Chapter Text
He was moving.
He could feel the wind blowing through his curls, the nooks and crannies of the floor making his ride far more rocky than if it were a smooth surface. He was laying down, or maybe he was standing up; telling up from down was much harder at that moment than it normally was. Why? Why was it so hard?
There were people around him. A few, at least. A gentle, yet shaking hand was holding his. Two ice-cold fingers pressed to the pulse point on his neck. Calloused, caring hands brushing the hair off his sweat-slicked forehead. A souple touch slipping the oversized suit from his shoulders and torso.
If he was moving and there were several - four, he counted four - people around him, were they moving too? Or was he not moving at all? Was it all in his head? Was he really alone?
He tried sitting up, because he was now sure that he was laying down, only to be pushed back down by the same souple hands that removed his clothing. This touch was much firmer than the previous, yet it wasn’t fueled by anger, simply assurance, conviction. These fingers were softer than those of the 3 others he could feel, more feminine.
Aunt May? She’s the only person that he thought it could be. His mom was gone, a long time ago. He could say the same about both grandmothers as well. Could it be Mrs. Kim from down the hall? It didn’t seem like he was in his apartment, though. Why would it be her?
Peter’s questions remain unanswered as his eyes were opened against his will. A bright light flashed in them, and despite his efforts to shy away from the blinding light, the cold fingers had moved from his neck to his eyelids, holding them open. Once they’re released, his eyes fell closed almost immediately. It felt as though they weighed tons, like his waterline was a magnet for his lashes.
He became increasingly aware of just how little he could hear as the silence was replaced with muffled noises. Some louder than others, some spoken faster, with more urgency, some slower, in a more placating manner. He couldn’t quite make out any words or voices, it sounded like he was underwater. A second impediment made itself known as his head was filled with an incessant ringing through his ears. A high-pitched, never-ending tone resonating with unmatched ferocity.
Along with the ringing, he realized just how much pain he was in. There was a pressure in his chest, a sense that he couldn’t breathe a full breath. His ribs were screaming for his attention, but he couldn't bring himself to focus on anything other than his neck. His throat was practically entirely closed off. He swore there was so little air going in and out that it created a whistling noise.
He was squirming in discomfort, trying to bring his hands to his neck to give himself any sort of comfort. All his efforts were in vain as he was held down by the people around him. He just wanted to stop the pain, he wanted to make everything stop. It was all too much, it was too bright, too loud, too painful. His head was pounding, a steady, powerful drum beating at his skull from the inside out. He’d never felt so overwhelmed by agony in his entire 14 years of life before.
“-er, ‘e’ve ‘ot you. ‘top mo’ing, buddy.”
Buddy? He hadn’t been called buddy for a couple of years now. Uncle Ben must have really been worried if he’d gone back to using that nickname. It was comforting, though. To know that Ben was right there with him. May too. The people he’d grown up with, the people who cared most about him. They were here with him when he was in this inexplicable - and oh so painful - situation. He wanted to open his eyes, to see his family around him, to feel the warmth of their gazes on him. But what Peter wants, he never gets, as a cool feeling ran from his arm to the rest of his body, an unknown substance rushing through his veins and lulling him to sleep.
The next time he awoke wasn’t quite as excitable. His senses were finally back to him, mostly. He could finally be calm without a ringing in his ears. It seemed so overpowering when it had first occurred. But there was nothing now, nothing but sweet peace.
It almost felt wrong, the fact that it was so quiet. There was just something missing. He couldn't put his finger on it, exactly, but there was definitely something wrong. Who was he kidding, he was in pain all over, and even though it wasn't as bad as it was before, it was still pretty fucking awful. That's what was wrong.
He could smell antisceptic, overpowering and bloody everywhere . He'd been in a hospital before, sure. He'd visited May during her shifts and made her laugh or gave her a well-needed hug, but it had never been this intense. He thought it might resemble a thick cloud of smog, for how overwhelming it was.
He wanted to sit up, to be graced with the sight of his aunt and uncle sitting worriedly at his bedside, asking how he was feeling. That was the only comfort he needed, the only sounds he wished to hear. All he needed was May's cheap perfume that she'd bought almost a decade ago, and was still using it, insisting she not throw it out until every last drop had evaporated.
It didn't exactly pan out as he'd hoped.
When he opened his eyes after regaining consciousness, he first saw the ceiling. A white-tiled ceiling, big neon lights, too harsh for his taste, and probably for everyone else's too. Dropping his gaze down just a little, he saw the walls, white as well, cut with a big gray line going horizontally across the entire room- or at least what he could see of it. There was a window on the right side, presumably facing East if the rising sun was anything to go by. The golden shine was lighting up part of the room, but it was mostly washed out by the white fluorescent glow that he just adored.
He did see May, though, much to his relief. He saw her there, sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair, the classic ones you find in every hospital. Ben wasn't around, and that was a little nerve-wracking, but it wasn't completely impossible. Maybe he'd stepped out to get some coffee, maybe he'd gone to go fetch a doctor because he could tell Peter's eyes were opening. There were so many possibilities, there was no need to truly worry.
It didn't stop him from worrying.
The heart monitor sped up, indicating the stress slowly simmering in his body and mind, the way his gears were turning trying to find his uncle in the practically empty room.
May rushed over to grab his hand, the one not currently occupied with an IV inserted in the back of it. She shushed him, or at least it was something of the sort. Apparently, it wasn't just quiet in the room. He just couldn't hear properly. Weird.
She was hovering over him, raking her fingers through his hair, wiping tears from her own cheeks every so often. Her hair looked unkempt, falling haphazardly over her shoulders, curling on the ends in a flurry of tangles and knots. She wasn't wearing scrubs, so they probably weren't at Queens Memorial, or she just wasn't on her shift and decided to wear normal clothes for a change.
Peter couldn't comprehend what the hell was happening.
May was crying. His body hurt like hell. His throat was on fire, and he couldn't bring himself to speak with it to tell her just how badly it ached. He could barely hear anything, which was definitely an issue. And-
Who the hell are all those people?
He let his eyes slip away from his aunt for just a millisecond and that's when he saw the barrage of other people standing along the far wall of the room. They weren't there earlier, were they?
They were all sharing glances, either with each other, or trying to get Peter's attention merely through eyebrow quirks. A gaggle of outsiders were all looking at him. None of them had scrubs on, so that didn't bode well for his first theory.
A woman cut through the crowd, tall and slim, dark hair pinned behind her head in an elegant bun. Though he didn't recognize her, it was safe to assume she was a doctor. The white lab coat, the chart in her hands, and the stethoscope around her neck were all excellent signs pointing towards that conclusion. Great work, detective Parker.
She started speaking but he couldn't catch much of anything she was saying. She took both his hands and wrapped each around her index fingers. Apparently she'd asked a question, and his lack of answer had only made May choke on a sob. He turned to her, having felt the way she recoiled in her seat, eyes full of confusion and concern. The doctor sent a glance over her shoulder and Peter saw just enough to notice the rest of the visitors shuffle out of the room, much to their despair.
Why was May crying? Again? Who were those people? Why did everything hurt so bad?
He ran his hand along his aunt's arm in a reassuring motion she'd done countless times before when he was sad; it was only fair that he returned the favor. It hurt to move his arm so much, but it didn't matter to him. He didn't understand anything that was happening, what with the newcomers, the semi-blinding lights and May's silenced cries. The only thing he could do to appease some of the agonies was to make May feel better.
While he was distracted with his aunt, the other woman grabbed his ear, presumably flashing a light inside, and sighed heavily. Her exasperation and disappointment carried over to the side of his face, where Peter could feel her breath brush against his cheek.
He wanted to sit up, to have May in his arms, to hug her tightly and tell her it'd be okay; that he was fine. He placed his hands underneath him, ready to push himself up, but a hand stopped him.
The doctor took his wrist gently, prying it from his braced position. She was talking again- taking his pulse simultaneously, but he couldn't understand anything, and his sore throat didn't allow for him to relay that information, either.
Well, if he couldn't say it, he could at least try to communicate it. He brought his other hand to the base of his neck, swallowing hard at the mere thought of having to speak with the sandpaper-like feeling in his throat when he just swallowed his saliva.
She seemed to understand his cryptic message. She whipped around quickly, grabbing a cup from the nightstand he hadn't noticed, and filling it with water from the pitcher he also hadn't noticed. It was a little unexpected, that she was so prepared, but it obviously wasn't her first rodeo. She knew what she was doing, and he could trust her; even if he couldn't trust himself to put the pieces together.
She asked in an overly articulated way what he could only deduce was 'Does that feel better?' after he'd taken a few sips. He nodded heartily, thankful for the refreshment that put a hold on the consistent pain in his esophagus.
May seemed slightly appeased, though he couldn't be sure if it was because he'd drank, because he'd responded to the doctor, or because he was smiling.
He wasn't one to complain, ever. He'd much rather hide his aches and pains, and just keep everyone out of the loop, making them feel happy that he was happy. So, in true Peter Parker fashion, he was smiling. Despite the fact he couldn't hear, despite the fact he was in pain in very many places throughout his body, and despite the fact that there were over a dozen strangers who were simply standing in his room waiting for him to wake up.
Peter assumed there was a knock at the door because both ladies in the room with him immediately turned towards the entrance. A few seconds of silence passed, and then it opened, revealing a new stranger. A man, slightly shorter than the doctor, but seemingly an associate. He also sported a white coat, and gave Peter a tight-lipped smile, not quite reaching his eyes. He could only read the man's lips and hope that the question really had been 'How are you feeling?'. He answered with a small smile of his own, mumbling an 'okay' just barely loud enough to be coherent.
May seemed thrilled that he was answering, though, so he smiled more brightly at her and the way her eyes were still welling up with tears. God, he just wanted her to be okay. Why did she have to be crying so much?
Peter felt compelled to stare at the man, and he didn't really know why. He just looked familiar. He wasn't Ben, but he was... someone. The man in question didn't seem to catch onto the constant stare Peter sent his way until a couple of minutes had passed of him and the woman working around each other, fiddling with his IV bag, taking vital after vital, and attempting to make (pointless) conversation with him.
When he finally did realize that Peter was full-on staring at him, he gave the boy a fonder smile, asking something like 'You okay?'
Peter didn't respond, not because he hadn't properly read the man's lips, but because it had clicked in his mind. His scattered brain, fragmented into pieces, had just made the connection. Linked the name to the face.
Bruce Banner.
What the actual fuck ?
His heart picked up again, resulting in many concerned glances from the trio in the room. Dr. Banner kept looking from Peter to the monitor, trying to figure out what it was that had caused the uptake in his rhythm. 'Peter?'
The female doctor was already in action, manually taking his pulse and listening for any heart murmurs, taking his blood pressure, giving him a once over for anything they might've missed previously.
Peter didn't even care. He couldn't care. He was sitting (laying down) before the most famous biochemist in the entire fucking world. And he knew Peter's name? Why the fuck would he know Peter's name? Why was he here? He wasn't a physician, and why the hell would he be working in a Queens hospital?
It didn't make sense. It wasn't making any sense. And how was May so casual about it? Had she not recognized him? The man Peter spent literal hours ranting on and on about because he'd always dreamt of meeting him since he was a little kid.
May tried to take his hand, but he didn't take hers back. He was numb. All the pain in his body, all the thoughts from his mind. Everything was completely quiet. Completely still. Completely empty.
"You're Dr. Bruce Banner," he muttered, breathless and in awe.
The man just narrowed his eyes at Peter, sparing only two seconds to look at each woman in the room with them, before fixating his eyes back on the teenager. There was an awfully long pause, Banner just evaluating what his response should be. He took in the pure wonder on the kid's face, the confusion that seeped into every nook and cranny of his face. The crescent shape etched in between his brows, the awed twinkle in both his brown eyes, his slightly parted lips; too stunned to close his mouth all the way.
'Yes, Peter. I am,' was his final response.
Whatever calming or reassuring effect he thought that sentence might have on the kid completely backfired. His heart raced even more, but at least it wasn't a medical issue. Even so, it was still extremely disconcerting. Peter was more disturbed than ever. He couldn't understand anything. The quiet that had settled so prominently in his mind folded into a cascade of thoughts zipping in and out of his head faster than he could comprehend them. He felt so out of place. Like the whole world was off-kilter, just a couple degrees off its axis, but it was affecting even the tiniest strands of grass.
Banner said something to the other doctor that Peter didn't catch, his head turned at an angle too odd to read his lips; then he made his exit with a smile, more pitying than his others had been.
The woman pressed the back of her hand to Peter's forehead as if she were checking for a fever. She took her hand off, curled her lips upwards just a smidge and said something along the lines of 'You should get some rest.'
She filled out the chart that she'd placed on the end of his bed, and left with a last glance at the two-thirds of the Parker family.
Peter was left with his thoughts. And May.
The lights then suddenly closed and Peter had never been caught more off guard. Except maybe on that field trip he went on yesterday. He twisted his neck around to see May, who wasn't perturbed in the slightest. So, she must've done it. Weird.
She took his hand in hers, stroking the back of it with her thumb. A small gesture she'd adopted when he had first come to live with her and Ben. Something motherly in her that had just sprung out when she'd become a legal guardian to a toddler. The touch was soothing, grounding. Amid the chaos in his mind, it was nice to be able to focus on a single movement. On just May. Just this piece of peace they were sharing. No sounds, no pain, no light, no thoughts, no confusion.
He let his eyes slip closed, let himself be absorbed by the calm that always pulsed whenever May was around.
It was just them.
He and May. And Ben. Where was Ben?
With his eyelids still drooping, and his voice weaker than he would've liked, he still managed to mumble one last question before sleep finalized its grasp on him.
"Where's Uncle Ben?"
If May physically tensed with every muscle, tendon and ligament, then Peter didn't notice. If she felt a deep-rooted ache start building in the pit of her stomach, only growing as she thought more about it, then Peter was too tired to realize it. If she suddenly felt heavy in her bones, each breath weighing her down more and more, then Peter was already asleep.
Hushed voices brought him out of his slumber. They didn't seem to care that he'd been asleep, and they were talking rather loudly. (Rude.)
Peter blinked a few times, his eyes easily getting used to the dim lights that made the room barely visible. It was appreciated that they had kept the lights off; brightness was not something he wanted to experience right now. Not with the pain pounding in his every limb.
He groaned, the pain making itself seen, heard, and felt in a more intense way than it had when he'd last been awake. The voices stopped and heads turned in his direction.
New people. There were 3 in the room with him. May, by his side, who took a seat just as he started squirming in the bed. And Dr. Banner (Peter still wasn't over that and he definitely would be asking hundreds of questions in the very near future), who was talking with someone new in the far corner of the bedroom.
They both approached when they saw his discomfort, the new man striding over to his side, opposite May, and started raking his fingers through Peter's hair. A motion frighteningly similar to the one May had done a few hours before. Peter squinted through the darkness to make out the features on the man's face, but it was obvious from his build that this wasn't Ben.
This wasn't Ben.
Peter jerked back in the bed, trying to get away from the stranger caressing his hair. Why wasn't May doing anything? Did she know him? Why was Dr. Banner here?
The man pulled back as soon as Peter had, keeping his hands visible in a semi-placating manner. "Hey, it's just me," the man said.
What the fuck does that mean? Is Peter supposed to know who 'me' is?
Peter's gaze of confusion wasn't met with much warmth. The man seemed just as confused as he was, if not more. That wasn't really reassuring. At all.
"It's just Tony," the man clarified, a soft smile creeping onto his face.
Peter didn't know anyone named Tony. He was pretty sure May didn't know anyone named Tony, either. Who the fuck was Tony?
Peter's brows furrowed, he tried pushing himself closer to May but she made no move to cradle him in her safety. He just wanted to be with her and Ben, not this stranger, not one of his idols; not like this.
It took him a minute longer than it should've but with the lights slowly rising, he could finally make out the details of the man's face. Tony's face.
Tony Stark's face.
The dark curly hair, just a smidge too long that it started to wrap around his ears. The stubble on his chin long enough to scratch but not long enough to call it a beard. The scent of his cologne; rich and expensive, mixed in with the smell of motor oil and a soldering iron.
"Tony Stark," he said, swallowing the lump forming in his throat.
"Yeah, kid," the man chuckled, practically dripping with relief. "I'm glad we're moving past the Mr. Stark phase, but full-name is still weird."
Peter didn't know what to do. He had Tony Stark, former CEO of Stark Industries sitting on his bedside, stroking his hair and calling him 'kid.' He had Robert Bruce Banner, the single greatest scientist of their generation fetching him water and adjusting the lighting in his room. This made less than 0 sense. The amount of sense it was making was in the negatives.
Peter stared blankly for a while, just taking it all in. Tony Stark was with him. He was concerned. He was worried.
What the fuck?
Tony stood up from the bedside, giving the kid some well-needed space. There was clearly some sort of internal turmoil happening, and he didn't want to be in the middle of it all if he ended up giving himself an aneurysm because he was thinking too hard.
May was still right next to him, holding his hand. Peter doesn't think she'd left the room since he'd gotten here, and who knows how long ago that was? She needed rest, she needed to eat. God, he'd been so selfish he hadn't even realized what a huge toll this must be taking on her.
He shifted in his bed so that she'd be right in his line of sight before he spoke. His voice was a little gruff from disuse, but she hadn't been expecting any less, so she wasn't deterred.
"May, you should sleep."
He had never seen her eyes go so incredibly wide before. Her lips parted slightly, displaying her shock in all its glory.
"Peter Benjamin Parker, the first thing you say after almost dying is that I need to sleep?" she said, voice as incredulous as they come. "Honestly, your nerve."
Peter winced a little at the comment, both because of its slightly sarcastic message and because of how close she had been to his ear when she'd spoken it.
Banner seemed to have noticed his recoiling because he stepped up to the boy, as well. He flashed a penlight in both of Peter's eyes; a sight the teen recognized from when he was barely conscious and being wheeled around. Then, Banner asked Peter to turn his head towards May, which he did gladly.
He wasn't overly pleased with what he saw when he did so, though. May had dark bags under her eyes; a testament to how many hours she'd undoubtedly spent sitting in that same plastic chair, brushing his hair back from his forehead and whispering words of encouragement to his unconscious form. He hadn't just suggested she go to sleep for fun, she was exhausted and needed to take time for herself. He was very capable of being alone (with two doctors watching him like hawks) for a couple of hours.
Banner checked his ears, much like his coworker had earlier, yet he seemed more pleased with what he found than she had been. So his ear was healing; that explained the hearing that had suddenly reappeared when he'd woken up. He wasn't a doctor or anything, but he was pretty sure eardrums didn't heal overnight. That seemed highly unlikely, by anyone's standards.
He kept his gaze firmly planted on May, trying to understand the look on her face. She was glancing towards the man- Tony Stark -who was now standing near the doorway, waiting for the a-okay to come back near Peter. He wasn't sure he'd ever be ready to meet Tony Stark properly. That would be, like, a dream come true.
He didn't understand much of what was happening, at all. He knew just a few bullet point things;
- He was hurt. God, it hurt like a bitch, his throat, his head. His arms and legs felt weak and he couldn't even justify it. What kind of injury causes pain like this? Pain so scattered and widespread?
- May was there. Ben wasn't, where the hell was he? At least, he had May. She was there and she hadn't left in a while.
- He was getting better. Though it might've just been the painkillers they had him on, his hearing had come back somewhat and he wasn't in as much pain as he had been initially.
That was the extent of what he knew. Then there was the list of things he didn't know.
- Where the hell is Ben? Why wasn't he here?
- Why is Bruce Banner here? And why is he the one taking care of Peter?
- Why is Tony Stark here? Just, why?
- How is May so cool with it? Maybe she hadn't recognized Bruce before he'd said his name, and even then, maybe she hadn't recognized the name either; but Tony Stark's face is plastered on every street corner, in every tabloid and on every news channel almost 24/7.
Questions filled his mind, constantly. He doesn't think he's had a clear thought since he woke up, the first time. None of it made any sense. There was no real explanation for this. Two wildly famed men in the science and technology field standing in Peter's room taking care of him. May had to have known that was something he would've only dreamt of.
"Am I dying?" he asked, looking right through May.
She stopped glancing towards Stark, fully focused on the raw sound of her nephew's question. It had come out so small, so scared. He was just 14, he wasn't ready to die. He didn't want to. Not now, not without Ben.
Where's Ben?
May wasn't expecting that to be the next few words he'd say; Mr. Stark either. Peter could only see him out of the corner of his eye, but the man's expression fell so quickly, so drastically. To hell with waiting for him to ask him to come over, Tony immediately sat on the edge of his bed, right next to May. It was almost more unsettling this way, but there was a sense of calm that accompanied the billionaire. An uncertainty sprinkled with concern but hidden away under a projection of calmness.
"No, baby," May whispered, brushing his cheeks with the pads of her thumbs. Her eyes were full of sadness now, but no tears. Thank God she'd stopped crying, but he was afraid he'd make her start again. "You're hurt, badly, but you're going to be just fine."
That was slightly helpful. He knew that he had been hurt, but she seemed sure of herself that he would recover fully. There was no need to worry about that. Except for the fact that two of his idols were standing in the room with them.
"Then why are there two Avengers here?"
She seemed taken aback by the question like she hadn't expected him to ask it. Like it was totally normal for him to be hanging out with Earth's mightiest superheroes. May sputtered a little, trying to figure out what to say to that. He pressed on a little, trying to get to the point of his questions.
"Am I a make-a-wish kid?" he said, finally tearing his eyes away from May and to the other two men in the room. "Like, I'm dying and you knew I'd want to meet them?"
Tony barked a laugh, caught off guard but not displeased with the boy's conclusion. He'd always been a funny kid, but this was something else. He was definitely in pain, and he was still cracking jokes like there was no tomorrow. At least, that's what Tony thought.
Peter's eyes didn't soften when Stark laughed. The tenseness in his arms and chest didn't release. He glued his gaze back on May, searching her soul for an answer she wasn't saying out loud. He was being serious. There was no other possible explanation for whatever the hell this reunion was. It wasn't a coincidence that two Avengers happened to be chilling in a Queens hospital when Peter came in and thought 'Well, hey! That kid seems like he needs a father figure or two, let's go help him out!'
May's eyes had crinkled and her expression had cracked into a smile when Tony had laughed. It had been bright and boisterous, and nobody had been left unaffected by the genuine happiness that had surfaced out of him. But, she was beginning to realize the seriousness of the situation. She let the light leave her eyes just a tad, just enough to show Peter that she understood he wasn't kidding.
Peter felt more unnerved than before. Tony Stark had laughed as if Peter had made a joke. As if his confusion was merely grounds for laughter; for shits and giggles. As if he wasn't reevaluating everything he knew, and everything he is.
"May ," he said, a single word said in such a pleading manner. It was dripping in fear, in confusion. All he wanted was answers. He wanted the truth, he wanted to understand. He's never felt so out of the loop in his entire life before.
He'd always excelled at school, he'd always known exactly what he was doing and how to achieve anything he's ever wanted to do. Building a laptop from scratch? Not an issue. Advanced calculus at 14? Been there, done that. But understanding why Tony Stark and Bruce Banner were hanging there, palling around with him? Dumbstruck.
"Sweetie," May responded, brushing his hair back, her voice quietly gaining in terror. "You remember them, don't you?"
He wanted to say yes. Of course, he remembered them. Two of the greatest scientists in the history of ever. But she seemed so frightened by the fact that he didn't know more than their names. He knew their greatest accomplishments, he knew what everyone could find on Wikipedia. May seemed more expectant than for him to recite their entire childhoods and their first great breakthroughs.
His silence answered for him. He was searching for any remnants of memories in his mind. The little hamster in there was spinning on his wheel faster than he ever had before. All Peter wanted was a clear-cut answer. A positive one, if possible.
The color physically drained out of Tony's face. Everyone in the room could see it. The way his smile faded abruptly. Peter couldn't remember. His kid couldn't remember.
Peter looked around the room, almost as if he were expecting the answer to be hung near the ceiling, or stuck in between the blinds that covered the window. He didn't notice when Stark got up from the bed, or when he and Banner had a hushed conversation. They spoke quickly, hurriedly. There was no time to waste, there was only fear growing at an alarming rate.
May dropped her hand from his hair, squeezing his hand tightly; bringing his focus back onto her. "Hey," she said. "It's going to be okay."
Banner spoke up after Tony had left the room. Peter saw a glimpse of the other side of the door, and all he could manage to see were two bright green eyes, looking back at his. More people, he thought. Great.
"I'll go get Dr. Cho, okay?" he asked, fiddling with a pen in the breast pocket of his dress shirt. He took his leave, and in the crack of the door, he saw those eyes once more. Big and expectant. Waiting for him. Yearning for him.
Bruce came back a few moments later, Cho in tow. The bun she'd had was replaced with a loose ponytail, letting her black hair swing on either side of her head. She was wearing the same clothes, but her face seemed more relaxed than before.
She smiled warmly at him, trying to put him at ease in a situation that did not procure it by nature. She snuck a look at his chart, noting the most prominent developments since she'd been here last, such as the healed eardrums.
"Good afternoon, Peter," Cho said, not unkindly. "How are you feeling?"
That was a question for the ages. How was he feeling? Confused. Scared. In pain. Did he mention confused ?
"I'm okay," he responded sheepishly, knowing it was safer to go with a positive answer rather than to start listing all the horrible thoughts milling about in his head.
"You had quite the concussion when you first came in," she stated, getting closer to his bed and leaving the chart on the bedside table. "Mind if we make sure it's all healing nicely?"
He gave a timid nod, not wanting to aggravate the lingering headache he had. Peter saw this as an opportunity to get May to finally rest. He turned his head to look at her before speaking.
"I'll be okay, Aunt May, you need to rest."
Did that make him a hypocrite? Probably. But he cared more about her than he cared about himself. He was allowed to be a self-sacrificing hypocrite, thank you very much.
May wanted to stay, but she knew he was in good hands, and she couldn't deny that she desperately needed sleep. She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead before squeezing his hand one more time. "I love you, baby."
He followed her with his eyes, seeing her leave, followed closely by Dr. Banner until the only people left in the room were Peter and Cho.
Cho looked over her shoulder at the door, and once she was satisfied that no one would enter, she turned back towards the teen. "So, how are you really feeling?"
Peter blinked stupidly at her for a few seconds, unsure of how to proceed. He wanted to say he really was fine, but they'd both know he was lying. He thought of just a few words to sum up every inquiry in his brain and ended up with 4 words. "It hurts. A lot."
Cho's expression softened into a grin, pleased with his honesty. "Anywhere specific?" she asked, already moving towards his IV bag, surely to give him more painkillers.
"Everywhere. Head, throat, arms, legs; you name it."
On top of that, Peter was exhausted beyond belief. It was incredible that he hadn't passed out already. The conversations, the pain , it was all taking a huge toll on his energy and there was no telling how much longer he could last. It was anyone's guess at this point. He didn't think his tiredness was subtle, but maybe May had just been ignoring it to spend more time with her semi-coherent nephew. Cho, however, wasn't blind to his drooping eyes or exerting yawns.
"The morphine I'm giving you is probably going to make you more drowsy, so don't force yourself to stay awake once it starts taking effect," she said, moving to jot something down.
The boy nodded, knowing that with May gone, he had no real reason to stay awake, aside from the hundreds of thousands of questions in his head. Although, he had a feeling the drugs would do their part in quieting those thoughts down.
Dr. Cho placed her pen down on the bedside table, pivoting on her heels to face Peter, the same soft smile adorning her lips. "Well, your hearing has improved. I have a few questions and a couple of tests to run to make sure the concussion didn't have any serious effects, if that'd be okay with you?"
Peter was ever thankful for a kind and caring doctor like her. She took the time to explain everything and he knew that she wouldn't do a single test without his consent, apart from the time when he was unconscious, and even then he was pretty sure she'd asked May a dozen times over for her consent.
He gave her a small mark of acceptance, and she asked him to grab each of her index fingers with his hands. He did so and squeezed when she instructed him to. It was the same position she'd had him in when he'd first woken up, incapable of hearing her requests. She seemed glad that he was squeezing, and told him that one of the main concerns was off the table.
He hadn't lost any strength or sensation due to the concussion, so that was a great sign for his recovery. She tested his reflexes next, which didn't require any conscious effort from him. The results were just as promising as before, and the tension that had settled in the room started to dissipate. His hearing was then checked, and even with the since-healed ruptured eardrum, everything seemed great.
And that's exactly where it started going downhill.
Cho moved on to the verbal questions, to make sure he didn't have any concentration issues, and such.
He, indeed, didn't have any concentration issues. He could focus very clearly and showed no signs of struggling with tasks of the sort.
"Great job, Peter. I just have a few last questions, and then you can rest," she promised, finishing off a sentence in his chart. "What's your full name?"
Peter laughed a little at the question, seeing as May had said it earlier, and Cho herself had just called him Peter, but he indulged her anyway. "Peter Benjamin Parker."
"And how old are you, Peter?" she proceeded, smiling at the sound of his lighthearted chuckle.
"14 years old," he said, rolling his eyes at the idiocy of these simple questions.
Cho's smile faltered a little at his answer. "I'm sorry?" she said, prompting him to repeat the same answer.
"I'm 14?" he responded, one eyebrow quirking upwards. "Born in 2001."
"Right," Cho murmured, her brows furrowing in slight confusion. "And we're in the year..."
"2015. I can do math, I thought we proved that earlier," he joked, beaming at her.
Her expression made it very clear that was the wrong answer. She didn't have to speak, but her every crisped facial muscle proved just how confused Peter was. He didn't know how to proceed, anymore. He wanted to know what was going on.
They weren’t in 2015? He couldn’t remember anything after getting home from school. It had been a pretty normal day, a field trip in the morning and then a couple of classes in the afternoon, but there was no time travel involved. Nothing that would lead to him forgetting a couple of months worth of memories.
He was so beyond confused. He wanted May. He wanted Ben .
The constant beeping he'd learned to tune out started speeding up, proving his fear.
"Peter," Dr. Cho said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. Memory loss happens with concussions. It's temporary."
He found comfort in her expression. One filled with care and kindness and love. He didn't know her, and surely she didn't know him, but there was an unspoken similarity to family. She truly wanted him to understand that it would be okay, and she wouldn't lie about something of the sort. He trusted her to be honest, and he knew that it was temporary. It would be okay.
He just needed May and Ben. Where the fuck was Ben?
Peter took deep breaths, as instructed by Dr. Cho, and started to calm down. This whole situation was more confusing than what he'd expected when he woke up in a hospital. There's a certain extent to which he thought he'd be affected, but this had surpassed that quota by about three infinities-worth.
He yawned against his will. That's when he realized he wasn't in an extraordinary amount of pain anymore. It was completely tolerable, and he was feeling all the effects of the morphine.
Cho took her hand away, telling him it was high time he got some sleep. She promised him that the second May finished resting, she'd be right back here.
"And Ben?" Peter asked, already fighting off another yawn.
Dr. Cho didn't seem to know who Ben was. So he hadn't been here? He wasn't walking the halls, waiting and stressing about how his nephew was doing?
Where was Ben?
May was carding her fingers through his hair, making him feel cared for and loved.
His eyes fluttered open to reveal her, smiling down at him and saying sweet nothings in Italian. It almost sounded like she was singing a song. A calm tone, a soft and steady rhythm, a kind message hidden in a language he couldn't understand, but whose emotion was still very understandable even with the language barrier.
When she saw his eyes looking back at hers, she laid back in her chair, bringing her hands back to her sides.
"Morning, sweetie," she said.
It had been morning when he'd woken up first. It had been afternoon, or at least that's what Cho had said when he'd been faced with both Tony and Bruce. Now it was morning again. 24 hours had come and gone, and the only thing he'd gotten out of them was incertitude. His heart felt heavy. Heavy with the burden of doubt. Would everything truly be okay?
He knew that if Ben were here, he'd have him in his arms. They'd be holding each other, simply basking in the other's presence, in their aura. Peter would be okay, because he'd have his uncle there with him, understanding that even with all his hesitations, he'd always have him in his corner. They'd always be together, fighting whatever issue it was they were facing. They'd be a single unit, and that'd be enough to take down the whole world if it ever came to that.
"Where's Ben?" he asked.
This time, there was no buffer between him and May. There was no impending sleep. He wasn't dancing on the line between the real world and the smooth promise of unconsciousness. It was just him and May. She and Peter.
She didn't know what to say to that. It was like the answer was written in big box letters over her head but Peter was choosing not to read them. He was blindly believing that Ben would just waltz into the room, without a care in the world. Like he could just show up at any given moment and take both of them into his arms and tell them he was sorry for being away for so long. For not being there when they needed him most. Peter might've believed that fantasy and she couldn't exactly blame him. He wasn't being ignorant, per se, he was just hurt. He couldn't remember. It wasn't his fault.
It was, however, her job to tell him.
To tell him Ben was gone.
It had been so traumatic when he'd first died. Especially because Peter had been there. Maybe this time, since he wasn't seeing it happen in front of his own eyes, it'd make it easier to understand. It might not pang such an intense pain in his chest every time he thought of his uncle.
There was a possibility he'd just feel warmth at his memory. He'd recall the good times, reminiscing on the ball games they'd gone to together, or the dance recitals Ben came to, cheering louder than anyone else just to make sure Peter could hear him through the crowd. May only hoped that this time, he'd find peace in his passing, not guilt.
"Peter..." she started, unsure of how to put this news delicately. If nothing else, she had to soften the blow. He'd already had his parents die on him, he wasn't exactly a stranger to the feeling, but it didn't mean May would be any less sensitive about telling him his uncle's fate. " Ben, he..."
Peter was looking right into her eyes, the ones that looked so much like his own. Big and brown and bright. Those eyes that wanted nothing more than to show compassion to every living creature on this planet, or any other. Those eyes that knew how to recognize anyone's emotions, no matter how far they were hidden beneath the surface. Those eyes that had already felt such an immense amount of pain, and that knew, just by looking at May's face, that their suffering had not yet ended.
She didn't want to say it. She wanted to keep him shielded from this pain, from the grief he'd have to go through for the third time in his life. May was only thankful that both of his parents had died at the same time, or he'd have gone through this ritual too many times for a boy his age.
"He's gone, honey," May stated simply, taking his hands and rubbing her thumb alongside his.
"Gone?" Peter repeated, trying to think of where he might've gone. He wouldn't have left them alone like this, he loved them. He was loyal, he was kind. He loved Peter. He loves Peter. Present tense. He wouldn't just leave them, he has to be here. He has to be.
Tears were welling up in May's eyes. Peter knew that sight far too well, especially recently. It wasn't something he was very fond of, but he knew if she was crying, there was no way he'd make it through the whole conversation without doing so, himself. He could hear the many sounds of the many monitors attached to him, but he didn't pay attention to anything other than May. The sounds of her shallow breaths, unable to take them any deeper. The steady thumping of her heart, pounding against her chest. He could almost hear the way it was bleeding.
She steadied herself, took an over-exaggeratedly deep breath, and spoke.
"He died three years ago."
Peter's senses almost exploded. He was expecting an overpowering silence, the most quiet and personal hell he could ever be plunged into; the darkness of an abyss swallowing him whole in his grief for his uncle. That wasn't what he found when May delivered her line.
He physically jumped back into the bed, pushing himself against the wall, kicking the thin blanket off of him.
His every sense heightened to a level he'd never experienced before. Everything felt so extreme .
He could hear the sounds of a conversation happening far away, but he was hearing it crystal clear. He heard the thrum of machinery a few floors away. The steady rhythm of dozens of heartbeats, all sounding at different moments so he was continuously hearing a new thump. Someone was talking on their phone and the person on the other end came out tinny and felt like a very tiny needle being shoved with such vigor into his ear, he thought his eardrum would spontaneously burst just because of them.
He smelled the antiseptic of his room, the way the entire floor was sterile and clean. His sense of smell didn't stop there, though. He could distinguish the scent of a meal being cooked in another portion of the building, something spicy, and even from this far away it almost brought tears to his eyes. He noticed the aroma of so many perfumes, all jumbling together to practically assault Peter's nostrils; all different types of odors, from sweet and light spritzes, to dark and intense colognes.
He could swear the lights had brightened when May had spoken. Even the monitors had gone up a few notches, and the sun was beating down incredibly intensely on the bed. He could jam his eyes shut, but his eyelids didn't provide much protection from the firmly-growing glow the outside world shone onto him.
His skin was crawling, a tingling feeling that started in his extremities but grew stronger as it traveled across his entire body, making him feel trapped in his own skeleton, forced to endure the most disturbing sensation ever. He was overheating; the sheets were too thick, his clothes were too itchy, too warm. The air was too hot, too humid.
He could barely breathe with everything going on in his brain. All his nerves fighting over which one to be sensed more, to be felt fully. It didn't matter, really, they were all being received at the exact same time and that made it so much worse. He was too busy trying to understand what was happening to notice the people that had rushed into his room.
More new people.
Someone tried to touch him, but he flinched at the contact and they immediately removed themselves from his vicinity. Peter was struggling to breathe, and it was becoming serious, now. Lightheadedness was in the ballpark if he didn't take the time to calm down very soon.
" FRIDAY, lights off," a voice said, panicked and deep. " And soundproof the room!"
It took all of 10 seconds for everything to stop. The lights dimmed until they were all submerged in darkness. Nobody spoke, and there were no sounds but the distinctive beating of 4 pulses, including his own. The machines had stopped beeping, and their whirring had been paused. It was finally calm. The dark was helpful for Peter's eyes, but it also made the heat seem much more bearable. He wasn't baking in the sun anymore, he was merely swimming in the moonlight.
His breathing slowed down, allowing him to reclaim a firm grasp on consciousness. A few minutes passed where the only sounds anyone could hear were Peter's breathless sobs. He had tried to stop at one point, but he'd just doubled down and started back even stronger.
" Can we raise the lights?" whispered the same person as before, careful not to speak any louder than a murmur, knowing it'd be useless and that he'd be understood either way.
Peter replied with his own mumbled yes in between choked sobs. The lights very slowly raised to the bare minimum for anyone to see about a foot in front of them. May was still sitting on that goddamn plastic chair, looking at him with silent tears rolling down her cheeks.
Banner was standing to his left, having turned off the monitors deemed unnecessary whilst Peter was in the middle of a panic attack / sensory overload. And finally, at the end of the bed, standing there, looking about as helpless as a deer in headlights, was Tony Stark. For a man who was a literal billionaire, and who had everything he wanted at the drop of a hat, he seemed so incredibly afraid. Terrified of this teenager, this child , whom he did not know. Or was he terrified for the kid?
"Baby," May whimpered, throwing herself into Peter's arms. The boy didn't react as she'd expected. For all the times in the past 24 hours that he'd thought 'I want May,' now all he wanted was to be as far away from her as humanly possible. Peter pushed her away, cowering into the opposite side of the bed, near Banner.
May choked on a sob of her own. When they'd lost Ben, many moons ago, it hadn't gone like this. Peter hadn't been so aggressive towards her. He had been right there when Ben had gone, so Peter hadn't had the added confusion of someone else having to tell him, to make him understand. This time around, it was different. Not only had he not been present, but he couldn't remember anything other than Ben being there. It was bringing up past memories that had been locked away by his mind, and tricking it into believing the truth.
She understood that he needed space. She knew that the first time around he had processed it all on his own, on that sidewalk. He had to do it once again, but this time she could be witness to his raw grief, he just simply didn't want her to be.
She picked herself up from the chair, wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, despite the fact they kept flowing no matter how many times she tried to dry her cheeks, and moved out of the room, only stopping to whisper something into Tony's ear.
' I had to tell him about Ben.'
Stark cautiously approached the boy, weighing his options, but knowing all he wanted to do was bring him comfort. "Can I touch you?" he asked, still speaking far too softly for even Banner to hear.
Peter nodded, and though he couldn't see anything with his view too obscured by the constant influx of tears, he knew that the man was approaching. He hadn't wanted May to hold him, but that didn't mean it was because he didn't want to be held.
He knew it was necessary because the minute Stark's arms were around him, it was like his whole world clicked into place. He melted into the man's embrace, his sobs growing steadily louder, even muffled through his shirt.
" Tesoro mio," Stark hushed softly into Peter's curls, rubbing his hand up and down the teen's back.
Peter felt strange, being so vulnerable in a stranger's arms, but he felt so safe. He knew he'd be okay, he'd be protected in Tony's hold. Whatever pain he was feeling, no matter how new and how severe, it would all go away the longer he stayed in Tony's arms. Banner gave them some space, leaving the room, presumably to go talk to May.
Peter couldn't tell what was real anymore. He couldn't remember anything from the last three years? That seemed almost impossible, but then again he was being held and shushed in Italian by Iron Man . None of this seemed exactly plausible.
It just wasn't fair. He had just seen Ben. It was just a couple of hours ago, and now May said it was three years ago and that he was dead?
No. She was lying. She had to be.
He sniffled decisively, taking in a rather shaky breath, but bracing himself nonetheless to speak.
"'May's lyin', right?" he asked, still keeping his head in the crook of Tony's neck.
Initially, Stark tensed when Peter had spoken. Either because he hadn't been expecting to have a conversation through sobs and sniffs, or because he hadn't thought Peter would so easily doubt the word of his beloved aunt. It was like Tony was holding his breath, not sure whether he should exhale and accept what Peter was saying, or if he should continue to stay silent and remain impartial until May was there to provide her evidence and prove her side of things.
He ended up heaving a very heavy sigh, incapable of lying (or lying by omission) to his kid.
Tony pulled out of their hug, just a little. Just enough to see Peter, fully. To notice the tears tracks that physically dug into the skin of his cheeks, leaving damp stripes all the way down his chin, where the back of his shirt was probably soaked through with salted despair. He saw his lip, the one that wouldn't stop quivering and couldn't prevent itself from hiccuping every now and again, too overcome with emotion. He faced the child whose heart was just shattered into fragments, whose mind was already too foggy to function properly. He looked at him and only told him the truth.
"You're 17 years old, Pete. Ben died when you were just 14, but May isn't lying," the man admitted, brushing locks of hair out of Peter's face, giving him a good look at the way the kid's entire demeanor fell.
He had clung to hope, to the idea that May was wrong, no matter how small that seed had been, he'd wanted to water it blindly, allowing himself the benefit of the doubt; the bliss of ignorance. He started crying again, thrusting himself into his (unbeknownst to him) mentor's arms. Peter sought out any comfort he could get, and all Tony wanted was to be that comfort.
No matter how much pain either of them was in, they'd always be there for each other. Even if Peter couldn't remember they'd been in this position before, Tony would do it all over again, a million times over.
They stayed in their embrace for a long time, neither of them wanting to let go again. Peter didn't know much about Tony, other than what he'd read online, and the fact that he was a genius of ridiculous proportions, but he obviously cared for him. Peter figured there was no harm done in seeking out that compassion.
Ben couldn't be gone. Not already. He was too young; both of them were. They still needed each other. Had Peter not been there enough for Ben? Did he not show his love enough?
He never got to say goodbye. Three years had passed, and he never would get the chance to say goodbye.
How did he even die? A heart attack? He was way too in shape for that, but there was no other logical explanation for his uncle dying while he was barely in his 40s.
Peter's mind kept playing cruel tricks on him, reminding him of times when he disappointed Ben. Days where he forgot to bring something to school for a project, or times when he missed his alarm and had to run around the apartment to make it to school on time. So many examples of things he could've done better, of times he should've been a better nephew, a better son .
The further back his mind took him, the louder and more desperate his cries became. He just wanted him back . It didn't make any sense. He felt so alone, so terrified. Sure, Tony Stark was holding him, but it didn't mean the man understood what was happening. He probably didn't know what it felt like to lose the person most important to you; one of the last people you have left in your life.
" Andrà tutto bene," he said, rubbing soothing circles into Peter's back for the umpteenth time. "You're okay, bambino, I've got you."
Maybe Peter didn't need someone who understood, maybe he just needed someone who was there .
He didn't trust himself to be with May, right now. She hadn't kept this from him, but it still felt like a betrayal of humongous proportions. He wouldn't hold it against her, and it wasn't anyone's fault, but he was just too sensitive to have to look at her and pretend like he wasn't just seeing half of a whole. She and Ben were a single entity in his mind; they were joined at the hip, and despite the fact he's done things with both of them individually, he'd lived most of his life as a family, all together.
When Cho had been looking at them, what had been two-thirds of the Parker family for him, had actually been the entirety of what was left of the Parker family. Two broken pieces of a puzzle, shaped more oddly than most other pieces. They weren't made to connect directly, and there was no blood relation between him and May, but she had always been family.
They would make their little puzzle work, no matter how many indents Peter would have to cut into himself for May to fit perfectly, no matter how jagged those edges might be.
He fell asleep, cradled in Tony's arms, thinking of May, and missing Ben.
I love you, Ben. Goodbye.