You're Not My Dad
"You're not my dad! Stop smothering me. I think I can handle a trip to the library on my own!"
---
"Ben. Ben, please. Open your eyes. Uncle Ben. I'm right here. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, just open your eyes. Aunt May is waiting for us. Uncle Ben, please. I'm so so sorry."
---
Tears streamed down Peter's face as he stood there watching the casket lower into the ground. Someone was talking, reading something that was meant to be profound to honor Ben Parker. But all he could hear was the sound of his uncle's heartbeat slowing. The sound of him choking on his own blood. The look on his face when Peter had shouted at him before storming out of the apartment. Whatever they were saying about his uncle, probably didn't do him any justice anyway. What could they possibly say to honor him properly?
He hadn't realized that the service had stopped, that everyone had started to filter away from the gravesite until he felt a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, Pete. You ready?" A soft, familiar Scottish voice broke through his muddled thoughts, and Peter attempted to blink away his tears so he could look over at his older friend. "Jemma and Daisy walked your Aunt back to the car, but-but if you're not r-ready to leave yet, there's no rush. We can wait as long as ya' need to."
Peter didn't answer - he didn't think he could. Instead, he just looked away, back to staring at the gravesite in front of him. So the two of them stood there together in silence for several minutes. Nothing but the sound of their slightly uneven breaths between them until --
"It's all my fault." Peter whispered suddenly - so quietly, he wasn't sure if Fitz would hear him. He hoped that he wouldn't.
But the grip tightening on his shoulder made it clear that he had.
"Pete..."
"Don't -- Please, don't," He took a step away, pulling himself away from his friend's grip. "Don't try to tell me it's not. I -- You weren't there, Fitz."
"Pete... Don't do this to yourself. The only person to blame for your uncle's death is that man who held the gun. I know for a fact that wasn't you," Fitz argued, his voice firm as his fingers moved Peter's chin, trying to get the boy to look at him. "You're not responsible for every bad thing that happens around you just because you --"
"We were fighting," Peter interjected, his voice barely above a whisper. "I yelled at him. Told him he wasn't my dad when he was... He was just trying to keep me safe." A fresh sob, bubbled through him, and even with his eyes closed, he dodged Fitz's reached out hand when he tried to comfort him. Peter sniffed and rubbed the tears away from his face. "I ran out, and he went after me. I told him I was going to the library... Which of course was a lie. So he couldn't find me."
He had to stop again, to cover his face, and resume at least a relatively normal breathing rate. He could practically feel Fitz's stare, could feel the way he wanted to interrupt again, to assure him that he wasn't to blame for his uncle's death. But for now, he stayed silent.
"I saw him. I saw the guy who did it. He was behind me in line at Delmar's. If I had known -- If I had stopped him -- or taken his gun when I had the chance. I saw that he had a gun, I sensed that there wasn't something right about him, but I didn't -- I didn't think -- I Should have --"
This time, Peter didn't dodge Fitz's touch. His friend had reached over and pulled Peter into a tight hug, effectively stifling the beginnings of Peter's hysterics. At least for now.
"What happened to your uncle was awful. You being there, findin' him, is awful. But none of that makes this your fault. That man wasn't a good man, and that's not on you. You fightin' with your uncle didn't make that man the man he is."
Peter wanted to argue again, to somehow prove to Fitz that it was. If he had these extra gifts - what good was it if he couldn't even protect people like his uncle? But he was quickly running out of the energy for it, sobs once again raking through him uncontrollably. He wasn't sure how long it was that the two of them stood there, with Peter sobbing into Fitz's shoulder. But eventually, Peter pulled away, apologizing for getting tears and snot all over Fitz's shoulder.
"Don't worry about it, bud. C'mon. Let's get outta here. You think you're ready?"
Peter nodded, and finally allowed Fitz to guide him back to the car, where May was sitting in the back seat with Jemma, offering her another tissue.
---
Peter nearly dropped the Guardian he was in the process of trying to save when he heard the sound of Mr. Stark's own blade run through him with Thanos's hand, and the sound of Mr. Stark's pained gasp. As soon as the Guardian was secured, and Peter apologized for not remembering their names, his feet hit the ground. He wanted to run to the man, his last words to him echoing painfully in his ears and he felt frozen. Like his feet were glued to the rock and rubble beneath his feet.
Mr. Stark. You're not my dad.
"No!"
Thanos was killing him, and suddenly he felt like he was thirteen again, unable to do anything to save a man he cared about -- who cared about him. It was like history repeating itself all over again.