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A constant beeping rang through the otherwise quiet hospital room. Sunlight filtered in through the blinds that were half-covering the windows. That, coupled with the silence and the stillness produced a serene atmosphere that wrapped around everything and everyone that entered the space.
Anna Maria was already there when Peter walked in. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest by that. Out of everyone, Anna Maria had been the closest to Otto by far. Peter didn’t know exactly how Otto had managed to win the faith of someone so logical and nice (Otto hadn’t really had the time to explain everything that had happened), but he had. Maybe she was just patient. Peter could understand that. Regardless, it only made sense that she would be the most worried. After… everything that had happened a few days ago, a lot of things were temporarily closed for repairs and recovery. That included most schools. As far as Peter or anyone else could tell, Anna Maria spent almost every waking (and sleeping) moment in this room. Sometimes she talked to him. She’d heard that it could help speed up recovery. It couldn’t have been easy, or healthy, for her, Peter thought, to spend all day, and sometimes all night, cooped up in this one room just waiting for Otto to wake up. At the same time, he didn’t feel right to confront her about it. She was in a pretty vulnerable spot currently, hopeful but probably also ready to start grieving at any moment should something else go wrong. Being there with Otto, even if he wasn’t exactly conscious, seemed to make her feel marginally better. It didn’t feel right to take that away from her.
At this moment she was asleep, sat on one of the rolling stools, hunched over and resting her head on her arms. It looked uncomfortable. But Peter knew from experience that comfort didn’t matter much if you were tired enough. She wasn’t the only tired one. Everyone that had been involved in the incident was clearly having trouble processing everything that had happened. Just like when Jackal overtook the entirety of Manhattan with his horrifying Spider Army. Peter was having the worst of it. He found himself completely devoid of his normal enthusiasm, instead feeling a sense of detachment from everyone and everything, both in-mask and out. So much had happened in such a short amount of time, so much more than even he was used to. The city had nearly been destroyed, he’d nearly died, as had Harry and Otto. Harry… he wasn’t speaking to Harry at the moment. He wasn’t speaking to anyone, really, he didn’t have the energy and just wanted to be left alone. But especially not Harry. He couldn’t, not after what Harry had done. He didn’t even want to think about it, because the more he did the angrier he got. Harry was such a smart person, how could he have done something so stupid? How could he possibly have thought that a giant unstoppable robot armed to the teeth that could take remote control of any technology on earth was a good idea? That something like that would ever be used for good or benevolent purposes? He knew he couldn’t just not talk to Harry forever (and even after everything, the idea of losing such a longtime friend was still scary), but he needed some space. And he felt like Harry needed some time to think about just what he’d done. An apology wouldn’t cut it this time.
Peter walked closer to the hospital bed where Otto lay. The only signs of life were the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the slow, shallow rise and fall of his chest. He’d used to have a ventilator aiding his breathing, but they’d taken it away yesterday as they’d determined that his vitals had sufficiently stabilized and life support wasn’t necessary any more. It was a good sign; his body was recovering. He didn’t look too bad, all things considered. Well, except for the bandages around his head from the surgery they’d performed the day they’d brought him in. And the fact that Peter knew that looks on the outside weren’t always the best reflection of physical condition. “Internal bleeding” had been the word uttered the most, and he knew that at least one other surgery had had to be performed to fix the worst of it. Peter remembered that night when he’d held Otto in his arms as the man twitched in what Peter had to imagine was horrible pain, the power of the NeuroCortex tearing him apart. He remembered the labored breathing. The blood. It was one of the many things he’d much rather forget.
Peter had been listening intently as the doctors had talked about Otto’s condition, and the results were… mixed. The good news was that, despite everything, Otto’s body had held itself together, and it looked like he was on the road to recovery in that aspect. The bad news was, that was only if he woke up. The NeuroCortex had put massive strain on his brain, and there was a chance that he would never wake up. And even if he did wake, there was a chance that the damage done to his brain was too extensive for a full recovery. For recovery, period. He might never be the same. Even if he made it through all of this, there was a very real chance that they might never really get Otto back.
What was he even doing here? Had he come here to do something in particular? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t think so. What could he possibly do? The only other people in this room were asleep (one potentially permanently), so it wasn’t like he could even talk to anyone. Maybe he just didn’t know where else to go. Everything had felt… floaty lately. Floaty and aimless. He didn’t really understand it. Toomes was in jail, the mech was destroyed, all of his loved ones were safe and okay (more or less). This was a good ending. Peter felt like he should be happy with the outcome he’d gotten. But he wasn’t. No, that wasn’t the right way to word it. Of course he was happy that his friends and his aunt were okay, of course he was happy that Toomes was behind bars, and of course he was happy that the mech was gone and destroyed and could never hurt anyone ever again.
So why didn’t he feel happy?
If it was any consolation, he knew that most people weren’t in particularly high spirits. The Goblin Mech was gone, but the destruction it had caused wasn’t, and likely wouldn’t be for a while. Many, many injured, undoubtedly a few deaths. And god knows how much property damage. All things considered, the ending they’d gotten was a good one (not ideal, but good,) but that didn’t just erase everything that had happened.
Anna Maria stirred, but gave no sign of waking up. Peter decided that it was time to leave. There wasn’t anything else to be done. Not that he’d done anything to begin with. Unless you counted standing still in a room staring down at a comatose person in deep contemplation as “doing something”. He could check on Otto again tomorrow. Hell, maybe he’d come back later today. He had nothing but time. He rubbed the Spider-Man mask in his hoodie pocket between his thumb and forefinger.
He still had a job to do.