Work Text:
Peter is running.
It feels like a dream, where he's trying to move as fast as possible, but everything is happening in slow motion and in reality he's barely moving. Still, he doesn't stop. He can't stop, because he has to find Mr. Stark. Has to make sure he's okay.
Has to make sure he's still alive.
A harsh sob catches in his throat. It's been building in chest for the past several hours—as he helped pull the wounded from the rubble of what once was the Avengers compound and is now the remains of a battlefield. Although Thanos and his army are gone now, they'd manage to inflict significant damage to many of those fighting on the other side.
Per T’Challa’s suggestion, Dr. Strange and some of his friends have been opening up portals to take anyone with injuries to Wakanda for medical treatment ever since the battle ended. The doorways can only stay open for a small amount of time, so it's been nonstop effort trying to create a triage area and get people prepared and ready to move the moment a new portal is opened up.
Peter had worked until his arms ached, until he couldn't breathe properly anymore and his legs felt like they couldn't take another step. For as many people as they rescued, they found just as many lifeless bodies.
After Peter had stumbled away to empty his stomach behind a big pile of rubble, someone—he doesn't even remember who now—had suggested he go through with others on the next round of portals and get some rest. The only reason Peter had agreed was because no one around him seemed to have an update on Mr. Stark, and he needs to know what's going on—if the man is still alive. Because last he knew, things weren't hopeful.
For all of its benefits, Peter's enhanced hearing had felt like nothing but a curse as he’d stood there with all the other Avengers and involuntarily listened to the fading heartbeat of the man who'd just saved the universe. Each painful, raspy breath that tore out of Mr. Stark as he lay in a heap on the ground, body broken and burnt from the power of the Infinity Stones continues to echo in his ears even all these hours later.
Now, Peter finds himself sprinting through the halls of the sleek, modern-style hospital, desperately trying to quiet the overwhelming thoughts that are currently drowning him. There's too many. It's all too much—because what in the world just happened? What just happened? Last thing Peter knew, he was fighting Thanos with Mr. Stark and some others on a different planet. Then he woke up, only to find out five years had passed. He'd had exactly zero seconds to process that minor detail before being thrust into the thick of yet another fight, and other than the short—but heartfelt and slightly confusing—reunion with Mr. Stark, it's been nonstop ever since.
So Peter blames his thundering heart, shaky hands, and weak knees on his fading adrenaline as he blindly stumbles in the general direction of the Wakadan hospital OR. He doesn't even have the presence of mind to care that he's barrelling around in public in his Spider-Man suit with no mask. There's no physical labor or other distractions to block the barrage of overlapping thoughts anymore, and it's like they're playing catch up while they have the chance.
Five years. Mr. Stark could be dead. Thanos is gone, he's gone. It's been five years? Tony Tony Tony—
“Hey, whoa, whoa, kid! Peter!”
A big hand catches Peter by the arm, inadvertently wrenching him to an abrupt halt. His forward momentum causes his body to swing back around and collide with something solid, eliciting a grunt from him as all the air leaves his lungs at once.
Peter scrabbles at the front of the dark suit jacket to keep his feet underneath him, fighting to pull himself free from the gentle yet restraining hold. The lights are too bright, everything is too loud, and he needs to find Tony so he can breathe again.
“Hey, hey—calm down.” Happy Hogan's voice is steady and firm as he reaches out with his free hand to grasp Peter's other bicep.
Peter doesn't calm down, but he slows enough that his movements aren't quite so frantic. “Let me go! I need—I need to see him, Happy,” he manages, his voice choked and hoarse. He can feel tears on his cheeks. “Please.”
“You can't go in there right now.”
“But—”
“He's still in surgery.”
“He's alive?” A hopeful note creeps into Peter's tone. He bounces up on his tiptoes in an attempt to see over Happy's shoulder and through the windows on the double doors leading to the operation wing.
The man's eyes widen, and he swears under his breath. “Yes,” he answers. “They're in there working on him.”
Relief floods through Peter's veins, and if it weren't for Happy holding him up, he probably would be sitting on the linoleum hospital floor right now. Part of him had been terrified that he might come to Wakanda only to hear the news that his beloved mentor was already gone. At least if he's in surgery, there's still hope. He sucks in a stuttery breath.
When he glances up again, he realizes Happy is just sort of…staring at him, as though he can't believe what he's seeing. Like Peter is a ghost.
“H—Happy?”
The man blinks, honing back in on the present. “Yeah?”
“Has it really been five years?” There's no hiding the way his voice quivers when he asks the question.
Happy lets out a breath. “Yeah, kid,” he says sadly with a tight nod. “It has.”
The news shouldn't be so shocking, considering he's already heard it from Dr. Strange—and a few mentions from others throughout the course of the afternoon. But standing here, letting the reality of those words settle in, Peter feels…floaty. It's like his brain can't fathom anything that's happened over the past day. Year? Five years? He doesn't even know anymore.
“Are you okay?” Happy asks.
Peter isn't so sure this is real, because he's never heard Mr. Stark's head of security sound so genuinely concerned. “I'm fine,” he says, but the way his entire body is trembling gives him away.
Happy frowns, brow furrowing into an expression that is much more familiar, though it's usually directed toward something stupid that Peter's done. This one is more sympathetic. “You're bleeding,” he states matter-of-factly, letting go with one hand to motion to Peter's face.
“Oh.” Peter's shaky fingers trail upward to dab just above his upper lip, where he knows there must be dried blood from his earlier nosebleed. It's really the least of his concerns—there are so many others who ended up worse off. A headache and an achy body are nothing to complain about. Especially compared to what Mr. Stark is going through.
“...sound good?”
Peter blinks, realizing Happy was talking to him and he has no idea what was just said. “What?”
“I said you should get checked out.”
“Oh,” Peter says again. His eyes trails toward the closed doors leading to the OR. He has no plans to leave this spot until he hears news about Tony.
“It'll probably be a while yet, kid,” Happy says, following his gaze.
“I'm fine.”
Happy sighs. “At least go get a shower and change out of that,” he suggests, motioning to the battered Spider-Man suit. “You can't be comfortable.”
Peter shrugs. He isn't—he knows he's dirty and bloody and exhausted. A hot shower and comfy clothes sound amazing after the day he's had. But Mr. Stark is just beyond those doors, possibly dying, and Peter can't fathom leaving right now. What if…?
“Look,” Happy says with no room for negotiation in his tone, “I'll take you. There's a bathroom right around the corner. Just—hold on one second.”
As much as Peter wants to protest, he can't find it in him to argue back. He's too tired and confused. His ears are still ringing from the constant explosions and screaming from the earlier battle. It won't take long to clean up, and then he can come right back over here and wait for news about Mr. Stark.
He sighs in resignation and watches as Happy walks over to one of the doors to the left and opens it, poking his head inside.
“Hey—I've got the kid. I'm going make sure he gets cleaned up.”
There's a feminine voice that Peter immediately recognizes as Pepper Potts. She sounds tired, like she's been crying, and Peter can't help but wince at the thought of what she must be going through.
“No, don't get up,” Happy says. “He's all right. A little banged up. I've got him.”
She says something else that Peter is too tuned out to hear, but then Happy pulls back enough to meet Peter's gaze and nod his head in the direction of the room. “Come over here for a second,” he instructs.
His feet feel like lead weights, and Peter isn't sure how he gets them moving, but he manages to make his way over to the open doorway where he's been beckoned, peering into what looks to be a private waiting area. It's sparsely furnished, and he quickly spots Pepper sitting on the lone couch. She looks vastly different from the CEO image Peter is used to; she's wearing sweats and her eyes are red. What catches his attention the most, though, is the little girl curled up with her head resting on Pepper's lap, snoring lightly. She can't be more than four or five years old.
His mouth opens and shuts like a fish out of water. “Hi, Miss Potts,” he finally stutters, shoving his hair out of his face in a last-ditch attempt to make himself look slightly presentable.
She smiles softly at him. “Hi, honey. How are you feeling?”
“O—okay,” he says, nodding too enthusiastically. He's a liar; he's anything but okay. “I'm…I'm really sorry.” He doesn't know exactly why he's apologizing. For everything, he decides.
Pepper just nods like she knows exactly how he feels. She must catch the way he keeps looking down at the girl sleeping in her lap, because she says, “We'll make introductions in a bit, okay? Go with Happy, he'll take care of you.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Peter agrees, numbly letting Happy grab him by the shoulder and guide him back down the hall. Thankfully, it isn't far to the small, private bathroom with a full shower and tub.
Any other day, Peter would be enthralled with the fanciness of it all. Instead, he merely blinks around the room, taking in absolutely nothing as Happy talks behind him.
“I'm going find you something to wear when you're done. You need help with anything?”
Peter stares down blankly at his suit. The one that Mr. Stark gave him just hours ago. He realizes he has no idea how to take it off.
“I…I don't how—” he says, cheeks flushing as shaky hands begin to fumble with the chest armor, clawing almost desperately at it.
“Here.” Happy carefully pulls Peter's hands down and away. He must be more familiar with this style of suit, because within seconds he has the nanotechnology working, the suit retracting until it's back in the tiny package-sized lump it came in and Peter is left wearing his original suit.
“Thanks, Happy,” he whispers.
The man nods in response, reaching over to turn the shower on—like he isn't sure if Peter can do it himself. “Take your time, okay? And call for me if you need something. I'll be right outside.”
“Okay.” Peter isn't used to the man being so eager to help. Usually, he's complaining about Peter talking too much or dirtying the upholstery in the back of the car or something.
When he doesn't move to start getting undressed further, Happy begins backtracking toward the door.
Something pokes at the back of Peter's mind. “Happy?”
Happy pauses. “Yeah?”
“My—my aunt.” He swallows, earnest eyes meeting the other man's. “Is—did she…?”
Happy's jaw tightens a miniscule amount. He nods. “She dusted,” he confirms. “But she'll be back now, with all the others. I'll make some calls. I'll find her, kid, I promise.”
Peter breathes out. “Okay,” he says, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “Thank you.”
Once Happy is gone, Peter stands frozen for about thirty seconds longer before he robotically strips out of his original Spider-Man suit and boxers and steps into the shower. The water is scalding, but he pays it no mind as he stands under the showerhead and lets it pound into his skin. Blood and dirt mix with the water, dripping past his feet and down the drain as he washes his hair and body.
Just like earlier, the lack of action and conversation with another person is enough to bring on the torrent of memories—so many that Peter can't grasp onto a single train of thought. The one thing that flashes on repeat in his head is the moment after Mr. Stark snapped his fingers…the image of him so lifeless, in so much pain…it nearly has Peter keeling over and puking again. He doesn't know how Pepper was able to carry on a conversation with and be worried about him when her husband is in surgery after nearly dying to save the world.
Peter has long since finished scrubbing himself clean, but he remains standing with his head pressed against the shower wall, letting the water spray over him until it finally starts to run tepid and he's left shivering.
When he climbs out, he finds a full outfit waiting for him near the door—a pair of sweatpants, a hoodie, some socks and slip-on shoes. He has no idea where Happy found all this, and he doesn't have the energy to care. He towels off and pulls the clothes on, each movement more difficult than the last even though he's been on autopilot for the last who-knows-how-long. He thinks he could sleep for a week with how tired his body feels.
There's no telling how much time has passed, and he knows he can't afford to waste any time because he doesn't know how much time Mr. Stark might have left. And he has to be there for him, just like the man was for him when he was turning to dust on Titan.
Peter wrenches open the door but just stands there, feeling dazed, shivering uncontrollably from a mixture of cold and what he assumes must be shock. Is this how people feel after he rescues them from a burning building or a car wreck?
“Was about to come in after you,” Happy jokes as he steps into the doorway, pausing when he notices the look on Peter's face. “Hey. What's wrong?”
What isn't? In lieu of an answer, Peter wraps his arms around himself. “Is he gonna be okay?” he asks abruptly.
Happy lets out a long, slow breath. “He's the strongest person I know. If anyone can beat the odds, it's him.”
It's a cop-out answer, they both know it, but it does make Peter feel slightly better. He sniffs and nods.
Happy watches him for a second longer, hands twitching at his sides like he's contemplating something before he finally steps forward and pulls Peter into a tight hug.
It's entirely unexpected, yet everything Peter needs in this moment. He melts into the embrace, his folded arms trapped between his and Happy's chest as the man holds him like he never wants to let go, his large, warm hands a steady pressure against Peter's shoulders and the back of his head. It's almost enough to make him forget everything that's happened—all his worries and fears and dread.
Several minutes tick by in silence. Peter thinks he could fall asleep standing right here. He probably would have if Happy hadn't chosen that exact moment to pat him on the back and pull away slightly. Peter whines at the loss of contact, too out of it to be embarrassed.
Happy pulls him into his side instead. “Come on. Pepper wants you to go sit with her.”
Peter blinks. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” Happy rolls his eyes. “Thought you were supposed to be a genius.”
“I am,” he slurs tiredly.
Happy snorts, giving him a nudge forward. “Come on, move. I'm not carrying you over there.”
On a normal day, Peter might crack a joke about how he isn't sure Happy's bad back could handle that, or go limp just to see how he would react, but today there's no humor left in him. Tucked under Happy's arm, he feels safe. So he stays there as they make their way back to the waiting room together.
Pepper immediately welcomes them back in, inviting Peter to join her on the couch. The little girl is still sound asleep, but Pepper quickly and carefully explains that this is her daughter, Morgan Stark.
Peter's overloaded mind accepts the news without too much surprise. Maybe he'd put two and two together when he'd first seen her earlier. Or maybe he's just too tired to care and unable to properly process anything new right now. Who knows?
Despite how exhausted he is, Peter doesn't think there's any way he's going to fall asleep until they hear news about Mr. Stark. Unfortunately, his battered body disagrees. Within minutes, he finds himself listing to the side, eyelids so heavy he can't keep forcing them open.
Someone—Happy, if he had to guess—drapes a blanket over Peter's still-shivering form, and his head is guided down into a warm lap. Quiet voices begin to drift over him, the words muffled but the sounds comforting just the same. He wonders if they're talking about Mr. Stark—he should stay awake, right? In case someone comes in with an update. His stomach turns over in an anxiety-ridden flip at the reminder of just how bad things could be.
He must be making some kind of noise, because he can hear Pepper shushing him gently now, her fingers carding through his damp hair in a soothing, repetitive motion. Peter relaxes automatically, trusting that she'll wake him up the moment they hear anything about Tony's condition.
Just before his eyes close one final time as he drifts off, he catches a glimpse of Happy standing guard over all of them. Peace fills his chest, and for the first time since Mr. Stark snapped his fingers on that battlefield, Peter thinks everything might turn out okay after all.