Chapter Text
Waking up after something like that is foggy. It’s heavy eyelids and head that throbs to the beat of the heart monitor. It’s too bright lights that turn your closed-off vision red and a smell of antiseptic and bleach that fills the space so completely that it’s overpowering. A soft voice coaxed him out of his barely conscious haze as he fought to the surface of his own mind.
“ -said he’ll be okay” then a pause, then “ -if anything changes”
He couldn’t focus on the words and the only thought in his head was how bad his mouth tasted. Like copper and dirt and not brushing your teeth before bed. He wanted to ask for water. That was his plan. But when he opened his mouth, the sound that came out was a sort of garbled moan.
“Pete? I think he’s waking up. See you when you get here.” And then there were hands on him, softly grabbing at his hand, careful around the IV line there, one on his cheek. A thumb stroking across his cheekbone. Cupping at his jaw. Bringing him back “Can you open your eyes for me, bud?”
He wanted to but God, it fucking hurt. When he finally managed it, he was looking directly into Tony’s worried face, watching as a smile split the tension held there.
“Hi” was all he could manage, still staring at Tony under his eyelashes.
“Hey, kiddo, how we doin’?” He was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed now, running his fingers through Peter’s unruly and tangled hair, still matted with blood and chunks of dirt.
“ Mmm - shoulder hurts” Peter whispered, his forehead creasing as though he had forgotten that he was in pain. “Water?”
Tony reached over to the bedside table, retrieving a plastic cup of room temperature water with a straw. He held it up to Peter's lips and directed the straw into his waiting mouth. He only took two sips before he was coughing lightly, and Tony was gently setting the cup back down.
“May’s gonna be here in a bit,” He kept talking as he helped Peter sit up, as he gently rubbed circled between his shoulder blades, carefully avoiding the white bandage that encompassed his injury, “You remember what happened?”
Peter, up until then, had been perfectly content with not thinking about it. He knew that his shoulder hurt and his mouth tasted bad and that if he tried to piece together what had happened, he would get the full story eventually. He didn’t want to though. He was tired and he was pretty sure whatever had happened had sucked. It must have if he was in medical, right? Instead of saying that aloud though, he just shook his head, letting his eyes drift closed again
“A building collapsed behind you and a chunk of rebar got shoved through your shoulder. You went full on kebab, kiddo,”
God he wished Tony hadn’t spoken. The mission had been rough and then he remembered swinging and holding tight to something-- no, someone, as he hurdled through the air. Then, the building, the blood, the searing sharp agony that ripped through his whole body. It was coming back in waves and he was drowning. Someone. A boy. What was his name? Matthew? Marvin? Martin. Suddenly, he was back there again, feet planted in the rubble, hands coming up to brace the boy he was trying to rescue, watching as his blood splattered against his own feet. He could hear him whimpering, he could hear him crying.
The memory had him grasping at the stretched white sheets upon which he was laying, convalescing. It had tears filling his clenched-shut eyes, had him shaking in his bones.
“Hey, heyheyhey, what’s goin’ on, bud?” Tony asked, frantically eyeing Peter’s IV drip like he knew a damn thing about the level of spidey-strength pain killer that was running through the cannula, like he could do something about it if it turned out he needed another dose. “You, hurtin’, bambino? ” He asked, the nickname slipping easily from his lips as he tried to gauge the situation. His hand was back on the kid’s face, feeling for a fever while simultaneously catching the tears as they fell.
Peter didn’t answer, he kept his eyes shut. Maybe, if he thought about something else, he could block out the memory entirely. Maybe, if he found the strength-- the willpower, he could ignore the aching in his heart that reached up to his throat to choke him. He tried to think about May, but he circled back to the knowledge that she was currently on her way to the compound, which meant that she was worried about him. That didn’t help. He tried to think about Ned and MJ and school, about the physics test he had next week that he knew he was going to ace. That worked alright, up until he remembered Martin again, how he had just wanted to get back to his mom. How he was probably getting acceptance letters in the mail, about how he deserved the opportunity to go to school, to learn and to make something of himself. The thought of it was so powerful that he couldn’t contain it anymore.
“Martin--” He sobbed, openly now, ugly and loud, “is he alright?”
Tony sighed, his eyes filling with a mix between understanding and the strongest kind of empathy. It looked suspiciously like mourning, to Peter anyway, which only served to quicken his breathing.
“I’m so sorry, kiddo, he- he didn’t make it. You did so good and this wasn’t your fault, alright?” He spoke softly now, hand carding through Peter’s hair again, trying to give him some semblance of peace to cling to. Peter closed his eyes again, pushing his head back into the pillows. He wanted to scream and never stop. He wanted to let the anguish for the boy he barely even knew drag him down until he column’t think-- couldn't breathe.
“Alright, alright, I know buddy, I know” Tony whispered, silently praying that May would arrive soon. This kid needed more help and Tony needed backup and the whole thing was enough to make him nauseated.
“He-- he was- he was sup- supposed to go to college, Mr. Stark,” Peter hiccuped, his face turning red with exertion and tears.
“I know kiddo, I know, It sucks, I’m so sorry,” He needed him to calm down. He was getting so worked up Tony was worried he’d start choking again. “We gotta calm down though, kid, can we take some deep breaths?” He grabbed Peter’s hand and pressed it against his own chest, holding it there with a calloused grip. “Feel that? Try and match your breathing to mine, yeah?”
In Peter’s defence, an effort was made. He opened his mouth and took big gasping gulps of air, sounding strangled and waterlogged. WIth a sigh, Tony slid further up on the twin size bed, leaning his already-complaining back up against the wall behind him. He tugged Peter over, wary of his injured shoulder, and leaned him up against his side, letting his head rest in the space between his collar bone and his neck.
He didn’t stop moving his fingers through the kid’s hair, whispering reassurances as he did it, until the sobs tapered off to quiet tears.
“You did so good, bud, I promise, you did the absolute best that anyone could have done in that situation.” Peter brought his hand up to grab at the soft material of Tony’s worn T-shirt in lieu of a response. They stayed like that until he drifted off to sleep again, Tony’s arm falling asleep with him.
May arrived shortly after Peter fell asleep and when she ran through the medbay doors, she was greeted by her sleeping nephew drooling all over his mentor’s shirt, looking worse than she’d seen him in a long time. Tony still had one hand running through chestnut curls, while the other held his phone. He looked up when she walked in, waving slowly so he didn’t disturb Peter.
Tony brought her up to speed as she found her place in the plastic chair at his bedside. She set her purse at her feet and leaned forward so that her forehead rested against Peter’s leg. She was so relieved to see him breathing rather than bleeding. The way Tony had described it on the phone had her speeding down the interstate, still in her scrubs, one shoe untied. God she loved that boy, that wonderfully selfless, reckless boy.
Peter slept through until Bruce came back into the room to check on him, and to make sure Tony and May had eaten a proper meal since they’d been there. Tony pried Peter’s hands from his shirt and stood, stretching out the kinks in his neck and popping his back. Bruce fiddled with the lines for a while, adjusting things here and there and swapping out the empty lactated ringer for a fresh one.
“Should we wake him, see if he wants to eat somethin’?” Tony asked, looking down at the boy who looked so much smaller pressed between the thin cotton sheets.
“That’s probably a good idea. I’ve been trying to keep him hydrated, but it’d be best if he could get something in his stomach. Especially with his metabolism, and it’d probably help his healing factor too,” Bruce answered, charting Peter’s vitals on his laptop at the end of the bed.
Tony asked Friday to put in an order for pizza from Peter’s favorite place, adding a large pineapple one for the kid, even though the thought of it made him want to gag. Then he set about waking him up, rubbing at his uninjured shoulder and whispering his name until his tired eyes opened again.
“Hey bud, look who’s here, huh?” Tony whispered, a soft smile ghosting across his lips. Peter turned his head groggily toward May, and started to reach for her before he realized how bad it hurt to move his arm.
“Hey, baby,” May smiled, bringing her hand to meet his, squeezing his fingers in her firm grasp. “How you feelin?”
“I’m okay” Peter whispered back, hating how grating and forced it sounded.
“Tony ordered you a pizza honey, you wanna try and eat something in a little bit?” She was hoping that he would respond with the same enthusiasm he always did, but she wasn’t that surprised when he wrinkled his nose before tipping his head from side to side, as if he couldn't bring himself to say no, but he wasn’t ready to commit to a yes either.
“You gotta eat somethin, kiddo, it’ll help you feel better I promise,” Tony chimed in, still holding Peter’s other hand. So, he reluctantly whispered a more convincingly affirmative answer before allowing his eyes to drift shut again. He stayed that way, not quite asleep but not quite awake, until the medbay doors opened and Steve walked in carrying three big boxes of pizza.
“Hey, son,” Steve smiled at him, setting their dinner down on a table in the corner of the room. “You did a great job today!” He put slices of pizza onto paper plates and walked them over, pulling up a swivel chair with his leg as he went. They ate in comfortable silence, taking a break every once in a while chatting about everything but the mission. Peter seemed to relax as time went by, slowly nibbling on piece after piece of hawaiiian pizza, before his eyelids started to droop again. He would’ve dropped his slice had tony not guided his hand back over his plate.
“Gettin’ tired, bud?” Tony asked, putting the kid’s plate on the nightstand next to his water. Peter nodded, leaning back against the wall, fiddling with the remote on the side of the railing to lower the mattress so that he was once again horizontal.
May leaned down and kissed his forehead, smoothing his hair back as she whispered her goodnight, promising to be back in the morning. Steve grabbed the kid’s foot through the blanket and shook it gently, before excusing himself to get some rest himself.
Once they were alone again, Peter opened his eyes and looked at Tony, his gaze surprisingly lucid and intense.
“Did his mom find out what happened?” He asked, needing desperately to know the answer. Tony sighed. This kid, he thought.
“Yeah, bud, she did. She was already at the hospital when Sam got there. She was working, I think is what he said, and she got to be there when- she got to be there when he… passed” He whispered. “You did that, kiddo, if you hadn’t gotten to him, she wouldn’t have been able to say goodbye.”
Peter whimpered at that, closing his eyes again before asking “Is there going to be a service?”
“I don’t know, probably,” He answered truthfully, “I can find out, if you want me to,”
“That would- that would be good, I think,”
“Alright kiddo, you’ve had one hell of a day. Let’s get some rest, huh?” His hand finding its way back into his hair as he nodded. “Okay bud, I’ll be around, holler if you need anything, okay?”
He turned off the overhead light as he left, leaving the table lamp on, in case Peter needed something in the night. He pulled the door closed on his way out and almost missed it when Peter whispered “I love you,”
And he hoped Peter didn’t miss it when he said “love you, too.”
The funeral was held a week later, at a memorial garden up close to the mountains. The air was thick and sweet and humid and it almost felt suffocating when Peter took his first step out of the car, clad in a black suit and tie. He walked around for a bit, not talking to anyone, looking at all the different headstones and memorial plaques that followed a curved path through a field of bright grass and colorful flowers. There were some for people May’s age, his age, there were people-- kids there younger than him, their stones decorated with toy cars and stuffed animals in lieu of fresh cut flowers. Those were the ones that made him the most nauseated.
Before long, a man standing on a small stage announced that the service was about to begin. Peter found his way to the back of the small crowd that had formed under a small tent near the center of the garden.
“Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family, we are gathered here to celebrate the life of our very own Martin Williamson, a bright bright light, put out far too soon.” The pastor spoke in that impersonal way they sometimes do at funerals, like they knew the person, but they didn’t really. Like they could tell you their name, but not what their favorite color was.
Sitting in the front row was a woman about May’s age, with her blonde hair curled around her shoulders. She sniffled periodically, wiping her eyes with a tissue she clutched in her small hands. She was flanked on either side by women who looked to be a little older than herself, one with her hand on the middle woman’s shoulder. Peter could tell that they were sitting painfully close to one another, their thighs touching over the nearly nonexistent gap between the chairs. When the pastor had read his opening statement, talked about what God would want the family to know, that they are not alone, that Martin was somewhere so much better, he called the middle woman up to the podium.
“Now, we’ll have a few words from Ms. Whitney Williamson, Martin’s mother.”
Peter could feel his cheeks heat up, could feel the tears coming into his eyes even as he frantically swiped at them with the side of his fist.
“Hey, everyone,” She spoke softly into the microphone, standing just on the balls of her feet so that she could reach it without adjusting it. “Thank you all for coming, Marty would’ve loved to have seen you. Always loved being the center of attention, that one, so the fact that we’re all here to talk about him would- would have him-have him so smug I can just see it,” She joked as she stumbled across her words, wiping her eyes again.
She pushed her glasses up on her nose and fiddled with the stack of notecards she held in her hands, looking like a kid in a public speaking class as she stood before her audience to deliver a speech no mother should have to deliver.
“For ten years now, it’s just been me and my boy. Just me and Marty. And I never felt, even once in that entire time that I was missing something, and I don’t think he did either. We were exactly enough for each other. I was so so so lucky to be this boy’s mama.” Tears streamed down as she spoke and she gave up on clearing them away all together. When she finished speaking, she looked around the crowd, as though surveying it. Her eyes locked with Peter’s for just a brief moment, and then drifted away again, but it still felt like a punch to the gut when she opened her mouth to speak again.
“I miss my baby. I miss him so much. And I am so grateful to spiderman , wherever he may be, for keeping his heart beating long enough to get to the hospital. For keeping my baby alive long enough for me to hold his hand as he went. Because of Spiderman, my son didn’t die alone, he didn’t die in pain. I will never get to hold him again, but I got to when it counted and I am so grateful.”
He wished he could find peace in that. But she didn’t know the whole story. She didn’t know how close they’d come to making it out of there alive. If Peter had just listened closer to his senses, he would’ve heard the bomb coming in would’ve moved them away in time, would’ve gotten him to the hospital in time to do something that mattered. He should’ve heard it. He should’ve heard it. He should’ve heard it.
The next thing he knew, he had his phone out, Tony’s number pulled up on the screen so he could text him, beg him to come pick him up so he didn’t have to feel this heavy with guilt. It was too much. It was too much, and then he was sobbing, hard, in the background of a funeral for someone he had hardly even met.
He didn’t even have a chance to hit send on his text before arms were around him, soft and warm and shorter than him. She smelled like lavender and peaches and home and Peter didn’t have to open his eyes before he knew who it was. Who was he? To cry into the shoulder of a woman who had just lost her child? Her kid was dead and he was feeling sorry for himself, shame so deep it covered him.
“Alright, I know, honey, I miss him too.” She whispered, holding him tightly against her, a hand settling at the back of his head bringing it to her collarbone. She held him like she knew him, like she loved him. They stood like that for a moment, both crying, both healing.
And if Tony noticed that Peter seemed a little lighter on the drive back to the compound, he didn’t say anything.