“ Today, I was given a present that will last forever- This is happiness; We will take this pain together; We will fall asleep together; We will dream the same dream;
I’m comfortably closing my eyes- -on the last page- -I know you are there. ”
I don’t need to look for a happy ending when I’m already with you.
A/N: This is a request from @brobrobreja, I don’t know if this helps. I mean- I cried writing this so I’m sorry if this makes you sadder, I just- it’s a really tough situation. Sending so much love your way. X
You swore time stood still when the words “acute myeloid leukemia” left your oncologist’s lips. Your mouth became dry and your heart started to beat in your ears; voices and background noises merged into a deafening buzz that somehow repeated one sentence, “you have cancer.” You couldn’t believe it- you didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t understand how what you’d thought was a really bad cold could turn out to be blood cancer. You thought because you were sick that it was normal: to feel tired, to have a fever, to get night sweats, to have reoccurring nose bleeds, to throw up, to lose weight, to have your bones and joints ache despite your use of pain killers. You didn’t think anything of it because you didn’t want to think anything of it; you knew something was wrong but you were too afraid to admit it, and as it turned out- you had every right to be afraid.
Your husband, Chris, was the reason you finally decide to go to the hospital. You were getting weaker with each passing day, and your pain was only just beginning. Today you couldn’t even get out of bed, which was the last straw for Chris; he forced you into his car and drove you to the hospital. The two of you met with a GP who took one look at you and your list of symptoms and sent you to their resident oncologist on the fifth floor. You sat in the waiting room with Chris, who held your freezing hand the entire time. He tried to reassure you, repeating the sentences that would usually rid you of your angst: “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart.”, “We’re just overthinking again.”, “I’m sure it’s nothing.” Usually they worked, but not this time. You knew it wasn’t going to be okay; you weren’t overthinking again; and it was definitely something. You could feel it everywhere: your gut, your heart, your mind, and your soul; it wasn’t just the numbing pain talking, it was every inch of your being.
“Hey,” Chris gently squeezed your hand, bringing you back into the room. You managed a small smile as you ignored the tears blurring your vision; it wasn’t you you were worried about, it was your husband. Death was going to be easy, but surviving a death wasn’t. “Did you hear what Dr. Michaels said?” He tried to keep his voice as calm as possible. “There are a lot of treatments you can undergo, okay? We’ve got um-” he glanced at Dr. Michaels who looked heartbroken for the both of you, “chemotherapy and biological therapy and target therapy and radiation-” He stopped himself when he heard his voice break. “There’s a chance for recovery, Y/N.”
“I know,” you nodded, squeezing his hand as tightly as your weak body could. “Don’t you worry, I’m going to do whatever it takes to fight this.” Chris broke down when you said that, burying his head in your lap. He wanted to be strong for you, but he couldn’t right now. You were so young and you had so much left to do with your life; he couldn’t lose you, you couldn’t leave him. “It’s okay, baby.” You kissed the top of his head, whispering into his hair. “I’m going to be okay, I promise.”
After that day, Chris never cried in front of you again. He promised himself he’d keep it together because you didn’t need to take care of him, he needed to take care of you. He stayed incredibly positive, reminding you every day that recovery was possible and it was- especially since they detected your cancer in its early stages. Acute leukemia was the kind of cancer that needed to be treated as soon as it was diagnosed, as were most cancers. The goal of treatment was inducing a remission which was an absence of leukemia cells in the body, that came with a lot of chemotherapy; pills, catheter- whatever form of inserting the drugs into you, you did. It exhausted you physically, mentally, and psychologically. You spent most of your time at either the hospital or the dialysis clinic with Chris, of course, who put his entire career on hold.
You didn’t want him to; you wanted him to go to Atlanta and film ‘Infinity War’; you wanted him to live his life like his wife’s wasn’t on the line. But of course, he wouldn’t because he couldn’t. As much as he wanted to keep you happy, he couldn’t agree to such a ridiculous request. Even if he were to agree, just to appease you, Marvel wouldn’t have allowed him on set. You’d been married to Chris for five years now, everyone he knew and everyone he’d worked with knew you too. They also knew you needed Chris in such a trying time, whether or not you were willing to admit it- you needed the love of your life by your side. So Kevin promised Chris they could postpone the filming schedule for as long as he needed, or at least until things weren’t so raw and fresh. You’d tried to argue against it, stating there was no point in him suffering with you, but he wouldn’t have any of it. He even reminded you of your wedding vows- for better or for worst, and in sickness and in health- which shut you up.
“Do you want some te-” Chris cut himself off when he saw you asleep on the couch with Dodger watching over you. He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, walking over to carefully readjust you and your blanket. “I’m not hurting her, bud.” He reassured Dodger, who growled slightly. “I’m just…” He trailed off, sighing again at the sight of your weary face. “What are we going to do, Dodger?” He looked over at his pup, chuckling with limited humor as he wept. He tried to stop himself from completely breaking down, but he couldn’t. “I feel so fucking useless. Tea?” He almost laughed at how ridiculous he sounded. “I’m offering her fucking tea when she’s-” he buried his face in his hands. “Oh God, why did it have to be her?” He cried into his hands. “She doesn’t deserve this, no one does.”
Chris cried for a little while then wiped his face with his t-shirt before leaving you to rest. He headed for his laptop where had several articles about leukemia and treatment plans and statistics of recovery. Things may have looked bleak, but it didn’t stop him from giving up hope. If there was a chance, there was a way. If you were willing to fight, so was he. You were stronger than anyone he’d ever known, and if anyone were to beat any shitty illness- it was you. You could do it, he could feel it as sure as you could feel the pain in your bones. Your treatment was going to induce remission, and you were going to recover, and the two of you were going to start a family and live happily ever after. Chris could picture the whole thing, he could see his future with you and there wasn’t a black cloud in sight. As long as the two of you stuck together, fought together, and stay positive together- things were going to be okay.
“Chris,” Chris heard your weak voice call for him and he poked his head around the corner. You were sitting up with a hand over your mouth, which meant only one thing. He quickly rushed over with a box of tissues and a bin so you could throw up. He held your hair back for you and gently rubbed your back as you threw up water and bile because you were too weak to eat any proper foods. You started crying as he cleaned your mouth for you, pushing his hand away and burying your head in yours. “I’m sorry,” you sobbed.
“Don’t apologize,” he shook his head, putting the bin aside so he could hold you. You melted into his arms and for a second, you almost forgot about everything. “Baby, this is not your fault. You’re doing everything you can, okay? You have nothing to be sorry for, do you understand me?” You managed a nod as you continued to cry. “I know how difficult it is right now, but you are going to get better. You just to believe because the mind is so much stronger than the body, and you have one of the strongest minds I’ve ever come across.”
“What if it’s not enough?”
“It is,” he assured you. “Believe me, it is. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together,” he cupped your face in his hands and brushed away your tears, smiling. “I’m not letting you go anywhere, you hear? You’re stuck with me, Y/N, whether you like it or not.” You managed to laugh despite how utterly lost and broken you felt. “You’re going to get better,” he repeated. “Things are going to look up, I promise. You just need to keep fighting, baby. Can you do that?”
You nodded, managing a light chuckle. “I can do this all day,” you quoted Captain America’s most popular line and drew a genuine, heartfelt laugh from Chris. He brushed away the remainder of your tears then kissed your lips. Yes, things were bad right now, but he’d no doubt it was going to get better real soon. With a character as tough as yours, not even leukemia could keep you down.
Request: Hi!! I love your imagines, and I’m glad you’re in a better place! Thank you so much for writing these lol. I was wondering if you could do one where you help Peter write the story about George fir the paper and then you wind up kind of comforting him about the whole thing? Lots of fluff please lol THANK YOU!!!
A/N: thank you love 💕
It was a boring day like normal in the local news shop. You had been working as a writer here for a couple months now, and nothing even remotely exciting ever happened.
You had always wanted to work for the paper, maybe one day becoming the editor. But you wanted to work for a big news company, not the little local paper. You had to start somewhere though.
You were by yourself today, trying to finish an article for tomorrow’s paper. It was Sunday, so most people were home with your families. Your family worked all the time, so you spent your Sunday’s here.
Your attention was diverted when you heard the bell ding as someone opened the door. You immediately locked eyes with a boy about your age, shocking you.
“Can I help you?” You asked, straightening your back from its previous bent over position.
“Yes, I erm, I was hoping you would help me with an article for the paper?” The boy asked nervously, shuffling on his feet.
“What is it about?” You asked curiously, beckoning him over with your hand.
“It’s about a friend of mine, George.” He said, walking towards you and holding out a half written article.
You skimmed through the first two sentences, before pausing and looking up at the boy in shock.
“Your friend, he was the one that just died wasn’t he? On a ship from Dunkirk?” You questioned, remembering the gossip going around town vividly. Nothing really ever happened here, so when a young boy died it was the main talk for days.
“He came with my dad and I to bring home some soldiers. He hit his head after falling and well, he didn’t make it. He told me before he died that he had always wanted his picture in the paper. He wanted to make his family proud.”
You were taken aback by the story and the emotion in the boys voice. You couldn’t possibly say no.
“Well, let’s make it happen shall we?” You asked, earning a small smile from the cute blonde boy.
“Thank you, miss…” He trailed off, waiting for you to state your name.
“Thank you Y/N, I really appreciate it. I’m Peter by the way, Peter Dawson.” He held out his hand for you to shake, which you accepted.
“Don’t mention it Peter. Now, let’s get started.”
For the next two hours, the two of you worked on the article. You had just finished typing it up, showing the finished story to him.
“Tomorrow’s paper is full, but I’ll get it in there on Tuesday if that’s alright.” You told him, watching worriedly as his hands shook as he read the article.
“It’s perfect, thank you.” Peter choked out, raising teary eyes to meet yours.
“Oh Peter.” You whispered, standing up and pulling him into your arms. He broke down against you, crying into your neck. “I’m so sorry.”
“I just wish he was here to see this. I should have never let him come with us. It should have been me that died out there, not him.” Peter was full on sobbing against you, finally letting out the tears he had been holding in for a few days now.
“Please don’t do that to yourself.” You whispered, holding him tighter. “Don’t blame yourself. George wouldn’t want you to do that to yourself, and he definitely would want you to be dead and him alive. Doing this to yourself isn’t fair to him.”
“I know. I just miss him. He was my best friend, I didn’t want to lose a second brother.” He cried harder, making your heart break.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You murmured, pulling him down and resting his head in your lap as you ran your fingers though his hair. “He’s in a better place now, smiling down at you. He wouldn’t want you to be sad, he’d want you to remember the good times you’ve had together.”
Peter was beginning to calm down a little, turning so he was looking up at you.
“Can you do that? Can you think of the happy times you had with him? Maybe you’d like to talk about them?”
“Well, there was this one time…”
The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon just like that, sharing laughs and tears as he talked about George.
George was gone, but he could live on through Peters memories.