Chapter Twenty-Six

"Okay, you got it?" Pepper asked, double-checking the pot.

Peter nodded. "Yeah. I can do the rest. Thanks for doing this for me."

She pulled him into an embrace, lingering there for a moment. "It's my pleasure. I better go. She'll be back soon."

Pepper released him, drawing back with a warm smile. She grabbed her purse from the table, and Peter waved goodbye. The apartment door closed, and Peter turned to the pot, simmering on the stove. It was bubbling nicely. He opened the drawer beside the stove, taking out the placemats and cutlery, going to set the table.

He was tired, and it was a little harder than usual to get around in his braces, but he couldn't cook from the chair, not safely anyway, so he pushed through it.

He set the places, straightening one of the knives for presentation, and then checked the time. He had ten minutes before May would be home, which was plenty of time to do what he needed, what he had been itching to do.

He went to his bedroom, surprised by how tidy his room was. There wasn't any dust or musty smell. He figured May must have been cleaning it and airing it out. The bed was made, which he had left a mess the morning of his last patrol.

He went to the closet, pulling it open. His suit was hanging up where he left it, but it looked rumpled. He was confused but dismissed it, taking it to the bed and sitting down. For a moment, he just stared at it, his fingers stroking over the emblem on the chest.

Once, this moment would have been too hard to contemplate, maybe too hard to ever do, but now he felt a certain happiness. He tugged the mask off the hook and stared into the eyes, Spider-Man and all it encompassed felt like another life now. Those memories were some of the best, and he would always remember them, leaving Spider-Man behind didn't hurt the way he thought it would.

He pulled on the mask and heard Karen's voice chirp in his ear. "Hello, Peter."

"Hey, Karen. Uh … long time no see."

"Yes. Where have you been?"

Peter bit his lip. He figured she would have known, maybe Friday had passed on the news, but he supposed that was dumb.

"I kinda had an accident. I screwed up. I went on a patrol when I shouldn't and fell off a building when my web-shooters glitched. I broke my back and did some damage to other things."

"Why weren't you wearing your suit?" The voice sounded a little hurt, though that should have been impossible.

Peter huffed a laugh. "Because I'm a dumbass that didn't want you tattling to Tony about what I was doing."

"I see. The baby monitor protocol."

"Yeah, that. So I got myself hurt and lost the use of my legs."

"I see." There was a long silence, and then Karen recited his stats. "I see a fractured T12 vertebrae. Substantial damage to lungs and heart. All vital organs showing degeneration. Peter, you're dying."

Peter flinched. "Yeah, that's a fact. That's what this is about, I guess. I'm dying, and I kinda wanted to say thank you. You helped me a lot, saved my ass."

"I was created to assist you."

"You were, and if I'd been smarter, I'd have had you with me when I went on that patrol, but I didn't and…" He shrugged. "I'd have been dying anyway. It's all about the screwed-up cells, and even you couldn't have helped with that."

"With your current condition, you can expect—"

"No! I don't want to know. It's happening soon, I can feel that, but I don't want to be counting down days. I'm having a good time right now."

"I'm glad."

"I guess this kinda leaves you unemployed. I don't see any other Spider-Kids coming along, but maybe Tony can find you a new job. You might be able to help someone else."

"It was a pleasure to help you, Peter."

Peter's lips curved into a wide smile. "Thanks, Karen, that means—Oh."

He cut off as he heard the door open and May's voice calling, clearly confused. "Peter? Are you here?"

"Bye, Karen," he said quickly, tugging off the mask and dropping it onto the bed. He got to his feet carefully and went into the kitchen, where May was shrugging off her jacket.

"Hey! What are you doing here?" Her eyes found the pots bubbling on the stove. "Did you cook?"

"I did. Sit down."

With a wide smile, May took a seat at the table, resting her chin on her hand. "It's great to see you back here."

Peter faltered. He hadn't thought about coming home again. He knew he could, but that would mean not seeing Tony—not that he'd seen him for days. Since they'd gotten back from the hospital after all the tests Bruce requested, Tony had been missing. Peter figured he was in the lab, doing what he needed to do, but he wished Tony would make a little time for him, too.

"No," May said quickly. "You and I both know the tower is the right place for you to be right now, but it's just nice to have you here now."

Peter relaxed. "You want some wine?"

"Where did you get wine?"

He laughed. "Don't worry, I didn't hang outside the liquor store and ask some skeevy guy to buy it for me. Pepper got it. She's pretty much how this whole dinner came together. I'm not a great cook."

It was May's turn to laugh. "That's probably my fault, but it means a lot to me that you've tried today."

"How was work?"

It was a reasonable question, one he would have asked any other day before the accident, but he didn't think he'd asked since. He had been so focused on everything else that he'd gotten selfish.

"It was okay," she said. "I took a shift on geriatrics so had to serve as a model for a lady that was making her granddaughter a sweater that was 'just my size.'"

They both laughed.

"Sounds fun."

"It actually was. I enjoyed it."

Peter fetched the wine from the fridge, then grabbed a glass, taking both over to her before turning his attention back to the stove. The pasta looked done, but he wasn't an expert. Pepper had said to throw a piece at the wall and to see if it stuck. Apparently, that meant it was done. With a smile, he scooped out a piece and tossed it at the cabinet where it stuck, causing May to gasp in surprise.

"What are you doing?"

"Pepper told me I should. It's how you know it's cooked."

May smiled, her head shaking a little. "Make sure you pick it off before it sticks solid."

Peter nodded, picking the pasta off the cabinet and then tossing it in the trash. He drained the pasta, then put it on the plates, spooning the sauce over it.

"It smells great," May said, as Peter set a plate down in front of her. Her smile brightened. "It looks great, too."

Pleased, Peter settled into one of the chairs with his own plate. He picked up his fork, twirling some of the pasta. He noticed May watching him, and he said, "Are you waiting for me to check if it's poisonous before you try it?"

"No. I'm sure it'll be great. I was just looking at you." She lifted her glass of wine to him in a toast and said, "You're amazing, Peter, you know that, right?"

Peter blushed, ducking his head. "You might want to taste it before you pile on the praise."

"That's not what I meant, but you're right." The solemn mood passed, and she forked up her food, taking a tentative bite and then beaming. "It's great!"

Peter couldn't contain his smile as he tried his own. It was actually pretty good, which he could thank Pepper for, but he was still proud of himself. He'd wanted to do this for May, it was on his list, and it obviously made her happy.

Covering a small cough behind his hand and hiding the grimace that followed with a sip of water, he pushed away the ache he could feel in his chest and reminded himself that it was okay. He knew he was going to start feeling sicker, and what he'd stopped Karen from saying was a fact. Even if he didn't know the number of days, he would die soon, but that was more reason to keep going.

He still had things he wanted to do.

Tony didn't hear her coming. He was too focused on the hologram of what Bruce was doing, holding his breath and willing it to work, but when Pepper grabbed his arm and turned him, he realized she there at last.

She was wearing jeans with sneakers and a tank top. Her hair was pinned back, and a pair of sunglasses perched on her head.

He turned away again, focusing on Bruce and the project at hand, cursing when Bruce pulled back from the microscope with a curse. "I can't get it!"

"Try again," Tony ordered.

They were trying to separate the mutated Spider-Man cells from Peter's blood, so they could see if there was a way to kill them off, maybe give his body a chance to recover and create healthy cells again. They were working with the theory that the cells his body was replacing the ones the mutated cells killed weren't getting enough time to mature. If they could separate the cells and find a way to kill off the mutated ones, they could feed the healthy ones into Peter's veins. They were hoping some form of chemotherapy would work.

Pepper grabbed his arm, but he shrugged her off, going to the counter where the coffee maker was and pouring himself a cup. He took a swig, grimacing. It was cold and bitter. He set it down and pulled a bottle from his pocket, shaking a few pills into his hand. He was just about to toss them back when Pepper swatted them from his hand, making them scatter on the floor.

"What the hell, Pep?"

"No!" She dug a finger into his chest. "You don't get to do that. I'm not going to watch you shoving drugs down your throat, killing yourself."

Tony sighed and held up the bottle of pills. "They're caffeine pills. I'm not taking drugs."

Though he had considered it. He wanted something that would give him more energy, so he'd have to spend less time catching sleep on the couch in the gym. He hadn't been to the penthouse with the others in weeks. He cleaned up in the shower attached to the gym, went to the kitchen to get more coffee for the machine in the night, and he spent the rest of his time looking over Bruce's shoulder, trying to absorb everything Bruce said about genetics and biology.

Pepper examined the bottle as if she didn't believe him about what they were, and then she tipped them onto the floor and started stomping on them, crushing them to fragments and powder.

She kicked them away, creating a smear of white powder, and glared at him.

"I can buy more," he antagonized her.

"I know you will, you stubborn idiot, because your priorities are shot to hell. You're the stupidest genius I have ever known. This crap you're pulling now, this is the kind of thing I expected from you before Afghanistan."

Tony jerked. Afghanistan, what happened to him there was out of bounds, and she knew it. They didn't talk about what he was like before, only occasionally did it get referenced when Pepper was pointing out how far he'd come.

"No," he growled. "I was a selfish asshole then. What I am doing right now is the most important thing I've ever done. This is about me saving a life."

"Peter's life, right? Your son's."

"Exactly, my damn son's!"

"Except you're not. What are you even doing down here? You don't know how to fix him. You're hiding."

"I will find a way!" His voice was rising, but she matched it.

"No, Bruce will." Seeing his surprise, she narrowed her eyes and rushed on. "Yes, I've not given up on him, I still hope there is a way to save Peter's life, but I know I can't help with that. I don't know anywhere near enough for something like that. Neither do you. So I am doing what I can for Peter. I am spending time with him, working through his list of things he wants to do with his life!"

"Yeah, his list." Tony scoffed. "What was it today? What was worth more to that kid than fighting for his own life?"

"A picnic in Central Park."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Do you know how stupid that sounds? He should be here with us, helping. If we had him to work with, his body, we could do more."

Bruce raised a hand. "Uh … Actually …"

"Shut it, Banner!" he snapped.

Bruce bowed his head, going back to the microscope.

"You won't even hear it," Pepper sneered. "You're such an arrogant asshole that you won't even listen to the expert so you can keep doing this." She stopped and stared at him. "No, this isn't arrogance. This is fear. You're hiding from it. It's easier for you to be in here than it is for you to be with Peter and see what he's going through."

"Yeah, I'm sure a picnic in the park is real—"

He was cut off as she slapped him hard across the cheek. Bruce excused himself quietly, and his footsteps trailed away as Tony stared at Pepper in shock.

She didn't look any less shocked than he felt at what she'd done, but her hand was still raised to slap him again.

"You know what, I was wrong. I was always wrong. You know, I've been more proud of you than ever before since this happened. I saw your struggle after Peter's accident, and I saw you run out of that hospital room to go get loaded, but you came back. Day after day you were there, you supported him, even though I know it was killing you some days. I thought, yes, he's found his son, and I was so happy for you."

She shook her head. "But you don't have the right to call him that anymore. Peter is not your son. If he was, you'd stop hiding down here and be with him. You would understand why he made that list and why he's doing all those things instead of sitting down here as your guinea pig. He is the one I'm proud of now, and you, Tony Stark, can go to hell."

She spun on a heel and marched out. His mind was reeling with the things she'd said, each word feeling like a barb against his skin. She was wrong, though. He wasn't a coward for doing this. When he and Bruce found the cure, when they saved Peter, his son, she will see that he was doing right all along. They all would. He was doing what he had to do, and he wasn't going to be made to guilty about it.

Sure, he wanted to be with Peter, but he wanted more than a scant few weeks. He wanted a lifetime, but if they didn't find a way to fix this, a few weeks was all he would ever have, and Tony couldn't lay down and accept that. He had to fight.

He turned back to the shouter and shouted, "Bruce, get back in here. We've got a damn job to do."

The pain kept Peter awake, the aching in his chest and heart that beat too fast, racing closer to death. He hoped the episode would pass like it usually did, but he knew that sooner or later, his luck would run out. Pain and discomfort would become his new normal.

He heard a sound in the hall, then a muttered curse. He was pretty sure it was Tony. Peter hesitated for a moment. He wanted to see Tony, as it had been over two weeks since he'd spent more than a moment with him, but he wasn't sure Tony wanted to see him. It seemed like he was avoiding Peter.

He needed to see him, though, to make him understand. He didn't want to die with a rift between them, and that was what it felt like, the way Tony avoided whatever floor he was on. The man hadn't once come to any of Peter's experiences from his list, and Peter wondered what he thought about them. Did he think it was stupid?

Dragging the wheelchair closer to the bed, Peter worked himself over, easing into it. It was hard as his muscles felt weak and loose. He managed, though, and then he wheeled himself out and into the kitchen.

Tony was at the counter, pouring a coffee and knocking back a pill with it. Peter wondered what he was taking.

"Tony…"

The man's back was turned, but Peter could still see the grief in the way he stood. He set the coffee cup down roughly, slopping it on the counter, and the gripped the edge, bowing his head.

"You okay?" Peter asked.

Tony's shoulders rose with a sharp breath. He was radiating tension, and Peter hated it. He considered going back to this bedroom for a moment, but no, he couldn't run away.

He wheeled himself forward, stopping beside Tony. He could see his face now. His teeth were gritted and his jaw jumping. The knuckles on his hands were white from gripping the counter so hard, and his arms shook. Peter hadn't seen him like this before.

He grappled for something to say. "We're going to Coney Island today. Do you want to come?"

Tony lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "No."

"Please, Mr. Stark. It'll be better than what you're doing now."

"I am trying to save your life."

"I know, but you…"

"Can't?" Tony turned to face him now, and his face was twisted with rage. "You have no idea what I can do."

"I know I'm not a genius like you, but this is just … I can't be helped. It's over."

Tony drew a sharp breath and pressed his fisted hands to his eyes. "It is not over!"

"But—"

"No!" Tony yelled so loud Peter wanted to cover his ears. "I am not giving up on you. Just because you're quitting, it doesn't mean I will."

That stung. Peter wasn't quitting. He had just accepted the inevitable. He didn't want to waste his time fighting something that couldn't be beaten. He wanted to enjoy the time he had.

"I've not quit."

"Then what are you doing going on days out with Pepper, May, and Ned. Why aren't you in the lab with us, helping? We need you there with us, your body, your brain. You are a genius." Tony was panting now, coming undone at the seams.

"Please don't be angry. It's just a waste."

"No, a waste is what you're doing. And why aren't you angry? Why aren't you fighting back? How can you just give up? Why aren't you angry?"

Tony was so loud, so angry, that Peter did cover his ears that time, tears springing to his eyes. "I don't want to be angry. That's not what I want to feel during this time. I want to be happy."

"Happy about dying?"

"No. Happy about living while I can."

Tony slammed his fists down on the counter, rattling it. "Fighting is living!"

"No," Peter said quietly. "Fighting now is a waste. Please, don't hide from me when I need you most."

Tony bowed his head, and a tear ran down his cheek. Peter reached for him, taking his hand and squeezing it. It was like touching a rock. He was so rigid.

"Please."

He saw it happen, the moment Tony broke under the weight of his emotions. He collapsed to the floor, crumpled on his knees. Peter reached for him. Tony was panting for breath and shaking, and Peter could understand. He knew what it felt like to break apart, as he'd broken before, too.

Peter lifted his feet from the footrests and pushed himself out of the chair. It rolled back as he collapsed forward, his legs useless. He dragged himself toward Tony, and once he was close, he tugged Tony down to meet him. Tony fell onto him, knocking him back, so his head hit the cupboard, but Peter didn't feel the pain. He was too consumed with emotion.

He cupped Tony's head, holding it against his shoulder. Tony's warm breath tickled his skin as he panted. His breathing was too fast and shallow. Peter held him tighter.

"Breathe," Peter said. "Nice and slow."

Tony's chest stuttered in uneven movements and aborted breaths. He was fighting for control, and Peter's heart ached for him.

"I'm here."

He just didn't know for how much longer he would be, and from the way a sob broke from Tony, he didn't either.

"I'm here now," he amended. "I won't leave you tonight."

"What do I do?" Tony moaned.

Peter swallowed down the lump in his throat and forced out the words. "Just be here. Be my dad again. Please, be there. I don't want you to hide from me anymore. Just be my dad."

Tony pulled back, face wet with tears and lips parted as he gasped for breath. "Be your dad?"

Peter nodded, his eyes pleading with him. "Just that. Please, just be there."

Tony was still gasping, breaking apart, but he nodded and pulled Peter against his chest, clinging to him so tightly that it was hard for Peter to breathe, but Tony's hands were on his head and holding his back, and he said the words that Peter needed to hear most.

"Okay, son. I'll be your dad. I'm going to be there. I promise."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. It was overwhelming. This was what he needed, his dad beside him instead of being left alone as he fought a losing battle, and now he would have it.

He hid his face against Tony and cried.

So… We've got Tony back on board. That means some Irondad fluff.

The wonderful Monireh89 made art for this last scene that is the current cover picture for this story. Give it a look as it's beautiful.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx