Hypnos
When Michelle blinked herself into consciousness, she wasn’t too sure where she was. The bed was unfamiliar, the smell wrong, and there was more clutter then what she was used to. She squinted through the gloom, her brain sluggish. A Star Wars poster caught her eye and she sighed. May had asked her to spend the night, and Peter was completely zonked out on the couch, so she’d taken his bed.
Laying there, she stared at the poster, trying to motivate herself into getting up. Eventually, she heaved herself upright, groaning at the effort.
Coffee, she decided. She needed coffee. With that in mind, she stumbled out of bed and exited the room. When her bare feet met the tile, she hissed and hopped a little. The ground was freezing. “Heating must have cut off again,” she grumbled. She disliked how the cold seeped into her feet but decided to ignore it. Without out seeing much else around her, Michelle made her way to the kitchen and started the motions of making her morning drink.
Fill the coffee maker with water, put it back onto its station, place the coffee packet where it goes, stand staring at it while it boils. She could handle that, maybe.
Well, the last part wasn't as necessary as the other steps, but she wasn't computing enough to do anything else.
When the device dinged, she realized that she needed a mug and went to retrieve one. She settled on one with a white base and pink watercolour flowers on it. It was pretty. With it in hand, she poured herself a cup. Drinking some, she peered at the clock–6:30 a.m. Eh, that gave her an hour to read and ten minutes to get ready.
That in mind, she retrieved her book from her backpack and went to claim her spot from last night. When she passed Peter, she glanced down, noticing that he hadn’t moved at all. He was still curled on his side, facing the TV, with his arms tucked to his chest. She shook her head fondly and continued. Settling on the loveseat, she read for about ten minutes, before she decided that he’d slept enough.
Untangling one leg, she kicked the couch. “Get up, Loser. We still have school today.”
On a normal morning, that would wake him, maybe causing him to jump onto the ceiling. He’d done it once or twice before. He’d fall back down and glare at her, grumbling about terrible wake-up calls but would ultimately start getting ready for the day.
He did none of those things.
When he didn’t immediately react, Michelle frowned and nudged his head with her toe. Still nothing. Setting her things aside, Michelle moved to stand over him and shake his shoulder. “Come on, man. It’s morning. I know they’re awful, but if I have to face it, you have to, too.”
Still, Peter didn’t wake. Her shaking caused him to fall onto his back and his head rolled limply around. And he was cold. Too cold. Frowning, she grabbed his arm and lightly pulled. When he still didn’t move, she drop it, not liking how chilled his skin was compared to hers; it felt like she was holding something that had been left in the fridge. Without her holding his arm up, it flopped back down without any resistance. His skin was also an unhealthy shade, looking washed out and dull.
Something cold and heavy started to form in her gut, and Michelle called without looking away from the pale face in front of her. “Maaay?”
At first, she didn’t get an answer, but then there were a soft thump and a curse. “I’m up. I’m up,” the woman yelled back and stumbled into the kitchen. “Oooh, I smell coffee.” May breathed in deeply and started towards the kitchen. “You must have made it. Peter can’t drink coffee, did you know that? It’s because of the spider bite. Apparently, it doesn't react well with him. We found that out when he stole a cup from Tony and–”
“May!” Michelle interrupted her, her voice tight.
“What?”
“Peter isn’t waking up.”
May frowned from where she was pouring her own cup of coffee. Setting it aside, she came over to them. Michelle moved out of her way but couldn’t bring herself to sit back down. She settled with shifting her weight from foot to foot.
Her eyes searching, May knelt by the couch, her hand falling onto her nephew’s arm. Immediately, she drew it back, and her eyes widened. Pressing her lips into a line, she shoved his shoulder. His arm slipped off the side of the couch and his half curled fingers brushed the carpet.
His eyes weren’t even fluttering. A random fact drifted in the back of her mind as she watched him, she’d read that people still blink when they’re asleep. He wasn’t.
“Peter!” May snapped, and Michelle flinched, biting her lip and tightly crossed her arms over her chest.
May pinched his arm, and getting no reaction, lifted one of his eyelids. Michelle wasn’t sure what she was looking for but obviously, she didn’t like what she found because she swore and pressed two fingers to his throat.
Ice filled Michelle’s veins and she stuttered, “D-does he…” She didn’t finish. Couldn’t. The question hung unanswered between them and they stayed in tense silence while May kept her fingers against his neck.
Peter didn't react at all when normally the slightest touch would wake him.
Time seemed to stretch around them, Michelle standing uselessly on the side as May’s gaze didn’t leave Peter’s face.
He looked peaceful, she noted. Untroubled. There was no trace of a worried frown or even a smile. His face was never this empty when he was sleeping, always wearing some emotion.
This–this was just blank.
Void.
Her eyes snapped to May when she heard the woman’s breath hitch in her throat and she sat back. Her voice wobbled a little, but she told her, “He has a pulse. It's ungodly slow, but it's constant. That's something. Thank god. It’s something.”
Michelle nodded, rubbed a hand roughly over her cheek, turning away. She walked around and paced for a bit before leaning on the back of the loveseat. “So he’s… what would you call this?”
A heavy sigh rattled May’s frame and she scrubbed at her face. She was silent for a moment as her eyes flicked over her nephew’s frame. She bit her lip and started slowly, “He has a pulse. He’s still breathing. Whatever is wrong with him, he’s still…” she inhaled sharply and shook herself. “Whatever this is, it’s almost identical to a coma.”
Michelle stared back at her. “A coma,” she parroted flatly.
May’s mouth tightened into a flat line. “Yes. Maybe. I think. I don’t have anything with me to check properly but… it’s the only thing that is remotely close to this,” she admitted, waving her hands vaguely towards Peter.
“Okay…” Michelle started, so he wasn't dead. She couldn’t say it before, but it didn’t stop her from thinking it. Finding him like that… she shook her head. Exhaling heavily, she lowered her chin. “So, what do we do now?”
May opened her mouth but paused when she looked up at her, eyes narrowed. The older woman tilting her head minutely, observing her. There must have been something in her expression, but she didn’t know what it could be. Finally, May got up. “Tony. He might know what to do.”
Michelle scoffed, but May didn’t bother shooting her a glare before rushing around looking for her phone. She found it with her purse, sitting on one of the end tables. She grabbed it and hastily tapped the screen. Michelle came close enough to also hear, and they listened to the dial tone. It rang twice before a voice came through the speaker, “May? What’s up?”
“Hi, Tony,” May started, her breath rushing out of her. “I need your help with something–”
“Wait just a sec,” he cut her off and a clang sounded in the background. “No, you idiot. I needed that other there, not here. Honestly, Dum-E, you'd think–you know what? Never mind. I'll do it. Go make a smoothie or something.”
Michelle flicked her gaze to May to see her trying to glare at the phone pressed against her cheek. She closed her eyes for a moment before snapping, “Tony!”
“What?”
“Peter isn’t waking up.”
Silence.
“What do you mean the kid isn’t waking up?” he finally asked, his voice rising in pitch. “Just shake him or something. That normally works. Or dump some water on him.”
May sighed and tangled a hand into her hair. “We’ve tried. Well, most of that. I doubt water will do anything.”
“Who’s we? Aww, May, did someone stay over?”
Michelle blinked–did he? Yes, he just asked that. She scowled at the cell but May smirked. “As a matter of fact, yes. MJ did. I didn’t want her going home in the storm last night.”
“Right,” he muttered then continued. “Soooo, why won’t the kid wake up?”
“We wouldn't be calling you if we knew that,” Michelle jumped in. May didn’t bother reprimanding her for her sharp tone.
“Well, can you tell me what you do know?” Tony shot back. There was an odd strain to his voice that Michelle couldn’t place.
May took it from there. Moving back to her nephew, she pressed her fingers to his throat again. “His breathing is shallow, he’s cold to the touch, but he has a pulse. A fucking slow one. Maybe three beats per minute. He’s pale and showing signs of being in a coma, but that doesn't explain the slow pulse.”
“Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me–what?” Tony squawked. “He doesn't have a pulse!?”
May’s eyes hardened. “Yes, he has a pulse,” she snapped. “Listen to me dammit. He’s breathing. He’s just not waking up. I don’t know how else to say it. He should be–he should be getting ready for school right now. But. He. Just. Isn’t.”
The line was silent. Michelle couldn’t blame the man. It was a lot to take in, but she wanted him to hurry up, to fix this. She bit her lip. She would already be doing something if she knew how, but she didn’t, so she stayed silent as Tony mulled it over.
“Happy will be there in twenty. I’ll call Bruce.”
May slumped and gripped Peter’s hand. “Thank you.”
“See you soon,” he told them before hanging up.
May dropped the cell onto the low table and ran a hand through her hair. She sighed heavily, her elbow the only thing keeping her upright. She stared at Peter for a moment, thumb trailing her lip. She regarded her nephew silently but Michelle saw her laugh lines soften. Maybe she was thinking that if this was a normal day, she would love that Peter was sleeping in. But this wasn’t, and soon enough, her mouth tightened.
Her eyes flicked up to Michelle before she hauled herself to her feet. “Well, Peter might be sleeping in but I still need Coffee.”
Michelle couldn’t help but snort.
––––––
Happy arrived twenty-five minutes later, knocking on their door. Michelle was the one that yanked it open. They stared at each other for a moment, the man raising a brow at her before asking, “Where is he?”
Wordlessly, Michelle stepped aside to allow him entry. He stalked into the Parker’s small home and his eyes snapped to Peter’s still form on the couch. After closing the door, Michelle followed him, moving so she could observe the man. She’d seen him a couple of times when he’d come to pick Peter up from school. Not too often, since he always seemed to stay in his black car. But when she had seen him outside, his face had always had been apathetic or a disinterested scowl. Now as she watched, his face slackened slightly and he blinked.
He just stood there for a moment and stared. His eyes finally snapped away when May walked in. Both May and Michelle had gotten dressed while they waited for Happy to arrive. May’s eyes locked to the man. “What took so long?”
“The plows aren’t on all the roads yet,” he responded easily, not seeming bothered by her sharp tone. “Come on, let's get the kid in the car.”
They didn’t argue and soon enough they were buckling him into the backseat of the car. Michelle took the one beside him while May chose to sit up front. Happy didn’t argue with her and they were off. He wasn’t joking about the plows not being out yet. The roads were slippery and dangerous. She wouldn't have been surprised if the school closed.
Michelle closed her eyes and tried to ignore how tense the two adults were in the front. She peeked through her lashes and looked beside her. Peter was buckled in but was completely limp against the seat. In the gray light of the overcast morning, he looked even paler. At least the yellow of the lamps had given him a somewhat healthy sheen. The gray just made him looked even more washed out. Like there was no blood under his skin.
She whimpered and closed her eyes again, trying not to think of what that could mean.
“Hey,” someone whispered gently and she looked to the passenger seat. May was half turned in her seat and her face was pinched, but she still tried to smile encouragingly at her. “He’s going to be okay.”
Michelle’s eyes roamed her for a moment, and she tried to come up with something, anything, that would convey that she was okay. She couldn't. Instead, she turned her face away, her lip quivering.
Eyes closed, she swallowed heavily and felt Happy take a left turn. There was a rustle and a weight settled on her shoulder. She froze, her eyes snapping open, and she found herself looking over at him again. She’d had him fall asleep on her before, normally conking out after a study session or the odd time that he’d come over for a first aid patch up.
Pressing her lips into a line, she clamped down on a sob–this was different because he wasn’t present. Looking at him, she couldn’t see anything that made him Peter. There was no sleepy grumbling or rolling around, nothing.
It was wrong and set her teeth on edge, but she didn’t push him off. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. So instead, she squeezed her eyes shut and tightly laced her fingers together to the point that she could feel each bone.
Michelle was thankful when she felt the car accelerate, Happy no doubt pressing hard on the gas. No one spoke for the rest of the trip.