Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Wednesday, December 25, Christmas Day (Part 2)
By four in the afternoon, the Stark household is in full Christmas swing. FRIDAY is blasting Christmas jams in the kitchen while May helps Pepper put the finishing touches on dinner. Tony, Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Clint, and Thor are all enjoying a glass of wine in the living room, Peter laughing along to their banter from his place on the couch. He’s wearing his “Tis the Season to Be Amazing!” Spiderman Christmas sweater that was meant for MJ’s party, and while part of him is still bummed that he didn’t get to go, he’s glad that he felt well enough to shower after his midday nap and be part of the Avengers’ annual Christmas soirée this evening. He hates that everyone has to see him on oxygen, that he’ll probably have to do a treatment or two while everyone is still over, but Tony’s assured him that no one will comment, that they’re all just happy he’s doing better and that he can be present for the evening.
“Baby of Spiders! That garment is perplexing yet humorous,” Thor comments, sweeping his arm toward Peter, the wine in his glass splashing over the top. “What is it that you call such a sweater for Christmas?”
“T-thanks,” Peter manages, annoyed that Thor’s called a baby. Again. “Um, a Christmas sweater?
“Aye! That’s the name! Wouldn’t it have been comical if Baby of Spiders had worn such a sweater during our mission this past evening?” Thor asks, addressing the group.
“What mission?” Peter’s asking, sitting up straight on the couch.
“Thor!” Bruce is chastising with a glare.
Peter feels tears pressing, the happiness from the day disappearing in one swift moment. “Y-you went on a mission? Without me?”
“Nothing crazy, kiddo,” Clint assures him. “Just a small wormhole-”
Tony is staring daggers at Clint, who is throwing back a look that screams please don’t kill me!
“A small wormhole?! There’s…no such thing… You went without me and didn’t even tell me, Tony?!” Peter’s near tears now, is overheating all of a sudden. He fumbles with his oxygen tubing and grabs the tank with both hands, rising from the couch and pulling it behind him to his room with such drive that even Peter surprises himself. It takes him a moment to situate it inside of his room before he slams the door shut and locks it, but he feels oddly accomplished for a few seconds as he leans back, lets himself slowly slide down until he’s sitting on the ground.
That’s when the tears hit.
“Peter,” he hears Tony behind the door with a small knock.
“Go away!” he yells, running the sleeve of his sweater beneath his nose.
“Come on, Peter. Let me in before I have Friday override the lock.”
Of course he can override the damn lock, Peter thinks, his anger rising. “Just leave me alone! Please!”
“Gotta calm down, kiddo,” Tony’s saying softly as he jiggles the knob. “Let’s talk about this.”
“You don’t get to tell me to calm down!” Peter yells, incredulous. How could Tony have kept this from him? After everything?
Tony signs and puts his forehead to the door. “Can you at least let me in so that we can talk?”
“I really wanna…be alone,” Peter says, hiccupping. “Please go away!”
“I’m giving you five minutes and then I’m coming in, okay?”
Peter doesn’t answer, just sits against the door with his forehead on his knees, his hands pulled into the sleeves of his sweater as he sniffles and focuses on breathing because the crying fit he’s just had is making his lungs feel heavy.
It’s not until he hears the lock unclick behind him and the door push against his back that he realizes his time is up, and with that, Tony’s half inside of the room looking so sorry that it’s borderline pitiful.
“We should talk about this,” Tony says, face creased with guilt.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Peter insists, wiping his eyes and using the wall to help himself up off of the floor. He takes a breath, thankful that his oxygen line is long enough to span his room, and starts toward his bed.
“Well, we could talk about how your team went on a mission without you and then kept it from you.”
“I can’t go on a mission anyway, so it doesn’t even…it doesn’t even matter!” Peter argues as he sits on the edge of his bed.
Tony closes the door and goes to sit beside Peter, careful to leave some space between them because he knows Peter’s about ready to explode, is surprised that he hasn’t had a full-on fit of rage yet. He’s been angry, sure, and upset, but he still hasn’t seen Peter completely lose it, and there’s a part of him that knows it’s coming, is worried that it hasn’t come yet. He keeps his voice soft and sighs. “It does matter. We should have…I should have told you, Peter. I’m sorry. This one’s on me.”
“I don’t even know why I’m so upset!” Peter cries, his voice hoarse as he tries to stop the tears that are falling.
Tony rubs his back and says, “I can think of a laundry list of reasons why anyone in your shoes would be upset.”
“I can be an asset to the team, it’s just that, right now, I can’t, and it makes me feel absolutely worthless.”
“You’re still getting your strength back, kiddo. Once we get your PFTs up, you can start some local patrols a few nights a week.”
“But we don’t even know if I can be Spiderman like this, let alone go out on patrols.”
“Patience, young grasshopper.”
“Can’t exactly swing between buildings with an oxygen tank,” Peter posits. “And the meds interfere with my spider senses, so either way, it doesn’t work and we both know it.” Peter bites his lip and sniffles. “I know you’re trying to help Tony. I know you want me looking forward and thinking all positive, but right now, I just feel like I need to be in it, you know? Swim around in this for a bit while I adjust. It’s the only thing that feels right. I know it doesn’t seem productive. It probably isn’t even healthy, but it just feels…right, I guess.”
Tony thinks back to what things were like when he returned from Afghanistan. How he struggled to adjust to real life again afterwards. He’d refused any and all medical treatment in the beginning, because that meant that there was something wrong, that all of the digging around that they’d done in his first reactor surgery could have had negative consequences. He’d always struggled with sleep, but immediately after coming home was when the real sleepless nights began, followed by a lack of appetite. His coffee habit exploded, as did his penchant for spending days at a time in his lab. His fight or flight response had taken over while he was in it, stuck in a cave with strangers keeping him captive, and he couldn’t figure out how to turn it off once he was home. He remembers the cave being the easy part, even though it was by no means or definition easy, the after the confusing mess that he, admittedly, feels like he’s still trying to figure out sometimes, even after all of these years.
Because sometimes, he still looks over his shoulder, thinking that someone is there, watching and waiting. And sometimes, when Peter is trying to help in the lab and his clumsy self knocks a knee into a metal workbench, he jumps and has to slow his racing heart. There are the nightmares that wake him from the deepest of sleeps, have him screaming out and sweating through his pajamas, and the panic attacks that, due to intensive therapy and Ativan, have stayed away for the last three years. Pepper calls these moments his aftershocks, and it makes Tony think that there’s been some kind of earthquake that’s misshapen his landscape, his life, forever. It’s an analogy that he doesn’t mind, because it deflects from the fact that he had little to no control over what happened to him. It gives him the energy to focus on the now, the things he can control.
He knows that his struggle with PTSD has not been what he imagined PTSD would be, but then again, is anyone’s, he thinks? He can openly talk about explosions and fight in battles where people leave this world, all without breaking down, but then he comes home and things like Pepper dropping and shattering a coffee cup on the kitchen floor can keep him on edge for hours, has him checking over his shoulder repeatedly, eyes wide and searching for a danger that he knows isn’t really there. Sometimes, he can’t turn it off, sees things that aren’t threats as threats, and he’s had to apologize one too many times for starting fights with Pepper that have no basis because he just can’t get the scanner in his head to turn off sometimes.
Peter doesn’t understand why missing a mission was so distressing, but Tony does. It’s an aftershock caused by the earthquake that is having multiple near-death experiences, being diagnosed with a chronic, life-altering disease. At some point, Tony knows that Peter is going to need to talk with someone about what’s happened. What’s happening. He knows Peter will refuse to not because he doesn’t think he needs to, but because he doesn’t know what to say, how to make any sense of what’s happening.
Peter sniffles, wipes the tears from under his eyes, and takes a deep breath.
“You’re allowed to be angry, Peter,” Tony says. “Not that you need my permission to feel angry. I was angry for a really long time after Afghanistan. Sometimes, I still am.”
“I guess I’m angry, but I’m also really sad? And scared? And my mind keeps replaying our conversation on the rooftop, about how if I’m nothing without the suit, then I shouldn’t have it.” Peter looks up at the ceiling and licks his lips, eyes glossy with tears. “I keep thinking that I don’t deserve it not because I can’t use it, but because this is all my fault. I’ve put my team at risk because now they’re down one man, I’ve disappointed May and you and Pepper, and I just feel really…numb. Youknow that’s not like me, Tony.” He looks over at him, his lip trembling. “And while I want to focus on Disney and getting back to school and patrolling and missions, it all seems so distant. Like another life, almost. And then I worry that I’m never going to get there, because realistically, that could happen. It might get better, but it might not, too. I might be stuck like this, sick like this, for the foreseeable future, and I’m not sure how to do this for the next few days, let alone forever.” He inhales sharply to keep from sobbing, does it again, is trying to keep it together because he wants to cheer up, wants to get his breathing under control because his lungs are aching and angry from crying.
“You’re right,” Tony reasons. “This is much more complex than thinking positively and looking forward. You might only need the Nucala once a week and your rescue inhaler for emergencies, which is our best case scenario, or you might need to keep up your current regiment every day, but even if that was the case, I’d find a way to get you back to school and patrolling. And to Disney. Already working on it, kiddo.”
“I don’t know if I’d want to get back to all of that if this wasn’t better,” Peter whispers, fidgeting with his oxygen tubing. “And honestly, as excited as I am about Disney, I’m scared of what will happen if I’m still sick. I don’t want to do Disney like this. Or school. Or Spiderman. I really, really don’t. I’m not…me like this.”
And suddenly, Tony gets it. Remembers why he hid away in his lab and refused to see anyone but Pepper and Happy for months after he’d come home. If people didn’t see him, they couldn’t judge him, and if they couldn’t judge him, they couldn’t change the way they saw him.
Which meant that Tony could avoid changing the way he saw himself.
Because watching your body change and learning your new limits by testing them and being beaten down by them repeatedly, Tony had learned, is frustrating on the deepest possible level. And having everyone watching and worrying had only made things worse.
“How about this. If there’s another mission and you can’t come along, I’ll have FRIDAY include you on the channel. This way, you can hear us and chat, maybe even do some armchair special ops for us.”
Peter looks up with a hopeful smile and tears still in his eyes. “I think I’d like that.”
“I should have told you about the mission, Peter. I’m sorry. I was trying to avoid making you upset. I wanted you to rest and enjoy today.”
“I know. It’s okay. I shouldn’t have freaked out. A mission was going to happen sooner or later, but I…God, I cried in front of everyone!” Peter covers his face with his hands.
“Well, I can attest that Thor, if not everyone else, is three sheets to the wind right now and will probably forget everything that just transpired in the living room,” Tony says, gently prying Peter’s hands from his face. “But also, they’re your team, Peter. They just want you better and out there kicking butt. They don’t care if the journey there looks like this. Did you know that Natasha’s been texting me non-stop asking how you’re doing? Or that Bruce has been trying to come up with ways to equip your suit with albuterol and epinephrine? Just in case?”
“No,” Peter admits.
“I’m honestly surprised Natasha hasn’t knitted you a blanket by now.”
“Black Widow…knits?” Peter asks, laughing through his tears.
There’s a knock on the door, and Steve opens it to pop his head into the small crack he’s created.
“Hey, Tony. Pepper needs some help in the kitchen,” Steve explains. “Natasha and I were trying, but-”
“Pepper’s particular, I know,” Tony says, shaking his head with a laugh. “Last year, she banished me from the residence until our guests arrived after I shattered a glass and nearly destroyed the turkey, so I’d say it’s progress that she’s letting everyone hang around while she preps. Let me guess: You offered to help, and she sent you away because you didn’t set the table properly?”
Steve is taken aback. “How did you know?”
“Like I said, Pep’s particular. I’m going to go and save Christmas before it’s too late,” he jokes. “You think you’re okay, Pete?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” he says, and it feels like a half-truth and half-lie at the same time. Tony pats his shoulder twice before he gets up, awkward silence blanketing the room the moment Tony exits.
“So, Christmas movie?” Steve asks from the doorway. “Most of the Avengers team is heavily under the influence right now, so a movie and a nap might be a good idea before dinner,” he says, laughing.
Peter laughs back, wiping away any evidence of crying. “As long as it’s not Elf, I’m good.”
“Hey, what’s wrong with Elf?” Steve says, pretending to be offended.
“It’s one of May’s favorites and I’ve been subjected to that movie more times than I care to count.”
“I’m sure we could find something on Netflix,” Steve says.
“Deal.”
By the time everyone has found a place on the couch or floor to get comfortable, Peter can feel his eyelids drooping. His chest is getting heavy and he knows it’s time for a treatment, but he wants to watch whatever Natasha’s ended up picking out, knows that he can nap later, after the movie and dinner.
Tony pops in as the opening credits roll, the new nebulizer and a package of medication in his hands, and he knows, then, that Tony isn’t going to let him off the hook for even one treatment. He gets why, but he also hates that his team is around, that they’ll see. He pulls the blanket from the back of the couch up and over his head in a fake effort to hide.
Tony sits and pulls the blanket away. “You can hate me for this later,” he says, squirting a nebule of medication into the top of small, handheld nebulizer from earlier.
“I don’t hate you,” Peter corrects, sighing. “I just don’t want to drown out the movie with this.”
Tony smirks, closes the green top, and clicks the device on. Mist appears, but there’s no sound.
“Wait…is this…for real?” Peter asks, confused. There aren’t any wires or clunky compressors, just a small, white handheld cylinder with a small mouthpiece jutting out.
“Yup,” Tony says, giving a small smile. “It’s silent and it’ll cut your treatment time down from 15 to 4 minutes.”
Peter’s eyes light up. “4 minutes?!”
“I told you I’d find you a way to get you back to school and patrolling,” Tony says, smiling as he hands the device over to Peter, who places the small mouthpiece between his lips. He’s impressed with how small and lightweight it is. “No one will even know you have it in your backpack, and if you need a treatment, you can just take it without having to worry about noise or the time it’ll take. It’s supposed to last 30 treatments before needing to be recharged.”
Peter tries not to think about how much the nebulizer has cost Tony, because he knows that he has more money than he knows what to do with, but he also can’t help but think about how May could never afford this. How he was going without inhalers in the beginning because they were nearly $80 a pop with insurance. He shudders to think about what would have happened if he’d never met Tony or gotten the Stark internship.
“Stop thinking about the price tag, kiddo.”
“M’not,” Peter grumbles around the mouthpiece.
“Sure,” Tony answers with a laugh, getting up from the couch. “Enjoy the movie. Let me know the ending.”
“You should stay with us, Tony,” Natasha poses. “Pepper’s two seconds away from banning you from the kitchen anyway.”
“Ah, but I have to wait for her to ban me,” Tony points out. “It’s the rules of marriage. Once I’m banned, I can leave. Until then, she owns my soul.”
Everyone laughs, and Tony winks to Peter on his way out as he holds up 4 fingers. Peter smiles, feels like 4-minute treatments sound a hell of a lot better than what he’s been doing. He still hates that he has to do it, but 4 minutes? 4 minutes is doable, even if it’s multiple times a day. 4 minutes is one song through his headphones. The amount of time it takes him to gel his hair. A commercial break. The time between bells at school.
He calculates his original every-four-hour breathing treatment schedule, multiplies 15 by 6, because that’s the number Bruce has him doing every day, give or take. That’s ninety minutes, or 1.5 hours attached to a box plugged into the wall. It doesn’t seem like much time, but Peter can think of a million ways he’d rather be spending his time. This new system is 24 minutes total, though, and 24 minutes feels doable. Feels a little more normal and a lot less like limits.
“I told you I’d find a way to get you back to school and patrolling.”
He’s been afraid to admit that he doesn’t want to go back to his old life like this, because that means that he’s accepted this, that it’s somehow okay when it’s not, but he’s also afraid of adjusting. Or rather, not adjusting. Peter is used to having boundless energy, used to going from school, to decathlon at 2:30, and then to patrol, finally getting in around ten, sometimes later, and staying up past midnight to finish homework.
He knows going back to school won’t be like that, that he won’t even be able to patrol for a while if his lungs keep doing their thing. But something shifts inside of Peter as he does his silent treatment, and while he doesn’t want to admit it, he does feel a little lighter. A little more hopeful.
“Hey, can’t wait until you’re back in the game with us, Spidey,” Natasha says quietly with a smile from her place beside him, giving Peter a soft punch in the arm. He smiles and curls into a ball against the back of the couch, letting himself get lost in the movie while he finishes his treatment.
He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up groggy and confused. He sees that his nebulizer is off and sitting upright on the coffee table, can feel that there’s a knitted blanket on top of the couch blanket draped over him, and his first real thought is that he wants to tell Tony that Natasha has, in fact, made him the blanket he mentioned. Even though the movie is still playing, Steve is the only one awake. He’s moved so that he’s sitting right beneath Peter’s place on the couch, and he glances back when he hears Peter shift to readjust his oxygen tubing.
“You missed the best part,” Steve jokes. “But then again, so did everyone else. Can’t say I blame them. Thor’s attempt at homemade wine should be labeled as illegal moonshine.”
“Ever see this really old movie called National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation?” Peter asks, glancing around the room at the sleeping Avengers. “This reminds me of the scene where Cousin Eddie spikes the eggnog. This is exactly what I imagined as the end result.”
“No, but I like your jokes and pop culture references. Haven’t heard them in a while,” he’s doing the smiling laugh thing he always does. “Keeps me young.”
“You’re not old, Steve,” Peter says.
He laughs. Again. “Keep telling me that, kid.”
There’s silence between them as the movie plays and Peter fiddles with the corner of Natasha’s blanket.
“Um, I didn’t get to thank you yet. For the other day?” He pulls the blanket tight around his shoulders. “But thank you, Steve.”
“Hey, no thanks needed.”
“You stabbed me in the thigh with a needle,” Peter jokes quietly, but beneath his words, he’s anxious. Uncomfortable.
“That’s what teammates do, right?”
“Yeah, they do, but…I don’t know…this whole thing has been really weird and confusing, and I guess I just don’t feel like a part of the team anymore?” Peter squints and grimaces as he says it, is unsure about admitting something so personal.
“Peter, no matter what happens, you’ll always be an Avenger,” Steve assures him. “I think I can speak for everyone when I say that. We’ve all had our own mountains to climb. This one just happens to be yours.”
“Think Bruce and Tony can engineer a super serum to fix my cra-cruddy immune system?” Peter asks with a laugh, careful not to curse in front of Steve.
“You don’t need a super serum, Peter. What you need is time and support, and thankfully you’ve got a lot of both of those things.”
“It’s just hard is all,” he says, shrugging.
“I remember when breathing was hard,” Steve says softly, knowingly. “It’s been a long time, but I still remember. I used to do a lot of hiding under blankets and pretending that I could do all of the things I couldn’t do when I couldn’t breathe.”
“You beat it, though.”
Steve points a finger at himself. “I did something stupid and it worked out. There’s a difference.”
Peter sighs. “You were resilient, though. Fought to get where you are by pushing for what you wanted. Reached your goal. Hence, breathing.”
Steve shakes his head. “What I did wasn’t resilience, Peter.”
“It was,” Peter insists.
“It wasn’t, because to me,” Steve says, his eyes meeting Peter’s, “resilience looks a lot like this.”
“Like being attached to an oxygen tank and covered in blankets?” Peter asks, skeptical. “Sure, Steve.”
“Resilience looks a lot like someone trying to figure out how they’re going to do the things they want to do regardless of the things they can’t control, not someone looking for a quick fix. Resilience takes time and effort. It takes persistence and planning. And it takes failure. A lot of it.”
“Isn’t that exactly what you did, though, failed until you figured out how you were going to do the things you wanted when you decided to take the serum?”
“No. See, I went chasing for a quick answer and I lucked out. Sometimes ambition can blind you. In fact, I was the only one chasing some kind of cure that day who didn’t have any negative effects. And yes, I didn’t have the medication you have today that would have allowed me to do some of the things I wished I could do. But you? You’ve been dealing with asthma for over a year now and showing it who’s boss by putting that suit on despite your fears and getting out there to stick up for the little guy,” Steve says. “You have been amazingly resilient in ways you don’t even know. It’s gotten ten times harder in the last week, no doubt about that, but we know you, Peter. Your team knows you well enough to know you’re going to find a way back to being Spiderman, and we’re here to help you. Part of resilience is having the right supports in place.”
Peter looks down. “Did Tony tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Peter’s slow to look up because he doesn’t want to say it out loud, doesn’t want to acknowledge the truth. He takes a breath and sighs. “That I can’t be Spiderman with all of my meds? They affect my biochemistry. My webshooters aren’t even functionable right now. I’m essentially useless.”
“You could never be useless, Peter. I know that this is not the most fun you’ve ever had by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m a firm believer in the idea that difficult experiences shape people to be better.”
The thought grinds against Peter, doesn’t feel right, because he doesn’t feel like a better person because of any of this. In fact, he feels a million times worse than he’s sure he’s ever felt about himself before. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to agree with me right now, or ever, for that matter.”
“To me, this sort of feels like that song by Kelly Clarkson. The one about “What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger,” Peter says.
Steve thinks for a moment and Peter imagines him humming the chorus in his head to check if it’s the right song. “The one that Tony plays during group workouts?”
“Yes, that’s the one. After all of this, I’ve come to the conclusion that what doesn’t kill you actually gives you some really unhealthy coping mechanisms and a very dark sense of humor.”
Steve’s confused. “Is that supposed to be funny, or…”
Peter laughs, because of course his joke has fallen completely flat for Captain America. “Honestly, it was supposed to be both…”
“You know, I’ve lived more lives than most get to live. When you’ve been around as long as I have, you see the world a little differently. When I look at you, I see the definition of resilience. Even if that means an oxygen tank.”
“I still don’t get how you can think that you weren’t resilient by finding yourself a cure,” Peter poses. “I mean, you’ve never had to deal with asthma again, or any of your other health stuff. If I could undo this or cure it, I would in a heartbeat. No questions asked.”
“I think I was more resilient when I faced things and lived with them, not when I fought against them. I know society uses war terminology to talk about illness, but fighting against it day-in and day-out can burn you out, kid. It’s the living with it that truly makes someone resilient. And resilience isn’t this flashy thing everyone assumes it is. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“I don’t want to have to be resilient.” Peter feels like he’s been trying to say that for days now, just couldn’t pin the emotions down and find the words to until now.
“Well, we don’t get to choose our cards, that’s for sure. But, like I said, you have a whole army of people here who want to help.”
“I guess I just don’t feel like I’ve been doing any of that. Facing or fighting, with or without help. Again, I’ve been absolutely useless. I couldn’t even help in the battle last night.”
“Stop with that. You are not useless,” Steve reiterates quite sternly, and Peter looks away, feeling embarrassed. Steve sighs and softens his tone. “Hey, look at me, Peter.” Peter looks over begrudgingly, unsure if he wants to hear any more. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like you did the other day. I mean, you couldn’t even breathe, and yet you were trying so hard to communicate. Immediately after I gave you the epi-pen, you were trying to advocate for yourself and help problem-solve, try to figure out why it had happened. You, sitting here, trying to be a part of the holiday fun while on oxygen and having to take medication that you’re afraid to take in front of people because it’s different? That’s facing things and living with them. It’s about fighting to keep moving forward, not to undo the past. That’s resilience.”
Peter sighs. “I was so weak, though. Tony had to carry me to MedBay, and then I kept falling asleep...”
“You are so darn stubborn!” Steve laughs. “You, my friend, need to learn to take a compliment. Anyway, resilience doesn’t mean doing it all alone, kid. Sometimes, resilience is letting people help you. You have to make sure you’re not fighting your best allies because you never know when you’ll need them the most.”
Peter lets that thought sink in. It’s obvious that May, Tony, and Pepper are willing to help, that the whole Avengers team is, but he hadn’t realized just how much he’d been pushing them away until now. It’s been so hard for him to let people see him like this, so vulnerable and terrified of not knowing what might happen next. He thinks of the crying and whining, of the anxiety living in his chest. He feels like his airways are a ticking time bomb ready to take everyone around him down with him one wheeze at a time, and it’s wearing him thin even more, he thinks, than the physical limitations of this stupid disease. He wants to tell Steve that he feels too guilty right now to let anyone help, that he’s angry he’s had to put everyone in this situation to begin with.
He’s so used to feeling responsible in good ways, but this feels like the burden of all burdens. And he hates this it’s so complicated. In the beginning, back in chemistry class, he’d been so focused on making it to the last bell, to MJ’s party. But now, he just wants his life back, wants everything and everyone go back to the way it was before, and he hates that he knows just how impossible that is. It’s enough to make it hard to breathe again, to make him feel utterly worthless and like he can’t fix this disaster he’s created or the disasters that just keep coming.
But he also knows that Steve is right. That he needs to let May, Tony, and Pepper in. Let his team in. He’s been trying, mostly because he’s been so weak that he hasn’t been able to do everyday tasks independently, but he knows what Steve really means; it’s not so much about the physical things as the emotional ones. Hearing Tony all stressed out and unloading on May in the hallway had really done a number on Peter, as had finding out about the Christmas Eve battle. And while he knows without explanation that Tony did those things to protect him from the truth as a means of helping, he also knows that in the end, it had honestly only hurt. Nearly everything that’s happened since Friday has been emotionally painful on a level Peter has never experienced before, and he knows that’s saying a lot because he and May have had their fair share of heartbreak, but for the first time, this is Peter’s mountain, and even with the help, he fully understands that in reality, it’s his mountain alone.
All of the help in the world doesn’t change the fact that he’s the one with the crappy lungs and no breaks from reality.
He knows this. Knows it so deeply that he wonders if that’s really the ache buried beneath his ribcage keeping him from being able to breathe without support. Letting May help him shower or allowing Tony to set up his nebulizer is one thing, but to fully let them in on the emotional turmoil that’s only going to make them more worried than they already are?
Peter’s not stupid enough to let things get there, would rather lie until he’s blue in the face.
He rethinks his last thought, hates the morbidity of it, and settles on lying for just a little bit longer, until things settle down with the hope that he never has to tell anyone about the way his anxiety is spiraling far beyond anything he thought possible. It’s not really lying if you’re just keeping it to yourself, right?
He can do the emotional part all on his own, doesn’t need to add that to the list of responsibilities on everyone else’s plate. And it’s not only because he wants to, but also because he knows he has to. Seeing May cry again and apologize for not being here? Peter’s not sure he can handle that right now, nor can he handle the way Pepper stops in his doorway throughout the night to check on him or having Tony get in trouble with work because he’s been too busy keeping Peter breathing to keep Stark Industries running.
So he’s going to tuck it away, keep it safe.
For now, at least.
Just for now.
X
“All right. Everyone to that side of the table,” May says, taking her phone out for a picture.
“May!” Peter groans as everyone assembles, albeit haphazardly. He pulls his oxygen cannula off so that it’s not in the picture and tries to find a place where he fits. Everyone is mid-conversation, wine glasses and beers in hand. The disorganization makes Peter blush. “We literally look like that painting of The Last Supper from grandma’s kitchen like this!” he directs toward May.
“The da Vinci one?” she asks.
Peter is nearly dying with embarrassment over the fact that May has asked the Avengers to assemble for a picture. “Ugh, yes, the da Vinci one!”
“Does that make me Jesus?” Tony asks jokingly from the middle, the room exploding into a burst of laughter. “But also, May needs to be in the picture. Dummy, where are you?” he calls out.
Dummy whirs in and Tony walks over, takes his phone out. He places it in the robot’s hands, sets up the camera feature, and adjusts the height until it’s ready to go.
“Alright, say cheese!” Tony directs once everyone, himself and May included, is posing and ready.
The flash goes off and Tony goes over to make sure the picture is decent. “Looks good to me,” he comments as he zooms in and out. “Time for food!”
That’s everyone’s cue to sit down. Tony clinks a fork against his glass to get everyone quiet once the disorganization of the picture dissolves into everyone having found their seat.
“So, I’ve never been a very religious person, but over the years, I’ve realized the importance of giving thanks, so here it is. While it may not always seem so, there are many things I’m grateful for. I think today is the perfect time to acknowledge and be thankful for family, friends, and this beautiful and savory spread that Pepper and May have spent all day preparing for us. So thank you, to whoever the powers may be, for allowing us to share this day and food together. Amen.”
“Amen!” everyone repeats with such gusto that Peter is sure that the wine Thor has made is definitely the moonshine Steve said it was.
Plates begin to get passed around the table, glasses clinking, forks and knives scraping as everyone digs in.
It’s when Peter’s finished half of his plate that Pepper slides a pill over, discretely, of course, but a pill, nonetheless. It’s his antibiotic, and he needs to take it, but he’s tired and full, can’t imagine downing it with a large gulp of water because is there even anywhere for it to go? He knows it’s going to make his stomach hurt, that it’ll slow down his thinking and essentially kick his ass for the next few hours, but he also knows he needs it. That it’s helping, at least, which makes it worth taking. He grimaces, popping it in his mouth quickly before downing it in one, swift gulp of water.
He’s not supposed to have his phone at the table, but he feels it vibrate in his pocket, pulls it out and looks down to a text from Tony.
Proud of you, Underoos.
For popping pills? Peter texts, smirking to himself.
For doing the things you don’t want to do but have to.
Yeah, well, didn’t have much of a choice, did I?
You’re damn right you didn’t!
Peter is taken aback, looks up to see Tony smiling slyly at him from across the table, and smiles himself. They both look down at their phones again.
Still proud of you, kiddo.
Thanks, Dad, he goes to type, erasing the last word, because why does he keep wanting to say that? He’s not even used to calling anyone Dad. Not since…
He doesn’t want to think about that. Not on Christmas. Holidays have always been hard, but this is the first time he’s been so distracted that he hasn’t really focused on what life would have been like if things had been different. He tries not to get lost in what ifs, but his brain likes to go there sometimes without his permission. Peter knows that the holidays are hard for May, too, because she didn’t ask for any of this, for the full responsibility of Peter when he was just four years old. She’s always putting him first, making sure he has what he needs, even after the bite. He knows that it isn’t easy, that it hasn’t been, that while she’s just as overbearing as Tony sometimes, she’s doing it out of true, unconditional love.
“Did you thank Natasha for the blanket?” May’s behind Peter, has her hands on his shoulders.
“Huh?” Peter asks, rubbing his forehead. His brain is feeling muddled, which means the antibiotics are already kicking in.
“He already did,” Natasha vouches from his left, and Peter’s confused, because he hasn’t had a chance to thank her yet. What is going on?
“You look about ready to conk out on us, Pete,” May jokes. “When he was little, he used to fall asleep in his food. Spaghetti, cake, you name it, Peter fell asleep in it!”
“May!” he groans, rolling his eyes. “Can you keep from embarrassing me for like five seconds?”
“Not until you’re 18, and I can’t make any promises to stop after that,” she says, her, Natasha, and Pepper laughing at the joke together.
“Did you guys have Thor’s wine or something?” Peter’s asking, which only makes the women laugh even harder. They’re hysterical, every look at each other or comment sending them into new a new laughing fit.
It only makes Peter’s head pound harder.
Go lay down, kiddo. You’ve got two hours until your next treatment, Tony texts.
Don’t wanna miss out.
FOMO?
Very funny. Peter gives a small huff of a laugh and excuses himself from the table. He pulls his oxygen tank behind him, grabs Natasha’s blanket from the living room to drape over his shoulders, and heads for his dark bedroom where he plops onto the bed belly down and promptly passes out.
He wakes in a panic when he feels the blanket move, screams out when he sees a large, dark shadow from the lamp on his nightstand displayed against the wall.
“Shh, hey, just me, kid,” Tony’s saying softly in the lamplight from his place on the bed as he adjusts the blanket so that it’s covering Peter. “Your fever’s back. It’s low, so I’m not too worried. Bruce said it’s from the antibiotics doing their thing, but I wanted to check on you.”
Peter’s heart is about ready to bounce out of his chest, but he maneuvers so that he’s on his side, the blanket pulled around his shoulders as he lets his eyes meet Tony’s. “Scared me,” he pants, letting the oxygen help him catch his breath.
“Bruce said that the fever’s a good thing, but also recommended Motrin to keep it from spiraling. Think you can sit up?”
It takes Peter a moment, and he can see Tony itching to help, but he gets himself sitting up against his pillows all on his own, takes the pills and water from Tony and swallows them.
“You’re about ready for your next treatment,” Tony says, and Peter groans, because that means he’s been out for over an hour and a half, that’s he’s probably missed dessert. He just hopes May hasn’t had too much wine and…
He hears the opening bars to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” come from the living room.
“Oh God, no,” Peter moans, pulling the blanket over his head.
“Peter? What’s wrong?” Tony’s asking, half-panicked.
He moans again as Tony rips the blanket away. “Did May ask to do karaoke?”
“Maybe?” Tony asks, confused.
“Fuck.”
Tony takes a steadying breath and puts a hand on his chest. “Peter, you just scared the shit out of me! You know I have a heart condition!”
Peter does puppy eyes to keep Tony from yelling. “Sorry! It’s just that May, when she gets drunk, she likes to do classic rock karaoke a-and…”
“Just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world, she took the midnight train going anywhere,” May sings, and while Peter will always think May has a great voice, it’s still embarrassing.
Tony catches on quickly. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Pepper cuts in with, “Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit…”
“Oh no,” Tony says, covering his face.
“We have to put a stop to this,” Peter says, moving to get up.
“You, my friend, are staying right where you are. Let them have their fun,” he says, gently pushing Peter back against the pillows, laughing when Pepper’s voice cracks on the word anywhere. “I think everyone could benefit from a night out, no?”
“But it’s not a night out?” Peter asks.
“The stress level in this household has been critical for five full days and I think a little karaoke won’t hurt anyone.”
“But Thor’s moonshine might!” Peter says.
Now Tony’s really confused. “What?”
“It’s homemade! Steve said so!” Peter’s genuinely concerned, but Tony has a smile on his face.
“That…would explain a lot,” Tony says, laughing. “But I’m not worried. He does this all of the time. You, however,” he continues, tone changing, “I’m still slightly worried about.”
“You said you weren’t worried about my fever.”
“You have asthma and a nasty bout of pneumonia right now,” Tony explains, pulling Peter’s nebulizer from his nightstand into his lap. He removes a clean mouthpiece, one that Pepper’s probably sterilized in the giant pot that’s been parked on the stove in the kitchen for days, from the pocket of his sweater. “I said I wasn’t too worried, but I’m still worried, kiddo.”
“So Iron Man does have a Dad Mode,” he jokes.
“Peter,” Tony says, giving him a look, but Peter can tell that he doesn’t hate it. Not really.
“Hey, how come you and Pepper never had kids?” he asks, instantly hating himself for it, because who even asks that, Peter?
“Well,” Tony says, thinking for a moment as he connects the nebulizer tubing to Peter’s mouthpiece and the compressor. Peter goes to stop him, feels like he should really work on filtering his thoughts, but then Tony sighs and tilts his head like he’s actually going to answer, and Peter holds back. “I didn’t exactly have the best father figure, nor did I have the best relationship with him. I guess I just always thought I’d make a shitty dad. I’m egotistical, overly caffeinated, don’t sleep for days, am always in my head and away on business,” he explains, ripping a nebule from the packet from earlier, twisting open the top, and squirting medication into the reservoir on the mouthpiece. “I’m used to letting people down,” he continues, making a face, “Which, sounds crazy, right? I’m Iron Man. All I do is help people, save the world from aliens and bad guys. But it wasn’t always like that. I wasn’t always the Tony I am now, and I’m not even sure that this Tony is Dad material, to be honest.”
“I-I didn’t really get to know my dad,” Peter starts, because he feels like he owes Tony something personal after he answered such an intrusive question. “But May has this photo album…under the coffee table? And she pulls it out now and then, tells me stories that go with the pictures. There’s one of my dad and me…at the Bronx Zoo. I think I’m a little over a year old. He’s holding my…little arms with two fingers each, just enough to keep me…upright but also enough to let me try to walk on my own. I think about that picture a lot, actually, wonder what kind of dad…he would have been.” He doesn’t realize that a tear has fallen until he goes to wipe it.
“Whoever your dad would’ve been, he would’ve been lucky to have you as a son, Underoos,” Tony admits, looking up at Peter with glassy eyes and a small smile.
“You think?” Peter asks, sniffling.
“I don’t just think it, I know it.”
“Okay,” Peter laughs through his tears. “Now I know you’re lying.”
“First of all, I’m offended,” Tony says with his usual sarcasm, but Peter can sense a smile trying to break through. “And second, you really need a treatment. You sound like you’re trying to climb Everest and you haven’t even left this bed in two hours.”
“I do not!” he argues.
“Do you remember that time you blatantly disobeyed my orders, hitched a ride on an alien ship into the stratosphere, and started running out of air?” Tony pretends to be reminiscing as he plugs the machine in.
“When you told me to let go…and you’d catch me?”
“Yup. That’s exactly what you sound like right now.” Tony doesn’t want to admit that Peter’s slight fever and his wheezing has him on edge, so he plays along, keeps the sarcasm up.
“For the record, you didn’t…catch me.”
“For the record, you passed out and I had to have FRIDAY send you home with a parachute, so,” Tony throws back as he hands Peter the mouthpiece and flips the nebulizer switch. “Treatment, kiddo.”
“I like the other one better,” Peter says between inhales of the medication. “S’quieter.”
“Well, I like that this one drowns out that mouth of yours,” Tony says, laughing.
“Hey!”
“You know I love you, kid,” Tony adds with a smile.
“I know.”
The doorbell rings, and Tony sighs. He waits to see if someone else will get it, and just when he realizes that everyone else is too busy singing along to Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” in the living room, he hears it again. “That’s my cue,” he jokes, lifting from Peter’s bed.
“Hey, Tony?”
“Hmm?”
“Anyone would be really lucky to have you as a dad,” Peter says, smiling as he returns to his treatment.
Tony chuckles and takes the comment to heart before he leaves.
Peter flops against the pillows, thinks about pulling out his phone to keep him occupied.
“Looks like we’ve got a visitor,” Tony comments from down the hallway, which leaves Peter confused until he hears footsteps and a voice outside of his door. Her voice. He knows Tony is tipping him off, is giving him time, but Jesus, why did she have to come tonight of all nights?!
“Hi Mr. Stark, I’m sorry to come on a holiday, but I wanted to drop off a gift for Peter.”
“No,” Peter says, ripping off the oxygen and shutting down his nebulizer. “No no no!” He rushes to hide everything under his duvet, finds that he’s moved too fast getting up and his head is spinning from the lack of oxygen. He grips the framing of the doorway and tries to catch his breath, but without his oxygen, his lungs feel like deflating balloons.
“MJ!” he says, completely panicked as she appears, fuzzy, from the doorway of his bedroom. It doesn’t help that his lungs are aching already, that he can feel the wheezing growing in his chest.
Tony gives him a look that screams are you fucking kidding me when he sees that Peter’s pulled his oxygen off, but he rolls his eyes and leaves them be, figuring that a couple of minutes without the oxygen won’t hurt. He knows Peter will give in. Hopes he will.
“W-what are you doing here?” Peter’s asking, rubbing the back of his head.
“I got you something and didn’t want to wait to give it to you. Also, I like your sweater. It’s…cute.”
“Thanks,” Peter says, looking down at his Spiderman Christmas sweater. “You didn’t have to get me anything, MJ. I-I don’t have anything for you.”
He feels stupid, suddenly, like he should have thought ahead, just in case.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asks, concerned.
“Actually,” Peter starts, groaning internally because he really really doesn’t want MJ to see his oxygen, but he’s struggling more than he wants to admit and he doesn’t like the way his fingers are tingling. He heads toward his bed, pulls out the tubing and adjusts it under his nose, then over his ears, taking in a few slow, deep relieving breaths. “I’m getting better but I’m also having a really hard time, so I kind of…need this.”
“Why did you think you had to hide this from me?” MJ asks, entering his room.
“Because it’s weird?” He shrugs, sitting on the bed. “I don’t know. I just wasn’t expecting to have to show anyone, so…”
“It’s not weird, Peter.”
“It is. You don’t have to lie to me, MJ.”
“Shut up, loser. I’m not lying to you.” She’s smiling, but it’s not fake, not like the one Flash throws him when he’s mocking him from across the room.
Peter can’t stop smiling and blushing. “It’s just been a really scary couple of days and it’s…really nice that you came, MJ.”
“Things weren’t really going well at my house anyway, so I figured maybe I should spread some holiday cheer.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Seems like everyone here is having a good time,” she notes, and Peter’s brought back to reality, can hear Thor attempting “Grandma Got Run Over by A Reindeer.”
“That,” Peter says with a breathy laugh, “is a bunch of drunk adults that you should try and ignore…because they’re super embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing or future revenge material if caught on camera?” she asks, holding her arms out like she’s weighing the options. Peter laughs. “Here, open your gift,” she insists, throwing a small, flat present wrapped in Grinch paper at him. He nearly misses, panics as he fumbles with it, before finally holding it still with both of his hands. He pulls the paper away and sees the title of the movie.
“Home Alone?” Peter asks, looking up.
“Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal!” she quotes.
He grins. “This is…perfect actually. Thanks, MJ. How’d you know…this was my favorite?”
She narrows her eyes on him. “You sure you’re okay? You sound like you’ve just run a mile in gym.”
“Um, I’m kind of supposed to be doing a…breathing treatment right now? But I didn’t know…you were coming and I…really didn’t want to do it in front of you…so I sort of…hid it?”
“So, let me get this straight: The only reason you’re doing that not-breathing thing is because I’m here? Peter, you really are an idiot,” she says, shaking her head. “I told you that I don’t care about any of this!”
“Are you sure, though? Because-”
She sweeps her hair behind her ears. “I mean, I do care, just not in a judgmental way, you know?”
“MJ, please tell me you’re serious…and that you’re not just here to pry…because I’m really…not ready for everyone at school to know…about this and…”
She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “Peter, I walked here on Christmas so that I could see how you were doing. Do you know how many blocks that is? In negative degree wind-chill? You know the MTA is shit, especially on holidays. I brought you a movie as a gift because I missed seeing you at my party and figured that you still weren’t feeling so hot. I don’t care if you’re sick and your lungs suck! I’m not here so that I can turn around and tell everyone at school that you look like a pale, pasty mess. You really think that about me?” She looks hurt, like maybe whatever happened at home was really shitty and now she’s been let down again, and Peter suddenly feels like an asshole for assuming that she’d be here just for gossip.
“No, MJ, that’s not… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“Is it really that hard for you to believe me when I say that I’m here because I kind of like you and I’m just glad that you’re okay? I’ve been worried sick about you, Peter.”
Peter’s shocked. “Wait, really? You like me?”
“Yes, loser!” she asserts. “Why do you think I invited you to my Christmas party?”
“Because you invited everyone?”
She pauses to think. “I did invite everyone, didn’t I? Shoot.”
“I mean, technically you didn’t invite…everyone, right? Because that’d…be impossible.” He laughs, and then MJ laughs, and while it only makes his breathing, or struggle with breathing, more prominent, he’s thankful it’s lightened the mood.
“How about we watch the movie and you do your breathing thing? You’re starting to scare me a little with that…”
“Wheeze,” he finishes for her, feeling his lungs pull. “It’s called wheezing. S’just part of…asthma.”
“You know, you were doing that in chem, before you passed out.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of part of…why I passed out… Anyway, my nebulizer, which…helps with the wheezing, is kind of loud,” Peter says as he motions toward it, hoping that MJ will help him talk himself out of finishing it.
“So is the sound you’re making, so, breathing thingy and movie?”
Peter still can’t understand how none of this is weird for her, because he’s sure that he’d be a little freaked out if he were in MJ’s shoes, but he takes a shaky breath in and nods, pulls his comforter flat so that his bed isn’t a mess, and fluffs his pillows. MJ kicks her shoes off and crawls over toward the window before he can even say anything, so he wordlessly grabs the movie and pops it into the DVD player in his TV. By the time the movie is on and he’s back under Natasha’s blanket, he can feel his lungs screaming for a breathing treatment. He turns the machine back on and takes slow, even breaths of the medication as he tries to remember how Kevin ended up being left home alone.
The door swings open and Peter sees that Tony’s appeared with a giant bowl.
“Thought you guys could use some popcorn,” he says, plopping it right between them on the bed as if it’s a marker for how much space should be between them, or rather, shouldn’t be. He pulls a soda can from each sweater pocket and leaves them on the nightstand. “I know it’s loud out there, but if you could just keep the door open this much…” Tony trails, pulling the door closed so that only his head is between the door and the fame, “That’d be great.” He winks before he leaves, and Peter blushes, isn’t even sure he has oxygen to do anything close to what Tony’s just hinted at. Not that he’s thought about that with MJ.
Okay, so maybe he has. But he doesn’t expect it, knows that he’s not that guy and she’s not that girl and he’s literally just been cock blocked by Iron Man, of all people, and-
“Peter?”
“Hmm?” he asks with the mouthpiece between his lips, eyebrows up as he listens for what she might say next.
“Soda?”
His hand is sweaty as he goes to grab one of the cans, feels it slip a bit as he tries to lift it, but he hands it over to MJ and watches as she pops the tab.
“Thanks,” she says, getting comfortable, her knee touching his despite the popcorn bowl between them. “Is this okay?”
“Y-yeah,” Peter answers, feeling the shakiness from the medicine and being next to MJ setting in. He hopes she can’t feel it, doesn’t notice.
“Breathe, Peter,” she jokes with a small laugh a moment later, and he it’s not until he exhales that he realizes he’s been holding his breath. “If anyone should be shaking with fear, it’s me, because I’m the one who hijacked Iron Man’s Christmas party and now I’m sitting and watching a movie with Spiderman.”
He wants to explain that it’s the medicine that is making him so shaky, but he stops himself, thinks for a moment.
He hates that being around MJ turns his brain to mush.
Hates that it’s taken him a few moments too long to register that she’s just admitted that she knows he’s Spiderman.
What?!