Chapter Text
Peter wakes up slowly, if only because he doesn’t ever remember falling asleep.
It feels like one moment that he knocked Fisk out with his own gun, relief that he’d saved Mr. Stark, only to lay flat on his back and then feel nothing at all.
His memory grows fuzzy after that, flashes of images and sounds that don’t quite make sense to him. It felt like his lungs were burning, like liquid fire in his veins that electrified his insides. Peter was aware of alarms blaring, of lights flashing and darkness that both consumed and terrified him. There were constant voices and then sudden silence-- no sense of how much time had passed, if any at all.
Peter knows time has to have passed because of who is with him when he wakes up, alone in a quiet medbay room save for MJ sitting in a chair next to him, quietly sketching something on a notepad.
Peter blinks a few times, trying to make sense of where he is and why as he shifts in bed, MJ’s head snapping up in surprise.
“Peter?”
“Hey,” Peter says groggily, clearing his throat before smacking his lips. They feel chapped and his throat feels dry, MJ setting her sketchpad aside and leaning forward.
“What can I do? What do you need?” she asks, sounding scared and a little unsure-- so unlike her that it gives Peter pause as he blinks at her.
“Uh, water. Please,” Peter asks, MJ standing and grabbing the pitcher of water that was already there-- Peter frowning as he watches her pour the liquid into a cup.
“Thanks,” Peter says as she hands it to him, their fingers just barely brushing against each other. Peter hates that he’s attached to a heart monitor just now, glad that MJ seems too distracted with him drinking his water to notice if his heartbeat increases by any measure.
“Good?”
“Yeah,” Peter nods, emptying the glass slowly on instinct-- remembering what it’d felt like the last time that he’d downed a cup of water too fast after waking up from being out of it. He was friends with MJ now and she’d seen him in a lot of different shades of loopy and drugged out, but vomiting up water moments after waking up didn’t seem like a good idea.
Especially when Peter’s not even sure what she’s doing here, tentatively handing the glass to her as she sets it down.
“So… how long have I been out?”
MJ pauses, biting her lip before sitting back in the chair.
“Five days,” she says, picking at the skin between her thumb and index finger as she looks down. “You came to a couple of times, but weren’t really awake. I don’t know if you remember.”
Peter doesn’t, his memory still a little fuzzy and filled with too many confusing images of what was real and what wasn’t as MJ looks back up.
“May went to go get some coffee and Stark’s,” she shrugs, “somewhere around here. He’s supposed to still be recovering too, but you know him. He’s stubborn when he wants to be.”
Peter laughs, the corner of MJ’s lips upturning slightly as he nods, “Yeah, he is.”
It grows quiet between them, Peter glancing around to ask where Ned is only for MJ to beat him to the punch when she says, “Ned’s at his Tagalog lessons. He wanted to ditch but Mrs. Leeds--”
“Was Mrs. Leeds,” Peter says with a small laugh, MJ smiling a bit more genuinely. Mrs. Leeds was like a second mom to Peter, and knew as well as Peter did that leaving Ned to sit by his bedside with no way of knowing when his best friend would wake up would do nothing good for her son’s anxiety.
“He’ll be bummed he missed you waking up though,” MJ says as she picks up her phone, presumably to send their friend a text. “We had a bet going on who would be here when you did.”
“Who won?” Peter asks, MJ looking a little embarrassed as she smiles, setting her phone back down.
“Ned.”
“Oh,” Peter says a little awkwardly, if only for how awkward MJ looks. “That’s… that’s good.”
“Yeah,” MJ says, picking at her fingers again.
Peter can physically feel time passing, MJ avoiding his gaze when he finally asks, “So what’d he win?”
“Huh?” She asks, looking back up at him as Peter holds her gaze.
“You said it was a bet,” Peter says, sitting up in the bed. “What’d he win?”
Peter’s never seen MJ look anything remotely close to frazzled yet that’s the best description he can think of to describe her just then as she wrings her hands together.
“He… well if I won, then he’d have to give me his lumpia for lunch for a month,” she says, Peter noticing how she’s avoiding the question as she continues to wring her hands together.
She takes a deep breath, looking down at her hands before saying, “And if he won, then I… had to tell you something.”
“Okay,” Peter says, his throat feeling inexplicably dry once again, less because he isn’t hydrated but more because of what he can only hope this conversation is leading to.
“I-- I don’t have a lot of luck getting close to people. So I lied. I don’t just hang out with you to write fanfic about Spider-Man,” MJ says quietly, looking back up to Peter as the air thins.
“Oh,” Peter says with a huff, “that’s-- that’s great.”
MJ smiles at him, grabbing at her sketchbook and turning it back to him, Peter’s eyes widening when he sees the content of the sketch. It’s him, not Spider-Man but Peter Parker - various sketches of him sleeping, laughing and one that’s half-finished off him looking over his shoulder-- a representation, Peter thinks, of how he looks while he’s daydreaming in class.
Peter reaches for the sketchbook, eyes asking for permission as MJ hands it over to him, fiddling with her hands as Peter looks through it.
“Are these all of me?” Peter asks, MJ smirking as she leans forward.
“No, I’m not like, obsessed with you or anything,” she says, Peter grinning as he thumbs through the pages-- seeing yet another part of the girl he still feels he’s just really getting to know as she continues, “But um, I just wanted to show you. It’s-- it’s not just Spider-Man.”
Peter looks back up at her, holding the sketch in hand as he smiles. MJ smiles back at him, Peter looking down at the sketchbook and running a thumb across the edge before forcing himself to look up - taking a leap of faith like Ned had encouraged him to do back at the movie theater when he admits, “I really like you.”
MJ’s smile somehow grows brighter, Peter feeling his stomach do a little flip as she says, “I really like you too.”
She hesitates then leans forward, Peter inhaling sharply in surprise before meeting her halfway, kissing her once. They stare at each other for a beat, laughing before leaning forward a second time-- only for Peter to lift his hand from the sketchbook and bring it to her arm, kissing her for a third time and closing his eyes.
Peter thinks he might still be a little lightheaded from however long he’d been out or maybe it’s just that he’s kissing MJ, the heart monitor embarrassingly making itself known as it starts to beep wildly.
MJ leans back, Peter feeling his cheeks warm as she grins.
“My readers are gonna love that,” MJ jokes, Peter laughing as he sits back, MJ doing the same as he hands her sketchbook back to her.
“You make me sound a lot cooler right? Like, when I’m not Spider-Man?”
“Nah, none of the readers really care about him when he’s not Spider-Man,” MJ says definitively.
“Ouch,” Peter says, pursing his lips only for MJ to laugh.
“Except for me.”
Peter smiles at her just as she smiles back-- thinking that while Ned couldn’t have planned for him to almost die before they admitted their feelings for each other, it was almost fitting-- MJ’s phone buzzing and throwing him out of his thoughts.
“Ned’s out. He wants to know if I paid up,” MJ says as she scrolls through the screen. She stands, leaning forward so that they can take a selfie.
Peter throws a thumbs up-- already anticipating the jokes Ned is going to make as MJ leans in closer, tries to keep his heart rate steady as he smiles.
“So you’re positive you got all the specialized ethyl chloride stores Fisk had on hand?” Tony asks for the fourth time, the other Avengers all rolling their eyes around the conference table.
“Yes, Tony, we got all of it. We had two separate sources confirm that was the entirety,” Steve reassures him again, sounding slightly exasperated but fixing Tony with a knowing look—the kind that said he understood well the lingering trauma of thinking you just watched someone you loved and felt responsible for, die in front of you.
In return Tony just gives him a hard stare, only to wince when a sharp pain throbs at his temples.
“Tony,” Bruce says gently, “are you really sure you should be up and about yet? The concussion–”
“Is healing,” Tony interjects, even as he presses a palm against his forehead, closing his eyes tight. “Plus Cho topped me off with an extra two pints of O-Neg, and the cradle took care of the worst of the dermal injuries. You know better than anyone else here that some post-concussive symptoms are to be expected, Bruce.”
“I’m just saying that I think you should–”
“And Fisk and the Six?” Tony continues, addressing Steve again. “They’re all–”
“At the Raft while they await sentencing,” Steve says again, voice calm. “Tony, we talked about this when I visited your medbay room days ago, remember?”
Not one damn bit.
“Of course. I just wanted to make sure everyone on the team had the same intel.” He drops his hand from his head, forcing himself to open his eyes and ignoring the ache behind them as he looks around at all the skeptical faces. “Hence why I called this meeting in the first place.”
“Yeah, and Cap can wield Mjolnir,” Clint mutters, Bucky smirking at his side.
“Is there anything else?” Steve asks Tony patiently.
Tony takes a deep breath, carefully shaking his head. “No, that’s all I got. But I want a detailed write-up on this one, Steve. I mean it. Don’t leave anything out.”
“Have you ever seen one of his mission reports, Stark? They put even his Powerpoints to shame,” Sam quips as he lifts away from where he’s leaning against a wall, ducking out of Steve playfully swatting at his head as he makes for the door. “Anyone want to order Indian for dinner? And I don’t care what you try to bribe Vision with, Barton, we are not ordering pizza for the third time this week.”
A small argument between the group about where to get take-out ensues as everyone departs, Tony shutting his eyes again until he feels a hand on his arm.
“I hear Peter’s awake,” Bruce says.
“He is, woke up a few hours ago. I’m going down to see him now the meeting’s done,” Tony replies with no small amount of relief. He looks up at Bruce. “Listen… with everything going on, I didn’t get a chance to thank you for that antidote you, Rhodey and Helen came up with on the fly. Here the two of us spent months trying to find something and voila! You three do it in a day.”
Bruce shrugs nonchalantly, but his cheeks redden at the compliment the same way they always do when any of his teammates—or anyone, for that matter—offers him praise. “Well, you know what they say about push coming to shove. And you know we’d do anything for Peter. Even the impossible, if we have to.”
“Still, with me out of commission and completely useless... “ Tony trails off, shaking his head again. “It just means a lot to know that I can count on my friends. There was a time I didn’t have many of those, much less reliable ones.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore, Tony,” Bruce says. Before Tony can come up with a reply to that, he drops his arm and makes for the door. Over his shoulder he adds, “I’ll make sure to save you a box of whatever we order.”
“Thanks,” Tony calls after him. He sits for just another minute longer alone in the conference room, before getting tiredly back to his feet and making his way down to the medbay.
Just as he’d hoped, Peter is still awake. MJ is nowhere to be seen but May is there, the two of them talking quietly together.
“Mr. Stark! Are you okay?” Peter asks before he can so much as say hello. In tones far too reminiscent of his aunt he disapprovingly adds, “May said you should still be in bed.”
“First of all, that’s rich coming from the kid who broke out of this very medbay just a few weeks ago and swung on a fractured arm so he wouldn’t miss his girlfriend’s theater show,” Tony counters. When Peter’s face immediately turns bright red, Tony raises an eyebrow. “Wait, so MJ is your girlfriend now? Congrats, Pete. Gotta be honest, I didn’t think you’d work up the nerve for at least–”
“Leave my poor nephew alone,” May jokes—though Tony doesn’t miss the small note of or else buried there. “He just woke up.”
Tony rounds on her, not missing a beat. “And second of all, et tu , Maybelle?”
“Then fall Anthony,” May deadpans. “Back into your bed upstairs, that is. And if you think we’re being motherhens, you should have seen Pepper when she stopped by looking for you not thirty minutes ago.”
“First Brucie-bear, and now you three. Tell me, do none of you like fun?” Tony whines petulantly, getting a laugh out of Peter. “Just give me a few minutes with the spiderling, alright? Then I promise I’ll follow Helen’s orders to a T for the rest of my convalescence.”
“Sure you will,” May replies skeptically, but all the same she stands up to let Tony take her place at Peter’s side. To her nephew she says, “I’ll be back in a little while, okay sweetheart?”
As May heads out, Tony takes a moment just to drink in the sight of Peter. He doesn’t know when it’ll stop feeling like a miracle the kid is alive, much less awake and on his way to a full recovery. Just a few days ago that seemed like a complete impossibility, and frankly, Tony’s almost glad he was swinging between unconscious and loopy for the worst of it.
“Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, bringing Tony back to the present. “Everything okay? You’re staring.”
“Sorry, Pete,” Tony says, not sorry at all. “It’s just good to see you up.”
Peter nods knowingly. “May, and then Doctor Cho… they both said that it was pretty bad this time.”
“You were about as close to dead as a person can get and still live to tell the tale, kid,” Tony replies solemnly. “If our Dream Science Trio hadn’t come up with that antidote, Helen probably could have kept you technically alive, but…”
“But we wouldn’t be talking right now,” Peter finishes for him, sounding equally serious. “I know. She explained everything.”
Tony swallows down the lump in his throat. “Listen, now that we have a way to counteract the ethyl chloride solution, it shouldn’t be long before we can figure out a way to make you immune entirely. It’s possible you might have to get regularly poked, but Helen and Rhodey both sounded optimistic about a one-and-done when I discussed it with them yesterday.”
“And in the meantime… can I still go out on patrol?”
Tony rubs the back of his neck, only to pinch the bridge of his nose when his head gives a particular sharp throb. With a deep breath he finally replies, “That’s really more up to your aunt than me, Pete. I’ll be honest, after what happened, what I saw… if it were just my call, it’d be hard to say yes.” The memory of Peter lying on the floor—still and bloody—momentarily superimposes over the living, breathing Peter in front of him before Tony forces it away. “But it’s not my call, and we did manage to get all of Fisk’s reserves, along with his records of who he’d sold vials to. As far as we know, it’s off the streets. But that’s just it, kid—it’s only as far we know.”
Peter nods, looking suddenly very tired—or perhaps, Tony considers on second thought, simply much older than his years. Despite his typically upbeat demeanor, Tony knows the kid is far wiser and more worldly than he usually lets on. How could he not be, with the losses he’d suffered in his short life?
Once again, it’s Peter who pulls him right out of his thoughts.
“I wish I could say I was sorry for scaring you again, but”—Peter bites his lip before plowing on—”the truth is? I’m not. Like, I hate that you had to see that, and May too… but I wouldn’t do it differently. Not if it meant you died instead, when I could have stopped it.”
Tony surprises even himself when he replies, “That’s okay.”
Peter glances up sharply. “Really?”
Tony pauses to think for just a moment, before nodding. “Yeah, it’s—for once, it really is.” At Peter’s continued look of astonishment he continues, “Pete, I’ve been terrified for months that every time you went on patrol would be your last, all because of this spidey kryptonite. And what happened in the lab, seeing you lying there, not breathing, one foot in the grave… well, it was the worst possible thing I could imagine. All those fears come to life.”
Tony takes a deep breath, once more willing away the memory of a bloody, dying Peter—and how many times would he have to do that for the rest of his life?—until he’s left only with the one before him now, eyes wide and hanging on his every word. “But then—then you lived, kid. And on top of that, we have an antidote now, one which I have full confidence we can use as the basis for creating a specialized vaccine. Not that I want it to ever happen again, mind you, but for once, I’m gonna choose not to look a gift horse in the mouth.” Tony shrugs. “So yeah—it’s okay.”
He shouldn’t be surprised when Peter’s look of surprise morphs into a smirk. “This is the concussion speaking, I know it. Because the Mr. Stark I know would never say that.”
Tony narrows his eyes. “Watch it, kid, or I just might conveniently forget this talk ever happened.”
Peter smiles, shaking his head. The two of them sit in silence for a little while, Peter looking deep in thought, probably mulling over the veracity of Tony’s declaration. But it is true, Tony thinks. Because for as many times as Peter had nearly or now entirely left them now, the kid always managed to fight his way back. Astounding didn’t even begin to describe it anymore, not after this time. And the light at the end of the tunnel was finally in sight.
“How long do you think it’ll take to come up with a vaccine?”
Tony glances back up at Peter before canting his head, considering the question. “It’s not exactly something I’d usually try to put a number on. But I think if myself and the others—and you, if you want—put our minds to it, probably a matter of a few weeks.”
Peter nods again after a moment, looking decided. “Okay.”
Tony’s brow furrows. “Okay…?”
“Okay, I’ll take a break from patrolling until we’ve figured out a way to make me immune,” Peter says decidedly.
“You will?” Tony asks, trying not to sound too hopeful. “Are you sure?”
“I mean, if something is going down right in front me, then I’m not just gonna stand there and do nothing,” Peter explains. “But if it would make you and May feel better, and especially now with what you said… well, I suppose I can promise not to go out looking for bad guys to stop. For a little while.”
“That… well, I can’t speak for your aunt, but that would definitely make me feel a lot better,” Tony replies with no small amount of relief. “More than you know, in fact. So, thanks. For agreeing to that.”
Peter gives him a small, knowing smile. He looks like he’s about to say more but what comes out instead is a big giant yawn.
“Alright, that’s my cue to let you get some sleep, kid,” Tony says, getting to his feet—fast at first and then slower when he gets a little dizzy, rubbing a palm against the sharp pulse of pain that permeates through his skull under the guise of smoothing out his hair.
The ruse must not work because Peter just fixes him with another look, this one more authoritarian. “And that’s your cue to get some rest too, Mr. Stark.”
“Yeah yeah yeah, I’m going,” Tony says with no heat. He lingers for a moment, placing his hand in Peter’s hair, ruffling it a bit—not enough to get a rise out of the kid, but rather a gesture of clear affection. Pulling his arm back, he can think of a lot of things he wants to say, things like I’m so glad you’re safe and I still can’t believe you’re here and if I never have to watch you die in my arms again it’ll be too soon. But all that comes out is, “I’ll see you later, Pete.”
“See ya, Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbles, eyes already closed.
With a last fond look, Tony takes his leave.