#and i keep wondering if I’m S0-2 or the black hole it orbits

[tonystarkstan]

It’s Astronomy class that sends Peter spiraling.

He took the class for fun. While it’s not really necessary for his major, he’s always loved space and math, and a break from the more grueling science courses he’s currently taking is welcome.

College has not exactly been kind to Peter. And, really, life hasn’t spared him much kindness anyway, but trying to navigate PTSD, depression, anxiety, and taking a break from Spider-Man is much harder away from the comfort of his own home. Away from Tony and May.

To be fair, Peter does like college. The freedom isn’t really anything new, since both May and Tony have always granted him more freedom than the typical teenager, but he loves diving deeper in his classes, loves learning the ins and outs of everything. And he likes the distraction, the chance to feel like a normal kid and not like someone who’s seen the horrors of war.

But he misses his friends, and he misses May and Tony, and he misses Spider-Man. He’s glad for the break, but he misses being useful.

He misses eating ice cream out of the tub with May at one in the morning when she gets home from work, exhausted, and he misses lab days with Tony. He misses watching movies with Ned and hanging out with MJ. And he misses hugs that keep him together when he wakes up with bad brain days prying his chest open.

Like today.

At first, it’s manageable. At first, he’s able to lift himself out of bed, even with remnants of red still playing behind his eyelids, unwilling to be rubbed away. And maybe he has to focus a little extra on keeping his breaths even and moving his feet that feel like lead because they just want him to stop moving, but it’s fine. He’s gotten better at living with the black hole in the middle of his chest.

He gets through his first class of the day, organic chemistry, well enough. He’s lucky enough that the subject has always come second nature to him, and today is just a lecture—no lab—so it’s okay if he zones out a little. It’s all fine.

Until he gets to Astronomy class. Nothing out of the ordinary happens. In fact, it’s almost boring. He likes his professor a lot, and today she shows them a clip of a documentary to explain a concept they’re learning.

On the screen, an astronomer is talking about a cluster of stars they’ve been watching for about two decades, orbiting a black hole near the center of the galaxy. One such star, she explains, called S0-2 is the closest of its neighbors to the black hole. As it approaches, a phenomenon called “gravitational redshift” occurs.

Put simply, it’s losing energy.

Peter’s brain takes in the information and runs with it.

When the professor dismisses them, he sits there for a moment, thinking and thinking and thinking. Thinking about how achingly lonely that star must be, how helpless, as the black hole slowly reels it in. He thinks about the people who have watched it happen over the course of decades, fascinated by the tragedy playing out before them.

I need to tell Tony, he thinks. Peter can’t pinpoint why, but it suddenly feels extremely important that he tells Tony. He needs him to know about the star S0-2.

He’s quick to gather up his bag and leave the building, and he fumbles with his phone, nearly dropping it as he searches for Tony’s name in his contacts. And all he can think is, Is S0-2 even there anymore? Or have we been watching the corpse of a star all this time, the real thing having been spaghettified and swallowed whole already? And what if—

“Peter?”

He didn’t even realize he’d pressed the ‘Call’ button already.

“Hello?” he answers, like it’s a question. As if Tony’s the one who called him.

“Hey, kid,” Tony says cautiously. “You okay?”

Peter thinks about S0-2, and he feels an inexplicaple sense of grief well inside of him. He doesn’t know how to explain it, he doesn’t know why it hurts so much. Why he can’t leave it in the classroom like he does with carbon chains and Hardy-Weinberg equations.

“There’s a star called S0-2. She’s losing energy,” Peter tells Tony, because this is important. He needs Tony to know this.

“Yeah?” Tony asks, voice tense.

“Yeah. We learned about her today during class. She’s orbiting a black hole. Astronomers have been watching her for twenty years,” Peter tells him. He doesn’t even notice he’s stopped walking, now standing under a large oak in the empty, spacious courtyard.

“You’re upset,” Tony observes, and Peter runs a distressed hand through his hair.

“It’s just that—there’s nothing they can do. They just have to—to let it happen. And for all we know it’s already happened and we’re just watching it on rewind,” Peter tells him, not even noticing as his voice pitches higher. “It’s inevitable. She’s going to lose more and more energy and then one day, the astronomers are going to find her gone because she’s no match for all that darkness.”

“Peter.”

“Do—do you think she’s scared?” Peter asks, and his chest feels like it’s cracking open. He thinks about that fucking star, fighting and fighting to keep her light and her energy, and he thinks about the Snap that tore him to pieces no matter how hard he tried to stay together.

He remembers the very moment he realized it was going to happen anyway.

(It makes sense, he thinks. We were made from stars; it figures we’d meet the same end as them.)

“Peter,” Tony repeats, and this time his voice sounds impossibly close. He flinches when he feels a hand land on his shoulder, and he whirls around to find Tony standing behind him, suit retracting.

“Tony,” Peter says desperately, trying to get him to understand, not even registering that Tony’s flown from home, away from Morgan and Pepper, to see him. “She doesn’t deserve it.”

Tony slides the hand on his shoulder up to cup his cheek, looking Peter straight in the eye.

“Peter, look at me,” he says, voice pitched low. “Neither did you.”

Peter inhales sharply, wrapping his arms around himself. He feels the darkness in his chest expand and he looks at Tony with pleading eyes.

“You don’t understand. What if—what if I’m the black hole? And I’m just draining and draining and taking everyone’s energy?” he asks, and Tony crouches down to eye level in front of him.

“Peter, Peter, stop. Listen to me,” Tony says firmly. “You are not S0-2. You are not the black hole it’s orbiting. You’re a human,” Tony tells him, gently shaking his shoulders for emphasis. “You’re Peter Parker. And you’re going to get through this. You know why?”

Peter shakes his head, swiping a hand messily across his cheeks, not even realizing he’s been crying.

“Because I’m here,” Tony says, so certain. Unwavering. “And no black hole or god or even yourself can change that. Not if I can help it.”

Peter’s chest heaves, face crumpling, and Tony doesn’t hesitate before pulling him in. Later, Peter will be thankful that the courtyard is cleared, that no one but Tony is around to see him break.

And Tony—Tony is a calm, steady presence in front of him. He doesn’t say anything; he just holds Peter close until all the darkness bleeding out of him recedes, and depression’s gravity loosens it’s hold, just a little.

When Peter finally pulls away, Tony gives him a soft smile and a moment to compose himself. But there’s one more question tugging at him, something he can’t let go of.

“Tony?” Peter asks, voice small.

“Yeah, Pete?”

“Do you think S0-2 would think it was all worth it?” he asks, feeling stupid. But Tony’s face softens with understanding.

“Yeah, Peter,” he says, completely certain. “I think she would.”

(Maybe we won’t get beautiful ends. Maybe our friendships will die and our families will fall apart. Maybe we’ll meet an ugly death. But the beautiful in the middle? That’s worth every bit of it.)