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Peter sat in the back of Tony’s car, cradling two small ice packs to the sides of his jaw. He stared straight ahead in complete silence. Not that he had options—the frickin anesthesia froze the bottom half of his face into an indifferent expression. He wasn’t going to complain, though. The procedure would’ve been hell without it.
At the moment, all he could feel was the minuscule presence of the folded gauze in the corners of his mouth and the sickening phlegm coating the back of his throat. He desperately wanted to clear it out, but didn’t want to sound disgusting, so he ignored it. Or tried to. Seriously, it was so uncomfortable! Even worse, because his esophagus was also connected to his nasal passages, the sticky substance found its way up. Unable to stand it anymore, he unwrapped a napkin covering an ice pack and blew his nose.
“Kid, you okay?” Tony asked from the driver’s seat. His eyes flicked up to the rear-view mirror.
Peter couldn’t even open his mouth to answer, so he nodded his head. “Mmmhmm.” He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and dropped his head, heat in his face. Cheeks puffed and mouth in a straight line—he looked like a pouty chipmunk. Oh my god , it was embarrassing.
Thankfully, Tony didn’t say anything about it for the rest of the ride, but rather than silence, Peter ended up blowing his nose every fifteen seconds. Breathe through your nose, the dentist said. Peter would’ve huffed if he could. Sure, maybe if my nose wasn’t filled with phlegm and I didn’t have to clear it every five seconds!
They pulled into the underground garage at the tower and stepped into the elevator.
“Welcome back, Boss,” FRIDAY greeted.
“Bring us up to the living room,” Tony said. “Oh, and, uh, order some soft foods. Like ice cream or something.”
“There are packs of yogurt and pudding in the fridge, but Mr. Barton has specifically requested me to inform him if anyone touches them.”
“Great. Even better incentive.”
Just before the elevator doors opened, Peter moaned softly. He had about two seconds to think oh no before a throbbing pain seeped out from the stitched-up gaps in his mouth. The anesthesia was beginning to wear off. For once, he cursed his fast metabolism.
Tony led him out of the elevator, hand around his shoulders. “Pete, what’s wrong? FRIDAY, what’s wrong with him?” They sat down at the marble table in the middle of the kitchen.
“Mm, ‘w, ow, mm mmm ,” Peter slurred.
Tony looked him straight in the eyes. “I have no idea what you just said.”
“It appears the anesthesia is wearing off, most likely due to his enhanced metabolism.”
“Get Bruce up here,” Tony said. When Peter started tugging on his shirt and shaking his head, he gently pried them away. “Nuh uh uh. None of that crap about being fine. I know that’s what you would’ve said if you could talk.”
Retort on his lips, Peter opened his mouth just slightly and immediately regretted it. A sharp pain erupted and he swore he heard and felt a crack. He froze, eyes widening. Did he just crack his jaw? What if he accidentally ripped his stitches?!! The throbbing returned with twice the intensity.
“Tony!” Bruce shouted as he exited the elevator.
“Oh, thank god,” Tony waved him over, “the anesthesia is wearing off and he’s in pain. Do something, please.”
Bruce hesitated and fiddled with his hands. “Um, I could give him some pain killers or numbing gel, but it would only go away in another half an hour...because,” he gestured vaguely, “you know...”
“Damn it. I should’ve just had you do it. We could’ve been able to consider his other factors that way.”
Bruce started at Tony with a deadpan look. “Tony, I have seven PhDs. Zero of them are dentist .”
“Okay, okay,” Tony held up his hands in surrender, “I’m sorry. I’m just—he looks like he’s in so much pain.”
Peter cupped the sides of his face, whimpering with his mouth closed. He didn’t know whether to avoid pressure or increase pressure to his jaw to feel better. All he could focus on was the pain. He just wanted it to go away. It wasn’t until he felt a hand on his arm that he noticed Bruce.
“Hey, Peter,” Bruce said in a comforting tone. “I’m going to make a stronger anesthetic for you, but it’s probably going to take an hour. I’ll do my best and work as fast as I can.”
Peter pointed a finger at him, then at himself. He swung his fist into his palm.
Just knock me out.
Tony looked at Peter with horror. “Absolutely not . Bruce, get started, please.”
Peter sighed and glared at Tony. The pool of saliva and god knows what else was getting bigger and bigger under his tongue. He grabbed the ziplock bag of gauze and disappeared into the bathroom.
Staring at himself in front of the wall of mirrors, he noticed that the swelling had gone down. No more chipmunk cheeks. A win. This time, Peter opened his mouth slowly. A line of dark red drool fell out and he quickly leaned over the sink. On one hand, he was relieved to get the saliva out. On the other hand, the dentist had said no rinsing or spitting. He looked at his reflection. Well, maybe light rinsing wouldn’t hurt.
Reaching inside with his fingers, he pulled out two bloody gauze pads. They brought an unwelcome image of the state of his gums to his mind.
“Why are you bleeding?”
Peter spun around and saw Steve standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. The concern was apparent.
Clint poked his head in. “Who’s bleeding?” He registered a bloody object in the hands of one (1) Peter Parker. “Holy shit, Peter’s bleeding!”
“Language!” Steve reprimanded.
“Peter’s bleeding ?!!” Natasha yelled from the hall.
“Mm mm !” Peter shook his head frantically and threw the gauze in the trash. He tried to get Steve and Clint to leave before the rest of his family came running, but the faint metallic taste made him grimace.
“Where does it hurt, Peter?”
“Who did this to you, Peter?”
"Does Tony know? One of you go get Bruce!”
Peter wanted to scream at them to stop, but all he got out was “No, ‘op! ‘Op!!” (No, stop! Stop!!)
Clint frowned. “Hop?”
Charades it was. Peter pointed at the spots where his wisdom teeth used to be. Then, he sliced an imaginary tool meant to cut his gums. Finally, he clamped his first around an invisible tool representing the thing that yanked his teeth out. Clint and Steve wore the same blank expressions.
“Someone punched you in the face,” Steve started. “Twice.”
Clint copied the slicing motion. “Then, they stabbed you repeatedly???”
“Then...” Steve trailed off, “yeah, I don’t get the last one.”
Peter grabbed his hair in frustration.
“He got his wisdom teeth removed, you idiots,” Natasha said, pushing through to get to Peter. She cradled his face gently. “Does it hurt a lot, baby? Here. Let me help you with the gauze.” She folded two pieces and wet them under the faucet.
“‘S o’ay! (It’s okay!)” Peter tried to say. He waved his hands in front of his face.
“I’ve seen worse. Open up.”
Dropping his hands, Peter opened his mouth. Natasha pressed the gauze down and he winced, but bit down on the pads. The three of them followed him back into the kitchen.
“What took you so long?” Tony peeled open a pack of pudding. “I was about to—uh, hey guys.”
“Is that my pudding?” Clint asked, more than a hint of accusation in his voice.
“No, it’s Peter’s.”
Clint swiped the pudding out of Tony’s hands. “Yes, it is.” Grabbing a spoon from the drawer, he and Steve supported Peter as they made their way to the couch.
Peter rolled his eyes. He got rid of his teeth, not his legs . Despite the wave of irritation, he allowed the two to “help” him to walk. He plopped down, leaning into the cushions, and accepted the pudding from Clint.
“Is there anything we can help with?” Steve offered. “What can we do?”
Peter thought for a moment. Then, he pretended to text.
“Phone. Got it.”
Now with a better means of communication, Peter typed in his notes:
i’m okay, guys, thanks, just hurts a lot
“Want some water?” Clint asked. “Probably good to stay hydrated.”
The memory of the fluids in his mouth floated back into his head and Peter made a face.
there’s blood in my mouth, don’t wanna swallow it
Tony leaned over the top of the couch, a glass of water in his hand. “Maybe the bleeding with stop soon.” He handed the glass to Steve, who set it on the coffee table. “Let’s check again in twenty minutes.” Effectively squeezing himself in between Clint and Peter, who moved, but with full offense, he draped an arm over Peter’s shoulder. “So, what do you wanna do? Movie? Game?”
bruce said he’d be done in an hour, I won’t get through the movie
also, it’s kinda hard to focus on anything besides the pain
i’m tired
are you sure you can’t knock me out
“I’m sorry, what?” Steve objected, reading the last line. “Nobody is knocking you out.”
Tony threw him an appreciative look. “Thank you, Cap.”
Suddenly, Peter sneezed and cried out again, clutching his face. In the blink of an eye, the avengers surrounded him, uneasy, having no clue what to do.
Natasha finally spoke up. “Check the bleeding. I really think water is going to help you feel better.”
Peter nodded and got up. His family all stood in unison with clear intent. He held his hand out, telling them to stay put. The disappointment on their faces almost made him feel bad. Almost.
In the bathroom, Peter cleaned his mouth as best he could. The bleeding hadn’t completely stopped, but it wasn’t as bad as before, and he had to admit that he was a bit thirsty. After his last rinse, he returned to the living room and picked up the glass of water. Carefully, he tipped it back and felt it flow unto his tongue, around his teeth, and down his throat. Natasha was right. He did feel better. He drank it all.
However, the pain flared back within seconds and he sighed. “I jus’ w’n i’o go a’ay.” (I just want it to go away.)
“Soon, kiddo,” Clint said, ruffling his hair. “And hey! You’re talking a bit clearer.”
“Mr. Banner is ready in the med bay,” FRIDAY announced.
“See? Right on time!”
• • •
Tony went alone with Peter to the tower’s hospital wing. Peter settled into the chair, his heart rate increasing at the sight of the needle. The angle of the chair grew lowered and he grasped the arm tightly, anticipating what followed.
“I don’t know if this will make you feel better,” Bruce said, “but, I modified the shot so it’ll make you sleepy.”
Peter visibly sighed in relief and slumped in the chair.
Bruce chuckled and brought over a rubber object. “I’m sorry you have to go through this again, Peter. On the bright side, you know what to expect.”
Peter let out a shaky, nervous laugh. He opened his mouth and Bruce inserted the object to keep it propped open. When he saw the needle again, his entire body tensed, but Tony took his hand and squeezed. It was nice, comforting. He squeezed back.
“Okay, I’m injecting now.”
Peter knew what was coming and tried to relax. Ten seconds. Fifteen max. Nothing to panic over.
Reasoning didn’t always work.
It started with a prick, then instantly, his face scrunched up at the pain that swallowed the right corner of his mouth. He grunted, jolting up, but Bruce kept a steady hold on his chin, whispering apology after apology. He tried to focus on something else, anything else, and his eyes landed on Tony. He was uncomfortable. He was so, so uncomfortable.
Tony was also saying something while gripping his hand. Attention divided, Peter made out something along the lines of “I’m here, Pete. I’m here. It’s almost over. You’re doing so well.” It had a surprisingly calming effect and relaxed him, even if only just a little. Before he knew it, Bruce had finished the first side. He glanced back at Tony, squeezed his hand, and blinked slowly, hoping that Tony would understand.
Thank you.
Tony just smiled and blinked back.
Bruce moved the object in his mouth on the other side. “One more time and you’ll be free,” he reassured.
The second shot made Peter gasp. He could feel the needle entering his gums and tried not to think of how deep it was going . Pressing his eyelids down, he chanted sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep like a mantra in his head. After a few seconds, the pain faded away and the room came back into focus. It was over.
Tony brushed the hair out of his face. “You did it.”
Peter wanted to smile, but found difficulty in moving the lower part of his face. A tingling sensation engulfed his skin and buzzed along his tongue. Bruce was saying something, but it sounded distant and far away. The ceiling lights blurred together into a shiny, yellow, squiggly line. His body became heavy and lethargic— What happened to gravity? That was his last thought before he closed his eyes again.
He had succumbed to deep sleep.
• • •
“Oh my god,” Tony exhaled, finally releasing his hold on Peter’s hand, “that was so hard to watch.”
Bruce laughed lightly. “I guess that’s what kids do to you.” He removed his gloves. “He should be out for the night. When he wakes up tomorrow, everything should be pretty much healed.”
“Thank you,” Tony hugged him, “thank you, Brucie Bear.”
“Anytime, Tony.”
Tony hooked his arms underneath Peter’s knees and upper back, lifting him without much strain. Thank god the kid was still light enough to be carried in his arms. Devastation filled his heart as he thought of the day that he wouldn’t be able to anymore. Holding Peter close, he stepped into the elevator and FRIDAY brought them up to his suite.
Pushing the door to Peter’s bedroom with his feet, he gently lowered his kid onto the plush mattress and pulled over the covers. He made sure to place a pillow between his arms and legs because he knew Peter liked to hold things when he slept. Peter automatically curled around the extra pillow, his face peaceful and calm. Tony’s heart melted at the sight and he leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead.
“Goodnight, Peter.”
• • •
The next morning, Peter woke to a pitch-black room, just the way he liked it. He swallowed subconsciously, becoming aware of the lack of swelling. There was no more pain, only a dull sore.
Good morning, Peter,” FRIDAY greeted soothingly. “It is currently 9:42 AM. You have been asleep for 17 hours and 33 minutes.”
“Whoa,” Peter said under his breath. “Um, FRIDAY, lights at 5%, please?”
“Lights have been raised to 5% power.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Peter.”
Peter got up out of bed and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Filling up his cup with water, he wet the bristles of his toothbrush before adding toothpaste. The moment he put it in his mouth, he felt a difference in texture. His toothbrush was not this soft. The realization dawned on him and his smile stretched from ear to ear. He wondered who made the switch.
Slipping into the hall, the light gradually grew brighter in small intervals, before stopping at 60% brightness. Eyes naturally adjusting to the changes, Peter first noticed the items on the kitchen table. A glass and a pitcher of water, mashed potatoes, apple sauce, scrambled eggs, and a smoothie. The mashed potatoes and eggs were still hot, light steam rising into the air, and the plates paired with utensils. A note stood in the middle of the food.
Feel better, Underoos.
Other tiny messages filled the edges and corners of the note.
Drink your water, little spider.
↠↠↠ You scared the s̶h̶i̶t̶ c̶r̶a̶p̶ Jesus Christ out of me last night. Now eat your food. ↠↠↠
Hope you had a good rest :)
You fought bravely through the pain yesterday. I’m proud of you.
Peter pulled out a stool and sat down at the table. He downed the glass of water, then stabbed the eggs with a fork. Halfway through the apple sauce, he wondered if it could be considered a smoothie. Made of fruit, isn’t it? It wasn’t until after a few spoonfuls of mashed potatoes did he feel the tears running down his face. Wiping them away, he laughed quietly, hearing the not-so-subtle cracks, and hid his face in his hands.
It was times like this, where he felt so filled with such a strong sense of love, that overwhelmed him and pushed him into a physiological reaction. He read the note again and again and again and again, his heart surging more each time. He still couldn’t believe how much the avengers cared about him, supported him, loved him.
But that’s what family was—and that’s exactly what they were.
A family.