddy to stick his head out the window. His ears flopped around with the wind, and his tail thudded against the car seat to the rhythm Back in Black as it blasted through the speakers.

"Are they closed?" asked Tony, as he pulled Pepper down the hallway by her hand, with his other hand covering her eyes. "You gotta keep them closed."

"Yes, Tony, they're closed, just like they were five second ago."

Tony took his hand away from her eyes and hooked it with Pepper's free hand, walking backwards into the nursery and stopping only once they got into the center.

"Alright, you can open them."

Tony watched Pepper's eyes open and look around the freshly painted nursery. He'd taken it a step further, and put in the crib, a rocking chair, a changing table, anything and everything they'd need when baby Stark arrived.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it," said Pepper. "It's perfect, Tony. Thank you."

Tony dropped her hands, only to pull her closer, into a hug. "I know I've been, uh – "

"Spacey? Distant?"

"Yeah, both those things," said Tony. "I just want you to know, I'm all in. This is our second chance and we're gonna make the most of it."

Pepper let out a breath, and her body relaxed against his, for the first time, in a long time. They held each other in the middle of their new nursery and Tony was happy, grateful, even, that they still had each other, even if there were so many that were lost.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are there paw prints on my wall?"

"Buddy wanted to help," said Tony, smiling, at the memory of Buddy dipping his paws into the baby blue paint and then jumping up on the wall, splattering it everywhere. He'd gotten another bath after that. A real one. With dog shampoo Tony had ordered off the internet.

"You and the damn dog," laughed Pepper.

"I can paint over it."

"Don't. I like it."

Tony nodded and let himself get lost in the moment. He had his dog and his wife and a baby on the way. There was sun streaming in through the windows, and there was paw prints on the wall.

He still wasn't okay, but he believed one day, he could be. For just that moment, Tony allowed himself to consider that it might be enough.

A/N: guyyyys, if you're waiting for my other stories to update, soon! for now, I just thought I'd upload this dog story I've had on ao3 on a minute! hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading!