Chapter 7
Peter shot up from his bed with both his hands clasped tightly on his ears. The wailing of the siren was loud but with his enhanced hearing, it became terribly unbearable.
"Make it stop, F.R.I.D.A.Y," he gritted his teeth.
"You do not have the authorization, Peter."
"What is this? Where is it coming from?"
"This is the alarm for a medical emergency. The source of the emergency has been identified to stem from the medical wing," F.R.I.D.A.Y informed.
Peter's head snapped up to the ceiling where, strangely, he had assumed the AI was located. Medical wing, Peter blinked as his brain processed the information, where May is right now.
He couldn't explain the sudden coldness he felt or the way his hand flew to the base of his neck as his mind screamed for him to breathe, just breathe. The sleep and exhaustion was gone as the bone chilling fear replaced itself like a poisonous tendril.
Barely realizing what he was even doing, Peter moved, yanking the door to this bedroom open and he sprinted down the hallway, barreling into Tony who had just stepped out of his own room.
He heard Tony called out his name but he didn't stop. He couldn't. There was no time to waste. He was vaguely aware of Nat stepping out of her room, looking down the hallway in confusion, but he darted passed her.
"Peter!"
He ran down hallways and corridors, climbed up stairs and shouted at F.R.I.D.A.Y in the elevator to bring him down to the medical wing without stopping on any other floors.
Faster, faster, faster, he willed and when the elevator doors opened he dashed out.
The tension and chaos was palpable. It was suffocating; the air was heavy and it was pressing down on him. Breathe, he reminded himself harshly.
He saw Bruce by May's bed, holding her down as she thrashed and convulsed. Dr. Strange was there as well, holding a needle, and Peter couldn't watch it. He couldn't see May suffer like that.
"May," he screamed. "Make it stop!"
Bruce turned, their eyes making brief contact before he focused his attention back on May, completely ignoring the teenager shaking in fear by the door. His feet moved by itself – all he wanted to do was to make it stop but he didn't even make it past the door before he felt someone's arms wrapped around him from the back.
His instinct kicked in and he struggled against the grip.
"Calm down, kid," Tony grunted. "Hey, hey, you're stronger than me, alright? I'm no match for you like this so stop struggling. You have to let Bruce do his work – no interference."
"Let me go," Peter snapped. His eye sight was bleary by the tears that had begun to spring to his eyes. "I gotta get to May."
But Tony was relentless and Peter was frustrated. He elbowed the older man in his ribs, strong enough to make Tony slacken his grip but not strong enough to cause any real harm. He tried once more to make it through the door until someone's hand grabbed his arms and tugged, and Peter, unprepared for the strength coming from that person, stumbled backwards.
Steve held him against his chest, his hand on the back of Peter's head as he let the kid let out his frustration and his fear, until eventually out of energy, he leaned his entire weight on Steve.
He felt himself being maneuvered to the waiting area, let down slowly to the sofa and then the hold around him loosened.
Tony replaced Steve, crouching in front of Peter and staring at him, concern and worry etched on the lines creasing his forehead.
"You're okay," he said, resting a palm against Peter's cheeks. The calloused feel of the engineer's hand and the warmth radiating from it seemed to ground Peter back. He took in a shuddering breath as his gaze locked with Tony's. "Are you calm?"
"Y – Yes. I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. I -"
."It's fine," Tony cut him off. "No hard feelings."
"What's happening to her?"
"From the looks of it, seizure," Tony answered. "Might have been from a stroke."
Steve made a guttural noise at the back where he hovered over the pair, as if had it been his way, he would have shielded Peter a little longer from that truth.
"What's that mean? Will she be okay? Is she getting worse?"
"We'll have to wait for what Bruce has got to say. I can't tell you anything about what just happened but – God, kid," he ran a hand down his face and that act, that resignation made Peter pay attention. "This is probably the worst time to tell you but there's something you should know."
"What is it?"
"Tony," Steve warned. "Consider his emotional state before you do anything."
"I got it from here, Steve, thank you."
Peter's eyes widened at that curt dismissal but Steve didn't seem to take offense.
"Call me if you need me," he said before leaving the pair alone.
The room was quiet and a little tense, and Peter waited for Tony to say something but his mentor seemed to be struggling with an inner turmoil.
"I can't believe I just cried on Captain America..." Peter remarked. "Is he going to be – "
"No, kid, he won't look at you at different for that," Tony cracked a smile. "Listen, no changing the topic, it's going to be hard and difficult but we need to have a talk, Peter."
"Okay."
"I know you're expecting a miracle."
"N- Not, really, Mr. Stark. I don't know to believe in it or not," Peter told him bitterly, crossing his arms. "I'm willing to be convinced, if that's what you're trying to do here."
"Not a miracle if you have to be convinced," Tony pointed out. "Sorry – that's beside…" he sighed. "That's not the point."
Peter looked at him. He couldn't explain why the sight of Tony Stark on his knees in front of him trying so hard to hold Peter together by the thread made him feel a lot worse. The emotion bubbled inside of him. The sadness, fear, grief and gratitude all roiled together and his lips trembled.
"I just want her to be better, Mr. Stark? I want her to open her eyes and talk to me. I want to be able to talk to her again."
"I know, kid," Tony nodded. "I want that for you too but her odds are stacked against her, Pete. I should have told you earlier."
Peter frowned, "What are you talking about?"
"Don't think you heard this part of the conversation I had with Bruce and Stephen then," Tony muttered. "Peter, on our way back to the compound, in the jet, F.R.I.D.A.Y made some calculations after scanning her vitals and injuries."
"About May's odds? If May's gonna make it or not?" Peter shot to his feet, rounding up on Tony.
"Yes," Tony answered.
A fire danced behind Peter's brown eyes, he took in the sight of the man he idolized. Tony's jaw was clenched tight, his left hand was closed in a fist and his right rested over his left wrist to keep it steady. His shoulder was tensed and taut, likely preparing himself for Peter's angry outburst the way he did when Peter had confronted him after the State Island Ferry incident, but he couldn't find the energy to be angry.
He was so tired. He just wanted to wake up from this nightmare; wake up to find himself back at his apartment in Queens to May flipping pancakes because it was her day off. They would be sitting across each other on their small but cosy kitchen, catching up on May's work and Peter's school, and his Spider-Man activities.
"You had no right," Peter collapsed on the chair. Too exhausted to argue, he asked, "What are her odds then?"
"It was 34%," Tony answered, taking a seat next to him.
"Can F.R.I.D.A.Y run it again? After that seizure can she run the scans on her again?"
There was a pause, a beat of silence.
"Are you sure?" Tony asked with an unreadable expression on his face.
"Yes," Peter ground out. "Dr. Strange wanted you to have me prepared. So prepare me," he lashed out.
Tony leveled his gaze with Peter, assessing him. Peter crossed his arms, staring at Tony until the older man gave the command to F.R.I.D.A.Y.
Her voice rang out a minute later, loud and swift like an executioner's blade.
"Odds of survival 25%, boss."
Peter choked, his hands clenched at his sides. The noises coming out from his mouth was that of despair and disbelief. He pitched forward and he would have fallen face first from the sofa to the floor if Tony had not moved and caught him. He pressed his face on Tony's stomach, his fingers clutching the back of Tony's shirt.
"She was – She was supposed to get better," he whimpered. "Please, Mr. Stark. You have to fix this. Please, please."
"Peter," Tony's fingers was stroking his hair. "I – This is not something – "
"F.R.I.D.A.Y's wrong," he shook his head, probably wiping snot on Tony's expensive shirt and Peter reeled back in horror at that thought. "Oh my god."
It was so stupid, so irrelevant but his mind latched on that problem – that he had ruined Tony's shirt – instead of May. He lurched forward, grappling to reach the box of tissues and then he pressed them on Tony's shirt.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he muttered, trying to dry the shirt frantically.
Tony caught his wrist.
"Stop. Stop it now," he commanded, harsher than he intended. "Look at me."
Peter did. He looked up, soaked tissues crumpled in his fist.
"She is in pain," a voice said.
They both turned towards the voice. Peter peered at the new comer, wiping his hands across his eyes to focus clearly.
"Wanda, when did you arrive?" Tony asked.
Wanda, oh, Peter blinked. What does she mean?
"I came as soon as I saw the news of the attack. Natasha filled me up. I am so sorry, Peter," she came forward, sitting next to him and took his hand in hers.
"How – How do you know?" Peter asked, trying to steady his voice. "About May being in pain. How do you know?"
"I'm a telepath," Wanda answered. "Sometimes it is difficult to block out people's thoughts, especially when they are so loud, and hers is loud. She's not conscious enough to control it."
"You can hear her thoughts?"
"Yes," she cocked her head to the side. "Her memories and her thoughts are all about you."
There we have it - a guest appearance! I know this chapter was suddenly in Peter's point of view but I felt that the story needed to get into Peter's head space. Tell me your thoughts on the chapter in the review!
