Work Text:
The Way You Shake and Shiver (shaking hands/shivers/silent panic attack)
***
“As the investigation progresses, the world continues to demand justice for the innocent victims of Spider-Man’s reckless escapade in Europe,” J. Jonah Jameson declares, glaring through the TV with the permanent frown etched onto his face. “And teenager or not, we must hold Peter Parker accountable for his crimes—”
The screen suddenly goes black, and Peter’s attention diverts to Happy, who's standing next to the couch, holding the remote in his hand. “Peter, why are you watching that garbage?”
Peter shrugs.
Happy sighs. “Well, don’t, all right? Jameson is just looking to make a buck. None of what he’s saying is true.”
Ignoring the man’s words, Peter glances down dejectedly. “Everybody hates me.”
“Everybody does not hate you.”
“Okay, a lot of people hate me and also think I murdered a bunch of people with killer drones,” Peter amends, flopping against the backrest of the couch. He knows he’s being dramatic, but everything that's happened over the past month and a half is catching up to him. He’s restless, not being able to go out and patrol, since all of his suits are currently confiscated with the ongoing investigation and lawsuit. He’s thankful for Ned and MJ helping this whole situation a little more bearable, but even spending extra time with them doesn’t make up for his inability to swing around the city and save others.
All he ever wanted to do was help people and make a difference for the citizens of New York. Now the world knows his name and he’s smack-dab in the middle of a giant court case to determine if he’ll be forced to face any charges for his alleged crimes. Their lawyer, a man by the name of Matt Murdock, seems to think that everything will turn out their way, but Peter knows how fragile these things can be. Plus, public opinion matters a lot. Even if the charges are dropped, there’s no regaining his secret identity. Peter Parker and Spider-Man are one and the same to the world now. It makes him feel exposed, vulnerable.
Peter zones back in, realizing that Happy is still talking. “—and the news only reports the negative stuff. It doesn’t talk about all the people who are supporting you.”
“I guess,” he says. Happy’s right. Things are going to be okay, he just needs to hold out a bit longer until it’s all sorted out and the hype blows over. He'll be back out there stopping crime in no time.
Happy nods. “So stop thinking about it.” He glances at his watch. “Hey, when’s May supposed to be back?”
“Um, she said around four, but I guess she must be running late.” Peter pulls out his phone and sends another text her way, asking if everything is okay.
“Probably caught in traffic,” Happy says nonchalantly.
“Yeah, probably,” Peter echoes as Happy walks away, trying to stave off the tiny knot of worry forming in the pit of stomach. May is notorious for not being on time, but she’s usually never more than a few minutes late. It’s almost forty minutes after four.
Peter tells himself there’s not any reason to worry. Sometimes she stays late at work. It’s just hard not to think the worst, especially with everything that’s happening right now. People know Peter is Spider-Man, which means that they also know that May is Spider-Man’s aunt. He doesn’t like the idea of her still going to work or being out and about by herself. After losing the majority of parental figures he’s had in his short life, he doesn’t think anyone can blame him for being a little overprotective of the one he has left. May has been with him through every one of those tragic losses–his parents, Uncle Ben, Mr. Stark… He doesn’t know what he’d do if he were to lose her, too.
Peter swallows back the lump in his throat and texts May again, noting the lack of a read receipt on his previous message. His aunt can be scatterbrained at the best of times, but she’s usually pretty quick about responding to him.
He switches to his text thread with MJ, messaging her to keep his mind off his slowly-rising worry. They go back and forth with mindless conversation for a while, but Peter is getting more and more antsy as time passes.
He feels silly to voice any of his concerns to Happy, because the man doesn’t seem particularly worried yet and Peter doesn’t want to be overdramatic. She’s fine, she’ll walk through the door any minute. He continues to tell himself that even as checks the time again and dials May’s number. The line rings.
And rings.
And rings.
And goes to voicemail.
Peter chokes back barely-concealed panic, the knot in his stomach doubling in size as he hangs up. Maybe her phone battery is dead, he thinks, even though he knows the chance of that is slim.
His mind is running through every possible worst-case scenario, and he's this close to freaking out. Peter decides he can’t wait any longer. He stands to his feet, trying to keep the waver out of his voice. “Hey, Happy—”
There’s a sudden, abrupt knock at the door, and Peter jumps. May wouldn’t knock, she would just come right in, which means it’s not her—
“Now who could that be?” Happy grouses, appearing from the next room and making his way over to the door. “The security here is top-notch. If it’s one of those ridiculous reporters, I’m going to…” His complaint cuts off as he peers through the peephole in the door.
Frowning, Peter takes one step, craning his neck as Happy opens the door to see who it is. His gaze catches on the two sober-faced police officers standing in the doorway, and his heart rate skyrockets, causing his legs to go weak.
There’s no way to adequately explain the horror that fills Peter’s chest. He thinks he might throw up. His throat closes up, and the room starts to spin.
No. No, no, no. May. Please, no. His body can’t function; he can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t speak. There’s nothing but pure terror coursing through his veins.
The world stops spinning; time becomes nonexistent within his silent panic attack. At some point, however, he must make some sort of noise, because suddenly Happy is in front of him, hands on his shoulders, brows drawn together in a worried frown. “Peter?”
The familiar voice breaks through the haze, and suddenly Peter is shaking uncontrollably.
“Is he okay?” one of the policemen asks from the door.
“Just—give us a second, all right?” Happy says without removing his gaze from Peter’s. “Hey, I’m right here, buddy. What’s going on, huh?”
Peter opens his mouth, floundering for words that refuse to come out.
“Peter, you’ve got to talk to me,” Happy tells him, his tone gentle yet firm.
“May,” is all he can manage to croak.
Happy’s frown deepens. “What about—”
“May—is it, did...is she—” Peter’s voice echoes like a roar in his ears, eyes darting from the policemen to Happy and back again.
Realization dawns in Happy’s eyes, the confusion slowly overtaken by a look of horror instead. “Oh—no. No, Peter, no. These guys—they’re just, they’re here about the case.”
Peter tries to process the words through his panic. “Wh—what?”
“The whole Mysterio case. They’re here to talk to me.” Happy shakes his head vehemently. “May—May’s fine. Well, as far as I know, anyway.”
Peter's brain short-circuits. “She’s fine?” he repeats, voice coated in disbelief. He grabs his phone off the couch, immediately noticing the most recent notification just above MJ’s last text.
Aunt May: So sorry, sweetheart, crazy situation at work! All finally sorted and I’m on my way home now. I’ll tell you about it then. <3
Peter’s knees give out, and he collapses onto the sofa. His hands are shaking so hard that his phone falls from his grasp. She’s okay, she’s okay, she’s okay. “May’s—she says she's on her way home,” he says out loud, relief clear in his trembling tone. His cheeks redden with embarrassment as he begins to realize how much he just overreacted. But adrenaline is still pumping through his body, and he’s finding it difficult to rein in his emotions.
“Okay, good. Are you okay?” Happy asks.
Peter nods, although he is very much not okay.
Happy must realize this as well, because he says, "One second” and pats Peter gently on the arm before turning away. “Is there any way we can postpone this chat?” he asks the policemen, moving back over to the door.
Peter doesn’t hear the officers’ response or the conversation that ensues, but in less than a minute, Happy is sinking down beside him on the couch.
“I’m sorry,” Peter apologizes immediately. “I didn’t mean to freak out. It’s just—May wasn’t responding to me, and I just, I thought…” He trails off, feeling stupid at how ridiculous his explanation sounds.
“You don’t have to be sorry for anything, Peter. I get it,” Happy says. He must notice that Peter is still shaking, because he wraps an arm around his shoulders and squeezes. “You thought something bad happened.”
Peter swallows, nodding.
"You have a lot going on right now. It makes sense that you're a little on edge. Heck, I'm beyond worried about May and you all the time."
Peter blinks. "You…worry about me?"
It's not that he doubts that Happy cares about him, although he does remembers how the man hated him when they first met—well, maybe hate is too strong of a word, but the head of security for Tony Stark himself was definitely annoyed that he had been saddled with the task of babysitting a starstruck teenager and supervising his trip to Germany. Their relationship had moved in a positive direction after…well, after the Blip, but especially since the whole Europe trip and ensuing fiasco. Their shared connection with Tony brought them closer in the wake of his loss. And now Happy and May are dating—or maybe not-dating, he still can't get a clear answer out of either of them on the nature on their relationship status, but living at Happy's apartment for the past month has only strengthened their connection with him.
"Peter, of course I do," Happy answers. "You're the epitome of someone to worry about—it was the same for Tony. You both throw yourselves into dangerous situations with no regard for your own safety. You know what—you're the reason I have all this gray hair."
Peter snorts out a laugh against Happy's shoulder, some of the tension draining out of him. "Or you could just accept the fact that you're getting old."
"I resent that," Happy says. "How old do you think I am? Wait, actually—don't answer that."
Peter laughs again. There's a lot going on right now and it's all extremely stressful, but at least he has his family and friends to help him navigate it. Heck, Happy gave up his own personal space just for Peter and May to be safer.
"Thank you," he says, the simple phrase not encompassing everything he wants to convey.
But Happy seems to understand. He squeezes Peter's shoulder and shakes him a little. "You're a good kid, Peter. Don't let anyone—especially that idiot Jameson—ever tell you anything different."
Peter manages a smile, finally feeling mostly calm inside again. He and Happy stay sitting side by side on the couch for a while longer.
And when May walks in a few minutes later, Peter is on his feet and across the room within a second, pulling her into a heartfelt hug.
"Hey, baby," she says with a small laugh, squeezing him back. "What's all this?"
Peter doesn't answer right away, just holds her tighter. He can practically feel her giving Happy a quizzical look across the room. "Nothing," he finally answers. "I just—I missed you."
"Okay." He can tell she doesn't fully buy his explanation, but she doesn't press. She plants a quick kiss on his temple and pulls back, examining his face closely. "I love you."
"Love you, too," Peter whispers back, swallowing hard. "So much."
In the months to come, Peter is going to be so grateful for the memory of this little moment.