“I don’t- I don’t feel so good…”
Tony catches him when Peter stumbles, hands clutching at Tony’s shoulders, his fingers tearing through the fabric of Tony’s clothes where he’s trying to hold on. In the periphery, silhouettes of the others—
—fade into dust.
Tony makes eye contact with Strange, his gaze resolved, knowing, and then he’s gone.
But Peter is still here. Peter is still here, solid in Tony’s arms and he’s gonna be okay, he’s gonna be okay. “You’re alright,” Tony says into his hair. Smells like fake apples, cheap drugstore shampoo. “You’re alright, kid. C’mon, can you- can you stand?” He tries pulling him up but Peter just shakes, a deep shudder going through his body, reverberating through Tony’s embrace — and then he goes limp. Dead weight.
Tony doesn’t let him fall. He will never never let him fall.
“I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go, please, Mr. Stark,” Peter’s voice is fragile, broken, as Tony lowers him carefully to the ground, cradling Peter's head in his hand. Peter is gulping for air, too fast, the look on his face is pure animal panic.
Tony wants to rip the world apart for putting this look on Peter’s face, too young and too beautiful and too good, too fucking good to be here, on the other side of the universe from home, trembling in Tony’s arms. God. The rage of it is all-consuming but Peter’s eyes are so—
It doesn’t matter, Tony decides. It doesn’t matter what Tony feels, all of it can wait. “Please, Tony…” Peter repeats between shallow breaths, pleading, as if Tony was in control, as if Tony was the one who did it.
But Tony is the one who did, isn’t he? It’s Tony’s fault Peter is here, now. It’s Tony’s fault.
It doesn’t matter.
It’s the first time Peter said his name.
“You’re gonna be okay, baby, you’re here, I got you,” Tony calls, softly, hand coming up to touch Peter’s face. He’s still here. He’s here.
“It doesn’t feel okay, it… I don’t know what’s happening,” Peter chokes out, his face torn with it. “My- my legs- I don’t…” He tries to sit up but Tony puts a hand on his chest, gentle. He glances down at Peter’s feet and sees ash, floating away slowly in the still air. Fuck.
“FRI, connect to KAREN, tell me what’s going on,” Tony says, eyes back on Peter’s, hand on his cheek. Peter doesn’t try to sit up again, looking at Tony silently, trusting. “Just me, please,” Tony adds quieter. He doesn’t want Peter to hear this, he knows what she’s going to say.
Spontaneous cell disintegration.Reason unknown. Peter’s powers are slowing it down, adrenaline likely spiked the regeneration levels to maximum capability. Tony knows, he noticed it reviewing Peter’s suit data before — Peter heals faster in battle. But they never paid much attention, Peter just shrugged it off with a cocky smile, "Huh, must be another perk of being a spider," and they never looked deeper into it. Maybe if they had, Tony would’ve found a way to boost the regeneration properties even more, so now Peter’s body would be able to fight it, to...
But he hadn’t. “The regeneration speed isn’t fast enough to stop or reverse molecule dissolution completely,” FRIDAY adds before Tony dares to hope. “Estimated time until vital organs are affected with the current rate: twenty-seven minutes, eight seconds.”
Reason unknown, was it? Nothing unknown about it, Tony thinks with fury squeezing his throat again. It’s the stones. Thanos used the stones and now his boy—
Tony swallows it down. Not now, only this matters now.
“Tony,” Peter’s face is twisted, he’s clenching his jaw, resolved. “Tell me.”
“Spontaneous cell disintegration,” Tony repeats FRIDAY’s words and his voice feels foreign in his chest. If it was up to him, he would keep saying that it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, but Peter asked and he deserves to know. “Your body is fighting it.”
“How long?”
“Twenty-six minutes.”
Peter’s lips quiver, he shuts his eyes, letting the tears escape. Tony wipes them away, realizing in belated terror that Peter didn’t ask if it’s working. Like he knows it’s not. “Can you feel it?” Tony prays the answer is no, that it’s just shock, fear, Spidey senses. That the anguish written on his features is just emotional, that he doesn’t physically feel his body falling apart into nothing.
When Peter opens his eyes the expression in them is apologetic. “It hurts,” he confesses, glancing to the side, as if he did something wrong, as if it’s a weakness.
“FRI, morphine,” Tony snaps, breathless. He finds Peter’s hand where it’s still clutching at his chest but the grip is weaker. Nanobytes retreat from Tony’s touch until it’s just Peter’s skin, ice-cold, fingers trembling. Tony kisses his knuckles. “It’s not gonna hurt now, baby, just stay with me.” Peter looks terrified, just so, so scared and young and just a kid. Just a scared kid dying in Tony’s arms. “Just breathe, Pete, it’s not gonna hurt anymore.” Tony kisses his hand again and places it on his own neck, for warmth. Peter’s fingers flex, faint, thumb pressing to where Tony’s pulse is strong under his skin. Tony wishes he could give it to him. Tony wishes he could give him his life — Peter should be the one to have it.
Peter’s rapid breathing slows down, evens out. The broken lines of his face, shattered in pain, smooth over. Morphine is working. Tony put several drugs into Peter’s armor, with increased potency to work with his metabolism. He had hoped this one wouldn’t be needed. “Here you go,” Tony whispers, “here you go, baby.”
“Like when you call me that,” Peter says, dazed. Quiet. “Never called me that before…” His eyes are rich honey gold in the desert glow surrounding them. Tony’s stroking his hair, soft curls, covered in dust. Everything here is covered in dust. Tony strokes his hair and smiles, because the other option is breaking down and he can’t, now.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll call you that more often, I promise.”
Peter smiles back.
“Worth dying for.”
Fuck. Fuck.
It must show on Tony’s face, after all, even though he’s giving all he has to suppress it, the despair ripping apart his insides. Peter shouldn’t see it but he’s looking straight into Tony’s soul, there’s nowhere to hide. “It’s okay, Tony… it’s fine. I’m okay with this.”
Even now, Peter is so much braver and stronger than Tony could ever be. Take me instead, Tony wants to beg, scream at the wrong red skies, take me instead.
“I will fix this,” he tells Peter. “I will fix this, I promise, okay? I will- you will be okay.”
He has no right to make promises like that, he’s just human. He’s just a man and this — this is beyond human powers, beyond anything he was ever supposed to have a say in.
But he doesn’t give a fuck. Not anymore.
Limits stopped existing when the universe dared to touch this kid and it was their mistake. Thanos, or whatever higher powers he is a pawn to, the whole fucking cosmic order of things. It was their mistake to take Peter instead of him. Because Tony is not a good person and now — watching Peter’s eyes, the only pure thing Tony had ever touched — he knows such laughable things as morale or greater good will not be taken into consideration. Tony won’t stop until it’s fixed.
Peter is still smiling, tear tracks shiny on his cheeks. “It’s okay if- it’s okay if not, Tony, hey… it’s okay if you can’t-”
Tony shakes his head, harsh, hopes Peter sees how much he means it. “It’s not okay. I will fix this.” It occurs to Tony that tears are running down his face, too. He blinks them away. “Gotta have my baby back,” he adds, not thinking, not caring, and Peter’s features break at that, defeated. So young and scared. It’s better, Tony thinks, insanely, selfishly, it’s better than acceptance.
“Are you just saying it ‘cause I’m dying?” Peter gasps, broken laugh, all air. “Cause I’m- I’m so in love with you.” He looks like he’s about to blush, under the alien dirt smeared on his face, biting his lip, shy. Tony’s heart is too big on his chest and he feels delirious from the absurdity of it all, the devastating weight of regret. He did everything right only for Peter to end up here, confessing his feelings as his body disintegrates. It could’ve been so different and it’s Tony’s fault.
Because Tony knew. Of course he knew. Peter is a terrible liar and he wasn’t trying all that hard to hide it...
Peter is sixteen.
(“Almost seventeen, Mr. Stark…”)
Tony made all the right decisions, because Peter is sixteen, and Tony did everything he was supposed to do, everything he was told to do by the few people he shared it with, drunk and going mad on a handful of nights he was feeling particularly unhinged and allowed himself the thought. Nothing, Pepper had said. You do nothing, Tony, he is achild. But he won’t be a child soon, right? Just a few years. I know you’re not telling me you wanna fuck a minor, Tones, cause that’s… c’mon. I don’t need to tell you how wrong this is. Nope, no, Rhodey, you don’t. You don’t need to tell me.
And I don’t wanna fuck him.
I just know he’s going to become someone who I will love forever. He’s going to be someone who’s gonna check all of my boxes, every single one, he will be everything that I’ve ever—
If he wants to, of course. When he’s older. When he can make these decisions. Not now.
He didn’t tell them all of those things. And some of the things he told them were lies. Some of the things he told himself were lies, too. But he did everything right: keep him at arm’s length. Ignore it. Don’t give reason. Don’t reciprocate. Let it be. Just a few years. He did everything right.
Now, in this moment, with Peter falling to dust in his arms, Tony wishes he did everything wrong. He wishes he gave Peter everything Peter ever wanted, everything at all. He wishes he kissed him, hard against the wall when Peter was biting his lip that one time in the lab, looking up from under his eyelashes, blushing, saying “I’m not just a kid, Mr. Stark,” as if they were still talking about the suits, the superhero stuff, as if it was ever that two-dimensional. Tony should’ve kissed him. Tony should’ve fucked him, too. Should’ve taken him to his bedroom, Peter would’ve liked the view, Peter would've like it all. Tony should’ve made sweet, perfect love to him, made his first time so good, dreamy, like a fairytale, like a secret Peter never told anyone but Tony knew anyway. Could’ve made him feel so good Peter would’ve cried with it. Tony would know how. He knows, in his bones, at his core, he could make Peter happy, completely happy, he was made for it. Just for Peter.
Tony should’ve given him a car, a watch, a building, taken him to Paris, Tokyo, Saint Petersburg. Should’ve never taken his suit away. Should’ve enabled him even more, actually, given him more suits and more tech and more gadgets, so he would be free and happy, fighting all the crime he wanted. He’d be safe, he’d be okay, because there would be nothing to prove, Tony would already be by his side, every step.
Tony would’ve been a monster, of course. Peter is just a kid, too young.
But he’s too young to be wasting into nothing on a dead empty planet, too, and Tony is still a monster. Tony is a monster no matter what. And Peter will grow up and realize it, no matter what, so—
Tony wishes he had given him more than a promise to reverse death. It’s the least Tony can give him.
Maybe one more thing.
He leans in, just a bit closer, watches it register in Peter’s eyes, gives him time to react. Peter inhales sharply, surprised, eyebrows folding into a vulnerable expression. “Tony…” he smiles. He’s so brave to still smile.
"No, I'm not just saying it," Tony promises, honest and serious. Peter's eyes sparkle. Tony lets the overwhelming feeling inside take over — and kisses him.
It’s tender, at first, but no less gut-wrenching. “I’m sorry,” Tony whispers into the corners of his mouth. “I’m sorry I haven’t done this earlier.” Peter’s still smiling, and suddenly Tony sees no pain on his face, only… wow. Peter’s lips fall open and Tony licks into his mouth, hungry, gentle. Peter whimpers, sliding both hands into Tony’s hair, his touch cool and soothing on Tony’s burning skin. It’s sweet, so sweet and soft and amazing, Tony wants to kiss him forever, and Peter chases his tongue like he would let him.
It’s perfect, and twenty-something minutes later Peter will be—
“I will give you everything, everything you want, baby,” Tony says, voice raspy from cutting through the pain stuck in his throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.”
Peter shakes his head, eyebrows tugging together. “No, Tony, you… you did everything to keep me safe. You did everything right. It’s not your fault.” Peter touches his face. “It’s not your fault. You did everything to keep me safe.”
Tony closes his eyes, allows himself to get lost in this. Just for a moment.
“And you did- you did give me everything I wanted,” Peter’s voice is shaking, fighting tears, the sound of it stings. Tony keeps his eyes closed, Peter runs cold fingertips over his eyelids. “I got to be a superhero, a scientist, do all that amazing stuff with you, go to space… I’ve dreamed about this, you know, as a kid- that’s what I always wanted. Be a superhero and hang out with Iron Man, go on crazy adventures, fight aliens. You- you gave me that.”
So then I’m giving you this death, too, Tony doesn’t say. It’s not Peter’s burden.
“It’s not your fault,” Peter whispers into Tony’s hair when he leans in to hide his face into Peter’s neck. The suit does smell like a new car, still, even though it’s been a lifetime since that moment. Peter smells like himself and Tony cries into his skin when he can’t stop. “It’s not your fault.”
***
“Is there… anyone else?”
Tony glances around. Nebula is looking over the remains of the ships several feet away. “Only Nebula, I think,” Tony responds. He’s been running his thumb over Peter’s left eyebrow for a few minutes, the rebellious hairs sticking out against all reason, it’s fascinating.
“Nebula is good.” Peter’s face tightens, both of them stepping around the implied context of everyone else being gone, but there’s genuine hope in his eyes. “She knows space, you’ll figure out how to get out of here… I’m- I’m glad you’ll have her.”
“Yeah, we’ll make a good team,” Tony agrees. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“I know…”
Tony kisses his eyebrow. He doesn't want to think about what will happen after. He doesn't want to think about anything but Peter, now. His funny eyebrow and his invincible heart. “I’m actually self-conscious about it,” Peter informs him awkwardly. Tony laughs. It vibrates painfully inside his ribcage.
“You shouldn’t be. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
Tears run from Peter’s eyes every time he blinks. Tony kisses them off.
***
Tips of Peter’s fingers start fading, Tony feels it where Peter’s hands are in his hair and on the back of his neck, the ticklish sensation of ashes touching his skin is paralyzing. Peter’s breathing goes fast, ragged. “Shhh, sweetheart, it’s okay. You’re okay, baby,” Tony murmurs, hands cupping Peter’s face, his eyes are huge and terrified.
"H-how-"
"Eleven minutes," Tony assures him, glancing to where the time is now displayed on his wrist. "Still here, baby. Just breathe with me." Peter is sobbing in earnest, squeezing his eyes shut, leaning his face slightly into Tony's hand. But he follows Tony's lead and they breathe together. "That's it, in and out." FRIDAY injects another shot of morphine and several deep breaths later Peter is a bit calmer, but the fear striking his features is still evident.
“Do you want me to put your arms down, so you don’t see it?” Tony makes himself ask.
Peter nods. Tony takes his arms carefully by the wrists and lays them next to his body. Peter’s hands are shaking. Tony kisses his palms before putting them down and settling back on the ground next to Peter, his head pillowed on Tony’s forearm.
They don’t say anything for a long moment. Just lay there, looking at each other.
“I’m glad I got this time with you,” Peter says, soft. “If it was fast, the last thing I felt would’ve been fear, or… regret. Bad feelings. Now I get to choose.”
“I love you, Peter,” Tony tells him because he can’t stand this. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you.”
Peter looks caught off guard, but it settles into a cocky grin on the way out. “I won’t tell, Mr. Stark. Gotta save something for later, right?”
Tony has no idea what time of day it’s actually supposed to be here but the eerie copper lighting makes it feel like a perpetual golden hour, like they’re caught in an infinite sunset. Peter looks beautiful, his eyes glowing like liquid amber. Tony can’t speak.
“Kiss me again?”
Tony does.
***
The clock shows two and a half minutes until it reaches Peter’s lungs. They don't know what will happen once it does.
Tony tells him that there’s thiopental in his suit, too. Strong enough to put him to sleep, if he would... prefer that.
Peter thinks about it for a moment and Tony almost expects him to refuse. “Okay,” Peter breathes out, face breaking when he can’t stop crying anymore. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s… let’s do that.”
Tony kisses his forehead, holds him close, lets him cry, whispers sweet nothings into his hair.
“FRI will give you a shot when there’s one minute left, okay? You will fall asleep. It’s gonna be very quick,” Tony tells him, voice calm and even because he can’t feel anything. He can’t feel anything — if he could it would tear him apart. Peter whimpers, nods, messy. “I love you, baby. You will fall asleep, and the next thing you know — you’re back and I’m taking you on a date. Yeah? I’m gonna take you on the best fucking date. We’ll be so happy, this will feel like a bad dream.” Tony touches their foreheads together.
“Can’t wait,” Peter says, barely above whisper. He gives a small smile that rips through Tony's soul, and closes his eyes. Tony kisses him one more time and watches the seconds click.
“I will never let this happen to you again,” Tony is saying when the clock blinks at one minute and Peter’s body gives a weak shake as the anesthetic hits. “Sleep tight, baby. I will see you soon.”
Peter is asleep within seconds. The rest of his body goes quicker, after, and minutes later there’s nothing but dust floating away under Tony’s hands.
Nebula looks up when he walks over to the ship.
“Horrible death for someone so young,” she says, the look on her face is so human Tony would be taken aback if he could feel anything. “It was kind of you to stay with him.”
Tony nods, numb. Empty.
“Let’s go,” he says, picking up one of the tools scattered around her on the ground. “I have a promise to keep.”