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Peter fidgeted, his hands never laying at ease in their metal gloves. The others had said that the twitching was normal, it meant they were alive just stuck. Someplace they shouldn’t be-
“-because what if Mister Stark needs me!”
Wanda growled in his direction, her own hands twitching. The only difference between them was that her fingers lit up with red electricity and his only shook with fear. “Enough about Stark!” She was fuming at all times, constantly muttering harsh things at everybody that went too close.
Peter felt someone pulling him away. He almost flinched until the comforting hand ran down his spine as it had time after time and he knew it was T’Challa. The man has taken him under his ‘royal wing’ as Sam liked to tease. He almost smiled. Almost. “She is just angry, let her cool down a while and she will come to her senses.” The kind smiled at him gently. It reminded him of his mentor and it was like he was grieving all over again. “That man, Stark- he is a genius. He will get us out, for he is grieving like us all, be patient.”
He nodded respectfully at the king. “Yes, sir.”
T’Challa waved his hand and gave a low chuckle. “What have I told you? We don’t do that kind of thing, yeah?”
Peter gave the man and half smile before being led off to their misty-filled resting place. He felt for the king, he had a family, a kingdom, something he has passion for. He cringed when he thought about his… dusting, as the others took to calling it.
He misses May and Ned and MJ and oh god, he misses his mentor. They apparently hadn’t dusted, anyone Peter already knew hadn’t died and he selfishly wished they did so he wouldn’t be so alone.
Peter did his spanish homework until the early hours of the morning all to die in his mentor’s arms. What a waste of fucking time, he gave up lab time to finish that essay and now he really regrets that.
He doesn’t know what he would do without the older man. He’d went from zero to one hundred quickly in Peter’s life, from not texting at all to seeing him more days than not throughout the week.
This clap on his shoulder made him flinch away, nearly attacking the person. Peter relaxed when he recognized Bucky, one of the few people that didn’t talk down to him.
“King’s right, y’know. Stark blood is blessed with smarts that normal people don’t have. Besides maybe you- you sure you’re not his?”
That got a smile out of Peter and a snarky comeback his mentor would have been proud of if he were there. “Ha, in his dreams maybe.”
Bucky smirked and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re a good kid.”
“Sir yes, sir!” He fake saluted, getting a real laugh out of the ex-soldier.
“You think that’s funny?” He shook his head and gently pushed Peter into a sitting position. He rolled his head onto his metal shoulder and closed his eyes. “Get some sleep, make your old man proud.”
Peter hoped he would one day, he closed his eyes and pictured it.
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The fantasy, weather conjured from his lack of food or now-diminishing oxygen, kept him company. It held him like kid’s arms used to and in his hallucinations he held right back. In his head the last words of his kid wasn’t ‘i’m sorry,’ there were no last words at all. In his head, he died while his kid got to live.
The reality was so much worse, unbearable. They would both die at the hands of a monster. A questioning part of his brain wonders who else died or what even happened at all. The most he knows is that Nebula watches him from afar as if she's waiting- Tony's waiting, too.
Tony leaned forward and tapped his helmet with a shaky hand, “This thing on?”
Blue light swarmed his vision, his eyes blinded with it immediately. He leaned back into the cold metal and spoke, bypassing the lump in his throat with the choked words. “Hey Mister Parker,” he said softly “if you find this recording, don’t feel bad about this.” He sucked in a breath. He knows the kid will hate the next sentence. “Part of the journey is the end. Just for the record, being adrift at space with-” he stuttered “without you is about as promising as it sounds. Food and water ran out… four days ago, oxygen’ll run out tomorrow morning.”
He gets up and makes his way to the galaxy. The stars shining so bright seamlessly, no purpose at all. He only sees these kinds of stars in Queens, wishing he would see them again before he goes.
“That’ll be it.”
It came out crackling and sad, like the broken man he now is. He crumpled to dust right next to the kid, his ashes were still in a pile next to the ship opening. Tony can look at them and when he does, he sees more than the stars; it’s all Peter.
“When I drift off-” Tony chokes off, again . “I want you to be home.”
He closes his eyes again, unable to bare the light shining into the ship.
“It’s always you, Pete. You are the future.”
An ‘I love you’ goes unsaid, so do so many words that he can’t say. He keeps his eyes close because the stars will judge his cowardice if he opens them. They taunt him with everything he lost, everything he hasn’t lost yet; that’s not enough to fight for.
His kid is gone, it’s all he was left to fight for. Tony clicks off the helmet, his hands trembling from exertion from the small movement. He's all alone now and floating in space.
In Tony’s head, Peter is next to him and they’re at ease- content. In his head they’re safe. The universe owes him the biggest debt and the one thing he wishes for is out of the question. All because he was irreplaceable. Tomorrow morning he'll last for six minutes after the oxygen runs out. Every second he'll think about how he could have saved his kid, the teenager he warranted as his son.
Now he wishes he'd said that, but what he did say was better than the apology he wanted to give, should have given.
The tired man takes in a deep breath and lets his head clunk onto the cold metal behind him. If he imagines it hard enough, it’s as warm as him home once was.