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Happy Birthday, Mr. Stark.

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"Hey, Mr. Stark," A small smile graced Peter's lips as he sat down on the slightly damp grass. "It's me, Peter." He chuckled, running his hair through his fluffy brunette hair.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to go yesterday, I was practicing with the Decathlon team and May wanted me home immediately after," He smiled sheepishly.

"But I'm here now, sir." His face lit up as he remembered something. "Oh, and also," He paused, shimmying his backpack off of his shoulders and placing it in front of him, pulling the zipper to open the bag.

He shuffled through his things for a few seconds, before finally finding what he was looking for.

"I got you a present!" He took out a small blue box. He patted it, smiling proudly. "I made it myself the other night," He uncovered the box, pulling out a small ironman plushy. He eyed his creation for a few moments, looking for any holes or tears. "It's not exactly perfect or anything. But I worked hard on it, and Mrs. Stark said that's the most important thing," He places it on the ground next to his mentor. "So," He began. "Do you like, Mr. Stark?" He asked.

Silence filled the air for a moment.

The smile that adorned Peter's lips slowly morphed into a frown. He sighed in frustration, rubbing both of his hands on his face. "Who am I kidding," He muttered defeatedly to himself. His eyes shone with tears as his gaze fixated on the bold writing carved on the gravestone before him.

Anthony Edward Stark.

He let out a weak chuckle, shoving the blue box into his backpack and zipping it back up. "This is useless," He sniffled, trying to stop himself from crying. He stared at the grave for a few more moments, a sob finally tearing from his throat.

Salty tears streamed down his cheeks and soft cries slipped past his lips as he tried to wipe away his tears. "I'm so sorry, Tony," He cried. "I just miss you so much, we miss you so much. It's been so hard without you here." He sniffled, "Morgan talks about you everyday. She misses you as well, and she thinks-" He choked on his words, slumping down. "She thinks that you'll be back soon, like everyone else who was dusted."

He sobbed, "And I don't know how to tell her that you're not coming back."

Silence filled the air once more, the only sounds audible were Peter's soft whimpers and sobs. They started to die down after a few minutes as Peter tried to compose himself, wiping away his tears with the sleeves of his sweater.

He got up from where he sat, lifting his backpack from the ground and throwing it over his shoulder. He looks down at Tony's grave once more, sniffling.

"Happy birthday, Mr. Stark."