Everything comes and goes. Time flies, whether we ever catch up with it, is an entirely different story. 

A melancholy, dejected sigh floods the sterile room from dry, cracked lips. He’s tired of trying, he’s been doing so for months. And it hurts. 

It hurts to see his face gaunt and trembling, with sickly pale skin that matched lifeless, emptying eyes. He stops looking in mirrors, too afraid to see what he knows he’ll see. It hurts to breathe, because doing so pulls on the needle stuck in his arm that hurts just as much. It hurts to breathe, knowing that he’s going to die and there’s nothing that could deter his fate. It hurts to sleep, as pain radiating from the drugs that cause sore limbs and trembling muscles give him terrifying nightmares. Speaking of nightmares, Peter Stark-Rogers just had one. 

It’s the same horrifying sequence every damn time. He’s in the same room that he’s in now, with his Dads doing their damndest to not burst into sobs as Peter struggles to stay awake, body seizing as coughing fits snake a hold onto his heart. And then the lingering darkness, which somehow is the scariest part. 

He jolted awake, and found his head carefully tucked against his Dad’s asleep form. Peter said nothing, as he can’t help but notice furrowed eyebrows, and wrinkled skin that tug against a solid frown. It hurts for the son to see his father so pained and lost, all because of him. He whispered silently, praying the man holding him to be rid of his mental plague, “I’m so sorry.” Tears spring out of the corner of his chocolate-colored diminishing eyes as he burrowed himself as close to his Dad as possible. The boy can’t help but think, were it not for the cancer that was plaguing his body, his Dads would be okay. He’d be okay. Everything would be okay. 

For one, Tony and Steve would cry less. Peter knew that they refused to cry in front of Peter, but Peter always noticed the puffy, red-rimmed eyes, just like they could easily spot that of his own. 

They wouldn’t have had to move from the city to the Compound. Peter knew how much his Dads missed it, truth be told he did too. Tony had his biggest lab there, with a giant window that reflected the cityscape, which served as a constant reminder of home. His Papa had his entire art studio in a section of Tony’s lab, a neat desk littered with the finest charcoal pens, pencils, and tools of every true artist’s dream. Peter had his own little area of R&D as well as a dash of artisticness, the true composition of his Dads that he was. 

Tony’s eyes were still shut as he wrapped his warm arms around Peter and whispered, “It’s not your fault.” Still asleep, the elder man pressed a firm kiss on the top of Peter’s matted locks of loose curls. He murmured, “None of this is your fault. None of it, I promise.”

Peter didn’t say anything as he leaned into his father’s hold, tears spilling onto Tony’s shirt. He placed his aching head onto his father’s lap and buried his face there, savoring the affectionate gestures and just being with his Dad. He didn’t know how many more moments like this he’d get. 

Father senses tingling, Tony cracked his eyes open as one of his hands unconsciously moved to card Peter’s hair, or at least what was left of it. Sensing something on his son’s mind he inquired softly, “Peter, what’s on your mind, kiddo?”

Peter weakly shook his head, not wanting to worry his Dad any more than he already was about him. His Dads always worried about him, and Peter didn’t want to be a burden on them. He sighed, but no words escaped his dried lips. Eventually, the pain became too much to burden alone. He raspily croaked, “Am I making it worse?”

Tony firmly shook his head as calloused fingers traced soft, deteriorating skin, “No, never.” Suspecting more was upsetting his son he spoke, “Petey, none of this is your fault. You know that.” The older man looked down at conflicted eyes, “Papa’s coming back any minute now. Bucky and Natasha came and they didn’t want to wake you up.” 

Peter let out a quiet hum, “I know it’s not my fault, but it feels like it. I’m stuck, because of the c-this.” He refused to say the word cancer, as the Stark-Rogers deemed it the ugliest word in the galaxy. Peter didn’t need to be constantly reminded of the infection that was taking a hold of his body. More tears fell onto Tony’s sweatpants as Peter hugged one of Tony’s thighs tightly. 

Tony rubbed soft circles onto Peter’s trembling back, another act of muscle memory, “Had another nightmare?” He and Steve had their unfair shares of nightmares revolving Peter, but for Peter who was going through this, dying, and constantly having to think about, just wasn’t beyond the concept of fair. None of this was fair. 

Peter thickly swallowed, “Yeah.” The teenager rubbed his red-rimmed eyes, “I get them every night. It’s the same every single time.” 

Right after Peter’s last syllable echoed, the door opened and Steve Rogers quietly entered the room. HIs features were curled in a sad smile now that Peter was awake, “Hey kiddo, another nightmare?” Peter needed rest, but four to five hours into sleep, he’d wake up shaking and crying, unable to talk from the intense quivering of his lips. 

Peter forced a nod as the waterworks combusted once again. He reached for his Papa’s soft touch, the touch that always soothed him when he was scared. 

Steve pulled the seat that was adjacent to the bed closer to his crying son, resting an arm on the edge to intertwined his fingers with Peter’s. A hand rubbed a patch of dry skin on Peter’s cheek, “Hey, you’re okay. It was just a bad dream, you’re here with us. You want to talk about it? It’ll help you feel better.” 

Peter mumbled, “Hurts.”

Steve asked softly as he and his husband made eye contact, “Where bear?” The older man hated seeing his son look so sick, this was Peter. Peter who was a ball of energy, not this. Not this. 

Peter mumbled once again, “Everywhere.” He lowered his gaze from Steve as he whispered just loud enough, “All the time.”

Tony looked down as he rubbed soft circles onto Peter’s back, wishing that he could do something, anything to ease his boy. Instead, all that he could muster was, “Oh, kid. I’m so sorry.” What other words were there to say, his son, the very light of his life was dying, and there was nothing anyone could do to help Peter. It was simply a lost fight. And to live in a life without his son, the best thing in this universe was no life that Tony wanted to partake in. 

Steve was looking over Peter, trying to get the weakened boy to just look at him when a feeling of frustration came over the latter. He was helpless and vulnerable to everything, as well as being the source of all the pain in his life. A frustrated sigh came over him as he whispered emptily, “Why can’t we just give up?”

Steve frowned, “Bear? What do you mean?”

The waterworks crashed for the umpeeth time, as he raised his voice a tad bit louder, “Why can’t we just give up?” Peter’s tone immediately lowered as his voice became more hollow, more raw as he continued, “I’m going to die anyway.” He dipped his head down as he slowly sat up and sobbed into his hands. 

Both men were slightly taken aback by Peter’s breakdown, but nonetheless they moved to console their sobbing son. Tony, trying to hide the tears of his own, wrapped his arms tightly around his son, gently guiding him to his chest. He held Peter’s head to the crook of his neck, “Ssh, let it out. It’s going to be okay. Let it out, we’re right here.” 

Peter bawled against the blue hue emitted from his dad’s chest, “I can’t do this! I can’t!” He fisted Tony’s shirt material, “I don’t want to go, please! It hurts so much and it never goes away.” He sniffed, “I’m so scared. Every time I sleep, it’s the same dream, and I hate it! It never stops hurting!” He thickly swallowed, “I’m sick of it!” And with that, everything within the teenager broke. 

Tony nodded, dipping his head to the top of his son’s, trying to offer some more comfort, “I know kid, we know.” He didn’t know what else to say to his son. He wasn’t good at optimism in this, because there was nothing to reassure, the ugly truth was inevitable. 

Steve moved to the bed, sitting in front of Peter. He gently pulled his pale hands from his face, preventing Peter from possibly hurting himself as he hummed soothingly, trying to lessen up Peter’s cries. And it worked. He scooted closer to Peter, cupping his son’s face as he used his thumb pads to wipe the tears of Peter’s face. He pulled Peter’s legs onto his own, and rubbed them softly, wishing that he could do something more for his son. 

He spoke softly as his baby blue irises shined, “Peter, bear. We love you so, so much. You know that right?”

Peter hiccuped as he waterily replied, “Yeah. And I love you guys too, so much.” The stinging sensation began to prick the back of his eyes, which made him wipe his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. 

Steve nodded with a faint smile, “We know bud. I know you’re terrified, your dad and I are too, but it’s going to be okay. I know it hurts like hell, and we wish that there was something more we could do to make it all go away, Petey. But we have to try Petey. Doctor Anne said that there’s still a chance that you could make it, and me and Dad believe in you. We always have, and we always will. You’re so strong Pete, you have no idea. You can beat anything, you can beat this, I’m sure of it. We’re not giving up on you sweetheart, never. We’ll help you feel better, we can get some more meds, whatever you want bud. But you have to try, we believe in you.”

The veteran traced patterns on his son’s knee, “And it’s perfectly okay to feel scared. In fact, new rule, anytime one of us feels down, we talk to the other two, and we’ll help make the pain go away. Yeah?”

Peter nodded with a wince, “Okay.”

Steve asked softly, “Where does it hurt the most?”

Peter still clung to Tony as he whispered tightly, “All over.”

Tony and Steve shared sad looks. Tony replied through a strained smile, “Alright bud, me and Papa will massage you, come here.”  

Peter nodded, reclining so his head and upper body was snug against Tony’s lap and the rest of him was on Steve’s. He reached for the blanket which Steve draped over his small form, pressing a firm kiss on Peter’s forehead, “Get some rest, we’re going to stay right here the whole time, okay?”

And that was all it took to get Peter feel a little bit better. He mustered a small smile, but didn’t say anything. “Promise?”

Tony raked Peter’s curls, or at least the stray of it, “Yeah bud. Sweet dreams alright? The man planted a kiss on the top of Peter’s head promising, “Everything’s going to be alright. You’ll see.” 

And for the first time, Peter had good dreams throughout the night. 

A/N: Well that was rough. I hoped I wrote that really well, trying to convey Peter's emotions and despair. How did you like it? Don't forget to comment and vote!

Love y'all smm , correction: I love you 3000.