tom holland/peter parker and steve rogers oneshots

insomniac- steve rogers

The Empire State Building, whose observation deck you went on top of with him to admire the stunning view of New York City.

Times Square, when you went to the New Year's celebration with him every year for four years straight since the age of six.

The ocean.

The trees, the flowers, everything hurt to look at.

You were hurting so badly, and you couldn't breathe because the knot in your stomach seemed to grow tighter and tighter by the second.

When you had first received the news of his death, you didn't cry. You couldn't. The news was so horrifying, there were no tears for you to shed. Fear had flooded your stomach and you were trying your hardest to cling onto the idea that he still might've been alive.

He wasn't, though. So after that day, you lost hope in many things.

You knew you would never be able to get over losing the one person you loved the most.

"Hey, what are you doing up this late?" a voice behind you said, nearly scaring the living daylights out of you. You turned around to see Steve, casually leaning against the glass in a sweatshirt and sweatpants.

"Nothing," you lied as you wiped a stray tear slipped down your face, fiddling with the braided bracelet your dad had given you when he took you to Costa Rica two months before he died. You haven't taken it off since. "I just needed to take my mind off something. Couldn't sleep. But it's nothing, really..."

No, it wasn't nothing. It was everything. It meant everything to you.

He wasn't fooled by this, and could immediately tell something was up. "It doesn't sound like nothing to me," he said, stepping towards you and brushing another tear from your cheek with his thumb. "What happened?" His hand lingered a bit before he brought it down.

"I'm fine. It's nothing," you repeated again.

"You're not doing a very good job at lying, Y/N, I've known you far too long to be able to tell."
He looked at you with a worried expression on his face, his brows furrowed in concern. "You're not okay. Something's wrong. Please tell me what's going on."

You were unable to contain your emotions for any longer, so you just told him, the words spilling from your mouth. "T-two weeks ago, Dad died, he was hit by a drunk driver, and---" You were unable to finish your sentence because you had burst into tears.

Steve pulled you close into his muscular chest, and you eyes took this as sign to let the rest of your tears fall, staining his jacket. He brushed your hair back gently, as he wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you protectively as if he was afraid that if he let you go, you'd slip away from him.

"Why didn't you tell any of us about this?" he said softly.

"Because," you replied, your voice muffled and thick with tears, "I wanted to handle it by myself. I always do."

"You don't have to deal with everything alone. You have the team. They're always going to be here for you and have your back, whenever you need them. And you have me." You looked up into his eyes, which even at night, shone brightly.

"You promise?" you asked, your voice cracking.

"You're going to be okay. I'm here for you, and everything's going to be okay. I promise."

For the next few minutes, he didn't try to say another word, just kept his arms around you and let you have your small moment of grief. He understood what it was like to lose a parent, the extreme sadness that followed the event and how much you were really going through.