Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Thursday, January 2
“Did you have Peter up until three in the morning last night?! Is that why my microwave is broken?” Peter hears Pepper scream from the kitchen on his way to breakfast, and he turns around, heads right back to his room because he definitely does not want to get in the middle of what he knows is about to be a doozy of an argument. “Did you microwave fucking grapes again? Anthony Edward Stark, I fucking swear !”
A text from Tony pops up on Peter’s phone. We need to get you out of the house. It’s starting to get sad.
Are you calling my life sad? And you only wanna leave because Pepper’s yelling at you.
Yes to both. Meet me in the garage. Grab your backpack.Bundle up. It’s snowing.
Peter meets Tony on lower level two, his backpack slung over one shoulder.
“Where to?” he asks once they’re in one of Tony’s sports cars.
Tony shrugs. “Wherever the music takes us.”
“Isn’t that a waste of gas?” Peter asks, the words out of his mouth before he realizes that that’s a May thing.
It’s an I don’t have money for new sneakers, Peter , kind of thing.
He grimaces, knows Tony probably wouldn’t understand what that’s like.
“Don’t worry about it, kiddo. Battery is charged, gas tank is full just in case, and we have all the time to get wherever we go.”
Tony’s car is self-driving, but he pulls the steering wheel out, adjusts it and has FRIDAY fix his mirrors. He cranks the tunes up and pulls out of the underground parking garage onto Park. Peter sits quietly and listens, has a suspicion that this impromptu trip is in relation to the increasing tension between Tony and Pepper. Tony’s admitted to it, sure, but Peter also knows there’s something else, something he can’t place, that Tony seems to be hiding, and there’s a nagging deep inside that says something is going to happen if he doesn’t figure it out.
“I’ll give you a dollar if you can name this band,” Tony asks when they’re stuck at a red light a few blocks from the FDR.
And even though Peter’s on edge from whatever’s just happened, he jokingly asks, “Just a dollar?”
“Don’t push it, kid.”
The song sounds like every other rock song he’s heard, and he panics slightly; it’s obvious that music is important to Tony, and Peter wants to impress him, but he barely listens to music other than what’s on the radio. Focus, Peter, he thinks. It sounds a little country, a little like rock and roll, with a lot of harmony.
“Okay, okay, um…Led Zeppelin?”
“Really? This sounds like Robert Plant to you?” Tony turns the volume up as if that will help. “If this was Led Zeppelin, you’d feel like you were watching a Lord of the Rings movie.”
“Guns ‘N Roses?”
Tony unlocks the doors. “That’s it, out of the car!”
“But it’s January! It’s like, 3 degrees and flurrying outside!” Peter’s eyes are wide as he tries to imagine walking home in this cold.
He locks the doors again. “Joking. But also, this is The Eagles. Glenn Frey on vocals. Show some respect, man,” Tony jokes. “I know May listens to The Eagles.” He cranks it even louder and moves forward when the light turns. “That woman breathes rock and roll.”
Don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy , Frey sings from the stereo.
When the next one comes on, it’s a guy singing about traveling. It sounds to him exactly like the band from the last one, and he’s panicked again, because why couldn’t FRIDAY shuffle at least one song that he knows?
“There’s a whole dollar at stake here,” Tony taunts, and Peter laughs, because Tony is grinning as he weaves through traffic.
Big old jet airliner, don’t carry me too far away…
“Bryan...Ryan...Bryan Adams?”
“Okay, five cents for trying, because there is a Bryan and a Ryan Adams, but no. Steve Miller Band. They also sing “Take the Money and Run” and “Fly Like an Eagle?”
Peter shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head.
“I’m shocked, kid, but I guess I’m also not.” And Peter thinks he’s referencing his parents, or lack thereof, until Tony adds, “Gotta get you out of those books and to a concert.”
They’re finally on the FDR, moving with traffic toward the Bronx, and all Peter can feel in the lack of conversation is the tension from this morning. From the last few days . They sit like that for a while, until they’re somewhere in the Bronx on a scenic highway that feels far from the city. It’s snowing harder now, and while it’s beautiful, that nagging feeling hits Peter again.
Peter licks his lips, takes a few breaths to prepare himself. “I-I know it’s not my business, but you and Pepper…”
“Love each other very much but are going through a rough patch,” Tony states.
“Right.” Peter nods. “It’s just that, when May and Ben used to fight, it was different, you know?”
“You mean it wasn’t nearly as cut-throat?” Tony asks with a laugh.
“May’s witty, but not like Pepper. Pepper’s…” he trails, taking a deep breath.
“Venomous.”
Peter exhales with “Yeah.”
“I drive Pepper crazy, and she drives me crazy, but I love her to death. I love her more than I thought I could love, and I know I’m imperfect, that I do stupid things left and right, but she turns me to mush when no one else can, and that is why our marriage is happily flawed and chaotic in all of the ways marriage probably isn’t supposed to be.”
“She really cares about you, Tony,” Peter comments. “I don’t think she’s mad, I think she’s just worried about you. I’m…worried about you.” It comes out before Peter can stop it.
“Worried about me?” Tony asks, raising an eyebrow.
“You fell asleep? O-on New Year’s?” Peter tries, and Tony doesn’t answer, just focuses on the road. “And I know about your tremor. I saw it in your lab, a-and it happens every day now and…is it your heart?”
Tony doesn’t answer, just keeps his eyes focused on the road and his hands on the wheel. His jaw is set, posture suddenly stiff.
“Just felt like since we always talk about my health stuff, we could talk about yours? When…if you wanna talk about it, I-I’d listen, you know?”
And Peter really feels like he’s fucked up royally, screwed the pooch , as Tony always puts it, when Tony puts the car into autopilot. The steering wheel disappears into the dashboard as Tony sits back his sunglasses still on.
“It’s just…you’re always helping me, and I feel like I should be able to help you, too,” he tries.
Silence.
Deep breath. “Tony, you’re like, the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father other than Ben, and I just want you to be okay. Things have been really hard lately, and I know you and Pepper are fighting a lot, and you’re obviously exhausted, and, I don’t know. I don’t know where I’m going with this, but I want to help. I feel like I’m the thing that’s causing all of the stress. I can go back to May’s if you think that would help?”
Still silence.
“Tony?”
Silence.
Tony presses a button on the dash and the car pulls to the side of the road, slows to a stop on the grassy shoulder, and Peter’s panicked now, because Tony is going to make him get out of the car, is going to tell him he has to walk home in this awful weather, to May’s, no less, and his brain is racing, coming up with every catastrophe that is surely going to come from this, when Tony scrambles out of the driver’s side and runs toward the trees where he promptly begins to vomit.
“Tony!” Peter yells, trying to undo his seatbelt and exit the vehicle. He expects it to stop when he gets to Tony’s side, but it’s relentless, has Tony choking as he tries to get a breath in between heaves.
“It’s okay,” he tries to explain, pushing Peter out of the way. “The meds,” he adds, waving a hand over his stomach. “They…do this.” He heaves again, a stream of bile landing on the white snow.
“Do you want me to call Pepper?”
“No!” Tony yells, his hands on his knees as he tries to hold back another round of vomiting. “Do not call Pepper!” He pukes again, and again, before spitting.
“Water?” Peter asks, and Tony nods just to get the kid to stop talking. Peter runs back to the car and digs through his backpack to find the unopened water he usually keeps, grabs a small package of tissues, too, in case Tony wants to clean up before getting back in the car.
“Thanks,” Tony replies when Peter cracks the water open and hands it over. He takes a few sips and washes his mouth out, swaps the bottle for the tissues to dry his face. The cool air feels good on his neck, is helping to quell the swell of nausea that came over him in the car. He’d been planning on a quick cruise up the Hudson and back, but now, an hour in to their impromptu trip, he’s thinking the extra thirty minutes to the upstate facility for a nap might be in order.
“You got your permit yet?” Tony asks when they’re back in the car, still sitting on the side of the shoulder.
Peter’s eyebrows furrow. “My birthday’s not until August.”
“FRIDAY, can you get us to the upstate compound?”
“Yes, sir. Would you like me to prepare anything for your arrival?”
“The usual, FRI. Thanks.”
“Tony, please tell me what’s going on,” Peter’s begging, his eyes filling with tears.
Tony sees how upset Peter’s getting and takes a slow breath in, puts his sunglasses back on. “I’m okay, kid. I’ve been having these cardiac events and Bruce has me on some meds that make me puke profusely. It’s nothing new, but it’s been a while since I’ve needed them. Didn’t mean to scare you. Getting sick makes the tremor worse, though. That’s why I asked if you wanted to drive.”
“B-but FRIDAY’s going to drive, right?”
“Yes, but I don’t feel too hot and I wasn’t sure if I trusted myself in the case I need to turn autopilot off.” His voice is lower than normal and he’s rubbing his forehead like he’s got the headache of all headaches.
“Maybe we should turn back?” Peter says, lowering his own voice. “I could call Steve to come and get us. He’s usually home during the day-”
“No one can know, Pete,” Tony says with an exasperated sigh as he presses his fingertips to his eyes. “Do not tell anyone about what just happened. You have to promise.”
“I-I promise?” he says, though agreeing makes him nervous, more so than he was when he didn’t know what was going on. Peter’s good at keeping his own secrets. But other people’s? He knows this is going to take a lot of energy and work to keep under wraps.
What if he can’t do it?
“The compound is closer. We’ll lie low, relax for the day.” Tony sighs again, tips his head back as FRIDAY pulls away from the curb and into the right lane.
“Estimated time of arrival is twenty-five minutes, sir,” FRIDAY announces.
It’s a little too quiet now with the music off, the hum of the wheels on the road making Peter’s anxiety pique.
“Do you need me to-”
“I can take care of myself, Pete.”
Peter chuckles.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s just that…I said the same thing to you, when I got sick, and now…I just took care of you-”
“You did not take care of me, kiddo,” Tony tries to argue, but even he knows that Peter’s right. The water and tissues didn’t just appear out of nowhere. “Okay. So maybe you helped. A little. Thank you.”
“Just a little? You asked me if I had my permit to-”
“Pete, please stop talking. My head’s spinning and if I don’t get it to stop, we’re gonna be spending the night upstate.”
“You sure you don’t want-”
“Shhh.”
“Okay, but-”
“Pete, I swear to God-”
“Okay. Got it.”
It’s quiet for a brief moment before Pete opens his mouth to ask one last question.
“Don’t you dare.”
He’s itching to help, to cover him in a blanket or something like he usually does for Peter, but he’s got nothing but his backpack. Tony looks borderline pitiful right now, his face pale and forehead creased in pain. Peter watches the minutes until they reach the compound tick down on the dashboard, glancing over at Tony periodically. He wants to think that what he saw today doesn’t change things, especially since Tony’s been at every turn of Peter’s illness, but this feels different, makes everything he thought he knew to be true about Tony feel different.
He pushes the feeling away, decides to occupy his mind by keeping a close eye on Tony until they’re back in the city. He hasn’t done this in a while, this hyperfixation on another person’s pain. He used to do this when Ben’s migraines would hit. He’d draw the shades, turn the television down or off, depending on how Ben was acting, and make him tea. May was better at nursing Ben back to health, especially after the week-long migraines, but when she wasn’t home and it was just the two of them, it was Peter’s responsibility to get Ben back up on his feet.
“What would I do without you, Petey?” Ben had commented once after the fog of a three-day migraine had lifted.
He misses being called Petey.
The memory makes Peter smile despite the pang of grief that hits. He pulls his phone and headphones out, puts on the newest playlist that MJ’s made for him, and watches the dashboard and snowy scene building outside through the windshield, Tony in his peripheral.
x
Friday, January 3
Tony’s nursing a cup of black coffee to quell his nausea in the kitchen at two in the morning after getting in late from the compound with Peter, is digging through some academic articles to get his nanotech up and running, when FRIDAY interrupts with “Pardon the interruption, sir, but it appears that Peter’s having a nightmare.”
And then he hears it. “May!” Peter’s screaming at the top of his lungs, voice straining with guilt and sorrow. “May! ”
Tony feels his stomach drop as he rushes to Peter.
“I’m sorry, May! I’m sorry! Uncle Ben, h-he’s…there was an accident…w-we went for ice cream…I couldn’t stop the blood … I didn’t…I didn’t know how to stop it !”
“Shh, wake up, Pete,” he directs, shaking the kid gently in his balled-up state. “It’s not real. You’re having a nightmare.”
Peter doesn’t answer, just sobs, spit hanging from his mouth and sweat matting his hair to his forehead as Tony eases him to sit up and rest against the headboard. He blinks rapidly in confusion as he slowly comes to, a slight wheeze trailing his breaths. He glances down at his hands, sees that they’re covered in snot and spit, and continues to sob quietly.
“It’s over,” Tony assures him, grabbing a wad of tissues from the nightstand. “It’s all over. Shh.” He removes Peter’s oxygen and places the tissues beneath his nose, tells him to blow, and he knows Peter’s completely out of it when he complies. He wipes the spit hanging like strings from his mouth and then his hands with the remaining tissues. “Your chest feel tight at all, kiddo?”
“N-no,” Peter whispers, sniffling. He hiccups, closing his eyes. “I-I’m sorry. I haven’t had this happen in a long time. I didn’t mean to-”
“It happens, Underoos. It’s okay. I was already up anyway.”
“It was real , Tony. W-we went out for ice cream, and then Uncle Ben, h-he…he…” He sobs, face twisting tightly as his lungs hitch, causing him to cough.
Ice cream ? Tony asks himself, remembering last night in the kitchen, when Peter got weird at the offer, and then it clicks. The accident. The ice cream shop. Peter was there when Ben died.
“Hey,” Tony soothes, rubbing Peter’s shoulder with one hand while he grabs more tissues with his other. “Shhh. Deep breaths. Don’t want you having an attack on top of this.”
“I-I think I need May,” he whispers, his breaths come in rapid succession, back lifting off of the headboard. “I need May!” His eyes are suddenly wide, body stiff and on alert. “S-she knows…what to do…”
“You’re okay. I’m here. I promise we’ll call her tomorrow, okay?”
Peter doesn’t answer or nod, just sits with his eyes tightly closed as the tears roll down his cheeks. He looks so distraught, so vulnerable , and the wheeze coming from Peter’s lungs is concerning. He knows he needs to calm him down, get him back on his oxygen. He doesn’t want to overstep or make Peter any more anxious than he already is by hugging him, but he needs to do something .
“You have a low oxygen level alert from Peter,” FRIDAY announces.
“Can’t breathe…like this,” Peter finally whispers, and Tony goes to put his cannula back in only to stop when he realizes it’s full of snot and spit. “Meds make it worse.”
“They make your breathing worse?” Tony asks, confused.
“My anxiety . Don’t make me…take any asthma…meds right now. Please ,” he begs, breathing rushed and uneven. “Did May g-give you…my Ativan?”
“No,” Tony says, shakes his head. “We’ll do just the oxygen, okay? Get you comfortable and relaxed,” Tony says, Peter nodding. He needs a new cannula, so he digs through the plastic drawers of the stacker Pepper bought to hold the growing number of Peter’s medical supplies and pulls out a mask. “Sorry, all I can find kiddo.”
“S’fine,” he mutters, coiling back into a ball on the bed. Tony unwraps it and switches the oxygen over, fits the mask over Peter’s mouth and nose and adjusts the strap. “Stay with me?” Peter asks, his breaths clouding the mask. “Just until I…fall asleep? Scared it’s gonna…happen again. Sometimes it happens again.” He sniffles, curls into the smallest ball possible.
Tony pulls Natasha’s blanket over him and sits down beside him to rub his back. “Of course, kiddo.”
“I miss Uncle Ben,” he musters, lets the tears fall as he forces his eyes shut. “I-I miss him so much.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Peter nods, scoots closer to Tony, who untangles the oxygen line and makes sure Peter’s as comfortable as possible. He decides to keep the parallels he’s realized between Tony and Ben on their trip today to himself, focuses instead on memories.
Happy memories always make him feel better.
“Ben used to make…the best blueberry cookies,” Peter starts. “A-and he loved Mets games. He used to get up early on Sundays…to do the crossword in the paper. May used to joke that he was like an…old man in a young person’s body.” He gives a small smile and sniffles. “He always said that…with great power…comes great responsibility. You think he was…right, Tony?”
“Ben seems like he was wise beyond his years,” Tony replies with a small smile. “Would’ve gotten a real kick out of watching you do the superhero gig.”
“Yeah, he would’ve.”
Tony and Peter sit like that until Peter’s words start to grow further apart, Tony running his fingers through the kid’s hair as a means of comfort. The kid’s still wheezy, but the numbers on Tony’s watch look good, so he isn’t worried. He stays longer than he probably needs to, just to be sure Peter’s okay, before he returns to the kitchen, to his academic articles, an ear out in case Peter wakes again.