Home isn't just a place

Chapter Nineteen

Peter was trying to sleep, but he was finding it very difficult. Even if he were sleeping in his own bed (which he wasn't as, according to his overprotective parents and doctor, he wasn't allowed to leave the med-bay) Peter doubted he would be able to sleep. Not with the ominous sense of despair looming over him.

Peter had no idea what was going on with everybody, but whatever it was, it wasn't good. Peter could tell that it was weighing on them. Everyone in the tower kept sending him those awful, pitying glances when they thought he wasn't looking. It put him on edge.

They knew something.

Something bad.

(And they weren't telling him. That didn't bode well. Not one bit.)

And if the ominous presence in the tower wasn't enough, the reaction his parents and Aunt were having around him was worse. They stared at him like it was the last time they'd ever get to see him. (Which, based on the way his health was declining, it very well might.)

Today, his mom came into the med bay and sat next to him and taught him how to knit. He made a pretty scraggly scarf, but Pepper looked at it like it was the best thing she'd ever seen. Peter gave it to her as a gift and her eyes watered up and she hugged him tightly, pressing soft---yet watery---kisses to the crown of his head before she let him go. She then proceeded to stare at him for a long time.

When his dad came in to relieve Pepper of her position as 'Peter Baby-Sitter', she had frowned and hugged Peter in a death-like grip (Too soon?) before walking out of the room quickly. Peter pretended he didn't see the tears in her eyes. For both their sakes.

Tony pulled up a chair, making sure that he was as close as possible without being in the bed with him, and proceeded to tell him about the projects he was working on. Peter appreciated the sense of normalcy it gave him, even if it was forced.

Everything seemed to be going fine until Peter had a coughing fit. Tony had panicked, unsure of how to help while Peter bent down and coughed until a spray of red splattered against the white tiles. His dad's face paled dramatically and he held Peter against his chest, refusing to let him go even after the coughing fit had long since subsided.

Peter resigned himself to his hold and snuggled closer to get comfortable. After a tense five minutes, Tony relaxed and continued his stories. Peter had closed his eyes and allowed the exhaustion to pull him under, all the while Tony held him closely.

Peter was barely conscious when Tony set him back into the bed, but was awake enough to hear the hushed sobs that escaped the man's mouth. A part of Peter wanted to comfort him, but that part was quickly buried under the debilitating exhaustion that pulled him closer to sleep.

He was so damned tired.

(He didn't want to think about what that meant.)

When the waves of oblivion receded just enough for Peter to be coherent, he heard his dad suck in a deep breath and press a kiss to his forehead before he whispered the ominous words that had kept him up ever since.

"I'm scared," he had said, his tone was defeated in a way that Peter had never heard before. It sent goose flesh tingling down his spine. "I can't lose you, baby. I just got you. But I... I don't know what to do. I don't know how to save you... I'm so sorry, bambino, so sorry."

Those words had froze him to his very core. Never had Peter heard such helplessness in his voice. It made him terrified.

(What knowledge did he have to make him sound that way?)

It had been almost two hours since Tony had left, unaware that Peter was still awake, and Peter could not succumb to the sleep that evaded him. Peter was so tired. He was tired. He was utterly exhausted yet he couldn't sleep.