Chapter 7
Oliver woke up in a hospital room with the slight lull of drugs in his system. He didn’t move, only opened his eyes. Panic shot through him, taking in the beeps of machines and the breathing tube in his nose. He quickly suppressed it, reminding himself of the events that had brought him here. He was safe. He was safe. The fear didn’t calm.
He was still in pain, mostly in his head, but the drugs numbed it all, making it tolerable. He felt bandages under the hospital gown he was wearing, looping around his upper torso. They must’ve taken his trans tape off. It was the least of his problems, but it still made him uncomfortable.
He let his eyes drift around the room. His father was asleep in a chair beside his bed. He was snoring. An IV dripped fluid into his arm, the rays from the sun refracting in the bag. A privacy curtain half separated Oliver from Peter, who was sleeping. He looked peaceful. Calmer than Oliver had seen him before.
A woman sat in the chair beside his bed, her head was in her hands. His mom, maybe. A collection of empty coffee cups gathered on the side table. No one had noticed Oliver was awake yet. He kind of liked it that way. He just wanted to observe things for a second.
The door opened and Oliver strained to see who entered, panic starting to twist in his chest. Tony Stark entered with two coffees. It was still bizarre to see him, especially when he looked as shit as he did right now. Dark circles were set deep into his eyes and his face looked as if it had aged years since he had last seen him. He gave one coffee to Peter’s mom and placed a hand on her back in comfort. They didn’t speak, merely sat in a patient silence, waiting.
Peter groaned and pulled his hand up to his face, feeling the breathing tube in his nose. He blinked a couple of times before his eyes settled open.
“Peter?” his mom said, she was out of her chair, hovering as if waiting for permission to embrace him.
“It’s okay now?” his voice was small again. Smaller than it had been. Maybe he was putting on a brave face for him in the room, maybe he had been more scared then he had let on. His mom seemed to float for a second, tears welling in her eyes as she nodded and leaned down to hug him. Her lips pressed together tightly. She was so worried, Oliver could tell. She was so worried and felt so terrible that he had gone through this and she loved him so much. Finally, she let go, sitting back in her chair. She still held his hand though, as if he would disappear if she let go.
Oliver took the slight commotion to slowly lift himself into a sitting position. “I’ll go get a nurse.” Mr. Stark muttered. He didn’t look like he wanted to. In fact, he had the same expression his mom had. Waiting for permission to embrace him. Instead, he left the room.
Mr. Stark and the nurse came back quickly. The nurse took over, asking Peter a dozen questions and making sure he felt comfortable. She explained everything that had happened and told him things like he had been dehydrated and had moderate lacerations on his back. Eventually, she stopped and turned to the privacy curtain. She tossed it open. Everyone paused for a moment. They all stared at Oliver. Oliver stared back.
“You’re awake?” The nurse said. “How long have you been awake?”
“Abo–” Oliver’s voice came out almost silent. He cleared his throat, swallowed, and tried again. “About ten minutes.” The nurse’s eyes widened slightly and she began busying herself around Oliver, asking him questions and fiddling with his IV solution. Eventually, when the nurse seems to finish her routine, she looks over to Oliver’s dad sleeping in the chair. She seems hesitant but quickly decides to go and shake him awake.
He wakes up, gasping as if caught in a dream. The nurse backs up. “Sir, your child is awake.” He just looks at her for a second, adjusting to the waking world. Then, he looks over the nurse’s shoulder. He was on his feet in a second, wrapping his arms around his son. Oliver flinched, not expecting the touch but quickly sank into the hug. This is all he had wanted, really. All he had ever needed. He clutched his father tighter, savouring this feeling forever.
Then, his dad pulled away. He looked at Oliver a moment before saying. “Your mother is in the cafeteria, I’ll go get her.”
He backed away, already starting to head for the door. “Wait Dad, just wait a second-” He was gone. Oliver looked down at his hands and swallowed down his tears. It didn’t make sense he was crying, his dad would be right back. Just getting his mom. His attempt at convincing worked enough. He still sat, holding his own hands, impatient in waiting to be loved.
Mr. Stark walked over and sat in the chair that Oliver’s father had been sitting in. He seemed comfortable there. “So, I need to discuss some things with you and your parents. Aside from, well, the legality of this all.” Mr. Stark looked into his eyes. Oliver looked back. His eyebrows knotted up, he looked remorseful. He looked ashamed. Oliver understood why. He was angry, although not very much at Mr. Stark. He blamed him for what happened, but really, he barely knew the man. It wasn’t his fault that the woman had mistaken meeting for friendship, for Mr. Stark caring about Oliver. He kept telling himself this but Oliver was still angry. The anger just seemed to reach out and grab who was closest. Oliver nodded at Mr. Stark. He didn’t really know what he needed to talk about but, it’s not like he could say no.
“So, Oliver, how are you?” Peter drew his attention. All three of them watched him, unsure how to act, unsure what to say.
“Never been better.” This earned him a small smile from Peter. A shared joke, avoiding the pain if it all. Oliver swallowed and redirected his attention to Peter’s mom. “So, you’re Peter’s mom? Nice to meet you.” He nodded at her, trying desperately to alleviate some of the awkwardness in the room.
She smiled, slightly sadly, slightly with humour. “No, I’m his aunt, Peter’s parents passed away when he was young.”
“Oh.”
“But, nice to meet you as well, although not under these circumstances. I’m May. Oliver, right?”
Oliver nodded, he felt like he should thank her. Like he should thank all of them. He didn’t really understand why. Maybe just for the simple task of distracting him. Not letting him wait for his parents in silence. He started to open his mouth, he needed them to know, just by being here they were making it easier. But he stopped. He swallowed. He couldn’t. Not yet, he had just met them.
The door opened and Oliver looked up, his mother threw herself at him, embracing him despite his short struggle. She pulled back, looking into his eyes.
“My poor baby.” she stroked his face and just looked at him for a little longer before turning to Mr. Stark. He had risen out of the chair and stood, slightly out of place in the space. “You.” Mrs. Smith’s face switched. Her eyebrows clenched together and her whole face formed to a point, staring at Mr. Stark. “You are the reason my daughter is here you Fucking asshole.” Oliver withdrew. Her voice was harsh and angry.
Oliver put his hand on his mom’s shoulder. “Mom, it’s okay.”
She looked back at him for a moment before looking back at Mr. Stark. “No, it's not. You dragged my daughter into a fucking torture chamber and now you have the audacity to be in her hospital room? To be here and watch as I see her for the first time in days?!” She had migrated off of Oliver’s bed and moved uncomfortably close to Mr. Stark.
“Mom, stop, It’s not his fault.” Oliver’s voice was weak. He felt scared and vulnerable and his mom should have time for her anger later. She wasn’t really directing it at the right person and not at the right time.
She whipped around. “No. You clearly don’t know what is right for you. This man has hurt you and has almost let you die.” She was pointing her anger at him now. Oliver sat very still. “This man belongs in a fucking jail cell, I will not just stop.” She had moved over to Oliver again, this time with aggression rather than comfort. The spiral in Oliver’s chest twisted, making it difficult to breathe.
“Ma'am. Please sit down.” Oliver looked over his mother’s shoulder. The fear and guilt in Mr. Stark’s eyes had shifted. He was unreadable now, his hand on his mother’s shoulder. “I’m here because I need to discuss things with you. As soon as we talk, I will leave.” Mrs. Smith seethed and held Mr. Stark’s eye contact for a moment. A long moment. Then she took a breath in, shoving her anger down her throat and sat in the chair. Mr. Smith, who had been watching by Oliver’s other side, moved to stand beside the chair.
“Thank you. Now, the kidnappers recorded all, uh, torture to send to me for ransom. They were in the middle of one such recording when Your son and Peter escaped.”
“Daughter.” Mrs. Smith said.
Mr. Stark kept going. “When we went to recover the footage, the camera had been smashed and the electrical components of the entire building had been destroyed. Partially by some sort of power surge. We recovered the footage but,” Mr. Stark paused, figuring out how to word his next words. “Ma’am, it seems like whatever machine they had tortured your son with, caused him to do all that damage. We aren’t sure how.” What does he mean? Oliver thought. He had barely been able to move, what did he mean he caused that destruction? “We need to keep him here for further investigation. For his own safety. I need you to sign some forms. They will technically make me his legal guardian but you are welcome to stay with him in the accommodations I will provide for you all and I won’t think about doing anything without consulting you all first.” He placed a stack of forms on Oliver’s bedside table. Mr. Stark stopped talking, allowing them all to process. Stay here? For how long? What would they do to him, how could they test for this? I mean, what are they even testing for? Oliver’s thoughts filled with questions, and the spiral in his chest twisted tighter.
Oliver’s mother stood up. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Her voice was quiet, her breath barely holding down her rage. “You get my daughter kidnapped and tortured and now you’re spelling some ridiculous bullshit to keep her here?!” The spiral twisted tighter. “You can’t be serious, wanting me to sign away my own daughter’s life away to be some fucking lab experiment?!” Oliver wished she would stop calling him her daughter. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, for her safety, as if. You’re just some rich asshole that wants to cover his tracks for getting a child tortured or you just want a fucking lab rat. Hell, You probably ordered them to capture and torture my daughter just because you wanted one.” The spiral in Oliver’s chest was too tight. He wished his mom would shut the fuck up and calm down. He wished his mom would stop fucking calling him her daughter. She was in Mr. Stark's face, she looked as if she could hit him. “AS IF TONY FUCKING STARK!”
‘MOM!” Oliver yelled, he didn’t expect to yell. It sounded angry. “Can you please shut the fuck up! This is not his fault. I get that you’re angry but you’re being ridiculous. And you’re scaring me. If he thinks that that machine changed something about me and there is reason to be concerned, then I think he is our best bet at help.” Mrs. Smith looked shocked. Oliver hadn't yelled at her in a long time. Not since she found out he was trans. It hadn’t even worked that time.
The shock shifted. Anger, not quite as strong but anger nonetheless replaced it. “Betha-”
“And for fucks sake! Please stop calling me your daughter. Please. I get that you don’t accept me but I just went through the most traumatic experience of my fucking life. Can’t you just love me enough for it this once?” He was starting to cry again. All those years of pent-up grief starting to spill out. He had to catch it, had to stop it, otherwise he was going to say too much. “Don’t I deserve that? I haven’t ever asked you to call me my name. I followed everything you wanted me to. I stopped talking to my friends, and I stopped ‘being trans’ everywhere else can’t you just fucking, please. Just this once.” Tears were spilling out, despite Oliver’s best efforts to get them to stay put. He bit his lip hard. Please, please. Just love him enough for this.
“Have you lost your mind?” Mrs. Smith’s voice shook. It was quiet though, slicing through the air with an icy fury. “You deserve this? You get to make this decision? I have put up with your shit for your entire life. I fought with you for months just to get you to make those decisions. To get you to not ruin your life. And now you want to go throw it all away again and you want me to call you my son while doing it? Fine. You want to stay in America and live with your new dad Mr. Tony Stark? Fine. But don’t expect me to pick you up after he’s poked around your brain and rearranged your organs.” Oliver looked at her with horror, his tears stopped falling. She walked over to the bedside table and started signing the papers. “In fact, don’t expect to come home. I’m done with your bullshit. You want to be a faggot so bad? Fine. I won’t watch it happen.” She threw down the pen, finished signing. She walked over to the chair, picked up her stuff and headed toward the door. She stopped and looked back one last time. She looked into Oliver's eyes. Oliver looked into hers. They were filled with rage. They were filled with hurt. They were filled with certainty. “You will always be my daughter.” She stood there for a second longer, holding back tears before turning on her heel and walking out the door.
Oliver looked at his father. He was also packing his things. “I- you can come get your stuff I-” he looked towards the door where his mother had left. He looked back at Oliver and smiled slightly. “I’ll come visit.” He followed his mother out the door.
They all stood in silence. The absence of his parents took up the entire room. Oliver breathed. In and out as the tears started again. They didn’t fall though, not yet, not with them all here, waiting for him to say something. He gasped shakily. “He’s not going to come visit.” That's when the tears started rolling. That’s when it all hit him. The kidnapping, the torture and his parents disowning him to top it all off. He was alone now. Completely and utterly alone. No one knew him. No one loved him. He had just burned the last bridge standing, even if it had been aflame for a long time.
“I-” Mr. Stark walked in front of Oliver’s bed. Half wanting to leave the room and half wanting to stay. “I’m sorry.” He hesitated a moment more before gathering the papers and leaving. Oliver buried his face in his hands. He had known it was coming eventually. He had known he would continue to transition and he knew his mom would leave when it happened. He had known and he had grieved for so so long. So why did it hurt so much now? He sobbed. God, it hurt so much. He had just wanted their love, just wanted to be held and told that everything was okay. Had that been too much? Was that too much to ask for? He was weeping now, tears flowing down his face and sniffling to try and keep his snot out of his mouth. It was gross but he had nothing to wipe it on. He tried to stay quiet, despite wanting to scream, to beg to a god he doesn’t believe in to give him someone to love. To ask him why? Why now? Why would he take and take and take everything Oliver had ever tried to have? Had he done something? It wasn’t fair. It was never fair. He wanted his mom. She was gone.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked over to see May, Peter’s aunt offering him tissues. She was rubbing his back. “It’s okay honey, it's okay to cry, it’ll get better I swear.” She was wearing a pink sweater. She was looking into his eyes with concern and sympathy. She was looking at him with kindness.
“It hurts so much.” Oliver choked out.
“I know it does.” She opened her arms, offering a hug. Oliver barely knew her but- but he needed it too bad. He sunk into her arms. Her sweater smelled like lemon balm and he clutched it tightly, as if letting go would make her leave too. She rubbed his back, whispering comfort. Oliver looked over her shoulder and made eye contact with Peter. Peter looked at him with concern and sympathy, matching his aunt. Oliver looked at Peter with Grief and loss and pain. Oliver closed his eyes.