Resolution

It was the cough trying to simultaneously rip its way through Peter’s chest, back, and throat that woke him—and, holy crap! What a way to wake up, as he bolted up to sitting in an effort to not suffocate and die where he lay.

A familiar hand grasped his, even as his second hand rubbed Peter’s back in comfort. “Easy, kid. You’re okay. Just breathe,” Mr. Stark directed. Peter tightened his own fingers around his. “That’s right, Peter. I’m here. You’re okay... you’re okay.”

And Peter believed it, already feeling his breathing settle into a less violent rhythm. He concentrated on keeping each breath just deep enough to keep from aggravating whatever was going on with his lungs while not suffocating from oxygen deprivation, thought the nasal cannula and whatever was being pumped through the IV he’d just noticed probably helped with that, too. Within a couple of minutes, he was feeling secure enough that his body wasn’t actively trying to kill him and he allowed his head to drop forward in exhaustion. There was no way he was lying back down though. He was sure that the slightest change in position would set off another coughing jag.

“Hey, Pete?” Mr. Stark moved his hand up from Peter’s back, ruffled it gently through Peter’s hair. “You good now?” Mr. Stark whispered.

Peter considered for a moment, then nodded ‘yes.’

Mr. Stark sat quiet for a minute. “Are you feeling up to for a little visit or do you want to sleep some more?”

Peter didn’t need any sort of dramatic flashback to know exactly what Mr. Stark was talking about. He shrunk in on himself a little bit more. Yeah. Peter had messed up, royally.

“Peter?” Mr. Stark continued speaking softly. “Yeah, okay. Look, I can have May here in less than five minutes if you’d prefer her to be here instead. She’s catching a nap right now, but you know she’ll be down here in flash. Let me just call her quick and...” Mr. Stark trailed off uncomfortably as he fumbled for his phone.

Then Peter, realizing Mr. Stark was being weird because he hadn’t replied yet, shook his head ‘no,’ though still not speaking.

“Uh, kid?” Mr. Stark stopped fussing with phone and spoke again. “Look, while I joke about it, I’m pretty sure that you never talking again would actually making me insane. So, if you want me to call Dr. Cho or a nurse, I can do that too, or I can just leave you alone all together, I guess, though I personally hate it when I haven’t got anyone to distract me when I’m laid up in med bay...” Mr. Stark caught himself, took a breath, and simply said, “I just need you to tell me what you want.”

Peter shook his head one last time. “No,” Peter croaked out, then cleared his throat, coughing a little from the irritation. “I don’t need May or Dr. Cho.” He cleared his throat again, “You can stay.”

Permission granted to continue on with his vigil, Mr. Stark jumped up and poured Peter a cup of ice water from a pitcher on the bedside table. Peter had barely blinked before a straw was placed and the cup thrust in Peter’s face. “Okay. Drink up, kid. Dr. Cho wants you hydrated, and you sound like an eighty-seven year old, Scottish chain smoker with six toes and a yappy Pomeranian named Beatrice.”

Peter was confused, “Oddly specific,” he spoke quietly and concisely, trying not to tempt fate. “Story?”

Mr. Stark chuckled. “Ask Happy to tell you when you get bored while you’re hanging out here. Tell him you have my blessing and everything... he’ll love you for it.” Mr. Stark shook the glass to get his attention. “Now drink. Slowly.”

And so Peter did, all while ignoring Mr. Stark’s warning.

He was sure he’d never had anything so satisfying as he took that first, small sip. The relief as the cold soothed his throat’s irritation... pure bliss. Another sip followed, larger—and then another as Peter took hold of the cup.

“Peter! Too fast!” Mr. Stark called out and Peter knew he was being overprotective until—

The icy cold spread across his chest as the water traveled through his system, setting off another coughing jag; this one bad enough that a nurse came in, checking to make sure that Peter’s oxygen and heart rate levels stayed within certain parameters. She even adjusted the back of his bed for sitting and straightened his blankets. Not that Peter noticed. He was distracted once again by Mr. Stark and his offer of comfort.

Finally, after what felt like years later, it was over, and Peter collapsed back into his pillows. “Tha’ sucked.”

“Agreed,” Mr. Stark answered back, while having a silent conversation with the nurse that went unnoticed by Peter. “Maybe let’s keep things a little less exciting for now, hey Roo?” he suggested while the nurse silently left the room. “Maybe you can catch a little shut eye... recover?” Mr. Stark fussed with the tubing to both the IV and nasal cannula. “We can talk when you’re feeling a little better?”

If Peter was being honest, that sounded fantastic, all things considered, and it wasn’t like he wasn’t already drained so... “Yeah. Tha’ soun’s good,” Peter replied and with no further prodding, closed his eyes and tried to fall back to sleep.

Tried being the operative word.

As he rested there in the quiet, Peter couldn’t help but think of the night he’d had, the chaos he’d caused, and the pain he’d inflicted... and honestly, it felt like a cop out to allow Mr. Stark to let it all slide.

Peter sighed.

“Peter?” Mr. Stark said, “Are you doing okay?”

Peter didn’t know what to say.

“’M fine.”

“That’s good.”

A few minutes passed, and still Peter’s thoughts got the better of him. “How’s Ms. Potts?” Peter didn’t want to presume. “She’s still okay, right?” There was no point in trying to sleep when his brain wouldn't stop.

Mr. Stark got that gooey look on his fact that he usually got when Peter was just trying to be a regular human being. “She’s good.” He supplied. “Helen let her head upstairs to get some real rest once you were settled in and sleeping. She wanted to stay, but she’d been up most of the night already so...”

“Oh.” Peter’s face flushed warm. He hadn’t meant to keep any of them up, but especially not her. Man, he was such a burden.

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark didn’t notice Peter’s reaction. “If she’d stayed down here, we’d never have been able to convince her to sleep, especially with you still unconscious. I’d been frustrated enough that we couldn’t keep her in bed last night!”

Another, “Oh.” And then Peter realized how long this ordeal had dragged on. “Wha’ time is it, if I can ask?”

That caught Mr. Stark’s attention and he looked at Peter a little funny. “Of course you can ask what time it is, kiddo!” He checked the corner of the monitor behind Peter. “It’s coming up on five o’clock.”

Peter almost cried in relief, “Only two hours,” he mumbled as he remembered the clock. At least he hadn’t dragged out all of his drama.

Mr. Stark was confused. “What do you mean, ‘two hours,’ Peter?”

Peter rubbed his tired eyes as he looked up at the ceiling. “’Jus’ that it wasn’ all day.”

“Oh,” It seemed to Mr. Stark’s turn for monosyllabic replies. “Um, yeah. Sorry about this, kid, but it’s five o’clock in the evening.” Mr. Stark stood up, came to the side of the bed and grabbed Peter’s hand once more. “Buddy, are you sure you’re okay? I mean, I know you’re not, but your acting kind of odd and I know you don’t have a concussion but if we missed something, now would absolutely be the time to ‘fess up, ‘cuz you know my ticker is bad and I’d really like to live to see you finish that gag web formula you’re working on to get back at Clint.”

It was the presumption that everything would get back to normal, Peter thought, which finally pushed him to do what he should have done last night.

“Peter?”

His chin wobbled as he spoke. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark.” Then Peter coughed lightly, “I was so stupid.” Silent tears streamed down Peter’s face as he tried to keep his breathing from getting too out of control.

“Hey, hey, hey! No tears are necessary here, kid, and especially no apologies.” Mr. Stark was making an obvious effort to keep the atmosphere calm for Peter’s sake but couldn’t help fluttering about while trying to find tissues for the kid. “All we wanted was you home and safe, and here we are—all the rest we can manage when you’re feeling up to it, okay?” He found a box and quickly passed a couple over.

Peter disagreed. “No, I am so sorry. I thought i’ would be safer for you if I left, so I—“ He paused, figuring what he did went without saying, and took a couple of calming breaths while wiping his face. He really didn’t want the nurse to have to come back in while he was trying to get this out. “I don’t know how i’ got so wrong in my head, but I was gonna go and then I didn’ think about...” Peter fiddled with the blanket covering his legs. “And then when I talked t’ Libby and she said what she said...” Peter’s face screwed up in confusion and anger. “It was a lie, Mr. Stark!” Peter exclaimed as his tears were dried by his outrage, and then struggled to contain the next fit.

“Calm your breaths, Petie.” Mr. Stark cooed as he pressed his hand to Peter’s back again. “We can do this later, you know—give the antibiotics a little more time to work.”

Peter dragged in a staccato inhale, then breathed out the suddenly pressing question. “Antibiotics?”

Mr. Stark huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, kid. Antibiotics—“ He thumbed over his shoulder to point out the bag of fluid attached to the pole at his bedside. “To treat the pneumonia you developed from being out in the cold.”

“But tha’s not how i’ works?” Peter argued, his breathing settling again.

Shaking his head, Mr. Stark corrected him, “It is when your lungs are only just barely healed after being exposed to an airborne toxin, you’ve gone back to school where you are surrounded by the cesspool of filth that is teenage personal hygiene, and then pressed your immune system AND healing abilities beyond their capabilities by throwing yourself into nature’s freezer—two times.“ Mr. Stark’s face screwed up as he worked out what to say next. “But I’m taking full responsibility for one of those, so...”

“But you said sorry,” Peter cut him off.

“And you didn’t believe me,” Mr. Stark countered.

“No.” Peter cut him off again. Mr. Stark was missing the point. He looked away as he simply explained, “I thought you shouldn’t have.”
And neither of them knew what to say after that.

The silence grew uncomfortable.

“Well, then, I think we’ll table that part of the discussion for another day when you’re healthy enough to hear me tell you that you’re being a dumbass. But—” Mr. Stark said, then paused—then started again. “Can we—can we circle back to what Libby said?”

Peter had to smirk at that, “Circle back? Really?”

Mr. Stark could only chuckle. “Yeah, yeah. Yuck it up—I said it. I do actually spend time with Pepper, you know, but that doesn’t change what I asked, so stop deflecting.”

Peter glanced at Mr. Stark shyly, gave a nod in acquiescence, and let go of the blanket in favour of twisting his hands. “I—“ He cleared his throat. “Can I have some more wat—?”

Mr. Stark was on it in a flash and Peter was sipping, slower than last time, before he could finish the request.

“Thanks,” He figured there was no point in putting it off so he jumped right in, “Uh, so I think I remember tellin’ you that the club was a no-go, right?”

Mr. Stark nodded. “Right, you thought it was an under-age club but it wasn’t.”

“Yeah, so, um... I was tryin’ to figure out what to do when the door guy came outside with Libby and her friend. They were gettin’ kicked out and I was just there and I figured it was like a sign from God, right? ‘Cuz she’d help and it would be okay...” Peter trailed off as Mr. Stark put up a hand, motioning Peter to stop talking.

“To be clear, I think she’s more a sign of the apocalypse, buddy... like one of those horsemen that they talk about.” Mr. Stark pretended to think it over, then started ticking them off on his fingers. “Vanity, stupidity...”

Peter shook his head. “They’re Conquest, War, Famine, and Death, Mr. Stark.”

“Huh,” Mr. Stark grunted back. “I was close, though, right?” And then he thought. “Hold on, how do you know that? I can barely get you to look at my lab playlist, forget about anything remotely not science related.”

Peter blushed and decided to focus on the water in front of him.

And then Mr. Stark howled in laughter, knowing the exact source of Peter’s information. “That’s rich, kid! Busting my balls for circling back when you’re just as whipped!”

Peter went even redder. “MJ said having a greater understanding of how Judeo-Christian themes taint the political narrative of present-day media helps—“

“Nope, you’ve gotta stop!” Mr. Stark grinned big. “Just acknowledge what men all over the world are fighting—women are going to rule the world. Accept it and move on. I sure as hell have.”

And so had Peter—honest! May would’ve killed him otherwise.

Then Mr. Stark settled back into his more serious persona, his smile softer now. “So... Libby.”

“Yeah... Libby.” Peter deflated as he muttered her name.

And again, neither spoke.

“Okay, this isn’t working.” Mr. Stark announced, taking the glass from Peter’s hand and actively shoving Peter over in his bed. “Move over, kid. Now.”

Peter barely shifted, “What are you—?”

Mr. Stark gave a firmer push. “I said scoot over. Come on, this isn’t rocket science.”

So he did, with Mr. Stark climbing up while carefully shifting Peter’s oxygen and IV tubing out of the way. Once that was done, Mr. Stark was slinging an arm around him and snuggling up close. “There now, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Peter shook his head, ‘no,’ not quite sure what else he could say.

“Good. Now, spill it.”

The feel of Mr. Stark’s arms around him and the security that came with it—it was all he needed for Peter to want to share, not that Peter was sure of where to start. He took a stab at it, decided to hit on what had Peter feeling so indignant. “Yeah. So, um, Libby told her dad that I exaggerated what happened with the rose oil.”

“Pfft. That doesn’t surprise me in the least. Typical Daddy’s Girl behavior,” Mr. Stark said in reply. “And let me guess, he believed her?”

Peter shrugged. “No clue, but she’s not allowed to teach anymore an’ says I ruined her life...” Peter stopped to collect himself for a second, then went on—“Like I was ruining yours, I guess?”

Mr. Stark thought on those words for a second. “Did she happen to provide examples of how you’re doing this? ‘Cuz I’ve got nothin.’”

Peter shrugged again. “She may have mentioned the candy an’... um, me being a reminder of the worst day of your life.”

Peter thought Mr. Stark couldn’t have squeezed harder, but he did. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” He scoffed. “I mean, she’s not wrong, that it was one of the worst days of my life, but—once my head cleared, all I could be was grateful that you’d been there for Pep.” Mr. Stark pressed yet another kiss to the top of his head. “But that wasn’t the worst part, by a long shot.”

“What do you mean?”

Peter wasn’t sure how to describe the laugh that came out of his mentor, but it was dark and left Peter feeling unsettled.

“Let me tell you what the worst part of the day was...” His voice changed pitch, got tighter. “It was when I found you in the alley this morning, unconscious and so damned cold. I was so scared that you were... I thought that you were...” Mr. Stark shook his head, this time like he was trying to shake out a bad memory. “I was so scared that I was too late and something had happened to you—that you were gone. That I’d never get a chance to make up to you the absolute clusterfuck of an evening we’d had because of someone too careless to be trusted to care for anyone, let alone a room full of school kids.”

“Mr. Stark?” Peter shifted tentatively to face the man beside him, “I’m so sorry for—“

“Nope. I thought I’d mentioned this at the beginning of this conversation. Not happening. Not allowed. Not accepted for all of the aforementioned reasons, so don’t bother.”

Peter couldn’t help but chuckle. “Okay, got it—I’ll jus’ find a way to sneak it in later,” he sassed back weakly. Peter didn’t bother fighting the cough that followed.

“Funny guy.”

“But you love me,” Peter automatically, not thinking, like the last twenty-four hours hadn’t happened.

“I do,” He replied with absolutely no hesitation.

And Peter believed that with everything in him. Peter leaned forward, wrapping his arms around the nearest thing he had to a father; savouring when the man hugged him back in return.

“It’s weird, you know. I think, in the end, Libby helped me t’ figure stuff out.” Peter’s cough was starting to act up again and he tried to complete his thoughts between jags. “If I hadn’t gotten tired, I’d have tried to fin’ a way to come home, I think.” He didn’t want to pull away, but needed to. “Could I get some more water, please?”

Mr. Stark seemed just as hesitant. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He slid off the bed and tended to his charge. “Now, care to explain to me what the hell that means?”

Peter sipped the last of the water, then waited patiently as Mr. Stark filled the now empty glass. “It was just that she—“ he rubbed at the back of his neck as he tried to figure out how to explain it all. It seemed so simple but... “Well, she lied.”

“Riiiiiight?”

“And when she lied, she said it was all my fault, but with how she said it, I understood that it wasn’t my fault because it sounded so—“ he coughed a little harder than last time, then drank some more before continuing. “It sounded so impossible... and just wrong. And then I tried to make it make sense with what was in my head and I couldn’t so—it seemed like what I was thinking in my head was a lie, too.” Peter looked at Mr. Stark, wide-eyed. “See what I mean?”

And maybe Mr. Stark could see how exhausted Peter was and that maybe, if he squinted and tilted his head just to the left, he could see how Peter could come to his conclusion, but it was out into the universe now and all Peter could feel was relief at Mr. Stark’s nod of agreement.

“Well, I’m glad she was good for something then.”

Peter laughed, then shivered as a chill ran up his spine. “I wouldn’t go tha’ far.” Peter handed Mr. Stark his glass to place on the table and pulled his blanket up to his chest. “Is it starting to get cold in here?”

Mr. Stark leaned forward, pressing his hand against Peter’s forehead, assessing. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Sorry, Pete. It seems your fever reducer is wearing off.” He pressed the call button at the side of Peter’s bed. “I think it’s been long enough that it’s time for another dose of your antibiotic, too, but we’ll find out in sec, ‘kay?”

“Aww, Mr. Stark? Can’t I jus’ take my super-drugs and go upstairs? FRIDAY’ll wake me up so I don’t—“ Peter couldn’t finish the thought as his lungs try to escape his body. This was the worst one yet.

And Mr. Stark was right beside him again.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Mr. Stark apologized as Peter collected himself. “It would seem that your cough medication is wearing off, too, huh?”

“But we never worked on a cough medication that works with my metabolism?” Peter was sure of that.

A new nurse stepped into the room pushing a cart of supplies with her and wordlessly went to work.

“Trust me, we know—which is why you’re on a ridiculously large dose of codeine right now. You wouldn’t know it because of said metabolism, but it’s been helping to keep things moderately under control—and it’s why you need to stay. Dr. Cho wants you here while you’re on it so that if things suddenly go wonky with your liver or kidneys, you’re in the right place.”

Peter watched the nurse switch out an almost empty bag of fluids with a new one and understood that he was staying—even if it was a total overreaction.

Mr. Stark watched, too, as the nurse checked his pulse and blood pressure before attaching an oximeter to his finger. Seemingly satisfied, she brought her attention to Peter himself. “Alright, Peter,” she gently lowered the back of his bed again. “I’ll be administering your medications right away, and they are going to make you a little sleepy. So why don’t you say goodnight to Mr. Stark and then I’ll get your meds on board. Okay?” She smiled sweetly at him then went back to her cart and began preparing the first of three syringes.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s heart rate increased enough for anyone to notice the change in rhythm on the monitor he was now hooked up to. “Um— I guess you need to head back up to Ms. Potts now?“ He didn’t know how to ask. Was May free? Could Mr. Stark even stay just till he fell asleep? He’d always hated hospitals when he was a kid, sick every five minutes, but there’d always been someone to...

Mr. Stark stopped Peter’s thoughts in their tracks. “Don’t worry about Pepper, Pete. Rhodey’s taking care of her and,” he pulled his phone from his pocket and wiggled it in the air. “Technology is your friend, kid. It's incredible, the things you can do with it these days! Don’t ever forget that.” He gave Peter a playful wink then turned to address the nurse. “I’m sorry to be a bother—well, not actually, but you understand the sentiment— but I’ll actually be staying tonight, so if you could get someone to bring a cot in, that would be great, thanks.”

The nurse, Judy, if Peter was reading her name tag correctly, didn’t bat an eyelash. “Of course, Mr. Stark. We’ll have one in here for you as soon as I get this done.” She gestured to the medications. “We want to get ahead of things before it gets too much worse so Dr. Cho is insisting on a very strict schedule.”

“Perfect. I’m glad to hear that you’re taking Peter’s care so seriously,” he replied. “Now—“ he turned back to the very relieved looking boy in the bed. “If I ask you if you’re too old to be tucked in, will you pull the whole ‘Ew, no. I’m too old for that’ bunk or can we make it not be weird and just go for it?”

Peter coughed even as he laughed. “It’s fine, Mr. Stark. You can go for it.”

“Good to hear,” Mr. Stark pulled Peter’s blanket up and tucked it over his shoulders, “Now, sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite, you got that, kid?”

Peter nodded, playing along with the ruse.

“Good.” And then Mr. Stark got serious. “Really, though. If you need me, I’m going to be just over there,” he pointed over his shoulder. “But it would be amazing if you slept all night and let your spidey healing do its magic. Okay?”

Peter nodded again.

Mr. Stark leaned over the bed and pressed one last kiss to the top of Peter’s head. “I love you, Peter Parker.”

Peter couldn't help the dopey grin on his face. “Love you, too, Mr. Stark.”

The nurse came up to Peter’s bedside. “Alright, Peter. This might feel a little weird but you’re okay. Just relax.” She inserted the first syringe into the IV line’s port. “First, the fever reducer.”

Peter felt the familiar rush of warmth as the drug hit his system, “Whoa,” he breathed out. “’ll never get used t’ that.”

Mr. Stark held his hand again.

“Alright, then, let’s get the antibiotic going now.” She hummed as she injected it, too.

Mr. Stark placed a hand on Peter’s forehead and smiled down at him. “I’ll take care of everything while you’re sleeping, kiddo. I promise.”

Peter offered a curious smile of thanks. What did he mean by—

“And now let’s take care of that nasty cough, shall we?” The nurse injected this syringe slowest of them all.

Mr. Stark squeezed his hand. “We’ll see you in the morning, Pete. Sleep well.”

This warmth was overwhelming, and once more, Peter slept.