"What's an oncologist?" He didn't think he'd heard the word until just a minute earlier. Maybe at school, but if that were the case, he'd forgotten it a long time ago.
Tony gripped Steve's arm, trying to ignore the way his heart started beating fast...
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"Is that mine or yours?" Tony mumbled, not even opening his eyes. He and Steve were still in bed, as was Peter in his own bedroom, and they'd been woken up by a phone ringing. Steve grunted, leaning over to the headboard on his side of the bed where they'd both left their phones.
"Yours," he yawned, picking the phone up and placing it in Tony's outstretched hand, then slumped back down on his pillow. He didn't know what time it was, but it was too early.
Without looking at the caller ID, Tony answered the phone. "Hello?"
"The hell's going on, Tony?" He recognized it was Clint's voice, and if he'd been more alert, he would definitely have caught onto the fact that Clint had called him by his first name instead of the usual 'Stark'.
"Top o' the mornin' to ya," Tony said in an overdone Irish accent, and wasn't surprised when Steve lazily slapped his shoulder. "Is that you, Barton?"
"Yeah. It's me." He sounded agitated. Impatient.
"What's so urgent that you had to call me at," he forced one eye open to check the time, "five thirty in the morning? Damn, that's four thirty for you."
"Was hoping you could tell me, actually."
"Oh?"
"Just got off the phone with Nat. The press conference."
"Oh," Tony breathed out, realization jolting him awake. Clint didn't know. "What'd she tell you?"
"That it was about Peter, and I'd have to call you. She wouldn't say anything more than that."
"I'm putting you on speaker. It's just me and Steve."
"Sure. Just tell me what's going on, she sounded strange."
"You should, uh... Are you sitting? You should be sitting down."
"What- Just get to it before I lose my damn mind!"
"Okay. Uh... It's Peter. He, uh... Ah, shit, Steve, how do I say this? Fuck."
Steve held his hand up to stop Tony before he could spiral. "I've got it, honey," he assured Tony, sitting up in bed. "Want me to tell him?" Tony nodded, hiding his face in his hands. "Okay. Okay, you still there, Clint?"
"Yeah." He was wary, and he was right to be.
"Peter is... He's really sick. He's got cancer."
It took a couple of seconds for it to register in Clint's brain before he spoke. "What?"
"It's... It's lung cancer. Stage four, spread to his liver and his brain." Steve's voice faltered slightly as he delivered the news; the words felt so wrong in his mouth. Tony had sat up, feet on the floor, and his back facing Steve.
