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Erik stands in the doorway. He looks down at his son, who's laying on a makeshift bed in the interim infirmary
"Kitty told us." Erik's voice is barely above a whisper. What a cruel twist of fate. To get what you craved your entire life and then have it torn from you again.
Pietro doesn't look up. He's turned to the wall, almost appearing to be asleep. It scares Erik to see him so still. "I asked her not to." His voice is muffled.
"Don't do this, Pietro. Please. Don't push us away." Erik never begged. But this was too much. To know that his own son wanted to hide this from him...
"Go away." Pietro doesn't bother turning from the wall. His voice is as angry as ever.
Erik stays standing in the doorway. "Pietro..."
"Go!" The younger man pulls the blanket tighter over him. "I don't want you here."
The words hurt. They don't hurt more than the knowledge of what is to come. "I can't, Pietro. Please..."
Pietro turns from the wall to look at him. He looks bad. His eyes are bloodshot, his skin a pale shade of white. His hair is slick with sweat and Erik can see that every movement makes the wound in his side aggravated. "I don't want you here. Now fuck off, Erik."
Erik shakes his head. "I can't." He knows that his son is trying to protect him from the pain of seeing him in this state. He can understand but it hurts all the same.
"I told you to FUCK OFF!" Pietro tosses a glass at him and misses. The fast movement makes him collapse back into the bed, cursing quietly in pain. The glass shatters on the wall behind Erik, but he pays it no mind.
Instead he rushes over to him. He rearranges the blankets so he's laying more comfortably.
Pietro glares at him angrily. He's breathing heavily from the overextension. That also means he's less likely to hit him. "What do you want, old man? Go to Xavier, don't watch me die here." He looks away. His voice is devoid of anger, there's only tiredness in it.
"I can't. I don't want you to be alone." Erik takes his hand in his. "I'm staying."
Pietro rolls his eyes. "The sentimentality will kill me first." He mumbles but doesn't pull his hand away.
Erik doesn't answer the provocation. He stays sitting next to him, holding his hand. The words burn on his tongue, just as they have for the last few years. He has to get them out while he still has the chance. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."
Pietro scoffs. "Who cares? It's not like you can go back in time and fix it. Stop overthinking stuff."
If he could go back, he would have in a heartbeat. "I should have been a better father."
Pietro groans. "I'm not winning awards for a Son of the Year either. Shut up. I don't want to hear it."
"I want you to know that I'm sorry. I regret what I did, how I treated you." He presses a kiss to Pietro's knuckles. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sappy." He snatches his hand away. "Do you think I don't know?" Pietro scowls. "You're not exactly subtle about that. Now stop talking about that before I'll hit you."
Erik nods. "Do you need anything?"
Pietro takes his hand again. "A bullet to the head would be nice. Beats dying slowly in bed." His eyes roam over the room. "I thought I'd die in battle. Go out with style and all that crap. It could undo the years of cockroaching."
Erik can only squeeze his hand. He looks away so that Pietro doesn't see the tears brimming in his eyes. He can't give him what he wants. He's killed thousands but to kill his own son...
Pietro notices, he always does. His voice is gentler than usual. "I'm not asking you to do that, old man. I'm just complaining for the sake of it. It's not fair."
On that much they can agree. No child should die before their parent. "It isn't." Erik wipes his eyes. His voice is hoarse and he can't bring himself to focus on making it sound stable.
"That's just life." Pietro's voice is bitter. "Don't do that to yourself. Leave me alone, don't bother with this."
"You know I can't." Erik rasps out. "Don't ask me that."
"Focus on planning my funeral instead. I don't want you to remember me like this." Pietro says angrily again. The anger in his voice is mixed with helplessness. It doesn't fit him. "I can handle this."
"Don't say that." Erik dreads planning the funeral. Despite the fact that it's imminent...
"I'll say what I want. And I want you to leave. Don't do that to yourself." Despite his harsh words, Pietro doesn't take his hand out of Erik's grasp. "Go away."
Erik doesn't say anything. He doesn't want to argue. He squeezes Pietro's hand again.
"You're so stubborn, old man." Pietro says tiredly. "It's horrible."
Erik musters a small smile. He can feel a tear slide down his face. "You had to get it from somewhere."
"Yeah, I know, you stubborn bastard." Pietro closes his eyes. "You should probably clean up the glass. Someone could get hurt."
"It can wait." He missed over sixty years with his son. He wasn't going to miss his last days.
Pietro humms in agreement. "I'm tired. You should go, I'll sleep."
Erik doesn't want to leave him. "I'll stay until you fall asleep." He squeezes his hand in reassurance. What is to come is unimportant. His son is here and alive now.
There's a ghost of a smile on Pietro's lips as he squeezes Erik's hand back. "So stubborn, old man. But fine. Leave when I'm asleep."
Erik doesn't leave. He spends the whole night by his side. And the day. And the following night.
All the way until the bitter end.