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Peter couldn’t remember much.
Flashes of silver and splatters of red filled his mind, but the exact details were eluding him. He couldn’t remember why his ribs ached, why his arm was in a cast, or why he couldn’t move his leg. It probably had to do with the concussion.
It didn’t matter; he would heal. It was one perk of his powers.
Powers that Harley didn’t have. Harley, who was laying immobile in the hospital bed next to his own. Harley, who Peter put in danger.
Harley, who Peter loved.
Peter was certain that the universe was punishing him for not being smart enough, fast enough, good enough to save Harley by making him listen to his boyfriend’s labored breathing through the ventilator. His enhanced hearing could pick up every hitch.
Heedless of his own aches, he forced himself out of his hospital bed. He had to lean on the IV stand, but Peter managed to make it to Harley’s bedside, collapsing in a chair next to it. He grabbed his boyfriend’s bruised hand and pressed a gentle kiss to his palm.
“I’m sorry, Harls,” he whispered, tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
It’s not enough , Peter’s mind whispered treacherously. You hurt him. You did this. This is your fault.
“I never wanted you to get hurt,” he continued. “I love you. C’mon, Harley, wake up. Wake up and yell at me, break up with me, I don’t give a shit. Just wake up. Please .”
Harley didn’t move, except for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Peter laid his head down on the edge of the bed, ignoring the protests of his beaten body, and sobbed.
“Pete?” Tony knocked gently on the doorframe, looking as haggard as Peter felt. “FRIDAY said you got out of bed. You need to be resting so you can heal, kid.”
Peter looked up at Tony with red-rimmed eyes. “I can’t ,” he said brokenly. “Harley’s hurt because of me.”
“It’s not your fault,” Tony came into the room. “You were jumped. They drugged you, something that counteracted your powers. You fought until you couldn’t anymore, Peter. You held on long enough for me to find you and Harley.”
“I clearly should have fought harder!” Peter hissed angrily. “I could’ve saved Harley. I could’ve…”
Tony stepped close, rubbing a comforting hand on Peter’s back. “You did everything you could,” he said. “You got him here. He’s going to be okay, Pete. We just have to wait.”
“What if he’s not?” Peter said, voice cracking. “What if he’s not, Mr. Stark? Then what?”
Tony, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “He will be,” he said strongly. “He’s a tough one, our Harley. He’s gonna be just fine.”
“Yeah,” Peter swallowed, looking at the mess of bruises and bandages that covered his boyfriend’s body. Harley wasn’t small- he was taller than Peter, in fact- but he looked it in the gaping white expanse of the hospital bed. “Right.”
“Do you want me to stay with you?” asked Tony.
Peter shook his head. “I need to be alone,” he choked out. “I have to talk to him.”
Tony smiled, a sad thing tinged with understanding. “Okay, Pete,” he agreed softly. “I’ll be in the waiting room if you need me, okay? I’m not going far.”
Peter waited until Tony left to fall against the bed again. His hand was loose on Harley’s, not wanting to aggravate his injuries. Peter was crying again, he knew. He wasn’t sure he had ever stopped.
“Please, Harley,” he begged. “Please wake up. Please be okay.”
Harley didn’t even stir. Peter went back to his silent vigil, hoping and praying and crying.
Harley would wake up. He had to. Until then, though, Peter wasn’t going to leave his side.