Did it work?
Peter blinked several times, trying desperately to blink away the fog and confusion that overwhelmed him. The entire room seemed out of focus, and he had an overwhelming urge to reach for his glasses - that he hadn't worn for over three years now. So that was weird.
But everything felt weird. It all felt wrong.
His breathing was starting to come in short and raspy and the ache in his chest was starting to worsen, and instinctively he tugged the tubing that was tickling his nose away from him, until he felt a hand on his wrist, affectively stilling him. His eyes went wide and turned to see equally scared eyes staring back at him. Until then, he forgot he wasn't alone. But it wasn't Ben, it was... "Mr. Stark?" Even his voice didn't sound right.
"Yeah - kid. And no, you're not dead. But if you could keep breathing for me, it would really help keep it that way."
Peter winced as the annoying tube was gently placed back in his nose and he squinted at the man as he hovered there awkwardly for a second before moving back to his seat - and when did Mr. Stark ever look awkward? He had to have imagined that - or was he just projecting his own confusion and awkwardness on the man. Why couldn't he remember why he was there? There was something.. Something important. A bunch of memories and words mixed up in his head and none of them made sense or felt connected in anyway.
His head flopped to the side to look for Mr. Stark - he had already forgotten he was there.
"Mr. Stark!"
Tony had apparently grown restless of sitting again, and in a blink was standing at his side, reaching for his hand. "Still here, kid. You don't have to act so surprised every time you look over here and see me." Peter blinked, and tried to reach up to cover their hands with his free hand, but it wouldn't move. Panic pierced through him and when he met Mr. Stark's eyes again, he watched as the smile on his face dropped and his eyes quickly checked him over before he gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Remember that breathing thing? Kind of important, kid. Let's focus on that." Peter nodded, closing his eyes and inhaling a deep breath, which he instantly regretted, because it burned.
"Why am I here?" He rasped, and he shuffled so he was facing his mentor better. The emotions that crossed Mr. Stark's face at that filled Peter somehow with even more dread. The man looked like he might fall over, and Peter wondered if it should be him in a bed.
"Peter-" And that wasn't a good sign, how often did Mr. Stark use his name without at least a nickname or a 'kid' thrown in there? Peter saw his eye's flick up quickly towards something, and Peter found that he was looking at a screen - and oh, that was his heart rate spiking. Cool. "We don't need to talk about why you're here right now. All that matters is you're alive, very much not dead, and that you keep doing that breathing thing, okay, kid?"
Peter felt like a weight was pressing down on him, and he nodded weakly. Exhaustion was beginning to make his eyelids heavy, and his head lolled deeper into the pillow, the vision of Mr. Stark blurring. "'M S'ry M's'r S'ark" He slurred, his eyes sliding shut, and the last thing he heard before drifting off to sleep again was Tony Stark's broken voice. "God, kid. You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one that needs to be apologizing."
---
The next time Peter woke, he bolted up right and immediately flung his arm out, as if he was going to shoot his webs at something non existent, and thankfully he wasn't actually wearing his web shooters, because when his vision cleared away the dream still present in his memory, and his actual surroundings came into view. Mr. Stark was there again - or.. still there? He was wearing the same clothes. But he wasn't alone this time.
Peter blinked at the other two standing figures in the room, realization slowly sinking in and he dropped his arm from where it was aimed at his aunt.
"May - Fitz. I-" His throat was scratchy, and fell into a fit of coughs, and he vaguely felt hands gently guiding back against pillows, and someone - his Aunt was trying to help him take a sip of water. He obliged, taking several gulps from the glass before scanning the room again. "Did I die?"
"Almost."
"Stark."
"What? It's true."
Peter furrowed his brows, looking between his aunt and Stark, until Fitz stepped in front of them, partially blocking his view of them. "I think what Mr. Stark is trying to say, is that you could have died, yes - but you're still with us. And..." He paused, glancing towards the others, and then purposely seemed to avoid Peter's confused gaze. "What exactly do you remember, Peter?"
His face scrunched as filtered through the scattered and disjointed memories. "I remember... I remember being in space and then --" His eyes flew to Mr. Stark, he remembered him being stabbed, he remembered Thanos killing him. Tony's lips quirked into a faint, almost pained smile, and he gestured with his hand for Peter to breathe, and oh - yeah, he wasn't breathing again, was he? Peter nodded, trying to follow the deep breaths he was taking before sliding his gaze back to Fitz who had his hand on his shoulder. "I remember... Coming back. Mr. Doctor Strange - he said - What did he say?" Why couldn't he remember?
"It's okay, Peter. You've been through a lot. It might take some time..." His aunt had made her way over to his other side, and all three of their intense gazes were starting to make him feel uneasy - or - more uneasy. If that was at all possible.
"I don't feel so good." Peter mumbled, closing his eyes and laying back against the pillows again, and he heard a sharp intake of breath, but couldn't tell who it was. He decided, keeping his eyes closed helped. The headache that had been building behind his eyes the moment he woke up started to subside, and he faintly heard a clicking sound to his left before he felt himself start to drift again. Why did he feel so heavy?
---
"Tony, you should get some sleep."
"I'm fine."
"What would -"
"I'm begging you not to finish that sentence."
Peter woke up more slowly the next time he found himself conscious. He laid there with his eyes closed, trying to take account of his surroundings. The loud humming from before still echoed through his ears, and he could tell there were four people in the room this time. He'd already heard Aunt May and Mr. Stark. If he had to guess, one of the others were Fitz, and if there was someone with him, it had to be Jemma. He slowly peaked his eyes open, and the first person he saw was Jemma messing with one of the machines. So that confirmed that.
He quickly closed his eyes again, before she could catch him awake.
There were things he wanted to figure out first. He needed to clear some of the fog from his brain before he could handle talking to anyone. He took a deep breath, and realized he still had oxygen tubing tickling his nose. He flexed his toes, and his fingers -- that didn't feel right. He flexed them again. It struck him suddenly how imbalanced he felt. Before he could figure out the reason, he heard the quiet voices in the room come to a stop and realized that he must have been caught. He could practically feel all four pairs of eyes staring at him.
"I can't feel my right arm." He muttered, and he probably should have sounded more panicked by that. He felt panicked. But something was pushing it down, making everything feel less intense. Maybe he was on some sort of intense pain medication. He was laying in a hospital bed, and he needed oxygen, so clearly his injuries were pretty severe. So it made sense. If something happened to warrant him needing so much medical attention, with the way his body healed, it had to be bad and --
His eyes flew open as he bolted into a sitting position again.
Thanos. The Stones. Mr. Stark. Snapping. PAIN.
"Fuck."
He stared down at his right hand - or where his right hand was supposed to be.
But then a more pressing question came to mind, and he stared at the four people staring at him, as if he might break at any moment, and he swallowed the lump forming in his throat.
"Did it work? Is he gone? Is - Is everyone okay? Are you okay? Are all you guys okay?"
They all just stared at him, for entirely too long - to the point that their stares were starting to make his skin crawl, and he opened his mouth to say as much when a manic laugh broke through the silence and his eyes immediately flicked to find the source. At least now, all of the stares were now on Mr. Stark, as he tried to pull himself back together.
"I'm sorry.. I'm sorry. It's just.. But you... you're asking if I'm okay? Are you serious? Look at you." Tony waved his hand at Peter's bed, and Peter felt himself flinch.
"Well yeah..." Peter countered, growing slightly annoyed with the man, as well as at himself, his voice was still scratchy and he hated how small he sounded. "Last I remember of you, you were trying to get yourself killed. Twice." He accused. He tried to fold his arms defiantly, hardening his jaw -but then he remembered again that he was missing an arm, and fresh panic flashed through him, on top of the annoyance he was still feeling towards Mr. Stark, and a monitor somewhere in the room started beeping annoyingly at him and he really, really wished it would stop. Each beep sent a shock of pain right through his head.
"So you try to get yourself killed instead!? How the hell does that - woah, woah, okay. Hey, Pete. What did I say about the breathing thing!?"
He felt a hand on his forehead, and then something cool, and wet, and through shuddering breaths, he glanced over to see May, and she was dabbing a cool washcloth to his forehead and wiping hair away from his face. He was suddenly reminded of the times he would get sick as a child, with May staying up with him all night. He used to get sick so much. That had to be an irrelevant thought right now though, right?
"I think we all just need to take a breath," Jemma started, in her familiar soothing tone. But it sounded far away - way too distant to be coming from someone he could see. Albeit through his blurred vision from fresh tears that were beginning to stream down his cheeks as he tried to desperately to regain some control over his breathing.
"My arm is gone." He squeaked. "It's gone. I - lost it. Where did it go? Will it come back?" His eyebrows scrunched together and he squeezed his eyes shut as he realized that- No, that wasn't possible. He logically knew that. He couldn't just regenerate a new arm. That was crazy. "Don't answer that, please." He whispered, opening his eyes again, half scared to see the way they all must be looking at him now. He suddenly felt incredibly hot again, despite the cool washcloth still dabbing at his forehead.
"So did it?" He asked again, eyes darting between the four of them without actually meeting any of their eyes. "Did it work?"
"Yeah," Tony nodded, his arms crossed tightly against his own chest. "Yeah, kid it worked. He's gone. His whole army is gone. And I'm - we're all okay. Just.. Just worried about you, kid."
"Good. Good. Tha's good." He nodded, wincing when it made the room spin. "Don't worry about me though. I'm fine. I'm just... I'm just gonna -gonna take another nap. Is.. Is that okay? My head hurts."
He briefly saw them share concerned glances as his aunt gently guided him back down into a laying position, and the last thing he heard before fell back to sleep was her whispering in his ear, "I love you, sweetie. I'm so proud of you."