Chapter 3
"Peter? Are you awake, sweetheart?"
His eyes flutter open at the sound of May's soft voice, almost involuntarily. The first thing he becomes aware of is the dull pain pulsing throughout his body, heavy and leaden. He can already tell that he's on a cocktail of painkillers that are only partially numbing his injuries, so he hates to think how he'd feel without them.
He groans as the light burns his eyes upon opening, and he scrunches them closed once more.
"That's it, you can do it." May coaxes him again quietly, and he's never been able to deny her anything. He cracks his eyes open, waiting for them to adjust before opening them fully. When he's able to see once more, though his vision is slightly blurry, he takes in his surroundings and almost laughs because -
Because everyone is here. The Med Bay is full of nearly everyone he loves, and they don't even look that comfortable because there's so many people here, and he almost feels overwhelmed but for the warm feeling that spreads through his chest.
May is sat in a chair right by his bedside, holding his hand in hers, a soft smile on her face. Behind her, he sees that Happy is fast asleep in an uncomfortable-looking chair that Peter knows Tony could replace if he wanted to but instead keeps as incentive for everyone to keep out of the Med Bay.
Across the room, MJ and Ned are similarly passed out, though someone has had the decency to get them pillows and blankets because Peter is all too aware that the floor is an incredibly uncomfortable place to fall asleep. He can only assume that they fell asleep throughout the night - nights? - and someone, likely May, settled them into a more comfortable position. Ned is snoring slightly, while MJ's expression is far more relaxed than he's ever seen her before, and Peter finds himself smiling at them both.
Then, he catches sight of Tony on an actual sofa - and since when has there been a sofa in the Med Bay? - with Morgan in his arms, both asleep. Pepper is slumped against him, though somehow she still looks as elegant as she does in the day.
His chest pangs when he looks at Tony, because the last time he'd properly seen the man was when he'd stormed from the Tower and subsequently disabled his tracker like an absolute fool. He can still remember their conversation, as clear as day, and he remembers his own petulance and childish rationality. Of course, he understands why Tony had kept all the footage from his patrols now, in case of stupid, avoidable situations like this.
All Tony had wanted was to keep him safe, and Peter had thrown it back in his face. Insisted that he was mature enough now, that he didn't need help.
And yet here he is, recovering in a hospital bed because of his own hubris.
It's then, as his self-loathing latches on and begins to dig deeper, that Peter notices the final person in the room, because there, beside the Starks, is Harley. He's slumped awkwardly into the corner of the sofa, as if he hadn't wanted to be near anyone, his head tilted back against the cushion behind him. Peter's heart hurts when he takes in the frown on his brother's face, even in slumber, and the rigid tension in his body as he unconsciously curls into himself.
God, what has he done to everyone? He wonders if Johnny knows yet, dread filling him at the thought of his boyfriend's anxiety for his wellbeing. Johnny, despite his 'too cool' attitude, is the biggest mother hen Peter has ever met, which says a lot given that he knows Tony.
"Peter, honey? How do you feel?" May whispers, and he returns his attention to her at once. Her face is gentle and open, her voice low so as to not wake anyone else up.
He hesitates before responding, the drugs causing his words to be slightly slurred. "Okay, I think. Tired."
She looks at him like she doesn't believe a word out of his mouth. "Are you in any pain?"
"A bit." He relents, the drugs lowering his inhibitions and making him more honest that he might normally be. Her mouth pinches together for a moment, and she squeezes his hands a little tighter, not replying. "Are you - are you okay?" He murmurs to her.
Surprise fills her expression, her mouth falling open slightly. She lets out a quiet, slightly hysterical laugh. "Am I okay? Peter, you're the one who - who almost died. You - it was really close, baby. You've got everyone worried sick about you, you know."
He closes his eyes briefly, having expected as much. "Sorry."
"No, silly, you don't need to be sorry." Her voice is warm, fond, and he opens his eyes to find her smiling once more. "You did something stupid, very stupid in fact, but you don't need to apologise for almost dying on us. That wasn't your fault, honey."
"But if I hadn't disabled my tracker and vitals-"
She nods patiently. "I know. And trust me, we are going to have a long conversation about that when you're fully recovered, which will probably be very soon knowing you. I know you know that what you did was wrong, but we'll talk about that later. All you need to do now is rest and recover."
He feels the corner of his mouth lift unconsciously, even as sleep begins to drag him down into its depths once more. "Love you, May."
"I love you, too, sweetheart." She whispers back, her fingers carding through his hair slowly, unhurried in her affection. "So, so much."
Peter begins to surrender to the call of sleep, until the sound of soft footsteps in the doorway grabs his attention and forces his eyes to open again. He glances tiredly over to find Johnny standing there, eyes red-rimmed and exhausted, staring at Peter like he's his very own miracle, seemingly frozen in place like a statue.
Even tired and clearly emotional, he's still the most beautiful person Peter has ever seen.
Johnny mouths Peter's name silently, and Peter huffs out a laugh without meaning to at his boyfriend's overdramatic entrance, because when has Johnny ever been stunned into silence? Most days Peter can't get him to shut up, so this is unprecedented.
At the sight of Peter's grin, Johnny seems to relax, a smile curving his own lips as he rushes forwards to collapse into the empty chair on Peter's other side. Then, he's wrapping himself around Peter in a gentle embrace, clearly wary of his injuries. Peter settles into his arms and buries his head into Johnny's neck with a content sigh, feeling so serene in the moment that he almost doesn't care what happens later.
Johnny pulls away far too soon but doesn't move far as he takes Peter's other hand and brushes a strand of his hair aside. Peter can feel his eyelids slipping shut against his will, even though all he wants is to see Johnny's face.
"I'm so glad you're okay." Johnny whispers, voice cracking. "I don't know what I'd do if you weren't."
The last thing Peter senses before succumbing to slumber is Johnny's soft kiss against his temple and the warmth of May's hand. He smiles, and then he knows no more.
The anticipated conversation with Tony comes far too soon for Peter's liking.
It's only a few days later, when Peter is able to maintain consciousness for extended periods of time - as opposed to less than an hour - that Tony pounces, clearly awaiting an opportunity to discuss exactly what happened less than a week ago.
Peter hadn't wanted to talk about it, really. He'd been hoping that they could brush it aside, perhaps let it fester a while until their relationship inevitably suffered, and they could deal with it then when it really became an issue.
("Peter, that is not the right way to deal with an argument. At all." May fixes him with a stern look, though he can glimpse the amusement in her expression. "It isn't good for anyone to let it fester. I know you know that.")
He hasn't yet been cleared to leave the Med Bay, and he should have guessed that something was amiss when everyone vacates his room, gradually enough that he doesn't realise what's going on until he's by himself all of a sudden. This is only unusual in the fact that he hasn't been alone since he'd opened his eyes, always surrounded by someone fretting over him and asking if he was hungry, did he need anything, how was he feeling -
And he loves them all. Of course, he does. He loves them all more than anything in the world.
But, if he's being truly honest with himself, he's beginning to feel more than a little overwhelmed by the constant attention. It's almost suffocating at times, when Johnny can hardly tear his eyes away from him and can't bear to move from his bedside, or when Morgan plays nurse and supplies him with a steady stream of juice pops, much to Pepper's exasperation. Ned and MJ bring their - and, unfortunately, his - homework to the Tower and bicker, all while constantly glancing at Peter as if he might suddenly collapse before their eyes. May and Happy exchange many a worried gaze, though it's never vocalised.
The only two who've maintained a careful distance have been, unsurprisingly, Tony and Harley.
He understands completely, of course. Tony had quietly removed himself from Peter's room upon waking and discovering that Peter was awake, and it didn't an expert to know that he was disappearing to have a solitary weep. Following that, he hasn't tried to initiate too much contact between them, likely unsure of what to say to ease the ache that still stills in both their chests at the thought of their argument.
Harley, on the other hand, only appears when Peter is on the verge of sleep, a silent spectre in the doorway. He hardly says anything at all when Peter's awake and alert, even as others attempt to draw him into conversation.
Peter knows he deeply frightened the other boy. He can't imagine how he'd feel if Harley called him, half-dead and whimpering, only to have to hold him as he lay dying in his arms. Horror surges inside of him, along with a deep-seated need to fix the situation, to ease Harley's pain. He hates this strange distance between them, when it seems as if Harley can hardly look at him or address him in any way without remembering what happened and how close he'd come to being the last person to speak to Peter.
It's a close thing, but Peter hasn't felt quite this guilty in many years. He hates what he put them all through - May, Johnny, his friends - but Tony and Harley most of all, because what if he'd died and the last conversation he'd had with Tony was an argument, and the last time Harley had seen him was when he was broken and bleeding?
Everything feels so wrong suddenly, and he's just so tired.
So, when May finally vacates his room and leaves Peter blessedly alone for the first time since the accident, he doesn't think anything of it. He's too busy lying back and rejoicing in the silence that engulfs him, relief rushing through his veins at the prospect of a quiet, guiltless moment.
He really should have known better.
A quiet knock sounds from outside his room, and before he knows it, Tony’s gently pushing the door open and stepping inside. Peter knows the knock was merely courtesy, and that were they technically not still in an argument, Tony would have had zero qualms about just barging inside. This almost makes him wince because it only serves as a reminder of how wrong and uncertain their relationship is now.
Tony seems to hesitate for a moment, something wildly out of character for him, before finally murmuring with a tired half-smile, “Hey, Pete.”
Peter doesn’t know what to say, so he simply responds with a quiet, “Hey.”
His emotions feel all over the place in the moment – a strange mixture of remorse, humiliation, latent resentment, and then guilt for still feeling angry when the stunt he’d just pulled absolutely validated Tony’s arguments. How can he be trusted to patrol by himself without anyone checking up on him, because clearly he’s not mature enough to do so. He’d stormed out without telling anyone where he was going, turned off his tracker when he needed it the most and then traumatised the person he basically considers his brother, not even to mention everyone else.
God, Tony had been right. All Peter had wanted was to be his own person, and to show people he could do this, but here he is, ensconced in his bed while recovering from almost fatal injuries.
“Kid, look -”
“Mr Stark, I’m sorry -”
They both break off as their voices overlap, and had this been any other situation, they likely would have laughed. Instead, they each fall into awkward silence for a moment, eyeing the other with trepidation.
Finally, Peter tries again, his head lowering as he stares pointedly at his bedsheets. He keeps his tone contrite, even as he can’t meet the man’s gaze. “I – I don’t know what you were going to say, but I have to say this, so – I’m sorry, Mr Stark. I – you were right. Obviously. I was stupid – like, really stupid – and I know that now, and I’m sorry that you had to come save me again, and, um, for almost… you know. I just – I’m sorry. You were right.”
There’s a moment of silence, in which Peter definitely does not look at Tony, his cheeks likely scarlet by now. He has no idea how the man has received his apology, whether he’s going to take the suit away again, whether he wants Peter to leave and never return –
Then, Tony laughs slightly. Peter’s eyes snap towards him incredulously.
“Sorry.” Tony has the decency to say, but he evidently can’t keep himself from blatantly chuckling at Peter’s heart-felt apology. The audacity is - off the charts. He continues, still smiling wryly. “It’s just… that was so – Peter. You didn’t practise that at all, did you?”
Peter’s mouth falls open, and his cheeks feel as if they’re on fire with how red they must appear. He flails for a moment, unsure of how to respond because it’s true. That was entirely unrehearsed, and it definitely showed. He settles for glowering down at the bed, mortified.
“No, Pete -” Tony continues, tone kinder now. He moves forwards and seats himself on Peter’s bed, reaching out and gently guiding Peter’s chin upwards so that they meet each other’s gaze. “That wasn’t supposed to be an insult, I swear. I just meant it was very you, and I – well, I thought it was sweet.”
Peter glares at him. “Sweet.”
Tony just smiles in that soft way of his, an expression Peter had never seen until he quite literally returned from the dead, only to discover that a gentler, more paternal version of the Tony Stark had apparently been mourning him for five years and was overjoyed to be reunited with him.
However, when he responds, it’s not what Peter had anticipated at all. “I was so scared, Pete.”
Peter is silent, staring at the man with wide eyes.
Tony’s hand moves to brush an errant strand of hair from in front of Peter’s eyes, his thumb gently swiping over his cheek. “You nearly died - again – and that – well, that just can’t happen, kid. You are just not allowed to die, especially – especially because of me.”
“Because of you?” Peter echoes disbelievingly. “This was my fault, I just said -”
“But it wasn’t.” Tony sighs sadly. “Well, maybe a little, because we both know you never should have disabled your tracker or your vitals, even if you were angry, but – well. You were angry because of me, and you were out there because of me and you did all of that because of what I said and did, and that – that makes it my fault, kid.”
“Mr Stark, I don’t blame you -”
“But I do.” Tony says firmly, as if he were speaking the absolute truth. “All I can say is that I’m so sorry, Pete, for lying to you like that, for calling you immature or suggesting that you’re not a real Avenger, when, of course, you are. You’re the best of us, kid, and it was wrong of me to say that.”
Peter swallows hard, before asking quietly, “Why did you say it then? Why did you lie to me like that?”
Tony’s gaze falls, as does his expression. “I – I’m not proud of it, but I guess I was foolishly hoping that you would stop putting yourself in danger every night, that I wouldn’t have to lie awake in bed worrying about whether you were home yet, whether you were safe. I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, I just want you to know. God, you died in my arms once, Pete. I can’t – I can’t do that again.”
He pauses, gaze dropping to the ground and his knuckles whitening as the memory seems to play in his mind. Peter finds himself instinctively leaning forward and pressing himself into Tony’s side in some attempt at comfort; he must succeed because Tony runs a hand down his arm and continues,
“And about the lying and the patrol videos – it’s not what you said before, about me not trusting you; it’s about me and my paranoia, and my fear that someone’s going to really hurt you if I don’t check up on you all the time. Pete, when I said I wouldn’t watch the videos anymore, I meant it at the time, but it became too hard to actually do, so – I lied, and I shouldn’t have, and for that I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t want you to know how much I still worried about you.”
Peter watches him with wide eyes for a long moment. He can tell that this has been seriously weighing on Tony, can see it in the tired quality of his gaze and hear it in the solemnity of his tone. He knows how much Tony means this apology, so how could he ever not forgive him? How could he ever remain resentful of something that he of all people understands?
The incessant paranoid thoughts about harm befalling his loved ones? Peter knows better than anyone how these can plague a person, haunt their dreams and make them do misguided and foolish things. Of course, he understands what Tony is saying, and he can’t believe it didn’t occur to him sooner – perhaps if he hadn’t instantly assumed the worst when he’d discovered Tony’s lies, this might not have happened, he realises with a dull pang.
“I understand.” He whispers finally, and he knows this next part is important. “And I know you won’t forgive yourself, so – I forgive you. It’s okay.”
Tony laughs, and it sounds brittle but sincere. “Thanks, Pete.”
A comfortable silence fills the space between them, and Peter lets himself relax in the security of Tony’s arms, his body and head still vaguely aching from his injuries. Despite this, he feels content in a way he hasn’t since he’d discovered those videos, at home and at peace.
This is inevitably broken a while later, when Tony says in a firm voice, “But - and your aunt was very clear on this – you are grounded from Spider-Man for two weeks.”
“What?”
“Yes.” Tony pulls away so that they’re facing one another, and while his eyes are serious, he seems to be fighting a smile. “Two weeks, kid. It was going to be more, but we figured you’d just sneak out anyway.”
Peter gapes incredulously. “But why?”
Tony’s eyebrows climb so high up his forehead that Peter is momentarily distracted and vaguely unnerved. “Why? Pete, you removed your tracker and then didn’t call me when you needed urgent medical attention. That’s not okay. You can’t do that, even if you’re angry and never want to speak to me again, okay? From now on, your tracker and automatic health alerts stay online at all times, and you must always call me if you need help. Do you understand? This can’t happen again.”
Peter is silent for a long moment - shame burning him from the inside out – before finally mumbling, “Okay, Mr Stark.”
Tony simply watches him, eyebrows still raised and an expectant look on his face.
With a sigh, Peter elaborates. “Okay, Mr Stark, I won’t disable my tracker and automatic health alerts again, and I promise to always call you if I need help. Is that okay?”
Tony smiles once more, pulling Peter back against him. “Yeah, that’s okay.”
A sudden rustle behind the door draws both their attention in an instant, and they watch as the door is pushed open cautiously, as if the person doesn’t wish to draw attention to themselves. A moment later, a dark blonde head appears, followed by a lanky body clad in jeans and a hoodie. Harley’s eyes are downcast, his hair unkempt, but he steps into the room regardless.
Peter is stunned into silence for a long moment, because he’s hardly seen or spoken to the other boy since the accident itself, though not for lack of trying. He hates this entire situation, hates that he doesn’t know how to approach this or how to console Harley. Beside him, Tony has similarly gone quiet, though Peter can detect the knowingness in his gaze even when not looking at him.
Harley and Tony seem to have some kind of silent conversation with their eyes, which clues Peter to the fact that they’d discussed this previously, before Harley relents and breaks the silence, “Uh, hey, Peter.”
Peter smiles hopefully at him, trying to appear as open and non-injured as possible. “Hey.”
Harley watches him wordlessly, eyes raking over Peter’s form, eyebrows pinched together. Finally, something in him seems to relax at the realisation that Peter really is okay, that he’s not suddenly going to keel over in his arms. The tension in his shoulders dissipates and he audibly exhales, as if to clear his mind. Then, he shuffles over to the two of them on the bed, awkward in a way Peter hasn’t seen before. He comes to an abrupt halt right in front of them.
Neither Peter nor Harley say a word, but Peter can read everything left unspoken in the other’s expression – the overwhelming relief, the love, the residual fear, everything. Peter does his best to express his deepest apologies for what happened, for almost dying in Harley’s arms, for putting him through that.
He must be successful because Harley eventually smirks. “Idiot.”
Peter winces, but revels in the internal relief upon the other boy finally beginning to return to his obnoxious self. “Well, I can’t really argue about that. Sorry, for... you know. And – thanks.”
He can hear Tony laugh quietly, likely at how bad his apology was, but Harley just sits next to them on the bed, still smiling slightly. “Don’t do it again.” Is all he says, but Peter can feel the weight behind the words and he nods in response.
He can’t promise he’ll never be that close to the brink of death again, with his abilities and tendency to throw himself headfirst into danger, but he’ll never be that stupid again. Not when he’s seen first-hand the impact on his loved ones.
But right here, laughing as Tony forcibly pulls Harley into their hug – Harley pretending he hates it but leaning into them anyway – he’s grateful that he’s here with them. Grateful that he gets to have this, that they put up with him.
Peter smiles, content beyond words.