Chapter Text
The battle was won. They won.
That’s something they haven’t been able to say in far too long now.
It wasn’t hard for Peter to tell that those who survived the Snap hadn’t seen any good victories in a while. He’d seen the weariness and hopelessness in their eyes all throughout this fight – he'd seen it, so vivid and prevalent, in Mr. Stark’s eyes – that looked so foreign to him, that made him want to know as little information as possible about what they’d gone through in the time he was gone.
How had the world suffered in his absence?
Nevertheless, winning – knowing Thanos is dead and gone for good this time - feels like a victory to him in more ways than one. He can feel the relief in his bones and in his mind, like a beam of light shining in through the darkness for the first time in so long, and seeing it on the faces of those around him fills him with confidence that he’s not the only one feeling this way; that he’s not the only one filled to his core with relief that it’s finally over. For good.
Peter takes a deep breath, lets the relief and gratitude wash through him, but the feeling only lasts a moment before it’s replaced by something that literally knocks him off of his feet, and, this time, it’s not relief, or joy, but, rather, the kind of pain so intense that it’s unavoidable and all encompassing; the kind of pain that makes his head spin, the ground under his feet shift, and his chest burn like his skin is on fire, and maybe it is on fire.
It’s not, but it certainly feels like it, like the flames are eating away at his muscles and his bones, like it’s tearing through his body from the inside out.
It knocks him down to the ground, down to his hands and knees, and he holds his right hand out to lay it flat against the ground to prevent his head from colliding with the ruins of the Avengers' Compound that now lays at his feet. He feels like there’s no air left in his lungs; not enough oxygen left in the world for him to take in. He gasps, trying to force his lungs to work, if that’s what it’s going to take, both from the lack of air and the force of which it was all knocked out of him. It makes his diaphragm feel like it’s spasming, his lungs straining with the amount of effort it takes to get even the smallest amount of oxygen into his body.
His head is spinning and his chest is aching, pain surging through his body like a wildfire, and then he’s on his back, laying on the ruins of the place he and so many other people once called home. He squeezes his eyes shut, closing them against the darkened sky, the noises and voices around him slowly fading into the background, distant and muffled to the point that he doesn’t even know what he’s hearing.
But, then, there’s one voice, closer and clearer than all the rest, that he is able to distinguish through the white noise drowning out the world around him.
His eyes snap open, and Mr. Stark is there, looking down on him like they’re back in that moment five years ago and Peter is about to turn into dust again. He’s not, because this isn’t that, and this is infinitely more painful than he remembers that being. This is like torture, like walking through Hell itself.
“Peter! Peter! Look at me, come on.” Mr. Stark is shouting, trying to get his attention, but Peter can hardly focus on him and him alone with this kind of pain inside of him. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before, and he’s been stabbed, and shot, has had a building fall on top of him, turned to dust, survived a plane crash, even got hit by a bus one time. None of that compares to this.
He can vaguely feel Mr. Stark patting his cheek, but, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop his eyes from sliding shut. His senses start to fail him one by one as the pain fades to a dull throb underneath his skin. He forces his eyes open again, makes a point of trying to reach Mr. Stark’s gaze, and it works immediately, because Mr. Stark is already looking right at him.
“Hey, good job, bud. Just keep looking at me, okay? Just keep your eyes on me.” Mr. Stark speaks quickly, frantically, weary features etched deep with concern and fear. His thumbs wipe at Peter’s cheeks, brushing hot tears away. “I’m calling for help. Bruce is coming. Dr. Banner. He’s on his way. Okay? Did you hear that?”
A vague image of Dr. Banner, hazy and unfocused in Peter’s mind, flashes in front of Peter’s eyes. “Mr. Stark.” He tries to reach out, tries to lift his hand and put it somewhere where Mr. Stark will feel it, but his fingers barely do so much as twitch, and even that seems to take a lot out of him. Little by little, second by second, he can feel his energy and strength leaving him.
“Stay awake, Pete. Don’t fall asleep.” Mr. Stark pats his cheek again, not very gently this time. “Just hang on a little longer. You’re gonna be just fine in no time, bud. Just keep breathing.” The not-so-gentle tapping on Peter’s cheek turns into Mr. Stark’s hand moving through his hair the next moment, gentle and warm, and comforting enough that, even through the pain, the burning sensation in his lungs, and the feeling that he’s about to pass out any second now, it soothes him.
Gradually, his tears dry up and he tilts his head closer to Mr. Stark.
“It’s alright,” Mr. Stark whispers. He leans down and kisses Peter’s forehead, his lips cold against Peter’s hot, feverish skin. “I got you.”
Then, Peter takes in a deep breath – a real breath – and his lungs expand.
He feels them open up wide, and the air goes in, and, suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he doesn’t feel like he’s suffocating anymore. He doesn’t know if that’s a good thing – it certainly feels like it is – or not.
Maybe he’s just dying.
It catches him so off guard that he tries it again, and again, and every time, it works. With the feeling of oxygen rushing into his body once more, the pain slowly subsides, like a candle flickering until it eventually dies out.
And, this, he now knows, is what true relief feels like.
“Peter, you alright?”
Mr. Stark is still here, still looking at him like he was afraid he’s about to lose his kid again. Peter can’t blame him for that.
“Pete...talk to me. What’s -”
“Mr. Stark,” Peter says as he struggles to pull himself upright, his head feeling too heavy to lift from the ground. The muscles in his neck tremble and strain with the exertion.
“Careful, careful. Let me help.”
Peter sits up, with Mr. Stark’s help, with Mr. Stark’s arm around his shoulders to prevent him from falling over, and takes another deep breath. Cool air rushes into his lungs as warmth surges through his veins. He feels weirdly weightless and numb, feeling the pain rushing out of him, leaving him feeling tired and relaxed, despite the shadows of agony still lurking in the corners.
And, yet, he feels like he can’t get any words out; feels like he physically can’t speak, even though he probably should with the way Mr. Stark is looking at him like he better be receiving some kind of explanation within the next ten seconds.
“I -” Peter clears his throat, blinking to clear the haziness in front of his eyes. “I don’t...I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.”
“Don’t apologize, just tell me what the hell just happened,” Mr. Stark is quick to say, and Peter nods because that’s what he’s trying to do.
“It just...I don’t know. It just hurt so – so bad. It felt like I was on fire, literally, and – and I thought I was gonna pass out -” Peter stops and frowns up at Mr. Stark. “I didn’t pass out, did I?”
“No, but I certainly thought you were going to. Makes two of us.”
Peter nods, trying – and, for the most part, failing - to make sense of what is happening. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Mr. Stark takes a deep breath, and Peter finds himself mirroring the action before he can stop himself. He never thought breathing could feel so good. “You have a bad habit of doing that, you know?” Wearily, he rubs a hand over his face, shaking his head in either disbelief or dismay. Something along those lines.
When Peter doesn’t - can’t - respond, Mr. Stark just looks at him and sighs. “You’re really okay now? You just about gave me a heart attack there, bud.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mr. Stark nods. “Come here.”
Peter moves closer to the older man, rests his head on his shoulder. He can hear Mr. Stark’s heart beating steadily, if not a bit quicker than normal. For a moment, they don’t speak or move, and this is the second time they’ve hugged in this one night, but this time, there’s no battle going on around them, no need to rush out of each other’s arms (which is the last thing Peter wants to do right now). Right here, Peter is safe and protected, and that’s enough for now.
“Kid,” Mr. Stark starts, just barely pulling away, but he does so enough to see Peter’s head on his shoulder. “Did I get a chance to tell you how much I’ve missed you?”
“You don’t have to do that,” Peter says, voice low and muffled.
“I think I do, though. I just don’t know...how.”
Lifting his head, Peter meets Mr. Stark’s eyes. “It’s okay. I understand.”
A sad smile appears on Mr. Stark’s face. “What do you say we get out of here?”
Some hours later – he honestly doesn’t know how long it’s been, mostly because he fell asleep in the car and everything else that happened before that is kind of a blur – Peter is sitting in Tony’s lake house, in his own room, on his own bed, because, apparently, Tony considers him part of the family.
When that happened, Peter doesn’t know – probably sometime over the last five years that he was gone.
Tony is sitting beside him as Bruce shines a penlight into Peter’s eyes. Peter has lost track of how many times he’s done that now, but it has certainly reached an unnecessary amount, and he can’t help but think that all of this is pointless – if he was still in agonizing pain, he thinks it would be pretty obvious.
But he’s not crying on the floor like he was before anymore; there are no traces or lines of pain on his face now. All he’d like to do is lay down on his bed in Mr. Stark’s home and get some sleep.
“Look, I know he seems fine now,” Tony starts. “But you didn’t see him earlier. It was...hard to watch.”
Bruce nods in understanding as he turns the penlight off, and Peter closes his eyes as the doctor takes a step back from the bed to help release some of the tension and discomfort from his head, the result of having a light shined into his already very sensitive eyes – and, speaking of, his senses are starting to heighten a bit. “I understand, Tony, but...” Bruce takes a deep breath, a look of helplessness spreading over his features. “I can’t exactly take him in for any further testing at the moment, with the way things are. If it happens again, perhaps we can connect with Shuri and see if she’d be willing to help, but, for now, let’s just keep a close eye on him and see how he feels later, alright?”
Tony sighs, because that’s not enough. The last time he saw Peter in pain like that, he turned into dust and vanished, and, now, he knows that’s not going to happen again, but the memory might still be a little too fresh.
“I don’t know what else to tell you, Tony. I should really get back now.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Tony nods, standing up and holding a hand out to Bruce. “Thank you, for coming out on such short notice.”
Bruce smiles warmly at him, then at Peter. “Anytime. Peter, nice to meet you. I hope I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
“Under different circumstances,” Tony adds tiredly as he takes his seat again on the bed beside Peter.
Once the doctor is gone, the door clicking shut behind him, Peter lets himself relax. He looks over at Tony and studies the side of his face. “When were you going to tell me you had a room for me here?”
Tony looks over his shoulder, meeting his eyes. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Well, it was.”
Tony smiles sadly, eyes roaming over Peter’s face. “Come on. Let’s get that suit off of you.”
It takes Peter almost ten minutes just to get himself out of the suit, and double the time it usually takes him to shower, because his muscles ache with every slight movement. The pain may be gone now, but he can still feel the remnants of it, proof that it had happened and wasn’t just a dream. He looks at his suit, feels the material of it on his fingertips, and, for the first time in, well, ever, he finds that he doesn’t want to put it back on anytime soon.
As good as it has been to him, it’s also caused him so much pain, and he needs a break. He’s exhausted.
When he leaves the bathroom, he hears voices coming from downstairs, and on the top of the staircase, he finds Morgan sitting with her back to him, but when she hears the door open, she turns around.
“Someone’s here,” she says in a whisper, grinning at him.
Peter, with his enhanced hearing, can clearly hear Happy’s and May’s voices. They sound...okay - tired, but okay, and that’s honestly to be expected. That’s simply how the entire world is faring at the moment.
Though part of him feels like he should race down there to see his aunt, knowing everything he knows now about what’s happened, he doesn’t. Instead, he sits down beside Morgan on the top step and listens, elbows resting on his knees. He closes his eyes and tries to soak up the sound of her voice, tries to let it ground him when he otherwise feels like he’s drifting down an unpaved road in the dark, no idea where he’s going or where he’s meant to end up.
Is that what coming back to life – into existence – is supposed to feel like?
“I’m supposed to be in bed.”
Peter glances at Morgan. If things were different, maybe he’d try to smile, if not only for her sake, but he can’t get his face to work like that now. “I think I should be, too,” he answers honestly.
“But it’s Saturday. I don’t have school tomorrow.”
“Neither do I. I’ll be right back.”
Morgan watches him go, watches him walk downstairs until she can’t see him anymore. He makes his way slowly through the house, trying to memorize all of its parts as best as he can as he goes, using the sound of May’s voice to lead him to his destination, wherever she is, that is, like a beacon in the dark. It leads him down the stairs, through a narrow hallway, and, finally, into the kitchen.
But he stops in the doorway and lingers there, studying May’s face and – and she looks exactly how he remembers her. She was gone, too.
“Peter, there you are!” she exclaims, dropping her purse and phone onto the counter as she rushes to him. She wraps her arms around him and holds him close to her, like he’s a little boy again, and, yet, he finds that he doesn’t feel far from one at the present moment. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re okay. I was so worried when I couldn’t get in touch with you, and everything was just...chaos back home, and...I’m just so glad you’re here.”
“It’s okay, May,” Peter whispers back to her, unable to raise his voice any higher than that. “I’m fine.”
She leans back and looks at him – really looks at him in that way that he knows means she’s trying to decipher whether or not he’s telling her the truth. Her hands cup either side of his jaw, her eyes darting all over his face.
“May,” Peter sighs, tilting his head. “I’m fine. Promise.”
“Tony told me what happened,” she says, uncertainly.
Peter frowns, his eyes shifting to find Tony, who’s standing off to the side beside Pepper and Happy. “How much?” he asks when he looks back at his aunt.
“Everything.” She takes a deep breath, running her long, white-painted nails through his wet hair. “We don’t have to talk about it all now.”
Good.
Peter nods. “I’m glad you’re here, too,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to say, and, if he’s being honest, this moment of reunion would be considerably more profound and impactful if he didn’t feel like the last time he saw her wasn’t just a few hours ago, but five years.
But he was dead and so was she.
He doesn’t know now if he’s supposed to cry or laugh or what.
If anything, it’s at least comforting to see that she doesn’t seem to know, either, especially with the audience watching them from behind.
The whole thing is a little weird.
Nevertheless, it does feel good, to be alive (he thinks).
A few hours later, well into the night, Peter wakes up with dull pain festering to life inside his chest.
When morning comes, he doesn’t mention it to anyone.
Two weeks later, with Happy’s and Tony’s help, May finds a new apartment for them. It’s not far from their old one, but it feels like they might as well have been dropped into another lifetime, another dimension, because it doesn’t feel like home – the same way Tony’s lake house hadn’t felt like home, because it wasn’t.
His room is small, like he hoped it would be, because at least some things would be the same and maybe it would remind him of his old room a little bit, and he sits down on his bed in the corner of the small space, wondering why things had to turn out like this and trying to ease the lingering discomfort burning inside his chest.
He holds his hand there, palm pressed against his shirt, feeling it spread farther and wider than it did the first time he felt it or even just the previous day. In typical fashion, he hasn’t told May or Tony about it, because they have enough going on; enough to worry about without adding that to the list. The pain itself isn’t bad – nothing like he experienced that day – but maybe it wouldn’t kill him to tell someone that he’s also been having dizzy spells, as well?
Maybe he should tell May that he’s been getting lightheaded when he stands up. Maybe he should tell her that he feels like his heart is beating a little bit too fast to be normal.
But, against better judgement, he doesn’t.
On their first day home, Peter sneaks May’s phone into his hands to text Ned (since his own is nowhere to be seen), and tells his friend to come over as soon as he can, because May and Happy are still setting up the furniture in the main living area and probably will be for the rest of the day, and he’s bored out of his mind, anxious and restless, and he’d really like to be around someone his own age for once.
The adults in his life are great and he appreciates them and everything they do for him, but Ned is just...Ned, and Peter really needs his friend right now.
When Ned shows up, not even twenty minutes after Peter sent the text, he lunges at Peter, and it’s a good thing Peter has super-strength, otherwise, they both would have fallen over.
“I thought you were dead, man!” Ned says before Peter can even fully process the relief he feels upon seeing that his friend is still sixteen and not in his twenties – he was gone, too. “I thought you were dead.”
“Weren’t we all dead, though? For five years?”
Ned rolls his eyes. “I mean, after that. We’ve been back for two weeks, and I haven’t heard from you. There’s someone else living in your old apartment, and I – I thought you and May were gone, and...Peter, I was terrified. You know I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do -”
“Ned.” Peter grabs Ned’s shoulders, cutting him off. “Don’t think about that. Don’t -” Not about me, he wants to add. “Okay? I’m right here and I’m fine. I promise.”
“I was so freaked out, Peter.”
“Come here.”
Peter leads Ned to his bed, and they sit side by side. “So,” Ned starts, looking around the room. He may or may not wipe a few stray tears from his eye. “This is the new place, huh?”
Peter shrugs.
“You don’t like it.”
“What?”
“I can tell.” Ned frowns. “You don’t like it.”
Again, Peter shrugs. “It’s fine. We’re lucky to have it.”
Ned doesn’t push it from there, though Peter can tell he wants to. “How are you doing? Where have you been this whole time?”
“Just...with Tony.”
“Mr. Stark? Like, at his house? I bet he has, like, a really cool mansion, doesn’t he?” Ned grins, and for a minute, it feels like old times; simpler times.
“Yeah, a mansion on a lake.” Peter looks down at his hands, pulling the sleeves of his shirt down over them anxiously. He shrugs. He hadn’t even known people could build mansions on lakes, but this is Tony Stark, so...
Ned frowns, silent. “What’s wrong?”
He’s hit with an urge to cry right there. He’s never actually cried in front of Ned before so he doesn’t know how Ned would respond to that if he did just break down like he wishes he had the strength to do. He doesn’t want to make it weird. He knows he should be happy to have a roof over his head, at least; to have May, and Tony, Pepper, and Happy, who all care about him and love him so much. He has Ned and MJ, and he knows they love him, too.
But no matter, he feels like he has a gaping hole in his heart that none of those things can fill.
Maybe readjusting to life after dying takes time?
He shakes his head. “Nothing, it’s just -”
“It’s not nothing.”
“I just wish we could go home,” he says, because there’s no way he can explain to Ned how he’s really feeling.
There’s just not enough time in the world to do that now.
It happens again that night – the pain comes back in his chest, but this time, it’s more severe. This time, he can’t just ignore it and go back to sleep.
It keeps him sitting up for at least an hour, because it’s worse when he lays down. It makes his heart race and his hair damp with sweat.
In a few hours, when he wakes up again, sun shining through the window, he’s exhausted and feverish.
Maybe he should tell someone about this.
A face shifts in and out of view, his vision drifting in and out of focus. He knows he’s awake, but he feels like he’s still asleep; like he’s in a dream.
He definitely didn’t get enough sleep last night.
A warm hand is placed on his forehead, gentle and delicate fingers moving through his hair in a soothing rhythm. “Good morning.”
“Stop,” Peter tries, attempting to push her hands away.
“Hey, no, you stop, Mister. You’re burning up,” May says, pushing his hands away with much more ease and less effort. “What’s going on? You were fine yesterday, weren’t you?”
Peter blinks up at the ceiling, trying to clear his vision. His head is aching and his skin is overheated. He didn’t feel like this yesterday. “I...Just tired.” Even the pain in his chest feels worse.
With a sigh, May finally stops touching him, and the burning sensation he’d felt like electricity that was coming off of her fingers when they made contact with his skin slowly dissipates when she pulls her hand back. “You’re just stressed out, I think, with everything going on. You just need to rest.”
Closing his eyes, Peter shakes his head, because the last thing he wants, despite how tired he is, is to be stuck in bed, or on the couch, all day. Sitting still makes him anxious, and when he has nothing to do with his anxiety, it just builds and builds, getting worse and worse, and he can’t deal with that today.
A flare ignites in his chest, a sudden spark of pain. He turns onto his side, back to May, so that she can’t see his face.
“Good. See? You’ve got the right idea,” May says, rubbing his back. “Get some rest. I’ll check in on you in a little while.”
He falls asleep fast; wakes up a few times, falls asleep again a few times, vaguely aware of his door opening and closing a couple times an hour. Time passes weirdly and slowly, and he feels like he’s caught in a fog that’s encompassing his entire mind, body, and soul.
When he wakes again around noon, there’s a gentle pressure on his shoulder, and a familiar voice says, “Hey, dork.”
Her voice breaks through the haze, slicing through it like a knife, and Peter feels his lips spreading into a smile, despite the fact that he can’t even keep his eyes open.
She leans closer to his face, resting her arms on his. “I had to call Ned to make sure you were alive. Thought you’d like to know.”
Peter sighs. “Not personal. Ned thought I was dead, too.”
“Oh, great,” MJ chuckles. “Don’t do it again.”
Peter turns onto his back to look up at her. “How could I? You guys are my only friends.”
MJ rolls her eyes. “Dork.” She pokes the tip of his nose. “What’s wrong with you? Who gets sick like this in June?”
“Me.”
“Obviously. Only you.”
Peter hums in agreement, his eyes sliding shut.
Without a word, MJ lays down beside him, resting her cheek on the top of his head. She rests her hand on his wrist, feeling the movement of his arm as he rubs his sore chest with his fingers. He can practically feel her frowning. “What are you doing?” she asks, grabbing his hand and pulling it down from his chest.
Of course, he can’t hide anything from MJ.
She sits up, leaning on her elbow. “What’s wrong? And, don’t you dare say nothing, ‘cause you’re a terrible liar.”
“MJ...”
“Peter...”
“Fine. It’s just my chest. It hurts.” He won’t admit it, but it actually felt kind of nice to let someone know after he’s spent two weeks worrying in silence and isolation that what happened after the battle that night is going to happen again; that it’s going to come back and be like that again, and he still has nightmares of that. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it again.
It’s not as bad now as it was when he woke up last night. He can breathe fine; he can lay down fine, but it still feels like little knives stabbing his heart, regardless, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. There has to be some sort of connection between this and the agonizing pain he felt a few weeks ago.
And, if so, then that’s all the more reason for him to tell someone.
Someone other than MJ, because it’s not like there’s much she’ll be able to do about it, if anything at all.
“And,” he continues. “It’s been bothering me for a few weeks.”
“We’ve only been back in existence for two weeks, Peter,” MJ says, face blank. “Why haven’t you told anyone? Chest pain is no joke. You could have a heart attack, and I would know, because I had an uncle who had chest pain at my seventh birthday party and then he collapsed. Just went down and died.”
Peter squints and angles his head differently to see her face better. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Would I make that up?”
“Probably.”
MJ rolls her eyes. “Well, I’m not. Are you hearing me? You should tell May.”
“Can I get better first?”
After a brief hesitation, MJ gives in. “Fine.”
She lays down again, head back in its original spot, and he falls asleep again quickly, his body worn out from fighting whatever this thing is.
Two days later, things start to get worse.
There’s a bruise on his chest, right at the center of the pain, all blue and purple and black, swelling like there’s something trying to break out of it. It aches, throbs, and makes him feel dizzy whenever he touches it. He studies it in the mirror and cringes as it’s reflected back to him.
When he presses his finger to it, heat spreads throughout his body, making his fingertips and scalp feel numb, and he has to grab on to the sink in front of him to keep himself from falling over.
With it comes shortness of breath, fatigue, and weakness. His heart feels weak, like it’s not pumping blood to the rest of his body the way it should be, and Google tells him he might have heart failure, which doesn’t make him feel any better.
But he sends a link to an article on heart failure to MJ, anyway, with the purple, evil-grinning emoji just for kicks.
Long story short, she doesn’t think it’s funny.
The truth is, it’s probably not. Something is wrong with him, as much as he hates to admit it; as much as it scares him to admit.
And there are just some people he can’t hide from – MJ is one of those people. Tony Stark is another one of those people.
After three weeks, he’s back at the lake house, back in his room in Tony’s house.
It feels...strange, and he still feels more or less like he’s intruding in Tony’s home, on his family dynamic, but there was no way May was going to let him stay home like this all weekend now that she’s going back to working night shifts.
Pepper and Morgan are gone for the weekend, though, leaving just him and Tony. They’re sitting on the couch, Peter’s legs thrown over Tony’s. He’s more asleep than awake at this point, soothed by the feeling of Tony’s fingers in his hair. Peter told him it wouldn’t work, but the man knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You’re too good,” Peter mumbles, voice muffled with his face pressed against Tony’s shoulder.
Tony laughs. “Yes, but you are also very tired.”
If that wasn’t true, if he wasn’t so tired because he’s been kept awake at night with the pain in his chest, maybe he wouldn’t have let some things slip.
“Just can’t sleep well.” He shrugs. “It hurts when I lay down.”
Instantly, Tony’s hand freezes where he’d been rubbing his thumb over Peter’s knuckles. “What?”
Dread sinks into Peter’s gut when he realizes what he said. Awareness comes back to him in a sudden flash and he lifts his head from Tony’s shoulder, wishing he could take it back, because now Tony’s going to worry, because all he does is worry, and, sometimes, it’s just a tad overwhelming.
“Shoot, sorry, I – it's nothing, Mr. Stark – Tony, I mean – I...forget I said anything,” Peter tries, but he doesn’t have a doubt in his mind that that’s not going to work. It never has before, so why would it now? “I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m very tired, you’re right -”
“Alright, stop right there, before you make my head spin.”
Peter snaps his mouth shut.
“What’s going on? And don’t you dare say nothing.”
An image of himself standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom back home, of the growing bruise on his chest, flashes in his mind. He cringes just at the memory of it, resisting the urge to put his hand to the spot again – both because he knows it would make Tony suspicious and because it would hurt.
The feeling he gets when he touches it, the pain and warmth traveling through his body like blood pumping through his veins, is disorienting; makes him feel like he has cotton in his head, and sometimes, he can’t remember where he is or what happened. He can feel it filling up in his brain like fluid.
“My chest has been bothering me.”
Tony’s eyes narrow, his eyebrows furrowing. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
Peter shrugs, fidgeting with his fingers on his lap.
“Hey, come on now. You can tell me.”
Peter throws his head onto the top of the couch and sighs. “What do you want to hear?”
“I want to make sure this isn’t something we should be concerned about.” Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “Is it?”
“No.”
“Pete, you know I can tell when you’re lying straight to my face. I thought we established that already.” Tony tilts his head, visibly concerned. “And I also know that the more you try to keep a secret from me, the more serious it probably is. So, with that being said, cough it up. What’s going on?”
Tony then makes the mistake of putting his hand on Peter’s chest, however casual or comforting it’s meant to be. Peter gasps and cries out as pain shoots through his chest like a bolt of lightning, and Tony immediately moves his hand.
Peter scrambles to get off the couch, away from Tony, away from the hot, fiery pain blossoming inside of him again, but Tony holds his arms out to catch him before he can fall off the couch. “Hey, hey, stop. Relax, don’t move. It’s okay. I’m sorry,” Tony rushes out in a breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Just – just stay here. Don’t move around too much.”
A feeling of breathlessness then creeps up on Peter, as well as the lingering fatigue and overall weakness. Heat spreads throughout his body, up into his brain. He can’t think straight all of the sudden, can’t remember where he is or what happened – all he knows is that he’s in immense pain, almost agonizing once again.
And that’s all he knows before he passes out.
Waking up with Tony’s face hovering over him is not an unfamiliar sight, but it’s usually never a good one; usually means he got hurt somehow and now he has a worried Tony Stark to deal with.
Except, he hasn’t been on any missions, hasn’t been patrolling once since he came back, yet he can’t actually remember what happened.
“When the hell were you going to tell me?”
Peter blinks up at Tony, eyes dazed, vision unfocused. He suddenly wishes he hadn’t woken up at all. “What?”
“Have you taken a look in the mirror lately? You have a bruise the size of Thanos’ fist right in the center of your chest, in case you didn’t notice,” Tony explains, voice bordering anger, but Peter knows it’s only because he’s scared. “I almost passed out myself when I saw it.”
Peter takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose as he turns his head to take in his surroundings. “Where are we?”
“What?”
“Where are we, Tony?”
“We’re in your bedroom, Peter. The one I took it upon myself to design and decorate for you? The one you spent two weeks sleeping in when you came back? Look familiar?”
Peter frowns, eyes searching the room for any strike of familiarity. “This isn’t - I’m confused. Where are we?”
At that moment, Tony’s face falls. Any traces of anger that had been there before vanish. “Pete, what are you talking about? This isn’t a joke.”
Gathering enough strength to sit up, Peter pushes himself up onto his elbows, clearing his hazy vision as he takes another look around – gray walls, desk in the corner, backpack on the foot of the bed, closet on the adjacent wall, and, yet, none of it is familiar, but, apparently, it should be.
Apparently, this is his room.
“I - I’m not...joking, Tony.”
“Peter - come on, we’re at the lake house. Ring a bell?”
Peter just stares back at him.
“Alright, what the hell is going on?” Tony mutters to himself as he whips his phone out of his back pocket, hands trembling subtly.
“Who are you calling?”
Tony doesn’t respond. He stands up from the bed and leaves the room, but Peter hears him say Bruce’s name from the other side of the door.
For the rest of the day, Peter feels woozy and distant, and he doesn’t even have it in him to protest as everyone hovers around him like hawks – Tony, Pepper, May, Bruce, Happy, and even Morgan.
He really wishes Ned would just walk through the door right now.
“Daddy, what happened to Peter?” Morgan asks, innocent dark eyes wide and scared. “Is he hurt?”
She shouldn’t be in here. She shouldn’t have to see this.
“Tony, take her out, please,” he says, voice low.
“I got her.” Happy steps forward, arms outstretched, then leaves the room with her.
As they’re leaving the room, Bruce is entering. He comes in with a heavy look in his eyes, lips turned down, eyebrows pinched. When he looks at everyone, he does so with a sigh. “Sorry for the wait, everyone. Took longer than expected.”
“What did you find?” May asks, arms crossed over her chest. Anxiously, she glances between him and her nephew.
“This isn’t going to be easy to...hear, however, Peter is currently experiencing MOSF, which is short for Multiple Organ System Failure,” Bruce starts. “It’s commonly the result of a severe infection or disease, and can usually be traced back to an underlying condition, however...in this case, I’m unable to determine exactly why it is happening to Peter.” He looks around the room when he’s finished, taking in everyone’s expressions.
“Oh, my gosh.” May brings her hand to her mouth.
“Wait, wait, I’m sorry -” Tony steps forward, holding out an unsteady hand. “I don’t understand – his organs are failing?”
Bruce sighs. “I’m very sorry, Tony.”
“No, don’t -” Tony shakes his head in disbelief. “That doesn’t just happen, Bruce. There has to be a reason! A person’s organs don’t just fail for the fun of it -”
“Tony.” Pepper grabs his elbow gently, trying to get his attention.
“I’m going to run and review the tests again. I’m going to do everything I can to figure out what’s going on here.”
Tony runs a hand through his hair, eyes wide and frantic. “Bruce -”
“Tony.”
The quiet voice belonging to his kid makes him freeze. When he looks at Peter, Peter shakes his head, giving Tony no choice but to back down.
He takes a breath to ground himself. “Bruce,” he says, more calmly. “Can we have a minute? Please?”
Bruce nods and steps out. Pepper follows him.
“Peter,” May starts once it’s just the three of them. She goes over to the bed and sits down on the edge, placing her hand over Peter’s. “Honey, what – how are you, uh...feeling about – about this?”
Peter shrugs.
“Baby...you’ve been suffering all on your own for three weeks. You’ve been sick and in pain, okay? And you can’t handle that on your own,” May says, her eyes filling with tears. “Whatever this is, it’s not a joke. Organ failure is not a joke, and we can’t take any risks, so you need to talk to us. You need – I need you to be open with me, please, and no more secrets. Okay?”
Her voice, filled with urgency and desperation, makes Peter’s cheeks heat up and his eyes burn with emotion.
“Please, Peter.”
“Okay,” Peter chokes out, his voice breaking. “Okay.”
“Is there anything else we need to know about?”
Tony shifts on his feet on the other side of the bed. “Why don’t you just sum it all up for us, bud, while we’re here?”
So, Peter tells them everything they need to know – the chest pain; the weakness in his heart; the fatigue; the bruise that had grown steadily larger every day, the way it burns when he touches it, the way it makes him feel lightheaded and disconnected from reality when his fingers make contact with it.
“That’s why you passed out? When I touched it?” Tony asks.
Peter nods.
“Because of the pain?” May asks.
“No, it wasn’t the pain that made that...happen. It was something else, like – like a sensation,” Peter tries to explain, earning confused looks from May and Tony. “It’s like...something rushing through my body, something hot. It feels like it’s burning underneath my skin, and then it starts going to my head, and then I – I can’t think straight, and I forget...things, like where I am and...other things.”
Tony sits down and holds his head in his hands. “You’ve been forgetting things? Pete, that’s serious. You can’t - keep stuff like that from us -”
“I know -”
“Do you, though? Peter, we’ve been over this before. Hundreds of times.”
“I know, Tony.”
“Then, why does it keep happening? Huh?”
Instead of responding, Peter bows his head and focuses on his hands. He shakes his head as he feels May squeeze his fingers.
A moment of silence passes, then Tony quietly curses under his breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice, I just...”
“I’m gonna give you guys a minute,” May decides, kissing Peter’s head before walking around the bed to the door to leave.
“Just say it,” Peter mumbles, keeping his eyes down.
Tony’s brows furrow. “Say what? That you nearly gave me a heart attack when you collapsed right in front of me earlier? When I discovered that – that horrible bruise on your chest while you were unconscious?” When Peter doesn’t react, Tony goes on. “Peter, I don’t mean to shout, but I’m worried about you. Actually, scratch that, I’m kinda terrified, here, because you do know organ failure can be fatal , don’t you? Because I do and it doesn’t leave me in the greatest mood.”
Peter closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Tony is still for a moment, then he visibly deflates. “Move over.”
He sits in the open space on the bed beside Peter, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Peter rests the back of his head against Tony’s chest and closes his eyes. He could fall asleep right here, he’s so exhausted. “Listen, there’s nothing we can do about it now. I’m not gonna sit here and lecture you about it all night.”
“What are we going to do?” Peter tilts his head back to look at Tony.
Tony shakes his head, hopelessly. “We...are...first going to figure out what’s causing this. There’s a cause, and once we find out what it is, we’ll take care of it, get you all the treatment you need, and then -” Tony swallows and nods to assure himself. “Then, you’ll be just fine before you know it.”
Peter nods, unsure. “What if Bruce can’t figure it out in time?”
“Kid - Peter, no, don’t think like that. You can’t think like that, okay? You’ve got one of the best minds in the world working on this, and, if it comes down to it, we could probably even get Shuri to chip in if necessary -”
“That doesn’t make me feel better, Tony.”
Taking a deep breath, Tony tightens his hold on Peter. “I know. I wish there was more I could do right now, but...”
“I know.”
Tony nods, relieved he doesn’t need to say more, that Peter gets it without him even having to explain. He rests his cheek on the top of Peter’s head. “Try to get some sleep. You’re exhausted and we’re gonna be here for a while longer now.”
“Okay,” Peter says, putting his head down and closing his eyes again.
“Bruce is concerned about his heart. He says it’s weak. Heart failure. But he can’t explain why,” Peter hears Tony saying from the other side of the wall.
He sighs and turns onto his side, facing the door.
“Well, that doesn’t make sense. There has to be a reason -”
“Of course, there’s a reason, Rhodey. We just don’t know what it is.”
There’s silence for a while, then Peter hears Rhodey sigh.
As he starts to speak, Peter turns onto his other side, back facing the door, and zones out the sound of his voice. It’s not hard, because his brain feels so muddled, anyway, that he can easily get lost in his head. He doesn’t know whether or not he falls asleep, but when he opens his eyes again, it’s slightly darker outside and there are no signs of Rhodey’s or Tony’s voices.
He squints at the sunset, the soft orange and pink hues painting the sky, and feels a slight tingling sensation in his hand. It comes on gradually, but it’s odd enough that he pulls the blanket down with his other hand to see – and what he sees makes his stomach knot. His left hand, turning into ash, just like on Titan.
His heart rate picks up, beating faster than it ever has before.
How...how is this possible? How can this be happening?
Tears of panic and fear fill his eyes, his ‘normal’ hand shaking as he reaches for the emergency call button. He needs Tony. He needs – someone who will know what to do, how to fix this, because this can’t be happening.
The disintegration of his own flesh stops at his wrist, and he watches the little particles of dust and ash float in the air in the form of his hand, where the limb should be solid and warm, but is now fading away into nothingness, and it won’t be long now until the rest of his body goes with it. The numbness and tingling turn into pain, just like he felt on Titan after the first Snap.
It lingers for a few minutes, and tears fall from Peter’s eyes, dropping from his chin and onto the sheets, and then – then it stops.
Peter watches as his hand pieces itself back together.
He’s still staring at it in shock when the door opens and Tony comes into the room. “Hey, bud, you need something?” he says, casually. It doesn’t take him long to realize that something isn’t right. “Pete?”
Peter turns his head to see Tony, his heart still racing.
“Hey, hey, what happened? What -” Tony’s hands roam over Peter’s arms like he’s afraid to touch him. “What are these tears for? Talk to me.”
But Peter can’t find his voice, no matter how hard he wants to. Instead of speaking, he leans closer to Tony and rests his forehead on Tony’s shoulder. He shakes his head silently, and Tony gets it. Of course, he does.
“Okay. It’s alright. You don’t have to talk about it now,” Tony soothes, trying his best to remain calm, despite the nerves eating away at him, and as Peter cries, his shoulders shaking, Tony closes his eyes and rubs his back.
That goes on for a good five minutes until Peter finally quiets down. He goes still, head heavy on Tony’s shoulder, and Tony can’t help but wonder if he fell asleep when a few more minutes go by and he doesn’t move. Then, Peter sits up slowly and stares at his hand like he’s never seen it before.
Tony looks, too. “What is it?”
After a moment, Peter presses his lips together and shakes his head. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry.”
“You’re crying, Peter -”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Mr. Stark.”
Tony frowns. “But you called me in here.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Let it go. Please,” Peter snaps, desperation clinging to his voice like the tears that are stuck to his lashes.
Tony is reluctant, unsure, and more scared for Peter than he ever has been before, but he nods. “Alright. I’ll...I’ll let it go.”
For the rest of the day, however, he has a sickening feeling in his gut that Peter is keeping something from him again, because why wouldn’t he be?
Keeping secrets is what he does best.
Over the next week, everything goes downhill.
On some random Thursday afternoon in July, Tony tells him they’re transferring him to Wakanda because the Avengers Compound is still in the process of being rebuilt and they don’t yet have enough resources and equipment to treat him properly.
“Shuri is more than happy to help out, and I think she’s excited to finally get to meet you,” Tony tells him, trying to be light and casual about it, but the fact that they need the more advanced stuff because what they currently have access to isn’t enough doesn’t sit well with anyone. “So, don’t worry, you’ll be in the best hands possible.”
But Peter is worried. How can he not be? He’s either going to die in a few weeks or spend the rest of his life suffering from organ failure.
He doesn’t know which is worse.
“How long will we be gone?”
Tony shakes his head, at loss for words. “I - however long it takes to get you all better, but you might want to give your friends a heads up that it could be a while.”
“A while?”
“A few months, maybe.”
Peter doesn’t have the courage to tell his friends about this. Maybe it’s cruel and unfair, but he can’t do it. He stares at his phone for a good hour, thumbs hovering over the screen, before giving up and tossing it aside. Ned and MJ will just have to find out some other way.
He sleeps most of the day away, but when he wakes up, he nearly has a panic attack because he can’t remember where he is, or what’s happening, or why he has to have a cannula in his nose to help him breathe. Tony, who had been asleep in the chair beside the bed, startles awake.
He sits down beside Peter and grabs his shoulders, holding him still. “Look at me, bud. Look at my eyes,” he says, calmly and patiently. “There you go. Okay, now take a deep breath. Just focus on breathing, alright? You got this.”
They go through the whole process right there in the medbay just like they’ve done so many times before, and when it’s over, Peter nearly collapses from both fatigue and relief. He grabs the fabric of Tony’s sweatshirt and squeezes it in his fist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t - didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“Don’t apologize.” Tony holds the back of his head, moving his fingers around over Peter’s scalp. “Did you have a nightmare or something?”
Peter freezes, then lifts his head. “No, I was awake.”
“Oh. What were you thinking about, then? That got you upset?”
“Because I – I -” Feeling helpless and a little bit lost, Peter looks around the room. “Where are we?”
A dark shadow crosses over Tony’s face. “The medbay, Peter.” He breathes in deeply, eyes filling with concern. “You don’t, uh...remember it?”
“Should I?”
“We’ve been here for a week.”
Peter stares wide-eyed at Tony and shakes his head. “I don’t - no, this isn’t the medbay, Tony.”
“It’s the new one. The old ones are gone. The Compound has to be rebuilt, remember? Because of the battle? It was all destroyed,” Tony explains. “It’s not completely finished yet, but they’re making progress.”
“Oh.” Peter deflates a little, feeling the adrenaline and fear leave his body. “Why was it destroyed?”
It takes Tony a moment to form his response. “Because of the battle. Thanos. You -” He stops and takes a quick, sharp breath. “Please, tell me you remember that.”
“Titan?”
“No, no. The one after. It was just a few weeks ago, bud.”
“Titan was a few months ago -”
“No, it wasn’t.” Tony shakes his head, a waver to his hand as he places it on the back of Peter’s neck. “You’re getting confused, kid. Listen, there were two battles, okay? You’re just – you're not thinking about the same one I’m talking about.”
Peter frowns. “What are you talking about, Mr. Stark?”
Tony releases a shaky breath. “The battle. Here. Right here. You were there. I was there. We -” An unsteady smile appears on his face. “Remember, we hugged? An actual hug?”
“I don’t understand. I’m sorry,” Peter says, his voice cracking. His cheeks heat up in shame and he bows his head. “I -”
“Peter.” Tony pulls his lips in between his teeth, a pleading look in his eye. “You have to remember. Just try a little bit harder, okay? You can do it.”
“I am trying.”
“Try harder, okay? Please.”
“I remember Titan, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. “It just happened a few months ago. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tony curses. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
From there, Peter will quickly realize that there’s a lot he doesn’t know – like who the little brunette girl in Pepper’s arms is; or why Tony and Happy look so much older than he remembers them being; or how Ben died.
But then there are the things that he can remember that make him feel like he’s reading a book that has some chapters missing – for instance, he knows that Ben is dead, but he can’t remember how or when it happened; he knows that he and MJ are kind of-sort of dating, but he doesn’t remember meeting her; he knows that Thanos is gone, but he can’t recall what happened to him.
“He’s declining quickly,” he hears Bruce say from outside the room.
He can hear Tony’s heartbeat, racing, and May’s sniffles.
“It’s happening fast, and I -” Bruce sighs heavily and shakes his head. “I still don’t understand why.”
“What do we do?” May asks.
“Strange will be here within the hour to transport Peter to Wakanda. We don’t have any time to waste now,” Bruce explains. “I’m going to contact Shuri and let her know to be ready for him much earlier than expected.”
Peter hears Bruce walk away, then some footsteps, but it’s only when May and Tony start arguing in hushed voices that he zones them out.
The tears that he’d cried just a few minutes ago upon realizing how many memories he’s missing are still drying on his face. He’s dying – or, at least, it feels like he is, but no one has outright stated it yet – and no one – not even Dr. Banner or Tony Stark – can figure out why.
If that’s not rock bottom, then Peter doesn’t know what is.
Upon arriving in Wakanda, Peter is carted off to undergo various tests – an MRI first; blood tests; X-rays on his lungs; an ECG.
It takes hours, and, even though he hadn’t had to do much more than just sit there and let it happen, when it’s over, he’s exhausted.
Pepper and May are waiting for him when he gets out. May comes over to the bed and kisses his forehead so tenderly and lovingly. “How was it?”
He just shrugs.
“Everything ran smoothly,” Shuri tells them. “We’re still waiting on the results from the blood tests, but, unfortunately, I don’t have great news. Peter is currently experiencing symptoms related to Stage III heart failure – fatigue, chest pain, shortness of breath – however, the scans of his heart all came back normal, as did the MRI. I wasn’t able to detect any diseases or disorders of the heart. This would be a good thing if something wasn’t so clearly wrong. This also makes it difficult to lay down a treatment plan when I don’t know what we are dealing with.”
“What about the bruise on his chest?” May asks.
Shuri nods. “Ms. Parker, I was hoping I could get your permission to have Peter undergo a biopsy. I’d like to extract a sample of tissue from Peter’s chest to see if there is something there that would be useful to us.”
May bites her lip, nodding, then turns to look at Peter. “Is that okay with you, honey?”
Peter looks at Shuri. He doesn’t know her, but what other options does he have than to trust her? If Tony trusts her, then he supposes he can, too. “Do whatever you need to do,” he says.
“Thank you, Peter,” she says, smiling kindly at him.
He’s taken back for the procedure immediately, isn’t even given a chance to talk to Tony before he goes. They put him under, and the last thing he remembers before he falls asleep is Shuri’s kind eyes looking down at him. When he wakes up, he’s in a much warmer room with softer lights and a comfortable bed.
No one else is there. It’s just him.
He feels an ache in his chest, right in the center over his sternum, and that same soreness in his hand that he felt the last (and, thankfully, the only time since Titan) his hand turned to dust. He clenches and unclenches his fingers a few times, making sure they’re still working properly.
He places his fingers on his chest, as delicately as he can. Pain flares up instantly and heat spreads up to his head, through his arms and legs, into his fingertips. He squeezes his eyes shut and feels like he’s floating through nothingness, which has happened before, but, this time, he sees something.
A flash of darkness, somehow formless and whole at the same time. There are what seems to him like billions and billions of little lights up above, glimmering down on him.
And just as quick as it came, it’s gone.
When he opens his eyes, he can’t remember where he is or what happened, but the image lingers in his mind still.
A few minutes later, the door opens. Tony comes into the room, his eyes red and wet, hair a mess around his face. His voice wobbles when he speaks.
“Good, you’re awake,” he says as he sits down. He tilts his head and studies Peter’s face. “How are you feeling?”
Peter squints at him, confused. “Fine.”
“Yeah? Good. The procedure wasn’t too bad, was it?”
“What procedure?” Peter asks, brows pulled together. “Tony -”
“Don’t you dare ask me where we are again...” Tony says, breathlessly, shaking his head like he knew it was coming.
“How did you know?”
“Because you’ve already asked me that multiple times today.”
Peter narrows his eyes, searching his foggy memories. “I have?”
At that, Tony drops his head. He leaves it hanging there for a moment, and the room is heavy with silence, then Tony looks back at him and squeezes his hand, rubbing his thumb over his fingers and knuckles. “It’s alright, bud. Don’t worry about it, okay?” He tries to smile, but Peter can tell it’s forced.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Stark?”
“Nothing.” His smile falters subtly. “Everything is okay. Trust me.”
Peter nods. He doesn’t have any reason to not trust Tony. “I’m...confused. I don’t know why I’m f-forgetting things.”
“That makes two of us.” Tony squeezes his hand again. “But you gotta trust me, here. We’re going to figure this out.”
“I feel like I’m dying, Tony.” Peter quirks an eyebrow.
“You’re - no, nuh-uh, you’re not allowed to say that, or even think that, got it? ‘Cause you’re not dying, and you’re – you're not going to die, because you’re going to be fine.” Tony holds Peter’s chin between his thumb and finger.
Peter leans into Tony’s gentle touch. “Do you actually believe that or are you just in denial?”
“I believe it,” Tony says. “But I might be in denial about some things – like the fact that this is even happening at all. Anyway, there’s something I need to talk to you about. Something...serious.”
A weight settles in Peter’s chest. He leans back, away from Tony’s hand, anxiously fidgeting with the nasal cannula line. “What is it?”
Tony’s eyes flicker to Peter’s hand. He studies it carefully for a moment. “Shuri told me that, uh, during the procedure, your hand was -”
It doesn’t take more than that for Peter to realize what he’s talking about. Peter feels his hand tense. He curls it into a fist and pulls it out of Tony’s sight. A look of confusion settles into Tony’s features. He’s silent for a long while, assessing the situation. “You know what I’m talking about.”
Peter doesn’t meet his eyes.
“Peter.” Tony takes his chin again and tilts his head up. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“What happened?”
Peter shrugs. “That day when I called you in here and I was, you know, crying, it was happening, but then it – it stopped before you got here -”
“And you decided not to tell me? Or anyone?”
“I’m sorry, but I thought I was going to -”
Tony waits, but when Peter doesn’t continue, he frowns. “Going to what?”
“I was just scared.”
“Understandably, but what did you think was going to happen?”
Peter puts his head down. “I don’t know.” When Tony gives him a look, Peter sighs. “I don’t know , Tony. I was so – so scared when it was happening, and I – I knew why, but now I don’t. I can’t remember what – why I was so scared.”
Realization dawns on Tony. “Oh.” He drops his head, too, now, defeated. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and when he looks back at Peter again, his eyes are glistening with unshed tears. “Bud...”
“This is really bad, isn’t it, Tony?” Peter’s voice cracks and, for the first time, he just lets himself cry; doesn’t bother trying to fight it this time. “You - you sound so optimistic, but I don’t know how you can be. I mean, I’m not even seventeen and my heart is failing, and – and my lungs and my kidneys are failing, too, and I can’t remember anything. I can’t even remember how Ben died, Tony.”
“Hey, hey...kid.” Tony tries to reach out to Peter, but Peter pushes his hands away.
“Stop. You can’t keep saying everything is going to be fine, Tony. Everything is not fine, and it’s not going to be.”
Tony nods. “I don’t know why this is happening. It doesn’t make sense,” he admits. “I haven’t wanted to – to scare you, but...I don’t know how else to say it, so I’m just gonna say it. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that I’m going to lose you again, after I just got you back, because I can’t handle that again. You were gone for five years and it was hell. There were times when I wished I had just died with you that day, because that would have been easier than living without you. So, yeah, there you go. I’m really, really scared, Pete.”
What Peter takes away from that isn’t what Tony had been expecting.
“You missed me that much?”
“No. I missed you more than that. I just can’t find the words to – to explain it. It’s like – like - remember when I told you I wanted to tell you how much I missed you, but I didn’t know how to?”
Peter frowns. “No.”
“Oh. R – yeah, right. Uh...” Tony closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Well, I did, uh, say that, and now I’m trying to – to express it to you. I’m just not very good at it, as you know, which is actually quite frustrating because I don’t like not being good at things, but -”
“Mr. Stark.”
“Sorry. Sorry. I’m rambling.”
“You don’t have to explain. I get it. It’s fine.”
“I just...can’t. I want to, but...losing you – losing my kid ...I just can’t find the words to – to tell you what it was like.” Tony holds Peter’s gaze, pleading with him to understand, as best as he can for someone so young and someone who has never been in that position.
Peter reaches for Tony’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “But, then, you got me back?”
“Yeah, but for what? Just to lose you again?” Tony shakes his head. “No. I can’t do that. You deserve better than that. You have a whole life left ahead of you to live, and it – none of this is fair.”
“Please, Tony,” Peter whispers. “I’m still here.”
Tony smiles sadly. “Yeah, and we’re gonna keep it that way.”