Lonesome Valley
“Helen said we could move him today.”
He woke up slowly.
“I don’t know. Friday can’t find much, Nat.”
This was nothing new for Peter. Ever since he got the bite, any time he was injured he’d stay still long enough to take stock of his surroundings before opening his eyes. He absently wondered if all spiders played dead until they knew they were safe from predators, or if it was just him. Then he wondered why he was even thinking about his safety at all. And if all spiders were selfish assholes, or just him.
“Tony, at least eat a sandwich. You haven’t slept in over 24 hours.”
Voices weaved in and out of his range of hearing as he became more alert. And unlike the staying still thing, this was something new. For the past eleven months or so, Peter had been alone every single time he woke up from death unconsciousness. Knowing that there were people in the room with him filled him with equal parts warmth and dread. Or maybe that was the fever.
“Morgan, what did I tell you about this? Please go find Uncle Happy and stay with him.”
Peter considered what he was going to do when he woke up properly. “Stay comatose until they left him alone” was apparently out of the question, especially since there was always someone in the room every time he listened.
“What do you mean this isn’t the first time?”
“He has scarring on his brain, Tony. We found old bullet fragments.”
Yeah. That’s not good.
The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, but apparently the best laid plans of spiders and Peter were doomed from the start. And Peter seemed to fall for it every fucking time. Whether it be the JACCASS or running away or dying without seeing his subconscious guilting him by taking the form of his best friend, Peter couldn’t get anything right.
“I got you a Slurpee.” Peter’s arm jerked slightly at Morgan’s cold fingers as she patted him. He could tell she was trying to whisper, but failing miserably. He opened an eye. “You did?”
She beamed and handed him the half-melted drink. He gave her a small smile and sipped. “Looks like you did it, Spy Girl.”
She tapped her bracelet and winked. “Good mission, Spider-Man.”
He repositioned himself on the hospital bed and looked at her. Her eyes were bright, but he saw they were strained at the very edges, while her forehead wrinkled only in a way he had ever seen when she was very overwhelmed. She smiled but it seemed unsure.
“Are…are you okay?” She whispered it, almost as if she was afraid he’d disappear at her question.
Peter hooked his pinky around hers and tried to look relaxed. “I promise, Mo. Always.” She sniffed a little and it was quiet. Only a few seconds went by before she started talking again, the heavy atmosphere quickly dissipating. It was Peter’s favorite thing about her, and threw him into such a strong state of nostalgia, he had to pinch himself to pay attention to what she was saying.
“Wait. Back up. What do you mean I’m coming home with you?”
The best laid plans…
“Yeah. Dr. Helen said that you could come home with us for Christmas as long as you rested. You’ve been sleeping a lot. Christmas Eve is tomorrow! Dad said we could go to our house in Malibu and Uncle Rhodey and Uncle Happy and Aunt Nat and Uncle Bruce and even Uncle Clint and his family are going to come! And Dad got MJ to come hang out with me while the grown-ups “discuss the problem-child”.” She rolled her eyes as she put the last in air quotes. “I bet Santa will bring you lots of presents because you’re still sick and Dr. Helen wasn’t sure if you’d be able to walk yet.” She leaned in conspiratorially, “and I know that Santa is really Dad, but Uncle Rhodey said if I pretend I don’t, I’ll get more presents.”
Peter could hear his heart monitor pick up. He tried to take a few deep breaths—the last thing he wanted was the others coming in to check why his vitals were so high. Morgan seemed to be waiting for him to respond, but Peter couldn’t think over the rushing in his ears. His head pounded as he quickly took in all the information she just told him. He must not have been quick enough, because the next time Peter blinked, he saw Tony was standing in front of him. Morgan was no longer in the room, and it looked as if someone muted his monitor.
Never before had Peter’s powers failed him so spectacularly than in this moment. Because his senses said he was safe when he knew for a fact that Tony’s eyes, filled with undeserved compassion and unanswered questions, were dangerous. Not to him. But to his plan. It was Tony’s super-power ever since Thanos—a look so disarming and full of concern that would have Peter spilling even his darkest of secrets.
But Peter wasn’t Peter any more. And he hoped that Fitz would be strong enough for the both of them.
Keep your distance, annoy him, get them safe, then get away.
Tony seemed content to wait as Peter gathered his thoughts. When he was ready, he tried to project apathy and boredom. Tony’s eyes told him he was unsuccessful.
“Hey.” Tony said, softly, patiently, dangerously, “How we doing?”
Peter smiled cockily, “You know. Been worse. What about you, Dr. Stark?”
Tony stilled briefly and then relaxed. “Call me Tony.” He went on, “I think we’re there. So, Spider-Kid, I’m here to talk to you about a few things.” He dragged over a chair and sat down.
Peter interrupted, hoping to skip whatever heart-to-heart Tony had planned for them. “When can I go home?”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “Where would that be?”
“What do you mean?”
“Where would home be for you? Do you have a number for someone we could call? Your parents perhaps? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Aunt?,” Peter shuddered, “We tried to find your emergency contact information, but the college said they didn’t have any on file for you. Which is weird, you know, because I’m pretty sure they needed that for admission.”
“Yeah. That’s weird.” Peter started picking at a loose thread in the blanket on his bed. “We live kind of rurally. No phone or anything. But they’re expecting me, so I probably need to head back soon. Thanks for everything and all that.”
“Ben.”
“I’ll always remember it. Great bonding sesh. I’ll give you great reviews. A+ for the Avengers.”
“Ben.”
“Anyway, Mo said you have a holiday to celebrate so chop chop. Better get to yuletides and eggnog and all that jazz.”
“Benjamin.” Tony laid his hand on his knee, but quickly lifted it back up when Peter flinched. “Do you remember what happened? You were shot in the head, kid.” Tony’s voice raised a little louder, and sounded a bit shaky, “Do you understand what that means? Helen said you should have been dead—even with your healing factor. You were in surgery for six hours. She doesn’t know how long recovery will take because this is unprecedented.” He shook his head and stared at Peter, “Why?”
Peter stared back, willing himself not to give anything away. “Why what?”
Tony laughed humorlessly, “Why what? Let’s start with something easy, then. Why did you lie? Why did you fake your application to school? Why were you building the JACCASS?” He went on, the volume of his voice rising with each question, “Why did you know what to do with Morgan’s bracelet? Why did you steal from Norman Osborn?” Tears were pooling in his eyes, “Why did you jump in front of the bullet for me? Why did you run away? Why couldn’t I find you? Why does Morgan say you’re her brother? Why am I having dreams about you?” Tony was on his feet, shouting, “Why did my wife die?”
Peter was frozen. Because he had all the answers Tony wanted. (Deserved.) He knew why.
He was the grim reaper.
He was death personified.
He was a curse and an abomination and he was nothing good and everything poison.
Rhodey and Happy had run into the room at Tony’s shouting. Happy grabbed on to Tony’s arm, and pulled him gently out the door. Peter could hear him cursing in the hallway, Happy calling for someone to get them some water and a chair.
Rhodey stared a Peter for a long minute and then sighed and sat down. He rubbed his temples before speaking. “It’s been a long couple days. For all of us.” He examined Peter who was clenching his fists together so tightly, he could feel his fingernails cut sharply into his hands. Rhodey sighed, “Helen said you should be good to leave with us in a few hours, but you’ll need some PT and at least a couple weeks of rest. Come with us at least until you heal. I’ll talk to him. We won’t push you on it yet, but you’ll have to talk at some point. You owe us that at least. I’ll come get you in a couple hours.” He stood up and before leaving the room, turned back around, “Benjamin, thank you for saving his life. Whatever is happening here, you can trust us. You’re not alone in this.” He stepped out.
Peter stared at the ceiling as he left, mind numb, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.
You’re not alone in this.
He’d go with them. It wasn’t smart. It wasn’t part of the plan. But guilt weighed heavily on Peter and he felt frozen. He was unsure what he would say. The fact that he would be confined in a space with his whole past—everyone he had ever loved (at least those who were still alive)—was unthinkable. But the alternative was figuring out how to run away from Tony (who seemed dead-set on keeping him there) and most likely Natasha (who was difficult to evade even on a day when he wasn’t recovering from a gunshot wound to the head), and he was tired and there was a cherry Slurpee leaking on his sheets and his hands were sticky with syrup and blood from where his fingernails dug into his hands.
So he’d go. Then he’d figure out how to leave in a few days. Because any longer, and he’d assuredly bring another death to their doorstep.
And with his type of luck, it unfortunately wouldn’t be his own.