Happy Monday! I know I'm churning these chapters out—though no one is complaining so far—but I have a plan. I am going to post again on Friday, so anyone that's not caught up with or part of the Christmas celebrations has something to do—or for those of you that need a break from the family so can excuse yourself for an extended trip to the bathroom to read. The big day is hard on me, so much pressure and expectation, so I'll enjoy updating, too.

I've worked it so we have the pivotal chapter of Story V on January 1st, so we can start 2021 with the reveal of what Story V is going to be about.

Chapter Fourteen

Rhodey sat in the med bay's waiting room, head in his hands and his breaths taking all his energy to maintain.

He felt exhausted. It was the aftereffects of the adrenaline, he knew, that and the fear. He'd never felt fear quite this acutely before, not against Thanos, not in the 138 combat missions he'd flown, not when he'd been free-falling from the sky in Germany.

In those instances, he'd had some control, some choice. There was nothing he could do now but wait for news, and that was killing him. Peter's safety was in the hands of the doctors operating on him, in Helen Cho's, who had arrived with a neurosurgeon colleague shortly into Peter's surgery. Rhodey didn't know all Peter's injuries, no one had told him, but the fact he needed a neurosurgeon told him it was bad.

Peter would live, that was certain, but what kind of life would it be? How badly hurt was he in his mind, his brain function? Rhodey was scared of what could happen. Unbidden and unwanted were the memories at the forefront of his mind of Peter's weeks of catatonia, the fact they couldn't reach him or help more than superficially. What if that happened again, only this time without hope of recovery?

Tony was sitting opposite him, his head bowed and hands clasped in his lap. Bucky was pacing back and forth between them, hands fisting and relaxing at intervals. Happy was with Pepper and Morgan, helping distract Morgan from her father's absence as he had been for the past five hours, and Bruce was in the OR to help monitor Peter's anesthesia as he'd helped to create it.

Tony was closed in on himself and had been since he'd arrived in the waiting room, Pepper supporting him as he walked and easing him into a seat, but Rhodey had tried to talk to Bucky. It was instilled in him to work as a team from his military career, and they had a man down, so they needed to work through it together. The mission was Peter, and while they could do nothing but wait while others helped him, they could help each other.

Rhodey had instructed Friday to contact Steve and tell him what had happened so that Bucky would have someone else there to support him. Bucky seemed beyond Rhodey's help, not hearing his words or feeling his hand on his shoulder. He had retreated into himself to cope with what he was feeling. Rhodey thought the only person that could reach Bucky now that Peter was so hurt was Steve.

Another hour passed without news before the door swished open and Bruce came out. His eyes were sad and his face lined with stress, and for an instant, Rhodey feared the worst, but he quickly realized it could never be the worst, not with the Stones.

Tony jumped to his feet and approached him, hands lifting as if to touch Bruce and then dropping again.

"How is he?" he asked.

Bruce ran a hand over his face. "His internal bleeds are closed, and the sutures are already showing signs of healing. They're finishing with the head injury now."

"What are they doing to him?" Tony asked.

Bruce hesitated before answering. "He needed a decompressive craniectomy to relieve the pressure on his skull, as it was at dangerous levels. They will leave the skull open for however long it takes for the pressure to be relieved by the medication they have him on."

Tony made a sound of pain and brought a shaking hand to his mouth.

"His skull is open?" Bucky asked, voice horrified.

Bruce nodded. "It's not as unusual as it perhaps sounds to you. It's the best course of action for this kind of injury. Remember, Peter will live."

"As what?" Rhodey asked before he could help himself. "How bad is the brain injury going to be? How will he be affected?"

Bucky sucked in a shocked breath, and Tony moaned.

"We will not know until he is conscious," Bruce said. "Which will take time. Brain injuries are impossible to predict. It's possible Peter will have no residual damage."

"He's going to be fine," Tony said, voice harsh.

"He could be," Bruce agreed.

"No!" Tony cut a hand through the air. "He's going to be fine. He spoke to us before, and I heard Mind speaking. He said Peter could hear me, he knew I was there, and he was able to allow the team to help him. He was aware. He's going to be fine!"

Bruce looked like he wanted to say something, but he merely bit his lip, nodded, then said, "I should get back in there. I just thought you should know what was going on."

"What about his spine?" Tony asked. "They had an ortho doctor in there?"

Rhodey's mind reeled, and he couldn't speak. His spine?

"He's set Peter's broken bones, which were multiple, but there is nothing they can do for the spinal fracture. It's a case of waiting to see if his healing can take care of it."

"His spine…" Rhodey whispered. "It's broken?" He grabbed Bruce's shirt and attempted to shake him. "Is he paralyzed? Answer me!"

Bruce winced. "He has fractures at the L1 to L4 vertebrae, yes. It's entirely possible he'll heal, though. I've never seen anything like Peter's healing abilities before."

Rhodey loosened his grip on Bruce's shirt, his mind reeling and breaths coming fast. He couldn't process what he was hearing. Peter, so alive and vital, could have lost the use of his legs, just like he had. He might be tethered to braces for life to walk. He couldn't be Spider-Man with them, couldn't fight. And his life was eternal!

"No!" he spat. "Not that!"

"Rhodey," Tony said, voice heavy with sympathy.

"No!" he bellowed. "Not that! Not Peter!"

Shrugging off Tony's restraining hand, he strode out of the waiting room, back through the compound's halls, passing people that gave him wary looks. He reached the kitchen and stopped and stared. The dishes from lunch were stacked on the counter, ready to be put away. There were dirty coffee mugs in the sink. They were all signs of the lives of the people here, and he hated them.

He marched to the counter and swept his hands across it, sending the plates and bowls crashing to the floor where they smashed into shards. He picked up the coffee mugs and threw them, one by one, at the wall. That wasn't enough; he hadn't vented all he was feeling, so he opened the cupboard and began to pull out glasses, throwing them down on the floor.

He didn't hear anyone coming in behind him, but suddenly there was a hand on his wrist, and the champagne flute he was holding was plucked from his grip and set down on the counter.

Rhodey turned and saw Steve's mournful eyes fixed on him.

"How bad?" Steve asked.

Rhodey shook his head, unable to answer.

Steve's hand tightened on his wrist. "Breathe."

Rhodey attempted to draw a deep breath and found he was panting and chest aching. He realized he was having an anxiety attack, and that hiked up his panic even higher.

"Breathe," Steve said again. "For Peter. He needs you strong."

Nothing else could have reached him but that, and Rhodey felt the force of need on him. He focused on slowing his breaths, making them deep and even, and his mind slowly began to clear.

"That's good," Steve said. "Nice and slow."

Rhodey nodded. "I've got it. I'm fine. Bucky needs you more now." He could see his words working on Steve, his need to be with his best friend driving him, and he patted his shoulder and said, "Go. I've got to clean up in here."

Steve squeezed his arm then darted away, leaving Rhodey surrounded by the chaos of his anger and frustration.

He ran a hand over his face and went to the closet where the cleaning supplies were kept.

"Friday, order replacements of all this, expedited delivery," he instructed.

"Done, Colonel Rhodes," she replied.

"And tell me if anything changes with Peter. I'm going to fix this mess up, then I'll…"

He didn't finish because he didn't know he could do next other than wait for news and, perhaps, face his friends when they might know what he had done here in his anger and frustration.

He'd lost the part of himself he'd always valued, the ability to be calm and strong, and he was ashamed of himself now.

Bucky felt more in control now Steve was here, though he couldn't talk to him. All his focus, all his energy and will, was on Peter and the battle he was waging in the room they couldn't enter where they operated on him.

Each breath felt impossible, each beat of his heart hurt. He'd never been so helpless in the face of someone's suffering, someone he loved.

He was scared, terrified, of what might happen next. The fact Peter would live wasn't enough to calm him when there were other things that could happen to hurt them and him just as much.

He hated that this had happened. He should have stopped Peter from going after Kaecilius. He should have insisted on going with him, protecting him. They'd believed he was safe, though, that the Stones would protect him. He had never hated anyone more than he hated the Stones for failing Peter like this. What was it worth being worthy if this happened?

Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky's back and pulled him against his side. Bucky rested his head on Steve's broad shoulder and squeezed his eyes closed.

This was taking too long. It had to be taking too long, as nothing had ever seemed as long as this afternoon of waiting.

A door swished open, and Doctor Cho came out. She was still wearing scrubs, and her surgical mask was tucked under her chin, but she seemed calm. They all rushed forward to meet her.

"He's being moved to recovery now," she said.

Bucky let out a breath he felt like he'd been holding for hours, his head swimming and tears pricking his eyes.

"How is he?" Tony asked.

"He's stable now. I never thought I would be able to say that when I saw his injuries, but he is. Some miracle kept Peter alive today, that's all I can say.

Not some miracle, Bucky thought, six miracles and one strong-willed kid.

"I understand we don't know what happened to him," she went on.

"We don't," Tony said.

She frowned. "From his injuries, the positioning of them, we believe he was crushed. The sheer amount of internal injuries is astounding. Almost all internal organs were showing signs of damage. Those bleeds are healing already, though, at an unbelievable rate."

"What about his spine?" Bucky asked. "Is that healing?"

Steve reached out and squeezed his wrist.

Bucky held his breath and waited for an answer.

"We've not scanned him again, as we were dealing with the other injuries, so I don't know. The most worrying injury now is the brain injury, not the spine. The bleed was huge, and we won't know what that means for him until he wakes." She stopped, took a breath, then went on, "If he—"

"He's going to wake up," Tony said firmly. "I heard him speak. I know what he can do. Peter is going to wake up."

She nodded but didn't comment.

"Can we see him?" Steve asked.

"Yes. Before you come in, you will need to be instructed on how to scrub your hands, and you'll need to wear gowns. Peter is at the highest possible risk of infection at the moment. His skull is still open from the craniectomy and will remain so until the swelling has reduced. I cannot overstate how vulnerable Peter is. There is no barrier between the air and the brain behind his right ear apart from bandages. You must not touch the bandages on his head."

Bucky scoffed. "Like hell we would."

She nodded. "The other injuries, fractures to his legs, ribs, and arms, are immobilized by braces. From what I have seen of his enhancements, I imagine that they are already in the process of healing. Peter is deeply unconscious, which is the best possible thing for him right now. He is out of pain and unaware of what is happening to him. He's protected from the trauma he has and is undergoing. You need to be prepared before you see him. Peter is on a ventilator as he's unable to breathe alone, and he is connected to an automated defibrillator in case of cardiac arrest."

"That won't happen," Tony said. "He can't die."

She frowned slightly. "I would say that's impossible to say, but I have seen amazing things in Peter already. His heart rate slowed in surgery to rates that should have done serious damage, and his oxygen saturation was dangerously low, but it corrected each time without intervention."

Tony held up his hand. "You've seen him, Helen, his eyes and injuries. It's a long story, but he cannot possibly die. He's protected."

"Then it's a shame that protection did not extend to his injuries," she said dryly, clearly not believing him.

"Yeah," Bucky said bitterly. "You're not wrong."

Tony shifted from foot to foot. "Is there anything else, or can we see him now?" he asked.

"You can see him," she said. "Remember, you need to give us space to tend to him when needed. If you want to touch him, I suggest you keep it to his face and hands. Everything else is too injured."

Bucky nodded. It sounded like every part of Peter was injured.

Doctor Cho looked back over her shoulder as Bruce came out, rubbing his hands together. "Bruce, would you like to take them to Peter?" she asked, offering him a way to help.

"Of course," he said. "Follow me."

"Steve, can you go find Rhodey?" Tony asked. "Tell him what's happening."

Steve nodded, squeezed Bucky's shoulder, then slipped out of the door behind them.

He took them to a room with a bank of sinks first and instructed them on how to scrub their hands to the elbow and then to don the gowns. When they were ready, he led them along a hall and through a door which opened into a large room with a bed against the opposite wall, and a figure on it that looked far too small, too young, to be possible.

It stole Bucky's breath. Peter was surrounded by machines that beeped, whirred, and hissed. A white mask covered Peter's mouth, holding the tube that fed down his throat. There was an IV in the back of his right hand, tubes and wires fed into the collar of his blue gown. He was so pale that it seemed incredible, but his lips, which had been blueish before, were light pink again. Below his eyes were dark shadows, and his head was encased in white bandages.

He looked desperately ill, vulnerable, and weak.

Tony moaned his name and staggered towards the bed, leaning over and pressing the most gentle kiss to his cheek, then stroked the spot with a whisper of love.

Bucky went to the other side and entwined his fingers with Peter's. "Hey, bud," he whispered.

In response, there was a whoosh and click, as Peter's chest rose with a breath delivered from the ventilator.

Bucky squeezed his eyes closed, took a breath, then opened his eyes and forced himself to be calm. Peter did not need to hear them breaking apart over him—if he could hear anything at all. They had to give him words of comfort and love, not fragmented sounds of stress and pain—he already had enough of that.

Bucky rounded the bed and pulled up a chair for Tony to sit. He sank into it with a word of thanks and then picked up Peter's hand. Bucky took a seat on the other side of the bed, placed his hand on Peter's, and stared into the face of the bravest and most innocent person he knew, willing him to be okay, to come back to them, to be stronger than he ever had before.

So… Yep, it's bad, I know. It's not over yet, either. We will hear from Peter in the next chapter, though, and we'll have some good news from the Stones.

Until next time...

Jadey xxx