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Bright crimson red stained Peter’s chest. Deepened the colored nanotech of his suit; an ugly mark. His lungs pumped softly, pulse faint under pressing fingertips. His hair lay mussed and dirty across his forehead; his hands hung loosely at his sides.
Tony held him softly, like how one would cradle a piece of pretty glasswork. The man shook with suppressed sobs, tears making their way over his waterline to drop slowly, slowly down his cheeks and off the slope of his chin.
An empty ‘Please’ died on his lips. Peter, his Peter, his son, was good as gone now. His pulse thumped at barely anything significant; breathing so shallow Tony could barely even feel his chest move.
There wasn’t a thing he could do.
He saved countless lives before; so many goddamn people lived full lives because of him. But now, only now, he couldn’t save the one life that mattered.
No, no, that was wrong. Iron Man saved those lives. The masked man saved them. This was Tony now, the wounded father crying out for his dying son.
The wounded father cradling his little boy in his arms, on a planet he didn’t even know existed until last week.
Pain struck his heart like a hammer to glass; shattering the throbbing organ in his chest.
It was a miracle when Peter blinked his tired eyes open, looked up at his father to see the exhaustion and pain in his own.
“Daddy?” He asked, young and terribly small. It was like he was a small child again, crawling to his father for comfort during a thunderstorm.
Tony held him tighter. “I love you, baby. I love you and I’m so sorry.” He cried, hunching himself closer to his son.
“I- love you, too.” Peter choked on his own blood, coughing wet clumps of it up.
A smile graced his pale, dying face; a tiny grin spread across his lips.
Tony kissed his forehead, tears slipping down his cheeks furiously.
“I’m sorry, bambino. I’m so, so sorry. I love you, baby.” He hugged his son tighter.
“Goodbye, my son.”
Peter’s pulse faded away into nothingness.