Work Text:
Peter squints against the harsh sunlight as he wipes sweat off his forehead, trying to ignore the pain pounding away in his head.
“Hand me that wrench, will you?” Tony asks from his position kneeling on the grass in front of the pressure washer that had broken down as they started to power wash the house.
Peter nods as he reaches into the red toolbox and grabs said wrench and hands it to Tony. “What do you think? Is it going to make it?” He asks with a hint of sarcasm.
“Well,” Tony says with a grunt as he tightens a bolt on the machine. “I think she has a few more good years left in her.” He says, shooting a smile over his shoulder at Peter.
Peter smiles in return, trying not to wince when his head lets off a particularly sharp throb. He’s had this killer headache since he woke up this morning but it hasn’t been this bad until now. Sitting out here in the middle of a heatwave in the sun probably isn’t a wise decision on his part. He’d rather be inside where the cool AC is, sprawled out on his bed in the dark, sleeping this off. But he’d never say no to spending time with Tony, even if it involves a mundane task of fixing a pressure washer.
“So… I was thinking—” Tony says as he hands Peter the wrench back when he’s done using it.
“That can be dangerous,” Peter says.
Tony huffs out a laugh as he shoots a grin over his shoulder at Peter. “Like son like father, I guess.” He says.
A warm and fuzzy feeling bubbles up in Peter’s chest at his words as he smiles, ducking his head down as he puts the wrench back in the toolbox. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking… what if I made some fettuccine Alfredo for dinner tonight, get some ice cream at your favorite place down the street, and we can have a nice, relaxing family movie night?” Tony asks as he wipes his oily hands on a hand towel, standing up from the ground with a small grunt when his knees click in protest.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” Peter says with a smile as he pushes himself up from the ground, only to pause when his head gives off a particularly sharp throb from the new position. He reaches up and rubs at his forehead, hissing slightly though gritted teeth.
This always happens when he tries to work through the pain of a headache, which hopefully isn’t upgrading to a migraine but with Peter’s luck, it probably is.
And of course, Tony’s dad senses tingle.
“You okay?” Tony asks, looking at Peter with his brows pulled together in concern.
“Yeah… just a headache.”
Tony’s still frowning as he looks down at his watch to check the time. “It’s a little after noontime, so how about we head on inside and I’ll whip you up a sandwich for lunch.”
“Sure.” Peter agrees easily, letting Tony guide him inside the blissfully cool house and out of the intense sun and heat.
They find Morgan sitting on the couch in front of the tv watching one of her cartoons, one that Peter doesn’t know because it came out sometime in those five years during the Blip.
“How about you sit with Morgan while I get lunch started?” Tony suggests.
“Okay,”
Peter slips his shoes off at the front door before he walks over to the couch, wincing at the sunlight pouring in from the windows, mixed with the obnoxiously bright colors from the cartoon on the tv. He plops down on the chaise section of the couch next to Morgan and throws a pillow over his face to shield himself from the light.
“Are you okay, Petey?” Morgan questions.
“Yup…” Peter mumbles beneath the pillows. “M’ all good, Morgs.”
“Why are you hiding?”
“M’ not hiding. Just trying to sleep and the light’s bothering my eyes.” He tells her.
“Does your head hurt like Daddy’s does sometimes?” She asks.
“A little.”
“Oh! I’m sorry.” Morgan whispers.
“S’okay.” Peter mumbles.
It takes only a few minutes before Peter feels himself drifting off to the soft murmurs coming from the tv, but he can’t quite fall asleep with his head pounding away. It almost makes him want to cry at the unfairness of it all—why his brain just won’t shut off and let him fall into a pit of painless nothingness.
He’s taken out of his almost-asleep state by a hand gently shaking his shoulder. “Pete, you awake? Lunch is all ready.” Tony says in a soft voice.
“Mhmm…” Peter hums as he slowly sits up, letting the pillows fall away from his face, finding the room’s curtains to be drawn with the tv off, settling the space in a soothing semi-darkness.
Tony looks at him with a worried frown as he hands him a plate with a sandwich and a side of chips. He reaches a hand up and brushes a few stray curls off of Peter’s aching forehead. “You don’t look too good, Pete,” he says.
“I don’t feel that great,” Peter admits, not having the energy to pretend that he is.
“How’s your head feeling?”
“Hurts,” Peter mumbles miserably.
“Hmm,” Tony hums, as he braces his hand against Peter’s forehead.
Peter lets his eyes slip shut as he leans into his cool hand, bringing only a small amount of relief to his pounding head. He almost wants to cry when Tony takes his hand away.
“You do feel a little warm. I wouldn’t have had you slaving away out there in the sun if I’d known you didn’t feel good, Pete.”
“It wasn’t this bad earlier. I think I’m just tired or my brain is fried,”
Tony huffs out a small laugh. “Your brain isn’t fried, Pete. You’re just tired and you’ve been overworking yourself lately. How about you eat what you can and you can nap until dinner?”
Sleep. That sounds pretty nice right about now.
“Okay.” Peter agrees easily.
…
After lunch, Tony helps Peter upstairs to his bedroom and draws the black-out curtains, engulfing the room into darkness, much to Peter’s relief.
Peter is about to lie down but Tony stops him by handing him one of his pain meds.
“But they make me feel weird and loopy,” Peter argues weakly.
“I know you don’t like taking them, but it’ll help with the pain,” Tony says.
Peter sighs but takes the pill anyways just to please him, swallowing it down with a few sips of water from the cup Tony gives him.
When Peter is lying down on his side with his eyes closed, he hears Tony walk out of the room and down the hallway to the bathroom before the sink turns on, until footsteps approach his room.
Peter breathes out a relieved sigh when he feels a cool, wet washcloth being placed over his eyes and forehead.
“Better?” Tony asks as Peter feels the bed dip down next to his hip.
“Mhmm…” Peter hums, feeling the coolness take the edge off his headache so it no longer feels like his head is at risk of exploding from the pressure. “You gonna stay?” He asks hopefully.
“Sure thing, kiddo,” Tony says, hearing him get up again before the bed dips down beside him until he feels the man’s hand card through his curls.
The feeling soothes Peter as he breathes out another sigh of relief as he allows himself to relax, feeling the tension leave his body.
It only takes a few moments before Peter finds himself drifting off to sleep, feeling the pain grow duller as his consciousness fades away.
…
Peter can’t breathe as dust begins to fill his lungs.
He looks up with wide, tear-filled eyes at Tony, who’s standing several feet away from him, looking equally as scared as Peter.
“I don’t wanna go,” he pleads, voice wobbling as he takes a few stumbling steps towards him. “P-Please—P-Please, I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go.”
Tony opens his arms as Peter falls forward, but instead of falling into Tony’s arms, he falls right through him as Tony suddenly crumbles to nothing but a pile of ashes.
“N-No!” Peter screams as catches himself on his shaking arms, saving himself from face-planting on the orange, dirt-covered ground… which is now covered in Tony’s ashes. “N-No…. p-please,” Peter sobs as he carefully picks up a handful of it, only to break out into a harsh cough that has him doubled over, finding that he’s coughing up dust.
Ashes.
That’s all he sees.
Ashes.
Peter blinks away the tears in his eyes as he looks around himself, seeing figures of ashes floating in the air where the Guardians and Dr. Strange once stood.
He’s all alone.
Peter takes in a shuddering breath as he looks back down at himself, only to see that his hands are now disappearing, dust falling from his fingertips, joining Tony’s on the ground. It quickly travels up his hands, then his forearms, climbing up his entire body.
Peter sucks in a gasp, feeling like his insides are now full with his own ashes, suffocating him.
He’s dying.
He’s all alone.
Ashes.
Ashes.
They all fall down.
Ashes.
Ashes.
Ashes.
They all… fall… down.
Peter’s eyes snap open, only to be met with a horrible, pulsating pain radiating through his skull, feeling like it’s about to explode as something hot shoots up his throat.
Peter shoots up into a sitting position as he gags, only for more waves of sharp pain to stab at his head as he tries to get up. But the moment that he manages to swing his legs over the bed, he gags again and hot, liquidy vomit spews out of his mouth, landing all over his lap and the floor.
But the only thing he can see is ashes.
Peter gasps in the middle of a gag, only to break out into a harsh round of coughing but it only brings back the memory of him coughing up dust in his nightmare… or was it real? Is he already dead and this is a dream? Or his worst nightmare that he’ll have to live again and again in a constant, torturous loop?
His head and ears are pounding too much, Peter doesn’t hear the pair of footsteps running up the stairs towards his bedroom.
Peter slams his eyes shut as he coughs up more bile—more ashes.
His ashes.
It’s happening again.
Thanos snapped.
Half the universe is gone.
Thanos won and they lost.
“Peter! Peter—look at me, kid!” A voice filters its way through the sheer panic racing through him, mixing with all the pain. “Pete—open your eyes for me!”
Peter snaps his eyes open, only to find Tony’s worried face in front of him—but it’s just like before, except Tony turned to ashes right in front of him.
“T-Tony p-please,” Peter hoarsely says, feeling something cold slide down his cheeks. “P-Please—I-I don’t wanna go. P-Please,” he begs as he slams his eyes shut, unable to get the image of Tony crumbling to nothing in front of him.
His breathing comes in quick gasps now, and it feels like his insides are filling up again—oh God. It’s happening again. He’s going to die and there isn’t anything or anyone that can stop it. Thanos won again—he’s always going to win. He’s never going to stop coming.
Peter’s dying all over again.
“Pete—you’re okay. Peter! You’re not dying—kiddo, please listen to me!”
He’s going to die.
Ashes.
Ashes.
Peter lets out a choked sob, only to throw up more bile. “I-I can’t-” he sucks in a sharp, choked breath. “Can’t breathe-”
Black dots dance around in his vision as he opens his eyes, finding a blurry figure in front of him, feeling cold hands on his face.
“Pete you’ve gotta listen to me, bud. You have to breathe.”
“I c-can’t,” Peter chokes out around a sob, squeezing his eyes shut again. “I-I can’t—I c-can’t!”
“Yes, you can. You can breathe. You’re not going anywhere. I promise you, Pete. Please. Come back to me. Try to take in a deep breath, okay? Think you can do that for me, kiddo?”
Peter sucks in a gasping breath, feeling horribly lightheaded now, but he tries.
“That’s it, Pete. That’s it, kiddo. In and out.” Tony soothes.
It feels like forever until Peter’s lungs give in, letting air in and allowing him to breathe. He sucks in a shaky breath that triggers a harsh round of coughing, before he opens his eyes and blinks a few times to clear his blurry vision.
“T-Tony?” Peter asks, seeing the man kneeling in front of him with a worried expression on his face.
“I’m right here, Pete,” Tony tells him in a soft voice. “You back with me?”
Peter blinks, his brows pulling together as he shakily nods. He closes his eyes against the pounding behind them, mixed with horrible nausea churning away in his stomach. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbles.
“I know you don’t kiddo. I’m so sorry,” Tony says, feeling a hand brush away a strand of damp curls that are stuck to his sweaty forehead. “How about you take a minute to catch your breath and we’ll get you all cleaned up and back into bed, okay?”
Peter blinks hard as he looks down at his lap again, but closes his eyes at the disgusting state of his lap. He opens them back up again and looks at Tony, brows pulled together. “I-Is this… is this real?” He asks.
Tony’s face falls as he reaches up and gently wipes a trail of tears from Peter’s cheeks with a calloused thumb. “Of course it is, bud,” he softly says. “This is real, I’m real and you’re at the cabin with me, Pepper and Morgan.”
Peter sniffs wetly. “B-But… it just felt s-so real.” He whispers.
Tony nods as he runs a hand through Peter’s hair. “I know, Pete but I promise you it wasn’t. It was just a nightmare.” He says in a soft voice as he places the back of his hand on Peter’s forehead, frowning. “You’re burning up, kiddo. It looks like this is more than just a migraine.”
Peter breathes out a sigh at that. “‘Course it’s not.” He mumbles miserably. Good ol’ Parker Luck.
“How about we get you cleaned up, hmm?”
Peter wordlessly nods as Tony helps him stand up, grabbing him a change of clothes from the dresser before slowly leading him out of his room and down the hallway to the bathroom. Tony is practically carrying him with how wobbly his legs are, but they manage to make it to the bathroom and Tony helps him sit on the closed toilet seat.
Peter closes his eyes against the painful throbbing going on behind them, letting himself slowly slump against the wall next to him. He’s barely aware of Tony wiping his face with a warm washcloth until he’s gently shaken.
“Pete, you gotta open your eyes for me, bud,” Tony says softly.
Peter lets out a low, hoarse groan as he blinks open his eyes, squinting against the LED lighting in the bathroom.
“Arms up,” Tony instructs as he helps him out of his ruined t-shirt and into a clean one. “Think you can stand up on your own so you can change your pants?”
Peter binks slowly. “M’ kinda dizzy,” he admits.
Tony frowns at that as he goes back to the task at hand and helps Peter slide his ruined pajama pants off, grateful to have a pair of boxers on to save him any further embarrassment. Tony helps him stand up on shaky legs to pull on the clean pair of sweatpants he grabbed, helping Peter pull them up to his waist.
“I think you’re good to go, bud,” Tony says, offering him a small smile.
Peter tries to smile but he thinks it comes out more of a grimace. Tony wraps an arm around his waist and helps him out of the bathroom and back down the hall towards his room at a slow pace. When they walk back into the room, Pepper is throwing a white duvet over his bed and she looks up at them, offering Peter a warm, sympathetic smile.
“How are you feeling, honey?” She asks.
Peter makes a weak sound at the back of his throat as he blinks sluggishly, too tired to form words anymore.
“He’s feeling pretty crappy,” Tony answers for him as he guides him over to the bed and helps him lie down on the clean sheets, which Peter suspects Pepper changed while they were gone.
Despite how out of it he is, Peter feels guilty that she cleaned up after him.
“M’ sorry,” Peter mumbles as he blinks open his eyes as Tony pulls the covers up to his chin. “M’ such a problem.”
Tony frowns as he exchanges a look Peter doesn’t catch with Pepper before he looks back down at him as he sits on the edge of the bed. “No, you’re not,”
Peter shakes his head, feeling tears pricking at his eyes. “I am,” He argues weakly. “Y-You shouldn’t have to deal with me.”
“Peter,” Pepper says as she sits down on the edge of the bed on the other side. “You’re not a problem, honey. You’re sick and you’re tired. We want to help you, okay?”
“Yeah,” Tony agrees. “Besides, it’s part of the job description.” He says with a small smile.
Peter honestly doesn’t know what he’s done in life to deserve such an amazing and caring family.
“Why don’t you try to get some more sleep?” Tony says as he fixes the blanket around Peter and tucks him in.
“Okay,” Peter mumbles as he blinks up at him with half-lidded eyes.
“Feel better, honey,” Pepper says softly as she smoothes a hand over his hair before she stands up and walks out into the hallway.
A spark of fear shoots through Peter as Tony stands up and he thinks he’s about to leave too. “Can you stay?” Peter slurs tiredly.
“Of course I can,” Tony says, the corners of his lips turning up in a small smile as he walks to the other side of the bed and settles against the headboard.
Peter slowly rolls on his side so he’s facing him and wiggles himself up so his head is resting against Tony’s chest, earning a chuckle from him in response.
“Feeling a little cuddly are we?”
“Mhmm…” Peter hums as he closes his eyes, feeling Tony’s hand settle in his hair, hearing the faint, comforting thumping of Tony’s heart against his ear. “T’hnks for taking care of me,” he mumbles sleepily.
“That’s what I’m here for, Pete,” Tony tells him, warmness in his voice as he cards his fingers through Peter’s curls.