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“It wasn’t Hank.”
Jan’s hand landed lightly on his knee. Johnny, curled in the corner with his arms over his head, didn’t want to look at her, but he owed her that much. He owed Hank that much.
Nothing changed in Jan’s face when she saw that he’d been crying. She’d been crying, too.
“It was his voice,” Johnny said.
A shadow passed over Jan’s face. Her hand tightened on his knee, and then she let go. “It wasn’t Hank.”
Carol clapped him on the shoulder once when the ship docked, and then there was the mission debrief to sit through, Johnny at the end of the table, worrying at the slick fabric of his gloves. He was still holding too much heat – solar radiation curled in his veins, pushing at him, trying to assert its control as something bigger than him, something stronger than he was.
He kept a tight grip on it until he was dismissed, and then he flew high above the city and let everything go in one white hot angry rush. He thought he might have screamed, but he couldn’t hear the sound of his own voice over the roar of the flames as they tore themselves from him.
He’d thought it might help, but it didn’t.
Don’t leave me, Ultron had begged with Hank’s voice, one last tactic to save itself.
Or maybe it really had been Hank, ripping control back from Ultron at the very last second.
Johnny drew in a ragged breath, landing lightly on a rooftop. Pigeons scattered in his wake as he collapsed, pushing his hands up into his hair. He couldn’t stop hearing Hank’s voice.
He breathed out slow, steam curling up from his lips, and fumbled for his phone. Peter didn’t answer, of course – Johnny, tired down to his bones and all hollowed out inside, did the hazy math on the time difference between New York and London and cursed.
“Hey,” he said to Peter’s machine, hating the pleading note in his own voice. “Can you come home? I don’t want to freak you out, but I just kind of need you to come home.”
He’d said it now. No taking it back.
The apartment at the top of the Baxter Building was so empty; it just reminded Johnny of everything he’d lost. At least when Peter was home, he could pretend. The silence let Hank’s voice rattle through his head all through his long hot shower. Don’t leave me.
“Put his voice from your mind,” Vision had said, but Johnny didn't know how to do that.
He pulled on a pair of Peter’s boxers and an old ESU hoodie and hunkered down on the couch with the TV on as loud as he could stand.
The television was on softer when he woke up. Peter was on the other end on the couch. He’d pulled Johnny’s feet into his lap and his thumb ran restless over the knob of Johnny’s ankle. He was still in his work clothes – his regular work clothes, not the primary colored spandex ones – and his jaw was dark with a five o’clock shadow.
“I hate that shirt,” Johnny said, stretching a little.
Peter smiled, reaching for the remote. He flicked the TV off. “Morning to you too, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Why didn’t you wake me when you got home?” Johnny asked, sitting up.
“Tried to,” Peter said, sliding closer, his arm stretching out behind Johnny’s shoulders. “You mumbled something about absorbing the sun and then hit me in the face. I figured I’d wait.”
“Sorry,” Johnny said, letting Peter kiss him, soft and easy. “Long night.”
“Ultron, sure. Grapevine’s buzzing,” Peter said. “You did good, Sparky. Scared the hell out of me with that message, though. Half-expected to find you out cold and bleeding on my carpet.”
Don’t leave me, Ultron or maybe Hank had said as Johnny welded him to the ship. Please wait.
“Sorry,” Johnny said, feeling stupid with how badly he ached for Peter’s arms around him. “There were problems on the ship and I took on a lot of energy. I called you after I went Nova. You know I get weird.”
“You’re okay though?” Peter asked, tilting Johnny’s face up towards the light. He should’ve known better than that; Johnny almost never got hit in a fight, and this had been no exception. Being hit would have been easier than standing in the ship, pulling heat and radiation away from the rest of the team until he felt like he would burn up inside.
“Better now,” Johnny said. He was still exhausted, though – he hated pulling in solar radiation. It always warred with him. He slid back down onto the couch, curling up with his head in Peter’s lap.
All he’d wanted on the ride back was for someone to touch him. All he’d done was wish Peter hadn’t quit the team.
“Yeah, you’re still loopy alright. And quiet,” Peter said. He tugged at the hood of Johnny’s stolen sweatshirt. “What’s with this?”
“It’s comfortable,” Johnny said, shrugging. Peter made a soft noise, sliding his hand into Johnny’s hair.
“Because there’s a word I associate with your style,” he said. “Hey. I made some very rich people very, very mad when I got your message and took the first plane out, and there’s only so long I can keep my phone on airplane mode before Harry comes up here. Kind of need you to tell me what’s wrong.”
Johnny couldn’t, though. He didn’t need it rattling around in Peter’s head, too – the what ifs. What if it had been Hank. What if it hadn’t, but he’d still been in there, somewhere, watching while Ultron used what was left of his body like a puppet. Had he felt the heat when Johnny had fused Ultron to the deck? He wished he could be sure. He wished Reed had been there. Reed would have found some way to be certain.
Beyond that, even if Hank had been in there, would it still have been the right thing? To sacrifice him if it meant stopping Ultron for good? Johnny would have made that call, if it had been his life on the line.
Peter wouldn’t see it like that, though. Peter always thought there was a way to win with no losses.
Every last one of us, Peter had said, a lifetime ago on a different trip to space. No one dies!
“It was just a hard day. I felt kind of sick after all that solar power.” He focused on the slide of Peter’s fingers through his hair. He didn’t need Peter obsessing about any of that. He didn’t need Peter looking at him, wondering if there was anything Johnny could have done differently. “I shouldn’t have made you come home, sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Peter said. “As much as I was enjoying single-handedly alienating my entire board, I needed a break. And you’re totally wrecked.” He placed the back of his hand against Johnny’s forehead, as if Johnny could possibly be feverish. “You sure it was just a long mission?”
“It was hard, with Ultron using Hank’s face,” Johnny said, leaving it at that.
“Yeah,” Peter said. He rapped his knuckles feather light against Johnny’s temple. “Okay. I know. But you still did good.”
“I don’t think I like being an Avenger,” Johnny admitted.
Peter snorted, tugging at Johnny’s hair. “You love the Unity Squad.”
“It’s not what I thought it would be like,” Johnny said quietly.
“Well, hate to break this one to you, but that’s life,” Peter said, mouth twisted wryly to the side. He picked up Johnny’s hand, unfurling his fingers from a fist, and then pressed his lips to the center of Johnny’s palm. “Okay, you’re still freaking me out a little bit, so I’m going to order matzo ball soup from that place you hate and we’re battening down the hatches for the rest of the day. Sound good?”
“Get me a salad,” Johnny told him, closing his eyes.
“Only if that comes with pastrami and extra mustard on rye,” Peter said, fumbling for his phone. He rubbed at Johnny’s shoulder a little.
“Headquarters are totally trashed,” Johnny said.
“Well they can’t hang out here,” Peter replied, snorting. “You’re gonna be okay. Don’t make me channel my aunt here, but you’ll feel better when you eat something.”
Johnny doubted it, but he nodded anyway, curling in closer until his forehead rested against Peter’s stomach. “I really do hate this shirt.”
“Food first,” Peter said. “Ceremonial burning in the bathtub later.”
“Just,” Johnny said, “hold onto me? Until the food gets here.”
Peter’s arm came around him automatically. The noise he made was almost wounded. “This really did a number on you. Okay, change of plans, we don’t leave the apartment for the rest of the week. I don’t care if the company comes in with a battering ram.”
It was a hollow promise, and they both knew it: Johnny gave Peter twelve hours, tops, before he surrendered to either of his jobs. It made him smile, though.
“Sounds great,” he said.
“Great,” Peter said. Then, softer, leaning over Johnny. “Tell me what you need?”
Put his voice from your mind, Vision had said. There was only ever one voice that managed to drown out all the others for Johnny.
“Just talk to me,” he said.