Inheritance of ash

False calm

Tony paused at the doorway, turned back, and lifted his sunglasses just enough to look Peter dead in the eyes.

"You wanted me to believe you," he said simply. "Now I do."

And then he walked out.

Peter stood frozen for a long moment, still clutching his glass.

Outside, someone shouted "EXHALE, PIETRO" in Wanda's voice.

Peter didn't move.

"Crap," he muttered.

And then again, louder this time.

"Crap."

⸻

Sam was still laughing.

Bucky glared at him from a half-bent yoga pose on a mat that clearly hated him. "It's not funny."

"It is absolutely hilarious," Sam grinned, tossing a small rolled-up towel at him. "You look like a confused refrigerator trying to tie its own shoelaces. Which means stupid."

Kate was upside down on the floor, tangled in her own limbs.

"Are we done yet?" she whined.

Wanda floated an inch off the ground in a perfect meditative pose. "We're never done," she said serenely, then added: "Also, Steve, your left heel is wrong."

Steve, mid–warrior pose, turned to look at her with deep offense. "My heel is not wrong."

"You're favoring your right side again," Wanda said calmly. "It's compensation for the old injury."

"I have no injuries," Steve replied, defensive now.

"You had one. In 1945."

"That doesn't count!"

"Sure it does," Clint muttered from where he was hiding behind a yoga block.

Then—

"Yoga's over."

Tony's voice cut clean through the room.

Everyone froze.

Sam straightened, face falling. "Wait, what?"

Wanda lowered to the ground smoothly, brows already knit. "Tony, we're still—"

She stopped mid-sentence.

Tony hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't slammed anything or cursed or pulled out a sarcastic one-liner.

He just stood there. Still. Calm. With that very specific look — the one that made the entire tower instinctively sit up straighter.

Even Steve turned. "What happened?"

But Tony didn't answer.

A beat later, Peter walked in.

His face said everything.

Wanda saw it first, and something in her spine stiffened. Pietro, sprawled dramatically across the couch, went still. Kate stopped untangling her leg and just sat, cross-legged, eyes flicking between Peter and Tony.

None of them said a word.

But they feared the worst.

Had Peter cracked?

Tony stepped into the center of the room.

"FRIDAY," he said. "Call Vicky into the living room, please."

"Of course," the AI replied, smooth and cheerful.

The silence that followed was immediate.

The kind that presses against your ears.