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don't leave me alone

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“Peter! Where are you! KID!” Peter chased after the voice, his senses dialed up to eleven. He didn’t have time to fix the lights or try to turn back on Jarvis, all he heard was Tony screaming. Peter ran through the dark hallways, focused on Tony’s voice, trying to pinpoint where it was. After what felt like hours later, Peter had stopped in the living room. Instead of finding Tony, Steve was standing there in his uniform, drenched in blood. He was facing Peter, but Steve was looking right over Peter’s shoulder.

“I couldn’t save him...I-, It’s my fault, I couldn’t…” Steve fell to his knees, his shoulders slumped forward and his head hanging low. Peter turned around and-

No. No, that wasn’t right. No, Tony was fine, he- so much blood -’s fine, everything is- why is there so much blood -ok. It’s all ok-

toomuchbloodtoomuchbloodtoomuchbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodBLOODBLOODPLEASESOMEONEHELPHIIMPLEASEGOD-

 

 

“-eter! Come on, wake up, kid. You’re just dreaming, kid,” Peter shot out of his bed, the sheets tangled around his feet. He felt like throwing him, the image of Tony’s mangled body still fresh on his mind, every time he closed his eyes. He was alone again. Everyone left. Everyone’s gone. They all died, leave Peter and never come back- “Kid, you were having a nightmare. No one’s hurt, we’re all safe, but you need to calm down,” Tony held Peter in his arms, rocking the kid back and forth. Peter tried not to remember the blood, but every blink brought the image back to the forefront of his mind. Despite being practically wrapped up in his arms, Peter still felt that pit in his stomach, the emptiness drowning out reality.

“Kid, you’re burning up. Was there a bug or something at school?”

“Mj…” Peter’s voice cracked, “She left early, yesterday..” 

“Great, why don’t you come downstairs and hang out on the couch for a bit. It’ll cool you off,” Tony held Peter up as they walked up into the living room. He helped Peter lie on the couch, pulling a lighter blanket off of the armrest and giving it to Peter. Tony sat right next to him, trying to squeeze them both of them under the blanket. Peter was glad that they had moved past the awkward phase of almost-hugging-but-not-quite. It made nights like this, with Peter still zoned out and Tony trying to figure out what happened, a lot easier. 

“I made chamomile tea,” Steve popped out of the kitchen carrying two mugs and handed one to Peter. Steve made sure he had a grip on it before he let go and took a step back, the other mug still in hand. “I’m gonna head up to bed, I’ll see-”

“Wait,” Steve and Tony both looked at Peter, “...can you just-, can you stay?” Peter knew that he still didn’t know Steve that well. He knew Tony was close with him, but Peter had yet to digest the whole Germany-Siberia thing. But, that night, all he could see was Steve’s face, covered in blood, eyes so dull you can’t even see the blue.

“You sure Peter?” Steve asked.

“Please,” Steve stared at him for a moment longer before sitting on the couch, awkwardly pushed into the corner. 

Tony took the mug out of Peter’s hands, “I’ll wake you up in a bit when Bruce gets back and he can give you some medicine,”

“Okay…” Peter was asleep before Tony even turned on the tv.