Work Text:
Peter didn’t know when it started. To be honest, it didn’t really matter anymore. He didn’t care. All that mattered now was stopping the feeling. That clinging feeling of falling apart, of turning into dust, of his legs and arms dissolving. The pain of being helpless, the pain of Mister Stark looking so fragile and hurt.
He didn’t want to relive that moment every day, he didn’t want to be reminded of being so helpless and hurt every time he saw Mister Stark.
His lab used to be the safest place on earth for Peter. If a day at school went south, if he had a fight with Aunt May, if he just needed a little break from everything, he used to go there. The lab would give him the security he needed.
But now it was death. Death everywhere. There was Mister Stark and his ever-worried eyes. There was all that dust. All that space technology. Everything reminded him of death. Pain. Being cold. Trying so hard not to die and yet feeling it happening.
He had tried avoiding the lab. Mister Stark – he had asked him multiple times to call him Tony but something about that felt wrong – had of course confronted him about it after a while but also gave him the time and space he needed.
He waited, knowing something was off, especially after the kid didn’t explain to him why he was doing what he was doing. Tony had waited for the kid to come back and he did.
If he wasn’t there then maybe Mister Stark would die? Maybe he would turn into dust and ashes.
At least he wouldn’t feel anything. That was what everyone said. Then why could Peter remember all of it? The hurt and the cold, the loss of his limbs and his life? Why was he cursed like that? Why did everything always have to hurt him more than anyone else? Why did he have to be alone with his feelings?
“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
He didn’t even mean for the words to leave his mind. Maybe he hadn’t even said them out loud. But then Mister Stark slowly set down his work, his eyes landing on teary ones.
“Oh Peter. I’m always here.”
Peter’s hands fiddled with the hem of his shirt. It was still there. He wasn’t dissolving.
“Nobody felt what I felt. Nobody knows what I know.” He tried swallowing the lump in his throat. “I am alone with my thoughts.”
Mister Stark didn’t seem to understand. Big doe eyes looked at him, full of worry and softness.
“What did you feel, Peter?” he asked carefully as to not startle him.
He was going to cry. Peter had hoped he wouldn’t have to, just this one time but no. He could already feel the tears rolling down his cheeks.
“My death. I felt it. Nobody did but me.” Why couldn’t he just stop crying? “I felt it.” God, he felt so pathetic. “I felt everything.” More tears. “It hurt.” God, it hurt so much.
Was Mister Stark crying too or did Peter just imagine that? “Oh Peter.”
But if he wasn’t crying, then why did he wipe his face?
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Great, now he made Mister Stark sad. Good job, Peter.
“You wouldn’t’ve understood.”
“Come here.”
They were finally there.
Hugging but not dissolving.
Mister Stark was there. He had always been. Peter died in his arms, after all. Peter had never been alone.