Later that evening, after dinner - which May picked at and Peter barely touched since he'd had the burger earlier - May suggested to Stephen that maybe she'd rather lay down for a while in the living room so she could watch what was going on rather than stare at the walls in her bedroom. He felt a great welling of sorrow, well aware that she knew what moving to the living room bed meant, but he nodded, accepting that the decision was hers and only hers to make.
Peter's expression grew alarmed, and then afraid, but he fought down any comment, and the instant denial that came when he watched Strange settle her into the bed in the living room, adjusting the top to make her somewhat upright. He knew what it meant, too, and Strange could see the devastation in the boy's expression as he watched.
When she was comfortable, May patted the spot beside her, and Peter crawled onto the bed and settled next to her, resting his head against her shoulder but not putting any of his weight on her. He put his arms around her, though, and held her, closing his eyes and trying to stop the silent sobs that were wracking his thin frame as he realized what he'd already felt somewhere in his soul. She was getting worse, and sooner than was expected. She would likely never leave the bed, not alive anyway.
He was going to lose her.
May brushed her fingers lovingly through his hair, trying to comfort him and giving him a chance to get adjusted to the change. She knew he was crying, but she also understood that he needed to. She'd done her crying earlier, in her room, and was able to simply be there for him, now. She fell asleep with her hand against his head, and Strange moved to gently rest it on her stomach, instead, pulling a blanket up to cover her warmly once he had.
He didn't suggest that Peter move; understanding just as well as May did that the boy needed to be where he was. The doctor walked to the other side of the bed, another blanket appearing in his hand as he did, and he covered Peter's shuddering form with it. Then he leaned over and pressed his cheek against Peter's, his hand on the boy's side.
"Try to get some rest," he whispered.
Peter nodded, but the shaking didn't stop, and neither did the sobs. Strange held his position and comforted the boy as much as he could, only moving when his crying finally ebbed, and even then only after brushing a sympathetic kiss against Peter's cheek.
He moved as far as the closest chair and sat down wearily, his heart aching and his mind still trying to come up with a solution that didn't exist. With a thought, the lights went off in the apartment, leaving only the one above the range in the kitchen on as a kind of a nightlight, and bathing the room – and him – in a mix of darkness and shadows.
OOOOOOOOO
They were still in the same position when Stark arrived at the apartment the following morning. He noticed the change immediately when he entered the room, of course, and his gaze went to Strange's. The doctor shook his head, silently, but he didn't need to be quiet. May had woken and eaten a few bites of oatmeal and was now asleep. Peter wasn't sleeping – and hadn't slept all night as far as Stephen could tell – and had refused to eat anything. At the moment, the boy was in his own world just then and probably not even aware that Tony was there.
The doctor stood up, the two men walked out into the hallway and Strange closed the door behind them.
"How long?" Tony asked, softly.
"Days. If that. There's no way to know."
He looked exhausted, and Stark sighed, deeply.
"Is she in pain?"
"No. She's just tired and weak."
"Peter?"
"He hasn't said a word all night. And didn't move."
Meaning no sleepwalking.
"You should go home. Get some rest. I'll stay here with them, now."
He didn't argue. Instead he nodded.
"If you need anything – or they do – call."
"Yeah."
Strange glanced both directions in the hallway, and then vanished. Tony took a couple of deep breaths and went back into the apartment, sat down in the chair Stephen had vacated, and continued the vigil.
OOOOOOOO
It was a long day.
May woke, briefly, and was convinced to eat some soup that Tony found in the fridge and heated for her. Peter simply shook his head when Stark offered him some, closed his eyes and tightened his grip on his aunt, ignoring everything around him. May roused enough to chide Peter, reminding him that he'd promised her that he would try to take care of himself, and convinced him to eat some casserole. Rather than upset her, he did what she wanted, finishing the meal just as she went back to sleep.
He cuddled against her once more, closing his eyes as he held her, but every time he started to doze off, he'd jerk awake, looking at her, fearfully, until he saw her chest rise and fall. Proof that she was still with him.
The hospice caregivers arrived in the early afternoon, and Tony roused Peter from his mournful brooding to pull him from the bed, ignoring the boy's protests that he didn't want to leave her. She needed to be cared for in a way that Peter couldn't do, and Stark reminded him of that as he half walked, half carried, the boy into his bedroom and sat with him on the edge of his bed while they waited.
Peter leaned over with a tired sigh, and rested his head on Tony's leg, wordlessly seeking the comfort that he wasn't going to get in the bed in the living room.
"You need to sleep, Peter," Stark told him, running his hand along the boy's shoulder.
He shook his head.
"I need to be with her…"
"You can do both."
"What if she leaves while I'm asleep?"
Tony didn't have an answer for that. He knew he couldn't promise that she wouldn't. They stayed that way for a long time, but as much as Stark hoped that Peter would get comfortable enough to fall asleep, the boy sat up when one of the hospice workers tapped on the door and let them know they were finished.
Peter got up without a word, and by the time Stark made it back to the living room the hospice folks were leaving and the boy was already settling himself in next to May's sleeping form once more. As Stark watched, Peter pressed a tender kiss against his aunt's temple, murmured something he couldn't hear, and then brushed her hair back from her face. Then the boy was still, content to simply hold her while she slept.
OOOOOOOO
It was Strange who came to watch Peter through the rest of the evening and that night. He checked with Tony by communicator to make sure that May was asleep and then materialized in Peter's bedroom a moment later. Stark was waiting for him.
"How is he?"
They both knew there was no reason to ask how May was. That answer was more and more obvious. Peter was the one that was going to have to be watched.
Tony shook his head.
"He's afraid to sleep, in case she dies while he's not there."
"He could sleep in her bed."
"I told him that, he wouldn't listen."
Stephen nodded.
"I can understand his fears."
"So can I. But he's going to make himself sick."
"I'll keep an eye on him," Strange promised.
They went out into the living room and Strange sat in one of the chairs, while Tony went over to Peter's side of the bed.
"I'm going to go for a while," he told the boy. "Do you want me to bring you anything when I come back?"
Peter shook his head.
"Thanks."
"You know how to reach me if you do."
"Yeah."
Tony looked at Strange.
"My office, please?"
The doctor nodded, opened a portal and Stark was gone a moment later.
"Is there an opening for Avenger travel agent?" Strange asked, shaking his head in mock annoyance.
As he hoped, the comment produced a slight smile before the boy turned his attention back to May. In a time like this, Strange would be satisfied for that effort.