Spider-Man//Avengers//Marvel One shots

Four Avengers and a Funeral (Not Spoilers)

EDIT: This was written before I watched Endgame so none of this is canon/spoilers :)
It's taken a million years but here is the next part!
-Spideyson
-27 year-old Peter
-Various Avengers Ships

Peter sighed. This was it. He looked up meekly at his tired reflection.

He was used to the zombie that stared him down every morning, he knew he worked himself too hard- and it wasn't hard to guess who he got that habit from.

He didn't know if this occasion deserved a full suit, or just formal wear, most of his relatives had died when he was too young to remember.

He decided on a suit, Tony would have liked that, he thought.

So he pulled on the black shirt, black and white speckled tie, black blazer, dress pants and shiny shoes he had ready, just in case he did decide to go in a suit.

He spent at least thirty minutes trying to decide how Tony would have liked his hair to be, before ultimately deciding it didn't matter.

He went for the ruffled, un-gelled look.

Tony never wore gel, so it felt wrong.

He sighed deeply, running a stressed hand down his face roughly, ultimately messing up his beard, which he had begun to grow when he couldn't be bothered to shave anymore, and spent yet another thirty minutes combing it back into place.

He turned his head slightly, seeing vague representations of what looked like one forty seven blinking back at him through the cracked; deformed clock.

He was late.

He didn't know whether to curse, or smirk, so he just stood still, unsure, before the numbers flickered, and he knew it had turned one forty eight.

Time to leave.

Grasping roughly at his overcoat, he pulled the thick fabric around him, doing the zip and belt quickly, bending down the collar and taking a moment to calm his shaking hands. By a moment, he really meant shoving them into his pockets and clenching.

He didn't know how to deal with this.

Shaking his head, he felt the familiar weight of his phone, wallet and keys in his pockets, and threw open his apartment door, slamming it shut behind him, taking the stairs two-by-two, down and down and down, all the way to the ratty old lobby, if you could even call it that.

He still lived where May had- he couldn't bring himself to move, even though he had plenty of money.

Money. He made a mental note to remember the will-reading on Tuesday afternoon in the Stark Towers legal office.

He didn't care what he got, but he knew Tony had asked him to be there.

Waving a ten dollar bill in the air, he easily slid into the first Taxi to pull up, a second trying to cut in front, but failing and making a dangerous manoeuvre away again, towards another man trying to hail a taxi a few houses down, on the other side of the street,

"Queens Memorial Grounds- Legacy." The QMG was a huge green park in New York, with many different fields of different flowers and different meanings.