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txnysheart · 5 years

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let’s get on with living (while we can) [9]

chapter 8: lay it on me

word count: 3805

warnings: mentions of suicide and excessive drinking

summary: the aftermath of the fight between steve and tony that peter heard

read on ao3: x

playlist: x

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7 - chapter 8 - chapter 9

series masterlist | masterlist

━━━━━━━━

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Am I making it worse?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… If I died now, would it be better?” He searched for the right word. “Easier?”

“No one wants that to happen. So, no, it would not be better, I assure you.”

“Everyone’s sad because of me.”

“They’re sad because of something happening to you. It’s not your fault, Peter.”

“Hm.”

“Is there anything else you need? Should I alert Boss and Captain?”

“No, FRI. Thanks.”

Peter didn’t mean anything by it. He was just… brainstorming. Yeah, that was it. Brainstorming. And while Tony had updated FRIDAY’s code to alert him and Steve whenever something was out of the ordinary with Peter, he hadn’t thought to add anything about alarming conversations the teen might have with the AI.

So neither of them were ever made aware of that conversation. They really should’ve been, but they were none the wiser. Tony was in his lab, just tinkering, trying to steer his mind away from everything that hurt by drowning himself in complicated work. And Steve was keeping Clint company while they waited for Peter to get up - it was nearing lunch time, and FRIDAY had told him the boy was awake when he asked. Nothing more.

Tony made his way to Peter’s room, on a mission. No matter how angry Peter was at them, he’d have to get up to eat and take his pills. The closer he got, the heavier the ball of guilt in his stomach got and by the time he opened his bedroom door, he felt as if it were about to make his knees give out.

“Hey, Peter,” Tony attempted and wasn’t surprised to be met with silence. “I get it, but you have to get up and eat something,” he said, staying by the door in favor of sitting on the bed.

“Hmpf.”

“Anything you want. And you need your pills.” Tony tried his best to keep emotion out of his voice, knowing that anything could set his son off.

“Not hungry. Got my pills here.” His words were short, cut off, and harsh. Tony could count on one hand all the times Peter had been this angry. And he would let him be angry - he was entitled to his anger - because it was Tony’s own fault so he wasn’t about to tell him what to feel.

“You need to get something in you-”

“Not now.”

“Alright,” Tony gave in, knowing he wouldn’t get anywhere but further away from his goal if he kept pushing.

Walking into the kitchen, the mood was lighter than Tony had expected, Steve and Clint making lunch. Well, Steve was making lunch and Clint was joking around, trying to sabotage whatever Steve was doing - but not really, because that would mean no lunch for him either.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve smiled with something distantly sad in his eyes that Tony only barely picked up on.

“Hey,” he answered, apologetic look on his face.

“Haven’t got the kid with you?” Clint asked, settling down in a stool by the kitchen island.

Tony snorted. “If I were to get him up, I’d have to physically drag him out of bed.”

“Angry?” Steve cringed.

“Very. Remember when we accidentally threw out that card Ned made for him when they were little?”

“Oh god, I still feel bad about that,” Steve sighed.

“Well, multiply that by ten and you’re getting close,” Tony said, slumping down next to Clint.

“I can try to get him up when lunch is ready,” Steve suggested.

“Bad idea. We’re sending him in.” Tony pointed at Clint. “Don’t think any of the two of us would be able to do any good right now.”

“True,” Steve agreed. “You up for that, Barton?”

“‘Course I am. I’m his favorite uncle,” Clint chuckled, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“If you fail, I’m telling Rhodey you said that,” Tony playfully threatened with a perfectly straight face that made Steve roll his eyes fondly. “That reminds me - FRI, tell everyone to come for dinner tonight.”

“Will do, Boss,” she dutifully answered.

“What’re we even serving?” Steve asked, drying his hands on his apron. Tony gave him a dumbfounded smile.

“You just finished making the most elaborate chicken salad I’ve ever seen, you’re wearing an apron, you have flour on your cheek for crying out loud, and you’re asking me? Where did that flour even come from?” Tony laughed, licking his thumb, then reaching over to get the flour off of his husband’s face. Steve scrunched his nose, but let him. When Tony was satisfied his cheek was clean, Steve pointed to the oven.

“I might’ve baked some bread,” he said, looking sheepish.

“Stress baked some bread,” Clint added oh-so-helpfully with an amused smile.

“Sounds about right,” Tony snickered. “But, seriously, honey, you decide. You’re the best at food.”

“Alright,” Steve laughed, shaking his head, “let me rephrase. Is there anything in particular you want?”

“Something simple that everyone likes. Don’t know what Peter wants. He’s reverted to almost exclusively using single syllable words.” Tony held onto his left forearm. Steve didn’t let it show that he noticed.

The couple were good at this dance. At pushing away what they needed to talk about, while reaching for the sweet bliss of ignorance. It required an equal amount of effort from both sides, but Tony usually took the lead. His area of expertise. Steve perfectly matched whatever was thrown his way, and they fell into step.

────────

Knocking on Peter’s door, Clint didn’t get an answer. “If you’re not decent, you better tell me now, ‘cause I’m coming in in three, two, one, and there we go.” He pushed the door open, looking at the still lump in bed. “I can tell you’re awake. No one looks that stubborn when sleeping.” At that, Peter stretched out his limbs, rolling over so he was kind of facing Clint’s way, but mostly the ceiling.

“So they sent you instead, huh?” Peter asked, voice a little raspy.

“No one sent me. There’s only so much young love I can stomach before I have to make my escape.”

Peter let out a snort. “Pops turns 100 next year. And Dad’s older than you.”

“And yet they act fifteen,” Clint sighed dramatically. Peter rolled his eyes goodnaturedly, and the archer took it as a sign that it was okay for him to sit down on the bed.

“That dinner tonight still happening?” Peter asked, moving his legs to make more room for Clint.

“Oh, yeah. What’re you craving?”

“I don’t know - chicken, I guess?”

“Don’t look at me, kid, they’re your tastebuds,” he teased, and in response, Peter kicked him lazily. “Have you taken your pills?”

“I have. You suddenly know when I need my pills?” the boy asked suspiciously.

“Uh, yes, what kind of uncle do you think I am?”

“The fun kind,” Peter said as if stating the obvious.

Clint pondered his answer for a second before a smug look made its way onto his face. “Damn straight. Now, come on, you need to get some food in you.”

“I know,” Peter smiled tiredly as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He tugged his slightly askew beanie further down over his ears, the thought of anyone besides his dads seeing him without it making him irrationally nervous. Standing up, he saw black spots, but when they went away, he was relatively steady on his feet. Clint still slung an arm around his shoulder.

The parents overdid the treading-lightly-thing when they saw Peter. “Good morning,” they blurted out at the same time, looking more apologetic than Peter had ever seen them.

“Hey,” Peter answered, eyes lingering on them for a second before sitting down.

No forehead kisses, no comforting hand on his back, no genuine smiles.

He was angry, but it still felt wrong.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Steve asked tensely.

“Uh… corn flakes.”

Tony was the one who got to work on that, quickly getting a bowl ready for his son. When he put it in front of Peter, he placed a tentative hand on the boy’s shoulder. He didn’t flinch away. But he didn’t lean into the touch either. He always leaned into the touch. Tony retracted his hand.

Feeling, yet again, like he shouldn’t be there, Clint could only send Peter an apologetic smile. He didn’t know what had been said after he left the room the night before, but it was obvious that it was something heavy. And that Peter had heard it. Peter wasn’t an angry person, so, really, his behavior was the most telling of all.

“I, uh, I was thinking about seeing Nat and the guys after lunch-”

“Can I come?” Peter interrupted him.

That was way too easy, Clint thought to himself. “As long as you’re feeling up to it, I assume that’s okay?” He looked to Tony and Steve for approval.

“Of course. Actually, I think they’d be offended if you appeared without the kid. Maybe you could get some fresh air as well,” Steve said, a bit too casual, standing a bit too far away from Tony. He could still reach out and touch him if he wanted to, but he didn’t.

Tony hadn’t slept at all that night. Didn’t even go into the bedroom. Steve knew there was no point in trying to stop his husband when he’d muttered something about going to work in his lab, and, “I love you,” because that never went unsaid - no matter what.

“I love you,” Steve had said, too, and retreated into their bedroom. His sleep, when it finally caught hold of him, was fitful and filled with echoes of the words that hurt him the most. He’d woken up at four in the morning, drenched in sweat and his husband’s name stuck in his throat. He took a shower and didn’t go back to sleep.

If you asked Tony what he’d worked on that night, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. He’d just throw out something about nanites and that’d be enough because no one knew enough about whatever he did in his lab to either question him further or catch him in a lie. The only thing Tony knew was that he wanted everything to be okay.

When Clint and Peter took off, leaving the couple alone, neither of them said anything right away. They kept their eyes trained on the kitchen counter as they stood next to each other.

“He wasn’t supposed to hear any of it,” Tony whispered, breaking the silence.

“That’s what you have to say?” Steve asked disbelievingly, not raising his voice, but volume mismatched with Tony’s quiet tone. Of course he wasn’t supposed to hear; that was more than obvious.

“I-” Tony threw his hands up, I don’t know what to say. Not many people could render the billionaire speechless. Steve was reigning champion.

“I can’t do it. Rhodey-”

“Don’t guilt trip me, Steve.”

“I don’t care. You have to-”

“I don’t have to do anything. It doesn’t matter what you say.”

“I can’t do it,” Steve repeated, more desperate this time. “I’d have to- I just can’t, Tony. Not without you.”

“No, don’t- don’t say that. You can’t-” Tony quickly became alarmed, speaking before he could realize how much of a hypocrite he was. He couldn’t stand the thought of Steve doing that to himself.

“God, listen to yourself! You can’t expect me to just stand back, and let you do… that.”

“Stop it. Please, stop it. You’re too… You’re too good, okay? People need you.”

“I need you. So does Rhodey. And Happy, and Pepper, and-”

“Steve.” He was back where he started. A whisper. They made eye contact, a silent conversation none of them backed down from. Steve shook his head.

“I need to get started on dinner,” he sighed, knowing they weren’t getting anywhere. Still, he couldn’t blame his husband.

Tony was on autopilot, and headed back to his lab with intentions to stay there until dinner was ready.

────────

Within a minute of seeing Peter, Natasha knew there was something going on. He was subdued in a way that didn’t have anything to do with him being sick. She whispered in Russian to Bucky that something was wrong as they all settled down in the couches in their living room. Sam also picked up on it, but pretended not to.

Natasha asked Clint about Laura and the kids, and then they were off. Peter was sitting in the middle of Clint and Sam, and was feeling tired, knees pulled up to his chest. Seeing as Clint was leaned forward, animatedly recounting some ridiculously cute thing Nathaniel had done, Peter let himself tip slightly towards Sam. The man chuckled, gladly opening his arms to let the boy rest against him.

It had been a while since Sam had held Peter, and that became very clear when Sam ran a comforting hand down the boy’s side and he felt his ribs through his thick sweater. He wouldn’t let it show, though. “Tired?” he asked instead, when Peter sighed, leaning even more of his weight against him.

“I guess,” Peter answered, closing his eyes for just a few seconds.

“It’s okay if you fall asleep,” Sam told him, almost bringing a hand up to play with his hair. Anyone who knew Peter knew that was a guaranteed way to make him relax. He drew small figures on his upper back instead. Out of curiosity, he switched to tapping out Peter’s name in morse code to see if the kid would pick up on it. It was something he’d learned in the army.

“P-E-T-E-R”

He didn’t get a reaction, so he tried again, in case Peter just hadn’t been paying attention.

“P-E-T-E-R”

This time, the boy shifted, and placed a hand on Sam’s knee.

“S-A-M”

The man smirked proudly, tapping on Peter’s back again.

“W-H-Y D-O Y-O-U K-N-O-W M-O-R-S-E-?”

“F-U-N”

Of course he’d learned it for fun. There was something so unapologetically Peter about that, and it made Sam break into a full smile. Natasha sent him a strange look, but he ignored her.

Sam thought for a few seconds before he decided on his next sentence.

“I-S S-O-M-E-T-H-I-N-G W-R-O-N-G-?”

“T-H-E”

Peter patted his knee once with his palm, then started over.

“I F-O-R-G-E-T”

He drew the letter Y on Sam’s knee. Sam had used it earlier, twice even, but Peter had a tendency of mixing it up with X, and didn’t want to get it wrong. When he was on the receiving end, he’d just see which of them fit in with the rest of the letters.

He felt Sam tap out the letter for him. Dash, dot, dash, dash. Peter nodded. That meant that X was dash, dot, dot, dash. For some reason, he just couldn’t keep them apart, no matter how many times he relearned it.

“T-H-E-Y H-A-D A F-I-G-H-T A-N-D I H-E-A-R-D”

“A-B-O-U-T W-H-A-T-?”

Peter paused as he tried to come up with an answer.

“T-H-E F-U-T-U-R-E”

At that, Sam had to hold back a sad sigh.

“W-A-N-N-A T-A-L-K A-B-O-U-T I-T-?”

Peter pulled his hand back, but stayed cuddled into the man’s side. “Okay,” Sam whispered, holding him a little tighter, “but I’m here if you change your mind.”

“What’re you two whispering about?” Natasha asked teasingly.

“Secret stuff, obviously,” Sam tutted dramatically. “And you call yourself a spy.”

“My bad, I should’ve figured that one out” she laughed. Peter sent her an amused smile accompanied with an eyeroll.

“Yeah, Nat, you should know better,” Bucky said, barely able to contain his laughter.

“Oh, you shut it,” she said, lightly slapping his shoulder. Bucky huffed, big smile on his face, and settled his arm on the back of the couch behind Natasha. She leaned back, rested her head against his arm for just a second, took a deep breath, and straightened up again.

When Peter was busy talking with Sam and Clint, Bucky asked her quietly in Russian if she was okay. She had that look in her eye. Of course I am, but he’s not, she told him. Bucky just nodded, biting his cheek. He didn’t like to think about it.

────────

During and after dinner, Peter stayed close to Pepper, dreading the fact that she had to go back to the city despite not having seen her very much the past few weeks. Maybe that was why he was so reluctant to let her leave. He felt a little guilty about barely spending time with her when he was the reason she was at the Compound in the first place. So he stayed pretty much glued to her side the whole night.

The woman just smiled, held him when he needed to rest for a while, and talked with him, delighted to spend time with the boy. She didn’t want to leave either, but her duties as CEO of Stark Industries didn’t disappear just because Peter was sick. Still, she’d be able to come back to the Compound after some time. She was already subconsciously mapping out in her head what she’d absolutely had to be physically present for and what she could just pack up and bring with her to the Compound.

“I’m sorry I haven’t spent much time with you here, Pepper,” Peter voiced his concern, lifting his head from where it was resting on her collarbone.

If it were even possible, her eyes became even softer when he said that. “Peter,” she sighed, cupping his face, and kissed his forehead. In many ways, she was the closest thing to a mother he had. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m here because I love you, sweetie, no matter what that entails. Got it?”

Peter wasn’t always very good with words, but the hug Pepper got from him was more than enough for her. She didn’t catch how everyone was watching them out of the corner of their eye, too busy hugging Peter back.

“Damn, Pepper, you know he’s everyone’s favorite, and you’ve been hogging him all night,” Bucky sighed, plopping down on the couch on the other side of Peter.

“Oh, shush, you live here. I have to stock up on his hugs before I leave,” she smirked, and held the boy even tighter for a couple of seconds, making him laugh.

“Gimme a leg at least,” Bucky joked, and Peter saw it as an opportunity to make himself even more comfortable. He shifted so that he was still leaning against Pepper, but was able to plop both his legs into Bucky’s lap. “Two legs? Man, this is my lucky day,” he chuckled. And then much softer, “You comfy?”

“Mhm,” Peter confirmed with a smile that could melt the hearts of literally everyone in the room. Steve watched with a fond look, his heart filled to the brim at seeing his oldest friend be so great with his son.

There was something that had been on Steve’s mind all night, though. He needed to talk to Rhodey. He knew that what had been said during the fight was supposed to be between himself and Tony, but he didn’t know how to carry those words all by himself. So, while Tony was busy talking with Happy, Steve subtlety asked Rhodey if they could talk, and lead them away from the living room everyone was gathered in.

“Does this have something to do with why you and Tony have been acting so strange all night?” Rhodey asked when they stopped.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked. Was it that obvious?

“Come on. You guys usually can’t go five minutes without at least holding hands. You’ve barely looked at each other.” Rhodey’s tone was softer than his words, concern shining through.

“I… We had… a fight. And he said something that I just- I can’t not tell you.”

“Okay, what did he- what did he say?” He couldn’t deny the anxious knot in his stomach.

“I didn’t- I didn’t think this through, how do I say something like this?” It wasn’t common to see the soldier so vulnerable and unsure of himself. Yet, there he was; wringing his hands together anxiously while physically restraining himself from pacing back and forth.

“Preferably straightforward. I have a feeling this isn’t something I want to misunderstand.”

Steve nodded, taking the words into consideration. Rhodey was right. He couldn’t be vague about this. “He said- Tony said he’s gonna… He’s gonna kill himself when Peter… when Peter’s gone.”

For a good ten seconds, Rhodey stopped breathing. “This probably sounds fucking horrible, but I’ve known that man for over thirty years, and him saying that, it hurts so much… But I can’t say that it shocks me as much as it should.” He tried his best to be gentle.

“Rhodey-”

“Hear me out, Steve. This is a man who almost drank himself to death. Sure, he ran the company, he did what he was supposed to do. And those videos of him drunk off his ass at parties aren’t even close to how bad it could get in private. I can’t even count how many times I’ve found him all alone, half conscious, and had to help him get into bed, and then sit by his bed to make sure he didn’t throw up in his sleep and choke on it

“I don’t know if he’s told you this, but just a couple weeks before he got Peter, he almost… he almost died. I wasn’t even supposed to be there, I just went to the tower ‘cause I’d forgotten my jacket there the day before. When I got up there, he was… He was on the floor, covered in his own vomit, and he wasn’t breathing. If I hadn’t forgotten my jacket…”

The man had to clear his throat before continuing. “My point is that when he got Peter, he stopped drinking on the day. Cleaned up his act immediately. Because that little boy was enough reason for him to make an effort to- to keep himself alive. Because I don’t think he really cared about that very much before Peter. He never told me directly, but I… I know him. So when he loses Peter, in his mind, he probably loses everything that was worth living for. And don’t get me wrong, Steve, he loves you so much, but…”

If Steve didn’t know about Tony being so close to dying, he didn’t show it. “I know. Believe me, I know. And I can’t tell him this, but I get it. I really do. Because… It’s Peter, you know?” He couldn’t find any other words to explain what he was feeling, so that would have to do.

“I know,” Rhodey said, rather strained. They were all still various degrees of fucking livid that of all people, it had to be Peter.

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txnysheart · 5 years

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So I just found your fic abt Peter having cancer and I'm only two chapters in but I'm crying enough to worry my cat and I hope that's good writing feedback

omg i love this thank you so much

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txnysheart · 5 years

Text

let’s get on with living (while we can) [8]

chapter 8: thoughts are scattered and they’re cloudy

word count: 5977

warnings: chemo side effects, vomiting, anxiety, pretty heavy emotional angst, referenced suicide

summary: clint comes for a visit, and the harsh reality of the situation isn’t lost on anyone

read on ao3: x

playlist: x

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7 - chapter 8 - chapter 9

series masterlist | masterlist

━━━━━━━━

“Is that mine or yours?” Tony mumbled, not even opening his eyes. He and Steve were still in bed, as was Peter in his own bedroom, and they’d been woken up by a phone ringing. Steve grunted, leaning over to the headboard on his side of the bed where they’d both left their phones.

“Yours,” he yawned, picking the phone up and placing it in Tony’s outstretched hand, then slumped back down on his pillow. He didn’t know what time it was, but it was too early.

Without looking at the caller ID, Tony answered the phone. “Hello?”

“The hell’s going on, Tony?” He recognized it was Clint’s voice, and if he’d been more alert, he would definitely have caught onto the fact that Clint had called him by his first name instead of the usual ‘Stark’.

“Top o’ the mornin’ to ya,” Tony said in an overdone Irish accent, and wasn’t surprised when Steve lazily slapped his shoulder. “Is that you, Barton?”

“Yeah. It’s me.” He sounded agitated. Impatient.

“What’s so urgent that you had to call me at,” he forced one eye open to check the time, “five thirty in the morning? Damn, that’s four thirty for you.”

“Was hoping you could tell me, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Just got off the phone with Nat. The press conference.”

“Oh,” Tony breathed out, realization jolting him awake. Clint didn’t know. “What’d she tell you?”

“That it was about Peter, and I’d have to call you. She wouldn’t say anything more than that.”

“I’m putting you on speaker. It’s just me and Steve.”

“Sure. Just tell me what’s going on, she sounded strange.”

“You should, uh… Are you sitting? You should be sitting down.”

“What- Just get to it before I lose my damn mind!”

“Hey! I’m serious, Barton. It- It’s bad. Really bad.”

“I don’t- Sure. Yeah, okay, I’m sitting down.”

“Okay. Uh… It’s Peter. He, uh… Ah, shit, Steve, how do I say this? Fuck.”

Steve held his hand up to stop Tony before he could spiral. “I’ve got it, honey,” he assured Tony, sitting up in bed. “Want me to tell him?” Tony nodded, hiding his face in his hands. “Okay. Okay, you still there, Clint?”

“Yeah.” He was wary, and he was right to be.

“Peter is… He’s really sick. He’s got cancer.”

It took a couple of seconds for it to register in Clint’s brain before he spoke. “What?”

“It’s… It’s lung cancer. Stage four, spread to his liver and his brain.” Steve’s voice faltered slightly as he delivered the news; the words felt so wrong in his mouth. Tony had sat up, feet on the floor, and his back facing Steve.

“No, that… That can’t be right. Right? Not him. Not- Not Peter. He’s…”

“I know, I- I’m sorry we didn’t tell you before. Everything just…” Steve gestured with his hands even though Clint couldn’t see him.

“No, no, I get it.” Having kids himself, he understood. He wouldn’t have been able to focus right, either. So he got it. “Stage four? That’s… God, that’s bad, isn’t it?”

“It’s really bad.”

“Is he gonna- Can I come visit?”

“‘Course you can. Peter loves you, you know that. We’re at the Compound.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay, I can be there by tonight, the drive’s like 15 hours.” Clint was already throwing clothes into a suitcase, Laura still in bed, slightly confused, but mostly concerned.

“No, I’ll send a jet,” Tony decided, straightening his back.

Clint stopped his frantic packing. “What?”

“I’ll send you a jet, Legolas. Don’t worry about it. It’ll be there in three hours.” Steve cringed at Tony’s forced casual tone.

“Oh. Thanks. See you soon, then.” Clint was surprised, and it was audible even through the phone.

“See you soon, Barton,” Steve said, hanging up. “That was really nice of you,” he smiled at Tony, reaching out a hand to put on his shoulder. Tony let his head drop to the side, rubbing his cheek on Steve’s hand.

“FRI, make sure a jet gets sent to pick up Barton,” Tony told the AI.

“On it, Sir.”

He turned around to face Steve who was sitting cross legged on the bed with a sad, concerned look on his face. He mustered a smile for Tony. And Tony did the same for Steve. Both faltered.

“It hurts to say out loud,” Tony spoke into the silent room.

“So much.”

────────

The early November air was cold. The wind was hitting Steve’s face like thousands of small needles piercing his skin, but he stood steadily as he watched Clint making his way towards him from the jet with a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Good to see you, Cap,” he smiled, half-genuine, when he was stood in front of the taller man.

“You too, Barton.” Steve pulled him in for a short, friendly hug before leading the way inside. Clint had obviously been at the Compound before, but Steve thought it’d be polite to greet him outside. And it’d give him a little more time to brief him about Peter’s condition.

“Have a nice flight?”

Clint just sent him a look that clearly meant cut the bullshit.

“Fair enough,” he chuckled. “Peter’s awake, but he’s pretty tired - worn out, really. And he… He probably looks sicker than what you’re expecting him to. He might just fall asleep, he might throw up, he might be in pain, and he might get a migraine,” Steve warned. “Just don’t get your hopes up.” That makes it even more painful.

Clint didn’t really know how to answer that. “I… This is so fucked up, I can’t even wrap my mind around it.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed out, and neither of them said anything more until they were in the living room where Peter and Tony were. At least that’s where they’d been when Steve left them.

“Captain, Boss asks if you could come to Peter’s bedroom,” FRIDAY announced.

“Sure,” Steve confirmed, and then addressed Clint. “Uh, you know where your space is. Go ahead and leave your bag there, and then just come back here.”

With a nod, Clint turned around, starting on the familiar walk, while Steve headed for Peter’s bedroom, his steps somewhat rushed.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked upon entering the room, and closed the door behind him. Tony was keeping Peter steady as the boy pulled a pair of sweatpants on.

“I’m good,” the boy said, prompting Steve to look at his husband for more details.

“Had a little accident. Got some vomit on his clothes,” he explained, holding out a beanie for Peter when he’d tied the string on his pants who took it, immediately pulling it on. Tony had wanted to place a kiss on the top of his kid’s head and couldn’t help but look a little defeated when he wasn’t quick enough. He settled for a forehead kiss instead, forgetting his disappointment the second Peter leaned into the touch.

“You feelin’ up to seeing Clint?” Steve asked, wary of the pale, tired look on Peter’s face.

“Mhm,” he answered with a smile, blinking rather slowly.

“Maybe tomorrow we could invite everyone over for dinner,” Tony suggested.

“Sounds good. Would be nice for Pepper,” Steve commented.

“Pepper?” asked the boy, confused as to why it would nice for Pepper specifically.

“Yeah, she has to go back to the city for a while. She’s got a company to run,” Tony explained apologetically.

“Oh.” Peter sounded disappointed. He wasn’t, really, but it just reminded him that the world hadn’t stopped turning just because his life had been put on pause. And he didn’t want her to leave.

“We meant to tell you last night, but I guess we just forgot. Sorry, sweetheart.”

“No, it’s okay,” he assured his dad with a close-mouthed, genuine smile.

“C’mon, I’m sure Clint is excited to see you,” Steve said, walking the few remaining feet to wrap an arm around Peter. He didn’t know how much he’d thrown up, but he knew he usually became a little wobbly after it either way. “Want breakfast?” Steve mumbled on the way.

“Not really,” Peter declined, pretty sure that anything he ate would come right back up again.

“Not even a smoothie?” Tony asked, wringing his hands tensely.

“I could try,” he shrugged, having learned a long time ago how to lessen his dad’s worries.

“I’ll make it, Tony” Steve offered. “You go with him, Barton’s in the living room.”

With a hum of agreement, Tony wrapped an arm around Peter’s frail body. Because he knew exactly how much Peter had thrown up. It’d been a lot. But he happily supported some of his weight, and they made it to the living room in less than a minute.

Despite Steve having warned him, Clint still had to fight against the horrified expression that almost showed on his face. How could he not? Peter looked so sick. So thin. His face was gaunt and nearly gray, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that under that beanie, there was no hair. And the way he was leaning heavily into Tony, as if standing up was too tiring. The change was… jarring.

He smiled at Peter.

“Hey, bud,” he chuckled, walking over to them.

“Hi, Uncle Clint,” the boy beamed, letting go of the back of Tony’s shirt, and reached both arms out for a hug. Clint caught on right away, strategically wrapping his arms around Peter’s middle - he didn’t know how steady Peter was, and this way he could lift him up if he needed to.

He didn’t need to, but he did it anyway. Just to feel how light he’d gotten. Peter laughed when Clint pretended to groan as he lifted him a couple inches above the ground, thinking nothing of it, because Clint often did that to mess with him. Clint, on the other hand, met Tony’s eyes over Peter’s shoulder, nearly disturbed at how little the sixteen year old boy in his arms weighed. He was only met with a look on Tony’s face he couldn’t completely understand, but it wasn’t hard to tell that the man was both heartbroken and exhausted in a way he knew couldn’t compare to anything he’d ever felt himself.

Putting Peter back down again, he wiped the distressed look off of his face, replacing it with the smile from earlier. He let one arm stay wrapped around the boy as he pulled away, mirroring the way Tony had been steadying him.

“Wanna sit down on the couch?” he asked, and Peter nodded, feeling a little embarrassed as Clint helped him over to the couch, but pretty much forgot about it when he’d sat down, relief then taking over.

Well, as much relief as he could ask for, that was. The familiar aching in his bones was back, making it near impossible to completely relax. But he kept it together as well as he could for Clint. He might only be a kid, but he’d seen the look on the archer’s face, and he was well aware of how sick he looked. Biting the inside of his cheek, he refrained from shifting too much or squeezing his hands for some sort of relief.

“Quit it,” Tony whispered subtly to Peter when he’d sat down next to him, casually grabbing one of his hands to massage it. It felt so nice that Peter forgot himself for a second - by extension listening to what his dad had told him - and stretched his legs out, repositioning himself.

“Here you go, sweetie,” Steve said, approaching the couch, handing the freshly made smoothie to Peter before sitting down next to Tony. One glance down on Tony massaging Peter’s hand, and his smile faltered a tiny bit. Seeing Peter in pain would eventually drive him crazy, he was sure of it. There was something about seeing discomfort on that young face he knew so well that went against every instinct in him.

Clint’s mind was working on overdrive, trying to come up with something to say. The room was abnormally quiet; he was used to Tony’s quips and Peter’s rambling. But they were both occupied - Tony with massaging his son’s hand and watching his face, and Peter with trying to stay awake and drink some of his smoothie. “How are those two friends of yours doing?” he finally asked.

“Ned and MJ?” Peter perked up at the mention of them.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Clint encouraged, eager to hear him talk.

“They were here a couple of weeks ago. Was really nice.” He smiled tiredly, sinking further into the couch. Clint noticed, and changed his goal from getting Peter to talk to getting Peter to rest.

“Tell me about it later. I’m feeling up for a movie right now,” Clint decided. He was a dad, so of course he had a few tricks up his sleeve when it came to getting kids to go to sleep.

“Sure! What do you wanna watch?”

“You choose, buddy.”

“Alright. What about… Back to the Future?”

“Good choice, Pete,” Tony chimed in. “FRI, you heard the kid.” The AI only started playing the movie on the TV in front of them, dimming the lights. Peter managed to pay attention for about ten minutes. That was not-so-coincidentally just when Tony caught Clint’s gaze, flicking his eyes down to Peter’s hand in his. More prompting than that wasn’t necessary - Clint took hold of Peter’s other hand, copying what Tony was doing.

Anxiety boiled in Tony’s stomach as he waited for Peter to fall asleep. Just the thought of another bout of insomnia hitting his kid or him simply being uncomfortable to the point where it stole away his sleep was enough to make him feel off - to make his breathing pick up enough for Steve to notice. “He’s okay,” Steve murmured, pressing a kiss to his husband’s temple. Tony knew what Steve meant, but he still almost snapped that Peter was most definitely not okay.

All three men focused on Peter. Steve and Tony were able to pinpoint the moment he fell asleep, and Clint caught on a couple minutes later. “Is he asleep?” he whispered, looking at Tony.

“Mhm, let’s lie him down, and we can go sit in the kitchen,” Tony confirmed, letting go of Peter’s hand. Clint did the same, and stood up slowly. Cupping the back of Peter’s neck, Tony gingerly maneuvered Peter until he was lying down. Normally, he’d pull his beanie off, but with Clint there, he refrained from it. Then the boy was covered by a blanket, and they left him alone to rest.

Between the living room and the kitchen was the dining room, and a pair of sliding doors separated the living and dining room, allowing them to talk without disturbing Peter.

“You hungry, Barton? I think we have some leftover pizza from yesterday,” Steve offered, pulling a box out of the fridge.

“I could eat,” Clint said. “Thanks.” Steve put the box down in front of him, and grabbed glasses for each of them.

“Any requests, honey?” Steve asked Tony. “And don’t say coffee,” he smirked when the man opened his mouth, looking a bit too excited. For a while, Steve had tried helping him cut back on the amounts of caffeine he consumed in a day and they were actually making a little progress.

“Fine,” Tony snickered. “Iced tea? Do we have that?”

“I think so…” He rummaged around in the fridge. “Yeah, here we go. What about you, Clint?”

“Iced tea sounds good,” the archer said, picking up a slice of pizza, looking a little lost in thought.

“You good?” Steve asked him as he filled his glass.

“Hm? Yeah, just… Peter,” he sighed.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed.

“What’s with his hands?” Clint asked.

Tony looked at Steve with exhaustion clear on his face, so Steve decided to carry the burden of the conversation. “It’s not just his hands. His whole body hurts. Sometimes his hands get especially bad.”

A beat of silence. “Why?”

“Chemo side effect. One of many.” Steve sent him a sad smile, taking a sip of his drink.

Leaning his head back, Clint looked for words. “Not all the time, right?”

“No. Just sometimes.”

“I- He’s not even my kid, but seeing him in pain… All I wanna do is to fix it.”

“He’s okay now. He’s sleeping,” Steve assured him. Tony flinched. There it was again. “You alright, Tony?”

“Yep. All good.” His response was clipped, and his focus stayed glued to his apparently very interesting fingernails. It made Steve frown, but he decided to ignore it for now, instead opting to further explain Peter’s condition to Clint.

“Sleep usually helps. Hopefully he feels a little better tomorrow. But we can’t know for sure. The days after chemo are bad.”

“When was chemo?”

“Monday through Wednesday.”

“Jeez, that’s rough.”

“Yeah, it’s a… It’s a harsh treatment. It takes a toll on him.”

“He’s down to 110 pounds,” Tony blurted out, and then followed a sharp, humorless laugh. “But that was four days ago, probably even less now. He’s not okay. He’s not.”

“Tony-”

“I’m going to bed.”

“Honey, it’s noon,” Steve attempted.

“And I’m tired.” His voice was much softer, much more vulnerable than it had just been a mere second earlier. That, combined with how completely worn out he looked had Steve let out a somber sigh, concern filling his chest. It was a common sensation these days.

“Okay,” Steve said, too many feelings packed into such a short word.

“He good?” Clint asked when Tony was gone.

“He’s… We’re tired.”

────────

Per Tony’s request, FRIDAY alerted him when Peter began showing signs of waking up. Still groggy from an unexpectedly good nap, he sat up in bed, running his fingers through his hair once. He tugged lightly on it to wake himself up, then headed to the living room. Passing the kitchen, he saw Steve cooking while chatting with Clint.

On the couch he found Peter stirring, just beginning to open his eyes up. “Hey, Peter Pan,” he whispered, kneeling next to the couch despite his knees protesting. He tuned it out, instead fixating on gently rousing his son out of his sleepy state.

“Mmm, Dad?” Peter mumbled, stretching his arms over his head as he yawned.

“That’s me,” Tony confirmed playfully.

“Time is it?” The boy searched for his father’s hand, happily leaning into the touch when he felt it cup his cheek.

“Didn’t check, but it looked like Pops was cooking dinner. Feeling rested? You got a few good hours of sleep in.” He let his fingers gently caress Peter’s cheek even though it looked like all it was doing was coaxing him back to sleep.

“Yeah, it- Oh, no.” Peter tensed, sitting up abruptly with a hand in front of his mouth.

“There’s a- Shit, it’s in your bedroom. Sit tight, just a sec.” Tony bolted to the kitchen to get a trash can after realizing the bucket they’d had next to the couch for instances like this had been moved.

Crashing into Steve, he only yelled out a hurried apology as he pushed him out of the way, grabbing the nearest trash can. Steve closed his mouth that had been open to ask Tony what on earth he was doing - it was rather obvious. Especially when he could hear Peter puking into said trash can just about three seconds later.

“I trust you’re able to look out for the pasta?” Steve asked, pulling his apron off, and abandoned his nearly finished homemade pesto.

“Go ahead. Let me know if you need any help,” Clint told him, and Steve sent him a nod in thanks before going to be with his son.

It was common occurrence by now to see Peter emptying his stomach in a rather miserable way, but that didn’t mean he’d ever get used to it. Peter was sitting on the edge of the couch, clutching the trash can, Tony kneeling on the floor next to him, one hand on the trash can and one on Peter’s back. Steve sat down on the other side of Peter.

There really wasn’t anything else to do than gently encouraging him through it, telling him that it’d be over soon and how brave he was. It made both dads feel powerless. There was nothing to do. They just had to witness it, with no opportunity to make it any better no matter how hard they wished, hoped, wanted, prayed, whatever.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Tony said optimistically when Peter was done, even though they all knew it was only because there wasn’t much in his stomach to begin with.

“What do you want for dinner?” Steve asked, anxious to make sure Peter got a little substance in him. “Anything you want, just as long as it’s something.”

Peter grimaced. “At least let me brush my teeth before you start talking about food.”

“Okay, fair point,” Steve smiled. “You good to stand?”

The sudden flush on Peter’s face told Steve everything he needed to know. “It’s just us, don’t worry about it,” he assured him, wrapping a secure arm around his middle and pulled him up. He supported some of his weight, but Peter was relatively steady as they walked out of the living room to brush his teeth.

Tony couldn’t help but be a little stunned. There was nothing special about what he’d just witnessed, and it was far from the worst thing he’d seen the past few weeks. Still, it stung deep in his chest, a helplessness so all-consuming that he had no idea how to handle it.

Clenching his fists so hard that his nails nearly broke through the skin on his palms, he felt his chest tighten and throat close up. He sat down. His eyes were wide, searching the room as he tried to fill his lungs. “TV, trash can, paintings, chairs, phone,” he whispered to himself, voice shaky and mouth dry.

“Sofa, pants, pillow,” he reached his hand out, “table.”

“Clint in the kitchen, footsteps. Peter laughing.” He calmed down considerably at that one, especially when his husband let out a laugh as well, the noise getting closer to him. Honing in on it, he let himself forgo the rest of his familiar grounding technique.

“There we go, let’s sit you down next to Dad, and I’ll go rescue Clint in the kitchen,” Steve said, sending a smile Tony’s way, a little put off by the look in his eyes he’d seen too many times before, if it were up to him to judge.

“Oh, no, you left Clint in the kitchen by himself?” Peter joked as Steve helped him sit down, still a bit unsteady.

“I know, it’s a miracle if any of the food is salvageable,” Steve jested right back. “Gotta go get rid of this first, though,” he said, picking up the trash can next to Tony. Eyebrows furrowed subtlety in concern, he caught his husbands gaze who nodded reassuringly in response.

“You still haven’t told me what you want, Petey,” he said, holding the trash can in one hand, halfway turned to leave the room to dispose of the bag, and make sure it’s clean.

“I know it’s not a dinner food, but scrambled eggs, please?” Peter requested hopefully.

“Sure, sweetie, I did say anything you want. As long as you’re eating.” With a final smile, he walked off, leaving Tony and Peter alone. The man’s breathing was pretty much under control by now, and there were no tangible traces of him panicking just a couple minutes earlier.

“Feeling better?” Tony asked, hand gently taking hold of the back of Peter’s neck, drawing circles on the smooth skin with his thumb. It was just as much to comfort Peter as it was to help himself get completely grounded.

“Much,” Peter sighed, and leaned into the touch, ever the tactile one.

“Stay awake until you’ve eaten something, okay?” Tony told him when he saw his eyes starting to droop a little.

“Okay,” he agreed, shifting to lean into Tony’s side. Ever since he was little, it’d been his favorite place to be, and it always fit him perfectly, as if it grew with him. With Dad’s arm around him and head resting on his chest, he felt just as secure as ever.

Sometimes, the childish side of him missed the arc reactor. He was always fascinated and soothed by the blue light it emitted. After Afghanistan, the boy had been plagued with nightmares of Tony disappearing again. All the times he’d timidly made his way to his father’s room because he was scared and couldn’t sleep, the blue light never failed to steal his focus away from the bad as he traced over it with his fingers. Whenever anyone else, including Rhodey, and sometimes even Steve, got close to touching the reactor - be it by accident or not - he couldn’t help but flinch away.

But, oh, Peter; he could touch it as much as he wanted because Tony knew how gentle he was, fingers barely there as he studied it as if every time were his first time seeing it. Though, above all, it was because Peter was his kid, and he’d do anything to make him feel better. He grew to be quite fond of it, marveled at how the piece of metal in his chest not only kept him alive, but was important to Peter as well.

The sensible side of Peter, however, knew to be relieved that Tony didn’t need the arc reactor anymore. There were no pieces of shrapnel threatening to stop his heart, and Peter was eternally grateful.

One thing the boy didn’t seem to notice was the way his fingers would sometimes move on their own accord in the same way they did back when the arc reactor was still in place, drawing small, light figures on his father’s chest even though there was nothing there.

Tony had noticed and it was something that never failed to make his heart swell with contentedness. He looked down to watch Peter’s fingers move around as if tracing the design of the arc reactor, patterns stored somewhere deep in the boy’s mind.

“Hey, no sleeping, squirt,” Tony reminded him, squeezing his shoulder to wake him up a little.

“I know. Just closing my eyes for a minute,” Peter mumbled, not sounding very convincing. Tony could only laugh lightly at him, holding him a little tighter as they waited for dinner to be ready. It couldn’t be much longer; he could hear either Steve or Clint getting plates and utensils ready to set the table.

His suspicions were confirmed when Steve stuck his head into the room. “Dinner in five,” he spoke softly.

“Are his eggs ready?” Tony asked, Steve giving a confirming hum. “Maybe give it here? I’ll make sure he eats some, but he’s so tired. I don’t want him to have to get up. I’ll join you guys as soon as he’s asleep, okay?”

While Steve knew Clint wanted to spend time with the boy, it wasn’t hard to give in, especially when he watched Peter bury his face in Tony’s chest.

“Alright,” Steve smiled, and went to get Peter’s food and a bottle of water.

“Chow time,” Tony announced moving his hand to Peter’s ribs, tickling him.

“Dad, stop,” Peter laughed, trying to squirm away from him.

“What? I’m not doing anything.” Tony feigned innocence, barely able to hold back his grin.

“Yes, you are!” With a huge smile on his face, Peter grabbed Tony’s hand and pulled it away from his side.

“Oof, busted,” Tony chuckled, and wasn’t surprised at Peter settling close to him again, despite his tickling attack.

Steve came back with food and water for Peter. “Eat up, and then have a nice nap, okay?” he said when he’d put it down in front of him, and leaned down to press a kiss to the boy’s forehead.

“Thanks, Pops.”

────────

“How old is he again? Two?” Steve asked after Clint told them about how Nathaniel had managed to lock Laura in the bathroom and that’s why keys are now banned in their house.

They’d finished dinner about an hour ago and had just cleaned the table, but stayed in the dining room to let Peter sleep.

“Yeah, just turned two, the little jackass,” Clint confirmed with a chuckle.

“Well, I wouldn’t call him a jackass; kid managed to lock a door all by himself. I’d say he’s bordering on child protegee,” Tony quipped with a deliberate straight face, but amusement was glinting in his eyes.

“Hm, you might reconsider when I tell you about how he tried to eat a pine cone five minutes later because ‘chocolate’s the same color.’ Swear to god, I’ve got three kids and they just keep getting weirder,” Clint laughed fondly, managing to get Tony and Steve to laugh pretty hard as well.

Hearing about Clint’s kids made something in Tony ache to check on Peter, so he asked his AI. “Hey, FRI, how’s Peter doing? Sleeping beauty still going strong?”

“He’s still deeply sleeping and seems to be comfortable,” she assured him.

“Honey, he’s just sleeping in the other room. FRIDAY would’ve told us if something was wrong. He’s okay,” Steve said, aiming to reduce some of Tony’s worries. Had he avoided those two final words, he might’ve succeeded, but it just backfired.

In bone-deep frustration, Tony slammed his fist down on the dining table. “Jesus, Steve, he’s not okay. Why do you keep saying that when he’s anything but?” he snapped, staring into Steve’s eyes.

“You know what I mean by it,” Steve sighed, his eyes softening while Tony’s stayed harsh, unrelenting, but the quiver of his lips didn’t escape Steve’s attention.

“Of course I do, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s miles away from okay. He’ll never be okay.”

Clint awkwardly excused himself, feeling very much like he was intruding, none of the other two men looking his way when he left the room.

“What do you want me to say then, Tony? That he’s not? That he’s dying?”

“It kills me when you say it because you look like you believe it.”

“I do that for you.”

“I never asked you to.”

“I know that! Don’t you think this is fucking killing me? You think I’m walking around here waiting for it to get better? You’re my husband, I’m just trying to carry as much as I can.”

“Carry as much as you want, it doesn’t change the fact that this time next year, he’ll be dead!” His voice was raised, echoing the turmoil inside of him.

Steve physically took a step back upon hearing him say those words with such bluntness. “Tony-”

“That’s how this is gonna go, I don’t know what else to tell you.” Tony was biting back tears, but couldn’t help the shakiness in his voice.

“Tony, don’t,” Steve whispered.

“In a year, we’ll have nothing. We won’t be parents anymore. Our son’s gonna be gone.” He gave up, letting the tears fall down his cheeks, but he ignored them.

“I know.” Clenching his jaw, Steve tried to stay calm despite how much everything hurt, because he knew. He knew Tony was in just as much pain as him.

“I know that you know. You know what’s gonna happen to him and you know what’s gonna happen to me.”

“Not that- no, Tony, not that again. You can’t-”

“I can. There’ll be nothing.”

Steve didn’t bother holding back the sob that climbed up his throat. “Well, I can’t. I won’t let that happen.”

“It’s my choice. It’s not your business.”

“Not my business? You’re the love of my life, Tony, of course it’s my business!”

“This is about Peter. You know damn well that I love you, so don’t pull that card,” Tony seethed, so angry, but no amount of anger could make him forget how much he loved Steve.

“I’ll pull any card if it keeps you alive. I don’t care if it’s not fair, we’re well past that!”

“What the fuck do you expect me to do without Peter?” Tony exploded, raising his voice in a manner Steve hadn’t witnessed before.

Taking a shaky breath, Steve tried ignoring how that meant that even he wasn’t enough. “What do you expect me to do with both of you gone?” he yelled right back.

Tony was interrupted before he could even think of how to respond to that.

“I’m still here. You know that, right? I’m still here.” Peter was standing at the edge of the room, leaning on the doorframe for support, having opened the sliding doors with no one noticing. His eyes were wide and his cheeks were wet with tears, but his voice was steady; somehow both cold and vulnerable at the same time.

“Peter,” Tony breathed out, everything about him softening.

“Of course you are,” Steve said, realizing how defensive his body language had become, and relaxed his muscles.

“That’s not what it sounds like.”

“Peter, we’re sorry,” Tony nearly whispered, unable to find his voice.

“Next time you have a fight like that, make sure I’m out of earshot because I know-” he hesitated for a second before walking further into the room, unsteady on his feet, and inhaled deeply. “I know I’m gonna die. But I don’t need to hear you screaming about it. Because I’m still here. And I definitely don’t need to hear you screaming about what’s gonna happen after I’m gone.” His eyes met Tony’s, and the man felt ashamed.

“Sorry,” Steve echoed his husband, both adults stunned by the words that had just left their son’s mouth.

Hearing Peter say it hurt more than they could’ve imagined.

He rejected it in a heartbeat, but Tony couldn’t help but feel jealous of Peter because he’d never have to live in a world without Peter. He thought he knew guilt, but nothing could even come close to the shame washing over him in that second.

“If you wanna talk-” Steve attempted.

“I don’t. I’m getting my pills and I’m going to my room and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Peter decided, walking past his dads to get to the kitchen where his medicine was.

“Okay. But let us help you,” Steve said, going for a combination between firm and loving, but it only came across as desperate.

“You might be surprised to hear that that’s not what I want right now,” Peter snarked, sarcasm cutting through the air. Tony flinched, his son’s hostile front unfamiliar to him, and he didn’t like it at all. But he didn’t say anything. He knew that whatever clever thing he might come up with, it’d just make it worse.

“I’m fine,” Peter continued. Medicine and a water bottle gathered in his arms, he intended to storm off to his room, but the adrenaline that’d been pumping through his body ever since he realized what Tony would do once he’s gone was wearing off. Quickly. His knees buckled slightly, making him stumble towards his dads. Two choked gasps sounded, and four arms caught him. “I can walk by myself,” he protested, but there wasn’t much truth to that statement.

“We’re gonna help you, and then we’ll let you be alone for a while if that’s what you want.” Steve didn’t leave room for any arguments, and Tony wrapped an arm around the boy to steady him, feeling the tension in his body match the one in the room. Steve picked up the medicine and the water bottle, following them to Peter’s bedroom.

Once safely settled on his bed, Peter curled up into a ball, facing away from the door; away from his dads.

“FRIDAY’s gonna remind you to take your pills. Let us know if you need anything,” Steve told him.

“We love you,” the smaller man added.

“More than anything.”

Peter didn’t answer.

8 notes · View notes

txnysheart · 5 years

Text

let’s get on with living (while we can) [7]

chapter 7: i intend to hold you for the longest time

word count: 6815

warnings: chemo, chemo side effects, homophobia

summary: the press start speculating about steve and tony’s absence from the public, peter goes through his second round of chemo, and there’s a press conference

read on ao3: x

playlist: x

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7 - chapter 8 - chapter 9

series masterlist | masterlist

━━━━━━━━

ARE THE SUPERHERO HUSBANDS RETIRING? - Originally Posted on 29 Oct 2017, at 19:57

Sierra Nelson BuzzFeed Staff - Tony and Steve Stark-Rogers not making any public appearances for the past three and a half weeks has, understandably, started a flow of rumors. Avid fans have theorized everything from holidays to assassinations. However, the most popular theory is that this is the end of their careers as superheroes and the beginning of a comfortable retirement.

Tony is over halfway through his forties - I know, we can’t believe it either - and Steve will be an entire century old next year. The superhero business is a very dangerous and taxing one, so it would be understandable that they’d want to quit now, after all these years of risking their lives to keep civilians safe.

As much as they’ve earned a it, saving the world and whatnot, there are a few things that just don’t add up with the retirement theory.

First of all, they haven’t made any public statements about it. They were not part of the fight that took place right outside New York City two days ago. Only Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, James Rhodes and Sam Wilson were present. People were, and still are, expecting an explanation as to why neither Tony or Steve Stark-Rogers were on the scene, but so far; nothing.

Another point that has been made is that their teenage son, Peter Stark-Rogers, has also been absent from the public for just as long as his parents. While not much is known about the boy, we all know seeing him out with his dads, or other Avengers, is a common occurrence, as well as seeing him outside the tower as he heads to and returns from school. This has led some to believe that they could have moved to a more remote city no one has figured out where is yet, since Peter would obviously have to attend school somewhere.

Something many have suggested is that this is nothing more than a successful attempt at a secret vacation. After the incident two years ago where the paparazzi figured out the address of their holiday home in Malibu, it would make perfect sense for them to do their best to keep their travel plans private. No one will ever forget the iconic video of the couple telling the paparazzi off rather aggressively. Rightfully so, as they had snuck into the backyard, spooking their then 14-year old son who had been out there by himself.

So, the questions are many. Have we seen the last of Iron Man and Captain America in action? Are they on vacation? Are they just keeping a low profile? Or is something else going on?

Peter had just been scrolling on his phone, but handed it over to Tony when he saw the article. Tony held the phone in his left hand - he’d finally gotten the cast off the previous day.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asked suspiciously as she eyed Tony’s skeptical expression.

“Press is speculating about why Steve and I haven’t been seen in public for a while,” he sighed, handing the phone over to Steve.

“What’s it say?” Sam asked, leaning forward. Everyone else was listening now too.

Bucky, Natasha, Sam, Pepper, Rhodey and Happy were all spending the day with Peter, Tony and Steve, seeing as the second round of chemo would begin the next day. They often popped in for short visits, but Steve had invited everyone over for dinner to take Peter’s mind off of things. By things, he really meant chemo.

“Just theories about why no one’s seen us. Looks like it’s tied between retirement and secret vacation,” Tony told them.

“Secret vacation would make sense, though. I mean, after what happened in Malibu,” Rhodey commented.

“A repeat of that, and I might actually kill the paparazzi this time,” Tony muttered, not forgetting how much they’d scared Peter anytime soon.

“That makes two of us,” Steve agreed with raised eyebrows and slightly tense body language.

“Yeah, that was… not fun,” the boy agreed, a tad bit uncomfortable thinking back to the event, and adjusted his beanie. He was rarely seen without it now.

“Quite the understatement, kid,” Steve commented when he gave him his phone back.

“Can I see that, Peter?” Pepper asked, already planning out an approach to this in her head. “Thanks,” she smiled when he gave her the phone. Reading over the article swiftly, she soon handed it back, and straightened up, suddenly looking very professional.

“Alright, what we need to do is to make some sort of public announcement, or they’ll just keep on speculating. I’m thinking a small press conference where I choose who get to be there so we know that whoever’s there are serious reporters. No tabloids, no people who’ve written or spoken negatively about you before, etcetera,” she suggested, but knew everyone would agree.

“You’re the expert when it comes to this. Sounds very good, Pep,” Tony approved.

“But what do we tell them? How specific are we?” Steve asked to clarify.

“We don’t lie, but they don’t need all the details,” she continued, and then made eye contact with Peter. “And you’re old enough to be part of deciding how much you want the press knowing. If you want them to know what’s going on with you, that’s okay, but we could also just tell them that there’s a personal emergency. They don’t need to know everything right now.”

“Yeah… Yeah, that last option sounds good,” Peter decided hesitantly. Pepper knew that they’d eventually have to come clean about what was happening, but didn’t say it out loud.

“Who’s gonna be holding the press conference?” Bucky asked. He was leaning back in the couch, arms crossed. Natasha was sitting next to him, cross legged, one knee resting on his thigh.

“Would you two do it?” Pepper asked Tony and Steve, who both nodded.

“Definitely,” Steve confirmed, then looking down at a tense Peter next to him. “You don’t have to be there,” he assured him.

“Good,” he breathed out, not at all fond of crowds. Especially not ones where he would be the center of attention.

“I’ll arrange it for Tuesday,” Pepper said, looking around the room to see if anyone disagreed. Tony shook his head.

“That would be great, but… chemo’s Monday through Wednesday. We can’t leave Peter.” The boy squirmed at his Dad’s words, feeling like a bother.

“Oh, god. Sorry. I- Sorry, it completely slipped my mind for a second,” Pepper apologized, realizing she’d gone full work mode and forgotten about the actual nature of the situation.

“Thursday could work,” Steve suggested. “If someone could look after Pete while we’re gone.”

“I’m not a baby,” Peter protested lazily.

“No, but you’re not gonna be feeling well,” Tony told him, even though he knew Peter knew.

“Right.” He looked uncomfortable at the thought. He’d rather forget about it for as long as he could.

“We’re watching the press conference together, obviously, so we’ll all be here with him,” Natasha said, as if stating the obvious.

Peter was relieved, but also a bit reluctant to let them see him at his worst. Even if it would only be for an hour or so, it could turn out to be just when he’s puking his insides out. He wasn’t keen on anyone having to be there for that.

“Good. Good, thank you,” Tony smiled. How he’d ended up with such great friends, he’d never understand. Natasha sent him a half smile, a little put off by the way he was acting. The snarky, sarcastic Tony had faded away rapidly the past few weeks, and the change was kind of unnerving. She’d kill for a ‘thank you’ packed into a joke at her expense. There’d never been any doubt that Tony cared about his family and friends more than anything. But he’d always shown it in his own distinct way. Not like this.

“Sure. Anytime.”

────────

“You’ve lost some weight, Peter,” Doctor Anne Reynolds said, her face expressing gentle concern when he stepped off the scale. Before each round of chemotherapy, he had to go through a few standard tests; a scan of his lungs, a physical examination, and a weighing.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Peter said sheepishly.

“It’s alright, I know it’s difficult to eat. What kind of foods have you had?”

“Uhm, it- it hasn’t been very varied,” he chuckled. “I’ve had a lot of smoothies and milkshakes. And pancakes and, uh… soggy corn flakes.”

“You’d be surprised how many people’s go-to food is soggy cereal,” Anne smiled reassuringly, writing down what he told her. “Well, everything is set. I’ll give you more antinausea drugs this time, that sound good?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

After a last minute trip to the toilet, he settled in the same comfortable chair he sat in last time. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like this part,” Anne apologized when she saw Peter squeezing his eyes shut at the sight of the IV. “You’re lucky you’ve got good veins, so I don’t have to stab you five times to get it right.” That got a slight laugh out of the boy. “There. All done!”

He relaxed his tense body, leaning back in the chair. “Bring on the drugs,” he smirked playfully, trying to hide how nervous he was. The first time he’d been scared because it was all new. He didn’t know what to expect, other than it being not nice. This time he was scared because he knew what it’d be like: very not nice. Maybe even less nice than last time.

With even more antinausea medication than the first time, he became really drowsy, curling up into a ball. Steve and Tony spoke softly to him, and by the time he was switched over to the chemo drugs, he was half asleep. He fell asleep shortly after, and was only really awake to drink water. When awake, he recognized the warm sensation murmuring in his body that Anne had explained was completely normal, and nothing to worry about. It was constant, almost buzzing, and even though he’d describe it as warm, he still felt cold. He was wrapped up in a thick duvet, and was, as always nowadays, wearing his beanie.

It was Steve who woke him up when it was time to move to the bedroom. He blinked tiredly up at him. God, he looked so young. “We’re just gonna move to bed, and then you can go back to sleep,” he explained, putting an arm behind his back to gently push him to sit up properly. “And Dad has pills for you that’s gonna help even more with the nausea later.”

“Mhm,” Peter acknowledged, stretching his legs out; they were pretty stiff after being curled up for hours.

“You good to walk?” Steve asked just to be sure.

“Mhm. Yeah, I’m good,” he yawned as he planted his sock-clad feet on the ground. “Where’s Dad?”

“In the bedroom,” Steve told him with a smile. Peter was adorable when he was tired. Shuffling his feet, he eventually made it there, Tony ready by the bed to tuck him in.

“You just go back to sleep,” Tony whispered, making sure the boy was comfortable, and kissed his forehead. With closed eyes, Peter reached one hand up to pull his beanie off, dropping it next to his pillow before dozing off.

Biting his cheek, Tony held back tears with a slight grimace on his face. It was so obvious - too obvious - now how sick Peter was, and he hated thinking about it so much. He absolutely despised it. Still, he couldn’t stop looking at him. His son. His only son. Probably the only child he’d ever have. And that was more than enough - he didn’t need anyone else. Peter was all he wanted. All he could ever wish for, and so much more.

I won’t ask why, he reminded himself.

“You okay?” Steve asked quietly, observing his husband. Tony shook his head.

“No.”

“Me neither.” Steve tugged at his hand, making him turn around so he could see his face properly. He didn’t like the hazy look in his eyes. “Don’t go,” he pleaded, voice so full of emotion, yet so quiet. His fingers danced over Tony’s cheekbone.

“I won’t. I’m right here.” Even though he was whispering, it was clear that he was sincere. And determined not to dissociate again. Steve was too, and brought him to their bed in the same room. None of them planned on sleeping - Peter could wake up at any given time - but Steve just wanted to hold him. To keep him firmly grounded. Tony let him; letting his husband dominate his senses. They breathed.

Steve hummed a melody Tony only recognized because he’d hummed it to him before. A part of him wanted to ask him what song it was, but he didn’t. If he did, it wouldn’t be special anymore.

The lights were dimmed - dark enough for Peter to sleep undisturbed, but bright enough for his dads to be able to see him. They were both faced towards him, Steve spooning Tony, holding him tightly.

“When he was little, I used to just watch him sleep. I… I didn’t sleep much, so I’d just sit and watch him,” Tony mumbled, eyes never leaving Peter. The way he let his sentence hang in the air told Steve that he wasn’t done talking. He just needed to organize his thoughts. “Always made him look even younger than he is,” he settled on.

“Mhm. Looks like a baby when he sleeps. Even now.” His voice was slightly muffled by Tony’s hair, and he used the opportunity to place a couple of kisses to the back of his husband’s head. Tony reciprocated by bringing Steve’s hand that was resting on his stomach to his lips, leaving feathery kisses on his knuckles, then cradling said hand to his chest.

How much time had passed when a noise from Peter caught their attention, they weren’t sure of, but they were up right away to see if something was wrong. By the time they reached his bedside, he was sitting up.

“Are you gonna be sick?” Steve asked, a hand on his shoulder. The boy’s face scrunched up.

“Not sure. Probably,” he mumbled. His face paled. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Tony grabbed the plastic bucket from right next to the bed, bringing it up to hold under Peter’s chin just in time. As he threw up, tears rolled down his face, and he sobbed whenever he got a break, which in turn had him panicking because he couldn’t catch his breath.

“You gotta breathe, sweetheart,” Steve coaxed when Peter’s throwing up paused for a little while. His breath hitched, making him cough, but he got a good, albeit shaky, deep breath, and it calmed him down a little; stopped his crying. Another deep breath, and then he was heaving into the bucket again, his stomach nearly empty, and then there was only bile coming up. It burned in Peter’s throat.

When nothing was left, Peter was still dry heaving, unable to stop his stomach from spasming, and he was crying again. He absolutely despised that part. It went on for at least a minute, and then he was breathing heavily, feeling exhausted. “I’m done,” he sighed, letting himself be pulled into Steve’s side while Tony went to clean the bucket.

“Honey, will you get him his toothbrush?” Steve called out.

“Sure thing,” Tony confirmed, flushing the contents of the bucket down the toilet.

“How’re you feeling?” Steve asked Peter, voice low and comforting.

“‘m okay. Really tired,” Peter mumbled into his chest, and it was just something about the way that he was slumped against him that made him tighten his grip around the boy and take hold of his legs to carefully hoist him into his lap. “Not a baby,” Peter attempted to protest, but the way he relaxed in his Pops’ arms betrayed his words. His face was pressed into Steve’s shoulder, and Steve was drawing slow circles on his back.

The endearing scene made Tony swoon when he came back into the room with the - now clean - bucket and Peter’s toothbrush.

Not even two minutes later, Peter was tucked back in, having brushed the acidic taste in his mouth away, and he’d swallowed an antinausea pill which he was begging would work.

When he’d dozed off again, the dads were still at his bedside, and Tony lifted his hand up hesitantly. He drew it back, letting it linger in the air. He almost put it back down in his lap, but decided against it, bringing it to Peter’s head.

Ever since they’d shaved his head, Peter hadn’t let anyone touch it, and always wore a beanie in the day. But the way he leaned into the touch even in his sleep, had Tony and Steve smiling. Tony lightly drew figures with his fingers, consumed by the way his son reacted to it; the same way he always had.

The usual feel of his soft curls was gone, and it felt a little strange to caress his son’s bald head, but he still adored it. Anything that’d make Peter feel better, Tony would do, and that was no secret. Steve would too, and was just as captivated at the scene in front of him as his husband.

Quietly scooching his chair closer to Tony’s, he latched onto the arm that wasn’t occupied with Peter, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“Tired, honey?” Tony whispered, turning his head to look down at his husband.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled with a smile, meeting Tony’s eyes for a couple of seconds before looking back down at Peter, content to just sit there watching him. “Love you, Tony,” he whispered.

“Sap,” Tony smirked, but still placed a kiss to the side of his head.

“Sure,” Steve laughed softly, tightening his grip on Tony’s arm a little.

────────

There was a knock on their bedroom door fairly early in the morning. Being the least groggy of the three, Steve got up and opened the door.

“Morning, Doctor. Everything alright?” he smiled politely at Anne who was holding a plastic bag.

“Oh, yeah, all good. I brought something for Peter. Is it okay if I come in for a bit?” she asked cheerily.

“Sure, of course. Pete just woke up.” Steve stepped aside, opening the door wider to let Anne into their room. She always had a smile on her face, and it was contagious.

“Good morning,” Tony greeted her from the chair next to Peter’s bed.

“Hey, Anne,” sounded the boy, giving her a wave. He was sitting up in bed, messing around with his phone.

“Sleep well?” she asked, sitting down in a chair on the other side of the bed. Steve sat down next to Tony.

“Yeah, pretty well. Only woke up a couple times, and fell right back to sleep,” Peter confirmed, pleased with at least feeling rested.

“Threw up?”

“Yeah,” Peter grimaced, “but it’s fine. Less than last time.”

“Well, good. ‘Cause I brought you something.

“Oh?”

“Mhm. You said you hadn’t been eating very varied, right?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, curious as to what she’d brought.

“So, I brought some other foods I think you might like.” The plastic bag she had put down by her feet rustled as she picked it up to put on her lap. “Get that overbed table, would you?” she asked Tony. It was right next to him, against the wall, so he was able to grab it without getting up, wheeling it so it was over Peter’s lap. “Thank you, Tony.” Both men had insisted on being called by their first name, just as Anne had.

First thing she put on the table was a small lidded plastic bowl of fruit salad. “I just brought small samples of everything, ‘cause I’m pretty sure you won’t like even half of it,” she chuckled. “But I think this is a great way to figure out more things you can eat so you don’t grow tired of the same things over and over again.

“Soggy corn flakes is getting a little boring,” Peter admitted.

“Good! Means you’re open to trying some new foods. This fruit salad doesn’t have anything with really strong flavors. Just bananas, pears, watermelon, honeydew and, uh, dragon fruit actually! Looks really exciting, but doesn’t taste much.”

“That sounds good, actually,” the boy smiled, taking the lid off the bowl to taste.

“You don’t have to taste it all now, I’ve got a few more options I’m gonna leave here for you, so no rush,” she explained, receiving a nod from Peter who took an experimental bite of watermelon. All three adults were very pleased when he gave a thumbs up.

“Next up is chicken,” Anne announced, pulling up a rectangle plastic box. “Skinless and boneless, and,” she pulled up another box, “you can have mashed potatoes with it.”

Peter nodded fairly enthusiastically, not even noticing the fact that he’d eaten five entire pieces of fruit. Steve and Tony looked excited at their son eating, and were so very grateful to have a doctor who truly cared about Peter.

“And then the less exciting counterpart to what you’re eating right now.” Another box was placed on the overbed table. “Normal salad. But, you might be surprised, this treatment can change up your tastebuds, so maybe you’ll love it!”

She proceeded to pull up a plain sandwich, applesauce, boiled eggs, scrambled eggs, and even some mints and hard candy. “It can help with nausea,” she explained, sending a sneaky wink in Peter’s direction.

“You’ve got an entire buffet here, kid,” Tony chuckled, looking at all the different foods on the table. “Thank you so much, Anne,” he said sincerely, gratefulness gleaming in his eyes.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she waved away, getting up from the chair. “I’ll get going, but I’ll see you guys in a few hours. Don’t eat it all at once, Peter,” she joked, and walked to the door. Peter laughed, waving at her before she closed the door behind her.

“You really liked that fruit salad, huh?” Steve asked, surprised, but happy to see that there was only one piece of fruit left. It wasn’t a big portion by any means, but Peter evidently enjoyed it.

“Yeah, guess I did,” Peter agreed, just as surprised as Steve when he realized the piece of dragon fruit he just picked up was the last one. He popped it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed before speaking again. “Don’t think I wanna try anything more right now, though. Can we put it away for later?”

“Sure, I’ll go put it in the fridge,” Tony said, stacking up the boxes so they’d be easy to carry.

While Tony was out of the room, Steve noticed the way Peter kept wringing his hands together quite harshly. “You okay, Petey?” he asked, and Peter looked confused when he met his eyes.

“What?” Steve gestured to his hands. “Oh, my hands just hurt a little.”

“Want me to massage them?”

“Could you?” Peter almost sounded desperate, and Steve furrowed his brows.

“Of course,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And, to him, it was. Peter held out his hands, and Steve took hold of his right one first, kneading it gently. The boy sighed with relief at the feeling, visibly relaxing back into the bed that kept him sitting up. His eyes were closed, and the corner of his lips were curled upwards in a barely-there smile.

Getting back from his trip to the nearby kitchen, Tony looked on from the door for a few seconds, a little lost in how content Peter looked before Steve beckoned him over. “Sit on the other side of him,” he told his husband, and Tony did so. “His hands hurt,” he explained, lifting Peter’s hand up to show Tony he was massaging it.

“Mhm,” Peter confirmed sleepily, and Tony laughed fondly as he reached for his son’s other hand. Both men were happy to keep massaging his hands until they had to get ready for the chemo session of the day.

They’d do anything for him.

────────

Come Wednesday evening, and Peter was back to being absolutely worn out. Him feeling so well at the beginning of the second round on chemo had only been false hope. He’d barely been able to sleep, his bones and muscles had ached, and he’d thrown up a lot. But, he’d become quite fond of fruit, and ate quite a bit of that, to everyone’s relief.

When Tony had gotten the wheelchair from the corner of the bedroom, Peter hadn’t even protested. He just slumped down in it, feeling faint. Tony pushed him about ten feet before Peter shifted uncomfortably. “Wait. Wait, I’m gonna be sick,” he warned, sitting up straighter, and Steve was thankfully able to get the plastic bucket in time. Bags forgotten on the floor, Steve kneeled in front of Peter, while Tony tried soothing him with soft words and comforting touches to the back of his neck.

Leaning back, Peter was out of breath. “Done,” he sighed. “Sorry.”

“I’m about to ban that word, Pete,” Tony smirked, a hand on Peter’s cheek, and was delighted to be rewarded with a laugh. He dried away the tears on Peter’s face, and kissed his forehead.

“That was quick,” Tony commented when Steve was back by his side. He’d gone to rinse the bucket and put it back.

“Met one of the really nice nurses, uh… what’s his name? Tall, with that tattoo.”

“Oh! Uhm, Leonard?”

“That’s it! Yeah, he insisted on taking care of it so I could get back to you guys.”

“Well, that’s very nice of him,” Tony smiled as Steve picked their bags up from the floor. “You know, I could take one of them,” he offered, pushing Peter along, who was half asleep.

“Nonsense. What’s the point of having super strength if I can’t carry all the bags?”

“You’re right. That’s the sole purpose of the serum, obviously.”

“Yeah, you dum-dum.”

“My favorite insult,” Tony snickered. “So clever, babe.”

“You’re the brains. I’m just here for brawn.” Steve was barely containing his laughter, and Tony shook his head as he chuckled.

“So you’re saying you’re the dum-dum?”

“I’ll take it; that’s my own fault for making it too easy.”

“You’re both dum-dums,” Peter mumbled, eliciting surprised laughter from his dads, and earning himself a playful flick to the ear from Tony.

“I suppose we are,” Steve sighed, big smile on his face.

────────

With Tony and Steve having just left for the press conference, Peter was sitting on the couch next to Rhodey, leaning his head on his shoulder. One look at the tired the boy had Rhodey lifting his arm to let Peter rest against his side instead. It was a familiar feeling. Peter had always been a cuddle-bug with the people closest to him, and Rhodey had always been one of those people.

Natasha sat down on the other side of Peter, a bowl full of pieces of fruit in her hand for Peter. He hadn’t had much to eat that day, so Steve and Tony had encouraged them to feed him while they were gone. They even left a list of foods Peter liked, which now consisted of soggy cornflakes, smoothies, milkshakes, pancakes, fruit without too much taste, scrambled eggs, and chicken.

“If you need anything, or if you don’t feel good, you let us know, okay?” Rhodey said, lightly squeezing Peter’s upper arm.

“I’m good for now. But, uh… I should probably have a bucket here in case I need to throw up,” Peter told him, a little embarrassed at the last part, but no one else minded. “There’s one in my room.”

“I’ll go get it,” Bucky offered, getting up from next to Natasha, discreetly caressing her hair as he walked past her. The corners of her mouth lifted at the gesture, and she let her eyes follow him until he was out of the room.

Sam emerged from the kitchen with two smoothies; one for Peter and one for himself. “Here you go, kiddo,” he said, holding one out for Peter, but Rhodey reached out and got it instead. “You better not steal it from him,” Sam teased, and Rhodey put his hands up in a show of innocence when he’d passed it to Peter. He sat down in a lounge chair close to the couch.

When Bucky got back, he put the bucket next to couch, within reach from his place next to Natasha. She mumbled something in Russian that made him smile, and his response had her rolling her eyes fondly.

────────

“And you’re sure you’ve got this?” Pepper asked Tony for the third time.

“Yes, Pep, I’m sure. Don’t worry. Really.”

“Can’t help it. You’ve got quite the history with press conferences,” Pepper smirked, and got a small chuckle from Steve who was adjusting his tie.

“True, but this is about Peter.”

“I know. You two are gonna do great,” she smiled. “I’ll go and introduce you.”

Just as Pepper had said, it was a pretty exclusive press conference, with no more than twenty reporters in the room. Some were with newspapers, while others were with TV channels, so there were a few cameras there ready to capture the event. It was being held in a room in the compound that’d been used for press conferences on several occasions; perfect for it with a stage for everyone to be able to see them.

“Do I look okay?” Steve asked, wanting his husband’s approval before they went on national television.

“Perfect,” he smiled, running one hand down Steve’s chest to straighten his tie. And also just because he could. “Do I?”

“‘Course you do.”

A short kiss was shared before they turned their attention to Pepper, who soon waved them out on stage. “Good luck,” she whispered when she passed them.

They’d planned for Tony to open, so he stood in front of the microphone, leaning his forearms on the podium.

“Thank you, Pepper. Well, as you all know, we’ve been out of the public for a few weeks now. And, no, we haven’t been on holiday. Nor have we been abducted by aliens, or assassinated by the Illuminati,” he joked to set the mood to a light one. “And we’re not retiring either.” When he said that, his breath caught in his throat just a little. He hadn’t given it any thought. The world just might’ve seen the last of Iron Man and Captain America. For them to come back after all this, there’d have to be a miracle.

“But, as of right now, because of a personal emergency, it’s not possible for us to take part in usual Avengers business, or leave the Compound.” Tony took a step to the side to let Steve take over.

“While we’re dealing with this, we can assure you that the safety of the public is in good hands. As you all saw last week, they can manage better than fine without us.” He looked to Tony, wondering if he should say anything more, but he just shrugged. Steve nodded towards the reporters, a silent question of whether they should just open for questions now. Tony approved with his own nod, so Steve addressed them again.

“Any questions?”

A bunch of hands shot up, and Tony picked one out randomly. “You, with the blue and white tie. On the left.”

The man stood up. “Can you tell us who this emergency is about?” he asked.

“Not at the moment, no, just that it’s someone close to us” Steve answered. Short and to the point.

The next reporter was chosen. “How much longer will you be confined to the Compound?”

“We’re not sure. It’ll probably be a good while.”

Another reporter. "Is there a reason you've specifically chosen the Compound?"

"This place has its perks. We also thought it was best to get out of the city."

They kept asking questions, politely attempting to get more information out of them, but with Steve in charge of answering their questions, they got nothing else than the exact amount of information they’d agreed on sharing for now.

In a very out-of-character way - at least to the press - Tony stood to the side in courteous silence. However, one particular question had him taking over the microphone without hesitation.

“There have been rumors that you’ve put your son into the foster care system, is this true?”

“Absolutely not,” he denied firmly, but didn’t want to let him keep the attention, so he looked through the room to pick out the next one, but the same reporter kept talking.

“Wouldn’t that be for the best, though? I mean, with your lifestyles…” he trailed off, gesturing to them, and the room started murmuring.

From the tone of the question, Tony and Steve both had a feeling that he wasn’t talking about them risking their lives on the job, and the smaller man swallowed thickly before speaking into the microphone again. “Because we‘re Avengers?” he still asked, with a disapproving frown and tight jaw, hands clenching down on the podium until his knuckles turned white.

“No, no, it’s just,” he chuckled, but no one else at all were amused, “don’t you think he should get to grow up in a proper family?”

With ice cold eyes, Tony stared at him, doing his best to stay calm. “We are a proper family. I’m not gonna waste my time trying to get through your thick homophobic skull, so just get out.”

“What? Oh, come on-”

“I’m not joking. Leave of your own volition or I’ll have someone remove you.”

He muttered something to himself, a certain slur starting with an ‘f’, as he turned to pack his stuff up, but didn’t take Steve’s enhanced senses into account which were laser-focused on him. The soldier’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief of what he’d just heard that man refer to his husband as.

“Hey!” he called out, away from the microphone, but voice loud enough to carry across the room, catching his attention again. “Don’t you dare call my husband that. Don’t call anyone that,” he warned. "I don't think you understand how offensive that word is." He had a protective hand on Tony’s back who looked slightly confused. Steve cleared his throat, pulling himself together before calmly speaking to the crowd through the microphone. “I think we’ve answered enough questions for today. Thank you all for coming and being so polite. I apologize. Please respect our privacy and don’t speculate any further about our public absence.” He led Tony off the stage to where Pepper was anxiously waiting for them.

“Did he call him… you know-” she began, but refused to say the actual word.

“Yeah,” Steve confirmed, disgust clear in his voice.

“I’m really sorry. This is my fault, I let them send him instead of the person I requested, I’m so sorry-” she rambled, distraught at what had just happened.

“You couldn’t have known,” Tony cut her off, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “The only one here who’s done anything wrong is that nimrod. Not you.”

She sighed, sending them a smile that didn’t really reach her eyes before excusing herself when someone called her over.

Tony held Steve’s hand and looked up at him. “You didn’t have to do that, babe. I didn't even hear it. And I’ve been called worse,” he mumbled, just loud enough for Steve to hear. The look he had in his eyes was one reserved for his husband and no one else.

The words Tony thought would make the situation better only made Steve’s face crumple in disapproval. Not of Tony, but of anyone who’d ever made him feel like that. “That doesn’t make it better. It just makes me feel sure that calling him out was the right thing to do.” He made circles on the back of Tony’s hand with his thumb, lost in his eyes for what seemed like the millionth time. “I’ll always stand up for you.”

“I love you,” Tony whispered, squeezing his hand.

“I love you too.” Steve kissed his forehead.

With them in the room were a few people working, hurrying around, directed by Pepper; none of them really having time to notice the pair’s intimate moment at the edge of the room.

“Let’s get back to Peter,” Steve smiled, pulling Tony by his hand with him to the elevator.

Once the doors closed and they were by themselves, Tony placed his hands on Steve’s chest, and lifted himself up on his toes to whisper into his ear. “That was really hot.” A kiss to his neck and he got back down to his regular height, smirking up at Steve who was sporting an open-mouthed, lopsided smile along with wide, delighted eyes.

He collected himself, walking forward until Tony was trapped between him and the elevator wall. “Yeah?” he asked, voice low and gravelly, pressed up against him; now he was the smug one. Tony might pretend to be offended whenever Steve pointed out how much smaller he was than him, but Steve was very well aware of the fact that Tony actually enjoyed the size difference. A lot.

“Mhm. Now kiss me, we’re only going a few floors up,” a flustered Tony spluttered out, pulling him down before he could say anything more. They fit together as perfectly as ever, and the kissing grew heated within seconds. Hands exploring known territory, soft sounds of approval being swallowed by each other, and then they were startled apart by the ding announcing that they’d reached their floor.

Composing themselves, they felt like teenagers as they walked out of the elevator, heading for their apartment where they knew Peter was waiting along with everyone else. Except Pepper who was still working on getting everything back to normal at the compound after the press conference, and Happy who was doing his job as head of security. Just outside the front door, Steve pulled him in for another kiss, cradling his neck, one arm around his waist. Tony melted into him, and stayed glued to his side even after they pulled away.

Upon opening the door, they could hear everyone talking, and when Peter laughed, it was like nothing else mattered. They just wanted to see him happy.

And he was. His back leaning against Rhodey’s side, the man’s arm resting across his chest, and feet on Natasha’s lap, he was tiredly grinning. Everyone was happy.

Peter noticed that they’d gotten back and his smile got impossibly more radiant.

“Hey, Petey-pie,” Tony laughed softly as he walked over to Peter to place a kiss on the top of his head - well, the beanie.

“Hi, Dad. You guys were great.” He paused as if he suddenly remembered something. “But that guy was such a dick-”

“Oi!”

“-like what does he think this is? The nineteenth century? I’m so tired of people like him spewing bullshit like that. Like what- what does he even get out of it? It's not like-”

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, Pete,” Steve cut him off, kneeling in front of him, before he could work himself up about it. He always did when someone insulted his dads purely based on the fact that they happened to be not straight. “There’s always gonna be people like him. And that’s okay, because we know that he’s wrong. The only reason I got so mad was because of what he called Dad. You're smart, so I assume you’ve figured out what it was?”

“Yeah,” the boy whispered.

“You gotta pick your battles. And, for me, this was one of the ones worth picking. That word just… It stings a lot more than other words. Okay?”

Peter nodded, feeling a little bummed out thanks to that reporter, but Rhodey was there and he was ready to make it better.

“One thing’s for certain, Pete; you sure do have two badass dads,” Rhodey smiled. He looked up at Tony from where he was still confined to the couch by Peter resting against him. They shared a look, one with decades of friendship contained in it. Just a slight lift of one eyebrow, and Tony knew Rhodey was asking him if he was okay. He answered with a crooked smirk.

Peter ended up being carried to bed by Tony after he’d fallen asleep on Rhodey. Making sure he was comfortable, Tony then pulled his beanie off, having gathered that he liked sleeping without it. Steve looked on from where he was sitting on the end of the bed, hand protectively resting over Peter’s legs.

“We need sleep too, you know,” Steve whispered when it looked like Tony was about to grab Peter’s desk chair to settle down in it for the night. Tony paused.

“Yeah,” he admitted, slouching a little, not caring about keeping up appearances for his husband.

He followed Steve voluntarily to their bedroom, intertwining their hands on the way.

Once tucked into bed, Steve stayed awake, humming songs and stroking Tony’s back to help him fall asleep. It took a while, but Steve didn’t mind. He was just happy when his husband started snoring.

Small victories.

16 notes · View notes