Chapter 2
He woke up in stages.
The first time he sort of came around, Peter didn’t even bother to open his eyes. In his sleep stupor, he noticed only the blanket. It smelled—which was weird ‘cuz Aunt May knew that scents bothered him, but this smell wasn’t offensive at all—it was fresh, real, maybe spicy? Its weight was off, too. It was heavier than his favourite Iron Man comforter, which was nice. The extra pressure made him feel safer than he could remember, though he didn’t understand why. He just knew he felt like he could sleep forever, and so he burrowed a little deeper into the warmth and drifted off.
The second time he thought about waking up, it was a quiet, underlying hum that drew his limited attention. It was like something, no—everything was vibrating, and not crazy like an engine... more like a cat’s purr and Peter imagined soft fur through his fingers as he pulled the blanket up to his chin. He hummed in contentment. It felt good. It felt relaxing. It lulled him back into sleep.
The third time Peter was aware of his surroundings he knew he had no choice but to stay awake. The blanket still pressed against him, and the hum of whatever still strummed through him—but hushed whispers of a man and woman nearby meant that people were there, that they waiting for him to come back...
And then he remembered.
His eyes flew open as he gasped which alerted whoever was in the room to his waking. Who that was, Peter wasn’t sure as he clamped his eyes shut in embarrassment. How could he have behaved so... gah! How would anyone ever take him seriously when he kept acting like a baby? –First on the battlefield and then before his surgery. If only he could just figure out some way to toss himself in front of a train, then maybe everyone would be distracted from what had happened.
Thoughts flew through his suddenly racing brain at a mile a minute and Peter tried to throw the blanket over his face to hide himself. He couldn’t face them... but then the pain of trying to move his still not healed arm caused him to gasp again and cry out in pain. He’d hoped for invisibility but his reactions brought the hands of his visitors to him, straightened him on the bed.
The pain brought nausea and he was sure he was going to puke all over the nice smelling blanket and he couldn’t feel the hum anymore for the panic he was trying to tamp down and it hurt- it hurt- it hurt...
“You’re okay, Peter. Just breathe through it.” Mr. Stark was at his side, trying to settle him. “You’ve got this,” he encouraged as he ran his calloused fingers through Peter’s tangled locks. “Just keep breathing.”
It only took a minute for Peter’s breathing to regulate, which helped the pain, which helped the panic, which helped with the nausea—and Peter was left only just as tired as he’d been before he’d decided to spazz out like a weirdo, again. He groaned and finally managed to pull his blanket over his head using his good arm. “Kill me now, please?” He whispered to himself as he flushed in utter humiliation.
Mr. Stark heard his pleas, however, and simply replied. “I just got you back, Petey. I’d much prefer it if you made an effort to keep breathing for me, bud.” Mr. Stark gave a light tug on the blanket and stayed beside him.
—Which was new?! Mr. Stark was supposed to say something snarky and then hightail it out of the room to call someone better suited to whatever occasion, be it a nurse or doctor or... well. It didn’t matter. The point was, he didn’t do all of that emotional stuff. The man had always insisted that he was stunted that way—which was maybe true, but it was alright, because he was just... Mr. Stark.
So Peter waited under the blanket and hoped that the room would clear, like it always had... even if Mr. Stark had been off-script, he’d leave, right? Peter just needed to wallow in private for a bit before he had to face—
“Peter?”
He closed his eyes and wondered if he could wait him out.
“Peter? Please?”
Mr. Stark would grow tired and leave eventually, right?
“Hey, kid, c’mon. Let me just see that you’re okay, okay? And if you want some time to yourself after that, I’ll go—I promise.”
Peter snort laughed. That sounded exactly like the old Mr. Stark. “Yeah, right,” he muttered.
Even under the blanket, Peter could hear the huff of frustration from his mentor, and then the scraping of chair legs against the floor as Mr. Stark seemed to station himself more comfortably at his side.
“You’ll find, my dear Mr. Parker, that many things have changed over the last five years... and one of those things is my ability to wait out all things stubborn—be it teammates, children, or alpacas. So if you think this is gonna put me off, you can think again, kiddo. I’ve got all the time in the world.”
Peter didn’t believe him.
He knew Mr. Stark. He knew him almost as well as his Aunt May—and was sure that Mr. Stark would start up a fuss soon enough—that this was all a bluff, but then he started to think too much and too fast... again.
Five years had passed. He had no reason to believe anyone was lying about the length of time he’d been in that place. Dr. Strange had said it before the battle, Mr. Stark had said it just then, and May wasn’t... well, May wasn’t here.
Maybe no one would judge him for his freak out?
And he needed answers and hiding under a blanket wasn’t going to get him anything.
But coming out of from under the blanket meant getting those answers, and the start of the now telltale tingling of his spider-senses told him that putting this off just a little longer might—or might not—be a bad thing.
Peter sighed as he warred with himself.
“Peter?”
His eyes filled and he fought back tears. “I’m okay, Mr. Stark. Promise. I, um...” his voice warbled. “I think I need a second, please.”
A gentle press of a hand against his good shoulder, still trapped under the blanket, “You can take all the time you need, as long as you’re okay. I’m right here when you’re ready.”
Peter blew out a slow breath and a few tears fell. “What happens if I don’t think I ever will be?”
The hand squeezed in support. “You will be, sweetheart. And when you are, I’m going to be right here.” Mr. Stark laughed that self-deprecating laugh that he always did. “And I’m not nearly the asshole I used to be so when you’re good, well, you know, I may even be helpful, but take your time. Honest. There’s no rush.” Another squeeze, and then Mr. Stark pulled his hand away.
A rush of urgency washed over the boy, and he knew that while Mr. Stark wasn’t lying to him, what he’d said wasn’t true.
He blew out another breath, this one of determination. Peter almost threw the blankets back—almost, but then thought better of it. Instead, he took a second to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks. Only once he’d done that, and was sure that no more tears would escape, did he ever so slowly pull the blanket down from his face. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes still shone with wetness, but he made himself look over at the man at his side. He cleared his throat and whispered, “Hi, Mr. Stark.”
He’d have thought Mr. Stark had just seen a pile of puppies for the soft look on his face. “Hey, Peter. Are you okay?”
Peter nodded a ‘yes.’
Mr. Stark nodded as well. “That’s good. Dr. Cho said your surgery went really well... and your blood work is almost back to normal. The guessing game starts now, though. Will your shoulder finish healing before your spider-powers come back completely or will your powers come back and then it heal your shoulder?” Mr. Stark chuckled. “Regardless, it’s almost over and I’m hoping that you never... ever have to go through that again.” He shuddered in remembrance. “It was awful to watch. I couldn’t imagine having to go through it.”
Peter shrugged with his one good arm. What could he say to that? “It’s okay.”
“No,” Mr. Stark replied. “It’s not. I didn’t even think that you coming back would have meant and we thrust you into the middle of a...” He stopped himself from speaking. Peter could see him visibly shift gears and then deflate. “No, we’re not talking about that yet. So much has happened, kiddo, and I don’t know where to start.”
Peter fiddled with the blanket underneath his hand nervously and voiced his biggest concern. “Can you tell me about May?”
Mr. Stark smiled down sadly at the boy. “I told you that we’d get you in front of a screen for a reunion once you were done with all the medical stuff, kiddo, and I wasn’t lying.” Mr. Stark gestured to the room at large. “I did manage to convince Dr. Cho that you would recover better in here, by the way, so you’ve managed to already hit the ‘temporary quarters’ portion of the event.”
Peter couldn’t help how unsure he sounded. “... and May?”
Mr. Stark looked at his watch. “New York is six hours behind us and it’s just after 1pm here, so that means that May is getting ready for an appointment just now...”
Mr. Stark knew Aunt May’s appointment schedule?
“... but I can give her the heads up that we’re waiting for her and maybe we can make some magic happen?” He smiled and gave Peter a wink. “But for now, why don’t we get you out of bed and get some real food in your stomach? I promised Dr. Cho that we’d stay on top of food and hydration if she took the IVs out, so...” Mr. Stark was trying to look nonchalant about the request, but he seemed concerned. “Does that work for you?”
Peter really wasn’t sure about the food idea, and he definitely wasn’t a fan of leaving his bed. It felt like sanctuary in what was about to be chaos and Peter couldn’t help but wish he could feel that way forever—but Mr. Stark seemed keen on seeing movement and Peter had already caused so much trouble—he nodded, “Okay. I can do that.”
Mr. Stark clapped his hands together and stood up. “Good man! Now—“ He started reaching toward the bed. “Let me help you out. You’ve been off your feet for far too long and, nutrients or not, I’m sure you’re gonna feel a little unsteady.” He pulled the blankets back and supported Peter as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Okay. How are you feeling right now?”
If Peter were being honest, he’d have told Mr. Stark that he was feeling a little vertigo—that the room was tilting a little funny and that he wasn’t sure he was up for the task. And it wasn’t like he thought Mr. Stark would keep things from him, but delays because Peter couldn’t pull it together meant potentially waiting to hear word about May and he couldn’t risk it. “I’m good, sir. Thanks.” He gave a half smile, committed to the ruse and wiggled toward the end of the bed.
“You’re killing me, kid! I thought we were friends! You know that ‘sir’ garbage is absolutely unacceptable.“
Peter grinned at the familiarity. “C’mon,” he lowered himself to stand up on the floor, “You know I was raised to respect my elders.”
Mr. Stark rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Respect, my ass.” Mr. Stark cuffed Peter playfully across the back of his head. “The day I get any respect, is the day I sprout flowers out of my ass.”
A light tap on the door drew Peter’s attention as the words left Mr. Stark’s mouth, and then it opened enough for Ms. Potts head to peek into the room. “Now Tony, you know better than to use language like that in front of impressionable young children.” Ms. Potts playfully chastised him.
Mr. Stark rolled his eyes, “Sure he’s impressionable like I’m a—“
“Yes, Tony. I know, you’re the victim here and Peter was being a big meanie.” She looked at Peter and smiled affectionately before staring down the man beside him. “You know I wasn’t joking about the swear jar. Behave, Mr. Stark, or else.” She shook her head in mock disapproval and looked back at Peter. “I’m sorry to interrupt, I heard you two talking and was wondering if you wanted me to order something from the kitchen for lunch.”
Peter smiled awkwardly at her consideration and turned to Mr. Stark. “I’m not sure...” he started, only for Mr. Stark to interrupt.
“Yeah, Pep, that would be great.” Mr. Stark scrutinized Peter for a second, and saw enough that he turned back to Mr. Potts. “I don’t think his sandwich made it past Clint, so we’re gonna have to improvise. Can you see if they have a vegetable soup or broth—maybe some bread or crackers or something, too? I think we’ll keep it light for now... just until his metabolism is up to snuff again.” The request was made as he turned to Peter again. “Does that sound good?”
His stomach churned, and while it may not have sounded good, it was probably going to be at least manageable so he nodded ‘yes.’ “Thank you, Ms. Potts. That’s sounds great.” He smiled feebly.
The atmosphere in the room shifted, and Peter wondered why both adults seemed so uncomfortable.
“Actually, Pete,” Mr. Stark rededicated himself to getting Peter up from where he’d propped himself against the bed. “It’s Mrs. Stark now.” He chuckled nervously and cleared his throat. “It’s all official and everything. No take-backs.”
Peter brought his attention over to Ms. Potts—um, Mrs. Stark, where she nervously wiggled the fingers of her left hand to show off a simple wedding band.
“Oh.” Peter frowned, then blushed, embarrassed again at his reaction. That had been unkind, and it wasn’t their fault. He tried to recover with what he hoped was his normal exuberance. “I mean—Oh! That’s awesome! Congratulations on your marriage, Mr. And Mrs. Stark.” He imagined the fanfare; imagined a large ballroom with dancing and food and laughter. He figured that May had gone. She and Ms. Potts—damn it! Mrs. Stark had been friends before—And his mentor? The man he thought of as his... crap. He stopped that train of thought and tried to shake off those five missed years. He huffed out a breath of regret. “I’m sorry I missed it...” He half smiled as his voice trailed off. That had made it no better. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispered.
Mr. Stark wrapped his arm around Peter’s waist and started moving them slowly toward the door Mrs. Stark was still standing at. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Pete... at least for you. You’ve been in and out of it for the last week and we didn’t think it made sense to fill you in on all of the changes while you couldn’t really retain it. That’s on me, and I’m the one who should be sorry.”
Mrs. Stark moved out of their way and excused herself to get lunch for everyone, “That will give you boys a chance to talk,” she said quietly, and she left the suite for the kitchen.
Neither of them said anything as they shuffled toward the living room, which Peter appreciated. His emotions were all over the place in that moment, and physically, he knew he needed to sit down before he did something stupid like fall on his face.
“Peter? Are you doing alright?”
They were mere feet from the couch so Peter waited until he was sitting before he nodded. “Yeah,” he panted from the exertion. “I guess I’m just a little out of shape.” He joked. Peter took in the room around him with its glass and metal as he continued, “But sitting is good.” His head spun, but just a bit. “I guess I’ll take this over the being stuck in bed.”
Mr. Stark sat on the coffee table across from him and smiled. “That sounds like the Peter Parker I know.” He leaned forward and put a strong hand on his knee. “Now, how do you want to work this? Do you want to ask questions, should I start at the beginning, or will this devolve into one of your trademarked Peter conversations where any semblance of order is thrown out the window so we should just jump right into it?”
Peter shrugged and simply answered, “I really want to know about Aunt May.”
Mr. Stark exhaled slowly, then nodded. “Okay, so—May.” He pulled his hand back from the boy’s knee and clasped his hands together, almost like he was praying. “Alright. First and foremost, May is alive. She was not dusted so she’s still here. She knows you are back and has been updated regularly regarding your recovery... Oh! Thanks for the reminder! She says you’re grounded, by the way and,” Mr. Stark leaned forward and planted a big ol’ kiss on the top of Peter’s head. “That is from her, and she is so excited to hear from you now that you’re awake and coherent.”
Peter couldn’t hide his relief. “Okay. That’s so good. That means she’s okay, right? Is she just busy with work? I can’t even imagine how crazy the world must be...” Peter rambled before seeing that Tony wasn’t sharing in his exuberance. “Mr. Stark?”
Mr. Stark jumped into it with an explanation, “Before I start, kid, please know that most of the story is what I’ve been told. I was stuck floating on a spaceship for three weeks and only found out about this after we came back, so I may not be able to answer your questions... but if I can’t, we’ll find someone who can. Okay? Maybe Pepper? Heck. Maybe we should wait for Pepper? She shouldn’t be too much longer and then—“
“Is it that bad?” Peter asked.
Mr. Stark closed his eyes, like he was steeling himself up to do something awful, and that’s when Peter knew. He closed his own eyes for a second, tried to temper the emotions warring within him. He needed to be strong.
“After the first snap, she couldn’t find you—or Ned, or anyone, I guess, so she called Pepper who didn’t know what the hell was going on either. Steve... uh, Steve Rogers,” Mr. Stark added, in case Peter needed clarification, “He got in touch with Pepper and brought her over to Wakanda to rally the remaining troops, I guess, but—yeah. May was invited to come, too, but with all of the chaos after that snap, May decided to stay and keep working. The ratio of healthcare workers to the injured was horrifying, Pete, but your aunt was a freakin’ hero. She worked harder than anyone and saved so many lives over the course of the week after...”
“And?” Peter was growing impatient.
Mr. Stark hesitated.
“Mr. Stark, please.”
Mr. Stark leaned forward again, “She’d worked another overtime shift and was leaving the emergency department sometime around 2am. From what the police could gather, a drug addict was heading into the hospital hoping to get a fix when he saw your aunt in her uniform and approached her instead.” Mr. Stark tried to catch Peter’s eye, but Peter refused. “She tried to talk him into going in and getting help but this guy’s dealer and his back up had both been dusted and he was next level desperate and, um...” Mr. Stark’s mouth twisted as he tried to say the words. “She was stabbed in the side eight times, and would have bled out in minutes if not for the fact that she was only steps away from the ER doors. She was rushed into surgery, where the doctors were able to save her, but she ended up losing a kidney.”
Peter blanched. “She was stabbed?” He squeaked.
Mr. Stark held his hands again, “Yeah, bud.” He ran his thumbs gently over Peter’s knuckles. “Do you need to take a break? I’m not expecting that we’ll be able to talk to her for a bit, so there’s time.”
It was like the universe was listening as a disembodied voice interrupted them and announced, “Incoming video call from May Parker’s primary physician.”
Peter dropped his head into his hands waiting to see what cruel joke it had in store for him.
Mr. Stark didn’t hesitate to reply. “Answer it, FRIDAY.” He stood up and moved to shield Peter from the camera. “Dr. Bonwick, we didn’t have a call scheduled for today. Is everything alright?”
Peter couldn’t see him, but could hear the concern in his voice, “No, we didn’t, but Mrs. Parker has developed an infection at her access site and we’ve had to move her back into the med bay for further treatment. She had mentioned a video call to her nephew,” Mr. Stark shifted again, “and had seemed quite agitated about missing it, but with the fever, she’s struggling with pain levels and we’ve had to adjust med dosages temporarily.”
Mr. Stark placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “So no phone call today,” Mr. Stark stated.
“No, Sir. We had to bump her dialysis treatment up to very early this morning in order to accommodate the antibiotics schedule, so she’s currently sleeping. We anticipate that she’ll stay that way until we can get the right dosage working for her.”
Mr. Stark sighed. “Alright. Please let me know when she’s awake, Doc.” Mr. Stark’s hand moved and he ran his fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. “She wasn’t the only one excited about that call. FRIDAY, disconnect.”
Neither of them moved, but Peter spoke first. “Tell me.”
Mr. Stark dropped to the seat beside him, but kept his fingers moving through Peter’s hair. “When they removed her kidney, it was obvious that it wasn’t healthy, so they did every test under the sun. It turns out that May has a genetic condition called autosomal dominant polycystic dominant kidney disease—and you’re lucky that I got it right that time, ‘cause I’m never saying it again.” Mr. Stark shifted to wrap his arm around Peter’s torso and hugged him to his side. “Some people can have it and never know, while others get sick, suffer chronic headaches, develop cysts, high blood pressure... there’s a list somewhere.” Mr. Stark stopped for a second, regrouped, and then continued. “Regardless, your Aunt May didn’t know she had it, didn’t even know it was something in her family, what with—“
“Them all being dead?” Peter finished his sentence for him.
Mr. Stark side hugged him again. “Yeah, that.”
Peter shook his head. “I don’t know what to say—like, what kind of treatment is she receiving? Where is she? Is she gonna be okay? Can I go see her?”
“Breathe, Peter.” Mr. Stark reminded him. “Of course you can see her. We were waiting for you to be better before leaving, just in case things went all topsy-turvy, but you seem to be in the final-final stretch so Pep and I were thinking that we’d head back to New York tomorrow.”
Peter nodded eagerly, ignoring the lingering dizziness.
“We’ll head straight to the tower then, okay? May’s been there since she was released from the hospital five years ago. She’d wanted to keep working, but I figured you’d want me to keep an eye on her, especially after... so we compromised and she moved into Nat’s old quarters. When she started getting sicker, we moved her into the penthouse and brought in a team to treat her specifically. She’s in the med bay right—“
“Wait! Sicker?” Peter interrupted. “It’s just an infection, right? That’s what the doctor said!”
“Peter, your aunt’s condition worsened in the years after the stabbing,” Mr. Stark moved again to sit back on the coffee table—took his hands in his again. “Peter, I need you to understand. With only one compromised kidney, it wasn’t long before your aunt was on dialysis and the organ transplant list, but with half the population gone...”
“No.”
“Peter. Look at me.” The stern tone brought Peter’s eyes up. “We have done everything humanly possible to take care of your aunt, I promise you that—and now that everyone is back, there may be a chance...?”
The laugh that came out of Peter bordered on hysterical as the reality he’d reformed into came crashing down around him before he’d even taken a breath. “Stop. I can’t hear it.” He looked wildly around the room, “I just need to process this and then figure things out and then I’ll be good.” He stood up, forcing Mr. Stark to lean back on the table. “I need to talk to May.”
“Peter, she’s—“
“I know, okay!?. I know! I heard him!” He was trying not to panic but it vibrated through him like that earlier hum. He wished he could go back to however long ago and that peace and safety but he’d already wasted so much time recovering and five years in that damned stone! How could he--? May had needed him and he was gone and she was hurt and sick and he was gone and now he was here and he was still too far away! Why couldn’t he ever be in the right place at the right time? First Ben and now—Damn it! “I need to—I need to take a walk,” Peter stepped away from the couch, unsteady, but determined to pace. “I’m gonna take a walk and then I’m gonna sit down and make a list—“ Aunt May always said to make a list if he felt too overwhelmed, and if ever there was a time—Peter’s heart started to race as he gulped in air. “I’ll do that and then I’ll have a plan—and then when I talk to Aunt May, I won’t need to worry her—“ He swayed. “I can’t worry her, Mr. Stark.” Peter could feel his heart breaking. He crouched low and curled in on himself. “I can’t do this again.”
Peter felt him come up beside him and usher him back to the couch. “C’mon, sweetheart. I hear you, but we need to get you lying down before you pass out.” He pressed him down onto the couch and manoeuvred Peter back so he was stretched out. Some throw cushions somehow made it under his feet and Mr. Stark was again sitting on that stupid coffee table at Peter’s head. “You’re okay, kiddo. Just breathe for me.”
Peter turned away from his mentor and pressed his face into the back of the couch. “No.” He brought his arms up over his head, not even noticing that the pain in his shoulder was almost gone for the pain in his chest. “I can’t.”
Mr. Stark moved from the coffee table to the narrow strip of cushion behind him. “Yes, you can, Peter. You do it all the time.”
“But what if I don’t want to...” He sounded so pathetic even as he gasped.
“Well, if you don’t want to do it for you, then you do it for someone else—like your aunt... just until you get the strength back to do it for yourself.”
“But when she’s gone...”
“Then you do it for someone else, Peter Parker.” Mr. Stark shifted a bit, then came in for a hug from behind. “Because if you think, for one damned second, that you’re alone, you are wrong—do you understand me?”
A gut wrenching sob tore from Peter’s throat and he couldn’t—he just couldn’t. He shook his head to disagree, but the warm pressure of his mentor at his back, staying beside him as he struggled, told him that he was wrong. It was too much to bear and Mr. Stark was there and he needed something—someone to anchor him before he lost himself completely. He forced himself to move right then, because if he didn’t, he never would again. He sat up, awkward and gangly as he fought against cushions and emotional exhaustion. Mr. Stark was there, waiting to see what Peter needed, and so Peter threw himself into his arms and wept as Mr. Stark’s arms came around him. “I wanna go home, Mr. Stark. Please. I just wanna go home.”
Mr. Stark rocked him, “Alright, buddy. We’ll get you there,” he promised. “We’ll get you home to May.“
* * * * * *
Mrs. Stark found them that way only a short time later, and Peter was drained enough that he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Tony?” She whispered as she gently placed a tray laden with food on the coffee table. “Has something happened?”
Mr. Stark continued rocking as he answered. “May’s doctor called. We had to postpone the video call and we talked about May—all of it.”
And that was enough for Mrs. Stark to understand. “Okay. So what’s the plan, honey?”
“When Peter’s ready for me to move, I’ll get in touch with T’Challa and Dr. Strange and arrange for a portal back home.” Peter snuggled deeper into Mr. Stark’s chest and the man pressed a kiss into Peter’s hair. “Not yet, baby, I know.” He shifted to accommodate Peter’s wiggles and continued. “Other than that—“ Mr. Stark shrugged. “I guess we figure out how to move forward from all of this?”
And Peter wondered to himself if he ever would.