Kid, tell me what happened: The Sequel

i'm a mess (for your love)

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.