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He asks to see Pepper and Morgan first.
Which is expected, of course. The doctor comes out almost twenty hours after they first arrived, takes a deep breath, and everyone stiffens, expecting the worst. Aunt May’s hand closes around Peter’s as they wait, but finally the doctor says, “He’s a fighter, all right,” and the relief that spreads through the waiting area is almost palpable. Pepper sobs, burying her head in her hands; next to her, Morgan smiles, tugging excitedly on her mother’s sleeve. “It came close a few times, not gonna lie,” the doctor continues, “but he pulled through. The effect of the, uh… infinity stones, have permanently ruined his arm, sadly, and we weren’t able to get that part of his… armor off without amputating his arm, but with enough physical therapy, he should be able to use it again within the next few months, even with that.”
“And there’s no… no other damage?” Pepper asks shakily.
“Amazingly, no. We all thought the after-effects of what he did would be catastrophic, almost deadly… but like I said, he’s certainly a fighter. Despite almost losing him during surgery… he came out of it with nothing more than a ruined arm. It’s a damn miracle, even for him.” The doctor smiles, looks around at all of them, crammed into the small waiting room. He doesn’t even look remotely confused or intimidated, which amazes Peter - how can this doctor keep a straight face at the scene in front of him?
“He’s awake now, and resting,” he says. He nods at Pepper and Morgan and says, “He asked for you two. Come on, I’ll show you to his room.”
“We’ll all get to see him though, right?” Steve asks.
“In due time. For some of you that might not be until he is discharged - it’s all up to him, who he chooses to see now, and if he has the energy to do so. But we always allow our patient’s immediate family to see them before anyone else.”
Makes sense. Pepper stands up, scoops Morgan into her arms, and starts to follow the doctor, but turns back just before they go through the double doors. “If you want to go home, you can,” she says. “Get some rest. And if he asks to see you, I’ll call.”
May glances at Peter, at the blood and dirt still covering his face, the bags under his eyes, the tears staining his cheeks. “Might wanna go get cleaned up,” she murmurs gently, squeezing his hand. “Come back later.”
Peter shakes his head automatically; despite the overwhelming pain, and how much a part of his longs for a shower and an actual bed, he can’t imagine leaving, even just to change and patch himself up. “No,” he says quietly. “I--I can’t.”
May nods, doesn’t press any further. No one else seems to consider leaving yet, either, despite the uncomfortable chairs, the various wounds, and the trauma of what just happened. Tony comes before them, especially with how close he came to death.
Peter flinches at the thought, at the horrible memory of seeing Tony collapse after snapping his fingers, dusting Thanos and his army; kneeling in front of him, sobbing when he noticed his weak, ragged breathing; the realization that he might die in front of them, sacrificing himself for the rest of the world.
But FRIDAY, having noticed what the stones had done to him, sent for medical help; the sirens loud and almost painful to Peter when he heard them reach what used to be the compound. Tony’s chest was barely moving when they loaded him into the ambulance; Pepper clinging to him as the EMTs and whoever else scrambled to do anything they could.
The rest of them arrived at the hospital hours later, when Tony was still in surgery. Pepper, Happy and Morgan were already there. There were no updates, other than there was still a heartbeat when they arrived, but that was hours before. So they sat there for twenty hours, silent and anxious, with nothing else to say.
The doors swing shut again, and there’s a moment of silence before Steve says, “He’s okay. That’s what matters.”
Tony is okay. Thanos and his entire army is defeated, for good. They won.
But the air still feels heavy, thick with heartache and terror. Peter hasn’t been able to take a deep breath since the moment he saw Tony on the battlefield, for the first time in… five years?
That’s what Doctor Strange told him. But it didn’t feel like five years. When he woke up, still on Titan, it just felt like he’d gotten a really good night’s rest. He vaguely noticed the yellowish tint the planet now seemed to have, but before he could even ask what had happened - or where Tony was - Doctor Strange was telling him how they needed to go, now. And he started doing his magic thing, and a portal opened, and he swung out into this bombed-out battlefield, facing Thanos again, but this time, with a hell of a lot more people on their side.
Five years. It doesn’t seem possible. And if he thinks about it too long, if he focuses on what his aunt must’ve been going through for all that time, what Tony’s reaction was, or how they brought them all back, he’ll drown. And he’s barely keeping his head above water now, even knowing that Tony is alive, somewhere in this hospital. The trauma still clings to every part of him and it’s all he can do to keep breathing.
Steve’s words linger in the air as silence falls over them again, like a blanket. Peter stares at a weird brown spot on the linoleum, brushing over it with the toe of his sneaker. May had brought him a change of clothes to put over his suit - a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved shirt he’d gotten at a decathlon event once. His shoes are just old, mud-crusted sneakers he stuffed into the very back of his closet years ago, but they cover his suit, and that’s enough for now.
Looks like a bean. Or a corgi. I love corgis. They’re so cute. I wish Aunt May would let us get a dog.
His eyes travel, from the stain to the paper cup sitting at Rhodey’s feet. Probably coffee, cheap and long since gone cold. He wonders if it’s even been touched at all. Nothing sounds appetizing right now, especially after what happened - he knows it’ll all just taste like ash - but at the sight of the coffee cup, his stomach growls, loud and unannounced. “You want me to go get you some food?” May murmurs. “There must be a cafeteria in here somewhere.”
He doesn’t look at her; doesn’t want to see the sympathy and pity in her eyes. If he does, he knows he’ll start crying, and he might not ever be able to stop. Slowly, he shakes his head. “Not right now,” he whispers.
Breathe in, breathe out.
(“Don’t do anything I would do. And definitely don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. There’s a… there’s a little grey area in there, and that’s where you operate.”)
Breathe in, breathe out.
(“Can’t you just be a… friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man?”)
Breathe in, breathe out.
(“What if someone had died tonight? Different story, right, because that’s on you. And if you died… I feel like that’s on me. I don’t need that on my conscious.”)
The last memory makes a knot form in his stomach and he shakes his head hard, willing it away. His hand clenches at the fabric of his sweats, his nails digging into his skin, but he barely notices it. His chest heaving on a shaky inhale, he closes his eyes and slumps down in the plastic chair.
He doesn’t know how much time passes - maybe an hour, maybe ten minutes - when a soft voice snaps him back into reality. “Peter?”
It’s Pepper. She’s back in the waiting area, Morgan practically attached to her side. She smiles gently at him, looking so much calmer now. “He wants to see you,” she says.
He gasps quietly. “He… he does?” he chokes out, the emotions he’s kept in since this whole thing started rushing to the surface.
Pepper nods. “Go on,” she says, and her voice is so loving, so kind. “The nurse’ll take you to his room. He’s waiting for you, kid.”
He forces himself to stand on shaky legs, blinking back tears as he stumbles to the double doors that lead back to the ICU. He shoves them open and lands right in front of an older, greying woman with a warm expression. “I take it you’re Peter?” she asks. He nods jerkily, and she smiles. “Yeah, he really wants to see you. Come on, he’s not too far down here.”
Peter follows, limbs stiff and shaking, frantically scrubbing at his face, telling himself he can’t cry, he can’t, not in front of Mr. Stark, not since he almost died to save the world. When they reach a door left slightly ajar, marked with T.S on the small white board, the nurse reaches out and silently squeezes his shoulder before walking away. It’s a sign of support, even though Peter knows she can’t even begin to understand what he’s been going through in just the last 24 hours - and the last five years.
He hesitates outside the door, just for a moment, but somehow Tony can even sense his presence, because he calls, “I’m not that hideous, Pete. Get in here.”
Somehow, he sounds exactly the same, not like he just came back from the brink of death, not like he just took the full force of all six infinity stones to save the world, not even caring that it could’ve cost him his life. A small, strangled noise escaping his throat, Peter steps inside.
He still has that same cocky, but still kind smile on his face. His armor is charred to his arm, the burns streaking all the way up the side of his face, and his face is so pale it’s almost unnatural. But he’s smiling. “Hey, kid,” he murmurs. He sounds so exhausted.
“Mr. Stark,” Peter gasps, still frozen in the doorway.
“You…” Tony starts, then chuckles slightly and shakes his head. “Well, I was gonna say you look like you’re seeing a ghost, but hell, I’m pretty close to one right now.”
“I’m so sorry,” Peter whispers. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”
“Hey, no, what’re you apologizing for?” Tony looks confused. “Kid, none of this was your fault.”
Peter’s not sure what he’s apologizing for, exactly, but he can’t stop, babbling like a child as he tries to shrink into himself. He pulls his sleeves over his knuckles and tries to make himself appear smaller. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, over and over. “Mr. Stark--”
“Peter, come here.” Tony moves over a bit on the small bed and Peter doesn’t hesitate this time, rushing forward and throwing his arms around Tony’s neck, finally allowing himself to break down. He presses his face into his mentor’s shoulder and sobs, his hand clenching at the thin fabric of the hospital gown they’ve put him in.
Tony hugs him back, his armor-clad hand cradling the back of his head. “Shh, hey,” he whispers into Peter’s matted curls. “Hey. I’m sorry I scared you, Pete.”
I’m sorry I scared you. Peter almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of it, even with the tears still streaming down his face. Tony took the weight of the entire universe on his shoulders, and almost lost his life because of it, but he’s apologizing because Peter was just scared. But all he can do is keep clinging to him, hiding in his embrace, needing the physical comfort that he’s alive, we did it. We won.
“You could’ve died,” he chokes out.
Tony sighs shakily, rests his chin on top of Peter’s head. “But I didn’t,” he says quietly. “You can’t get rid of Iron Man that easily.”
“But…” Peter shakes his head, swallowing back another sob. His body still shakes with the force of it, though, and he flinches. He hates how weak he seems right now, especially in front of the person who saved the entire universe just a day ago.
“I know you’re not just gonna forget it,” Tony says, “and I’m not asking you to. But what I am asking you to do is focus on this. Right here. I’m alive, and so--so are you.” His voice cracks on that last part and he pulls Peter even closer to his chest with his good arm. “Everything’s okay, Pete. I promise.”
And then Peter realizes what he was apologizing for earlier. “I’m sorry I left,” he mumbles into Tony’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to.”
Something wet falls onto Peter’s hair and it takes him a moment before he realizes, with a jolt, that Tony is crying. “Yeah, kiddo. I didn’t want you to, either, believe me. But it was never your fault, okay?”
“I should’ve just stayed on the bus,” Peter whispers.
Tony chuckles and squeezes his shoulder. “Damn right you should’ve,” he says good-naturedly. “Glad you finally realize that… but it shouldn’t have taken you dying to get it.”
Peter flinches. He’s still trying to realize that he died, not just passed out like he thought. He actually died, on a foreign planet, clinging to Tony in his last moments. And he was dead for five years.
“What happened?” he asks finally, his voice shaking. “While I was… gone?”
Tony doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Peter wants to sit up and look at him, but he can’t bring himself to let go, to pull away from Tony’s surprisingly comforting embrace. Finally he clears his throat and says, “A lot. But that’s a story for another time, alright? I don’t think either of us are ready to hear it yet.”
Peter slowly lets his eyes slip shut, his arms loosening their death grip around Tony’s neck. If he was exhausted before, now he’s absolutely drained. He sighs heavily, sinks further into Tony’s embrace.
“It’s okay,” Tony whispers, his fingers slowly combing through Peter’s tangled hair, gently working out the knots. “Get some sleep, kiddo. God knows you need it.”
A small, pathetic sounds escapes his lips without his permission, but he’s too far gone to care. Right before he falls asleep, he feels a feather-light pressure against his forehead, so soft and gentle it almost doesn’t seem real, and a soothing voice, but before he can try to decipher what he said, oblivion takes him, down into nothingness.