Grief Is Another Word For Love

The Loss

"I don't feel so good."

Peter's eyes were wide with panic as Tony turned to him, fear twinging sharply in his chest. The boy began to stumble toward him, reaching out like the helpless child he had been trying so hard to mask.

"You're alright." Tony choked out, reassuring himself more than he was Peter. Selfish.

"I-I don't know what's happening." Peter's small frame fell against Tony's chest, his hands clutching desperately at the older man. "I don't understand."

Tony's entire body shook. The kid knew exactly what was happening. Even when he was dying, Peter still looked to him for guidance. Peter thought that his mentor was capable of anything, of fixing anything. But he couldn't fix this. He was powerless in this moment.

(I just wanted to be like you.)

"I don't want to go. I don't want to go, Mr. Stark, please." Peter begged weakly as his legs began to dissolve beneath him, drifting away in the foreign breeze. "Please, I don't want to go. I don't want to go." The teenager's voice devolved into sobs, desperate pleas for help, for Tony, for May. For the life he had barely gotten to live.

(And I wanted you to be better.)

Tony supported Peter's full weight, guiding him to the ground rather gracelessly. He had one hand behind his back and another on his shoulder. Maybe if he held on tight enough to the boy he would stay in one piece. The boy he had grown to think of as his own son.

Peter's eyes, a grim acceptance having settled in their brown, met Tony's. He knew this was the end. "I'm sorry." He whispered, his voice too calm.

(Sorry doesn't cut it.)

Now void of their innocent light, Peter's eyes drifted back to the Titan sky. And then he disappeared from Tony's arms.

His hands, suddenly empty, were coated in grey, flaky ashes. Starting to wipe them from his hands, he came to the morbid realization that those were Peter. His boy, reduced to nothing but dust. Peter had come to be one of the best things to ever happen to him, and now he was gone. Blown to oblivion. Tony had never gotten the chance to express to Peter how much he meant to him, how much joy he brought to his life. How much he loved him. And now he never would.

The kid's last words had been an apology. His last emotion had been guilt. How could Tony have let that happen?

"He did it." Nebula admitted, her solemn voice breaking the fog of grief that had fallen over the planet.

Tony brought his hands to his face, holding what was left of Peter's body in a silent prayer. A single tear traced a path down his cheek.

(And if you died, I'd feel like that's on me.)

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this is my first time posting an actual fic and the chapters are probably going to be on the shorter side but,, i hope you enjoy this irondad mess!