TW: Death

Time is a strange concept. There’s an infinite, vastless amount of it, somehow documented from the beginning by an unknown entity, and it’s expected, assumed, theorized, and hypothesized to go on even after the last human being perishes. Time is a tricky substance, thought of in two fields, life and death. Time is what lets some people sleep easily, and others restless from anxiety at how many nights they will get to live. 

Peter is running out of time. It’s a scary concept and idea that plants horror after horror that leaves Peter shaking and crying. His head hurts, and so does his body, but what hurts the most is his heart. If he could go back in time, he would’ve enjoyed everything so much more. He would’ve enjoyed all the good memories of being held and laughing and just being happy overall. 

He misses being held, desperately. He’s confined to a hospital bed with wires and tubes all over him that make him afraid to move because what if he pulls something out and he hurts himself badly. It’s so goddamn scary. When people talk about cancer, they talk about the fear and the tears, but actually living through it as the finality to your life, it’s a whole other level of scary. 

Peter’s been scared before. He’s had his fair share of nightmares, anxiety before giving a speech or getting a flu shot. Scared that his dads won’t come home to him and he’ll be back in the orphanage getting abused every single second of his existence. Scared of all the bad things in life happening to him and now every single one of them are. 

Tears slip down his ashy face. He’s so exhausted. Ever since the radioactivity that he thought was power and a fresh start was really killing him from the inside out Peter’s been so exhausted. Everything after has been a constant world of pain, needles, crying, and sadness. He wants it all to go away, to be able to live life freely, even if it meant giving up one of the best parts of his life-Spiderman. 

Peter swallowed thickly as another migraine picked up in the back of his head. He wants to live with his dads, who are so pained and yet so brave for him, and Peter knows this and hates himself for it. He knows his dads are hurting, and because of him hurting he can’t help but blame himself for it. 

A warm, calloused hand slips around his, and squeezes it three times. The voice that belonged to the hand spoke softly, “Pete, what’s wrong honey?”

Everything, the Stark-Rogers wants to say. He’s dying and he’s terrified out of his mind and soul because he’s just a kid who is scared of so many things the cruel world has to offer. His anxiety has risen exponentially, and it takes everything within Peter to not be afraid of the constant needles around him. He’s leaving his dads, the first people that truly loved and cared for him. He’s scared of the afterlife, when he’s all alone and his dads have to suffer without him. Dying is the easy part, said Oliver Queen, living is what’s harder. That’s for the heroes. 

But he’s a hero. Was a hero. Consumed with fatigue and too much emotion, Peter merely shakes his head, dismissing his dad’s concern. There’s enough worry about him as it is, his dads don’t need any more punches to the heart than they have already. Despite Peter’s attempt of reassurance, more tears are yet to spill. 

“Kid,” says Tony, “it’s okay to cry and be scared.” A hand moves to card Peter’s hair, relieving the boy of some stress and worry, “You know that right? What’s on your mind, it can be about anything you want.” He hates seeing his boy’s eyes so lifeless and haunted, as if he’s given up on himself. He has, Tony knows, despite knowing the inevitable is to come, he refuses to do so. It’s something that keeps him up at night crying and yelling at the sky that why his son had to be cursed like this. His son who only wanted to make the world a better place and instead got a stab in the back. 

Peter reluctantly gives in, “I’m so scared Dad.” He chokes on his breath afraid to divulge further because if he does he’s going to break down and then his dad’s going to cry, and he hates seeing his dad cry. 

Tony softens, getting as close to his son as he can to offer more comfort. A hand moves to stroke Peter’s cheek while the other still holds onto the fifteen year old’s smaller hand tight. “It’s okay,” he reassures while stroking Peter’s cold cheek, “me and papa are right here with you every single step of the way. I know this whole thing is scary, baby,” he sniffed quietly, “but you’re so brave. Braver than me and your papa.” 

It’s true. How Peter can put up with all of this is incredible, but the father notices the little things that Peter does when he pretends he’s okay. He notices the lip quivering when a needle is brought, so he pulls Peter into his arms and pretends to move the hair out of his face when he’s really covering the boy’s eyes on purpose. He notices the small scrunt on Peter’s face when his eyes are shut but he’s not really asleep because he’s in so much pain from chemotherapy that won’t even save his life. It’s suffering, but they have to try. As parents, he and Steve can’t just let their son die. Not when there’s still that one percent of a chance that Peter can still get that scholarship to MIT that they know he can achieve and live a life they’ve always wanted for him. 

Peter shakes his head through a blur of tears, “I don’t want to go, please, I’m so scared and I just want to be held but I can’t because of these stupid wires!” His shoulders shudder and he’s trembling all over as he breaks down into fits of sobs. 

He hates these wires. They’re a reminder that he has less than a month left to live. Two weeks ago he had a heart attack from the cancer and now he’s here, rendered in this awful condition. The worst part isn’t the fact that he’s getting closer to death or that he won’t see his friends and the rest of his family ever again, but that his dads can’t hold him until it’s time. Their touch is soothing and comforting and Peter can easily relinquish himself there and hide in their hold, where time seems to still and Peter thinks that just maybe he can get this for a little longer. 

But when has life ever been kind to him?

Every good thing he’s ever had, he’s losing all at once and he needs to hold on but he’s just grasping for too far to reach straws.

All Tony can do is nod and try to hold Peter as best as he can, but the father knows it’s not enough. How can it be? He feels like he’s failed his son in all the worst possible ways. Parents shouldn’t have to watch their children die. It’s something that’s always haunted him and Steve’s mind for years, resurfacing in nightmares or instilled panic attacks from seeing Peter hurt. And now for it to happen like this, it’s not fair. 

He can’t help the tears that roll down his face, despite hating that he’s crying in front of Peter. He can’t imagine how Peter feels. He can try but it’s nowhere near the torture Peter has to suffer through. He’s just a kid, a kid who has so much potential than this. Never this. So he resorts to whispering soft hushes and reassurances of “I know” and “You’re so brave and strong” because there’s nothing else to say as he wipes Peter’s tears and cards the teenager’s hair, trying to do everything in his power to limit Peter’s suffering. 

Speaking of Steve, the man softly enters the door in hopes that Peter was still asleep. His lips tug down as he joins his aching husband, heart of his own consumed in a messy intricate of guilt and sorrow. A hand moves to hold his husband’s mentally letting him know that he’s here and he’s not ever going to leave. He wishes he could say the same to Peter for the rest of his life. 

His eyes glance over at Peter’s softly, eyes that refuse to make contact with his. Steve places a hand over the one that Tony is holding, and rubs at a patch of skin on Peter’s wrist. He starts, “Bear, look at me, please?”

Peter is still sobbing as he relents, chocolate-colored eyes flickering up to meet his papa’s soft baby blue ones that never failed to make him feel safe. But now, he knows it won’t matter anymore, because he’s going to die, and his dads will be forced to move on. Because that’s the way life is, cruel and unable to catch up with. 

“You know we love you right?”, asks Steve. 

Peter nods, desperate to hear it as many times as possible before he’s all alone again. 

Steve traces the outline of Peter’s face, and as he rubs the bridge of Peter’s nose he continues, “You know we’re always going to love you right, no matter what happens, you’re our baby. You’re the best thing in me and your dad’s lives, and we couldn’t have asked for a better kid.”

Tony nods, offering a slight smile as he kisses the top of Peter’s head, “He’s right buddy, you’re the best thing we have.” 

Steve continues, “And you’re always going to be the love of our lives. Okay?” He smiled sweetly as his hold on Peter’s hand tightened, “What’s happening right now is so scary, we know honey, but we’re going to pull through this together. Together, or not at all.” 

Tears pool the veteran’s eyes, “No matter what, we are always going to love you okay? You are never, ever alone. We are all always with you in your heart, and we always will be. And you are always in ours. I still remember the first day we got to adopt you, I think that was one of the best days of my life.”

“Really?”, Peter breathes out, sobs reduced to silent cries. 

“Yeah,” plauses Tony. He smiles waterily, “I’ll never forget that day. You were so small, and your big brown eyes held so much innocence, we knew right from that moment that you were who we wanted to spend the rest of our lives with. You’re our baby, our best boy, forever and always. And look at you, you’ve done so many great things and every moment we’re a thousand times proud of you.”

Steve adds staring into his son’s eyes, “You are the bravest person I know, you know that? You are so goddamn strong and I know that’s a fact. I’m honored to be your papa, that’s the thing I’m most proud of, that and being married.”

“Me too,” echos Tony softly as he buried his head in Peter’s hair. 

Peter smiles thinly but desparation floods his tone, “I’m honored to be your son. Thank you for taking care of me and rescuing me. You guys are the best dads I could’ve ever had. I got to live the best life with you guys, please don’t forget that.”

Steve promises as his hold on Tony’s hand tightens while tears of his own form,  “We could never forget you. Ever. I’m so glad that we got to do so many things together.” He wipes his eyes, “I wish we could have so much more time together, but I’m thankful to the heavens for what we got. I wish we could hold you in our arms bambino, I really wish that. I can’t stress enough how much we love and are proud of you. All the way to the moon and back three thousand times.”

Peter sniffs with a smile at his dad’s reference to his obsession with space. He used to tell his dads that he loved them to the moon back, which wasn’t a big enough distance so he added three thousand times to truly express that amount. “Thank you,” he says, “I love you guys to the moon and back three thousand times.”

Steve softens as he kisses Peter’s cheek and hand, humming while Tony plays with his hair to get the boy to sleep. 

If either parent knew that Peter wasn’t going to wake up the next day, they would’ve held him in their arms one last time. 

Did i make myself sad while writing this? Yes. am i holding back tears right now? Yes. did i write this all in an hour? Yes. am i still crying softly? Yes. im sorry if this might have triggered something for anyone, this was super angsty but god did this kick me right in my own heart. This is really sad what the fuck sarah i said write something good but not so good that you make yourself cry. Yes you’re crying admit it. 

I wrote this a while ago but was too lazy to post. And don't forget to comment if you liked this and vote, your comments really motivate me a lot and like validation from my favorite peoples, you guys just make me go 💓💓💓💓. And the first Kid, tell me what happened is so close to 1M reads you guys I'm freaking outnabsjajsjsbsb