Hi all! I'm back!
The convention was amazing and life-affirming and also SO VERY EXHAUSTING. I did 12-15 hours at a time for my team, and I still could have done more. But it was the break from the real world I definitely needed and I got to hang out wearing some pretty fun costumes.
Anyway, back to the story!
This chapter is going to introduce a story which will become a theme for the rest of the story. If you haven't read (and definitely if you haven't watched) The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle, go do that. That novel (and the movie I saw first because I was a tiny thing) changed the course of my life forever. It still lives in my veins. So I kind of wove it into the DNA of this story. You will enjoy the references to come more if you have read it. And you'll thank me later. Seriously.
Tonight's song is "Deliver Me" by Sarah Brightman.
Enjoy!
Chapter 14: Pull Me Through
Peter returned to school in January buzzing with the thrill of the holidays. New Year's Eve had been spent on the roof of the apartment building which afforded a fantastic view of all the fireworks in the river and over Manhattan, wrapped in his new Iron Man hoodie under his coat and talking with Mister Carbonell about the different chemical reactions that made up the colors and patterns of the explosions. He'd been able to invite Ned over on New Year's Day to swap presents and show off his gifts, and the two of them had nearly completed Peter's new Lego sets by the end of the day. Even though January in New York was proving to be cold and bitter as usual, his spirits were high.
Peter had also made some keychains in Mister Carbonell's workshop for his three friends at school, since keychains were the accessory to have on one's backpack: an abstract one for E-Bit, something that bore vague resemblance to a sword and shield for Nkosi, and a flower for Estrella. His friends had little trinkets to give him too, except Estrella whose gift to share was a huge batch of sweets from home, and with the fear of bullies long gone, the new year seemed to breathe new life into school for Peter.
Even if he still hated gym class. But everybody hated gym class, so that was okay.
"Peter," Aunt May said the first week of January back at school, "we need to talk about the end of the month."
Peter was confused. "About what?"
"Do you remember the January nursing conference I always go to?"
Actually, he hadn't. But now that she reminded him, it came back — for as long as he could remember, May had gone away for four or five days at the end of January. She would fly out one afternoon and spend the time with other nurses doing...nurse things, he wasn't really sure, and then come back late after the last event. The conference was held in different cities every year, but never had it been in New York that he could remember.
"Oh. Uh, yeah?"
"Well, I didn't go last year," May said, "since it was bad timing right after we lost Ben."
Yeah, you could say that, Peter thought.
"But they deferred my membership to this year and I'm still signed up. It's in Boston, which is closer than usual, but I'd still have to fly out on Sunday and wouldn't be home until late on Wednesday night at the earliest." She hesitated.
"Do you want to go, Aunt May?" Peter asked.
She sighed. "Actually, yes. They're going over some specialties that I haven't seen often, and one of the presenters is someone I knew years ago. I've got several friends from this conference I'd like to see again, too."
"Then go," Peter said. "I'll be okay."
"It's not that simple." Aunt May shook her head. "I can't leave you unsupervised for four days, Peter."
"I could go to Ned's, maybe?" Peter offered.
She frowned. "I don't want to impose on them, and I'm not sure about school. It'd be too far for you to walk."
Ned's was too far for Peter to walk to his Astoria school, that was true. And Peter knew Ned's parents both worked at odd times, so sometimes Ned didn't have a ride to school even on the coldest days. Which would make it impossible for Peter to get to school either unless they got really lucky and one of Ned's parents could give a ride for four days straight.
"Um, I mean." Peter felt his face get a little red. "We could ask Mister Carbonell."
"Oh, Peter." Aunt May ran a hand through her hair. "We could, but I'm worried it…" She trailed off.
"Worried about what?"
Aunt May let out a breath. "It's just a lot to ask of anyone to take care of you for that long. Not that you're hard to look out for, but he has his own life. It's a big imposition even for a friend."
"Well, yeah." Peter shrugged. "But he doesn't have to, like, move in here. I can get myself up for school just fine, and I can walk both ways, too. I just need help with stuff like dinner."
"One advantage of you being so responsible, and me working at all hours, I suppose," May conceded. "Are you sure you'd be comfortable with that? I could also just skip the conference."
Peter frowned at her. "No. I want you to go. You missed it last year, and it's important to you. You work so hard and you give up so much for everybody else. And this isn't even fun! It's work! But you like it, so you should do it!"
She ruffled his hair, resigned. "All right. I'll talk to Tony. But if he isn't one hundred percent comfortable, and I mean one hundred percent, not ninety percent, then I won't go. Okay?"
"He did say we could always ask him for stuff," Peter pointed out.
"Yes, but. Oh, never mind." Aunt May smiled. "Since it's you, he'll agree anyway. He's a dope like that. Make sure you never use that power for evil, okay?"
Peter grinned. "I promise!"
And that was how Peter ended up looking forward to the end of January where he would get to spend basically four days in a row with Mister Carbonell. They were rapidly approaching the March science exhibition at school, so any chance at extra time down in the workshop was pretty necessary, anyway.
Also, Peter had never ever liked being home alone. The silence always ate at him. But there was nothing silent about the workshop, even when he and Mister Carbonell weren't working on big stuff. The building itself was always clanking and creaking, the heater sang a song of its own every other minute, and there was just...something about the air that made Peter feel like he was tucked away in a vibrant space of life and possibility.
Even if he would be alone in the apartment at night, that was normal. Aunt May worked a lot of nights, and Peter had gotten used to the quiet. But the evenings and dinner times were not supposed to be silent, not for four days in a row. Now he would have dinner and workshop time and maybe even a movie with Mister Carbonell and that would fill in the hole.
And maybe, maybe Peter wouldn't find himself thinking about the fact that the only reason there was a hole, the only reason Aunt May worked so many nights, the only reason for any of it, was because there was still a hole in their family, too.
But Peter didn't want to make Aunt May sad, so he didn't let himself think about that whenever he could help it.
The Friday before May went to the conference, Peter walked home from school as usual, but it was cold and blustery and half-raining, half-sleeting, which was the worst even on days when he hadn't forgotten his scarf. Without it, though, the cold air went straight into his lungs like icy daggers with every breath. And he tried to breathe through his nose, but it was clogged.
By the time he got home, he was soaked, freezing, and had a sore throat.
Aunt May would be home in time for a late dinner, so Peter opted to take a hot shower to ease the cold out of his lungs. By the time May popped in with bags of Thai food, he was warm and tired. He actually fell asleep during the movie they watched, and May had to poke him to get him to go to bed.
So he wasn't entirely surprised when, on Saturday morning, Peter woke to the familiar feeling of weight in his chest. His lungs, which were fragile and sensitive to everything, were always the first thing to go when he caught any kind of cold. Actually, it had been a while since he'd gotten sick, but the cold, wet walk had probably been more than his lungs could take while fighting off a run-of-the-mill infection from the germ factory that is middle school.
But if Aunt May thinks I'm sick, she won't go on her trip.
I just have to convince her that I'm okay for today.
So that's what Peter did. He told May he had a lot of homework — which he did — and that he wanted to finish it early so he would have more time to work on the robotics projects on Sunday — which he also did — and thus May saw nothing unusual about him spending the day on the couch under a blanket working through his textbooks and generally taking it easy.
It wouldn't have worked if Peter's assignments weren't painfully easy, but they were, so it did.
Peter sneaked himself a fever reducer after dinner, feeling himself getting warm and a little woozy, and that gave him the boost he needed to get through the evening without giving away the game. He woke in the middle of the night shivering and sweaty, though, and it took everything he had to keep his coughing muffled by his pillow so as not to wake her.
On Sunday, Peter woke late because he'd slept so badly, but he was up before lunch and feeling a little better for the extra rest. He helped May pack, willing himself to look and sound normal.
At two o'clock, Mister Carbonell knocked at the door.
"Hi Tony," May said, opening it for him. "Come to see me off?"
"Something like that. Get my marching orders, all that jazz." He peered at Peter. "Hey, kid. How goes it?"
"It's fine, Mister Carbonell," Peter said with enthusiasm.
Mister Carbonell's face flickered for a moment. Then he leaned over to Aunt May and said something softly. Peter only caught the words, "make sure he's okay with it," before she was nodding.
"I just realized I left something in my car. I'll be back in a minute," May said, grabbing her coat and making a quick exit.
As soon as the door shut, Mister Carbonell looked at him. "So. What's really going on, Peter?"
Peter shrugged. "Nothing?"
"You are a terrible liar, you know that?"
"I'm not...I mean, no, I'm not lying…"
Mister Carbonell sighed. Then he crossed the apartment and put his hands on Peter's shoulders, looking closely at him. "Kid, I know absolutely zero about any of this, and even I can tell you're feeling under the weather."
Peter scowled. "How? Aunt May didn't notice."
"Well, I have a few advantages she doesn't. Now, tell me why you haven't come clean about not feeling well before she gets back up here. What you say will determine what I tell her."
"Oh, come on." Peter sighed. "It's just...she skipped this conference last year and she really wants to go. She used to go to three a year, and this was always her favorite. I just." He ducked his head. "I don't want to mess it up for her just because I don't feel good. It's no big deal."
"Peter," Mister Carbonell said, "you are a big deal to May. And to me. She would want to know if you were sick. Any choice she makes after that is hers to make however she wants."
"I'm just tired of her making the right choice for me and not the right choice for her," Peter said. "Besides, she can't do anything about me being sick. I'll just lie on the couch and watch movies and eat soup, and it'll go away. I can do that just as well by myself."
He was feeling pretty good about that argument, so he was surprised when Mister Carbonell made a face like he'd eaten something bitter.
"Uh, no. You're not doing that by yourself either way, Underoos. If May's not here, then suddenly I am your official nurse and I'm not sure either of us wants that."
Peter flinched. "Oh. I didn't think about that. If...if you don't want to deal with me because I'm sick, then I'll tell her. I don't want to cause trouble for you, either."
"That isn't...damnit." Mister Carbonell let out a deep sigh. "That's not what I meant, kid. Okay. Let's compromise. We tell May that you're dealing with a little hiccup in your health, but we promise to keep her informed and we both pressure her into going anyway. Okay?"
He grinned. "Okay. That's fair."
And that's exactly what they did. When May came back upstairs, Mister Carbonell mentioned that Peter was looking a little sick, and May immediately went into diagnostic mode. But Peter had been feeling pretty okay, so his symptoms were mild, and he told her he wasn't worried. Mister Carbonell promised he was fine with watching over Peter even if he was sick and monitoring him for her — and there was something in that statement that Peter didn't follow but clearly meant something to Aunt May because she waggled her phone at him — and urged her to go to the conference anyway.
It was a near thing, but eventually their combined convincing worked.
May rubbed at her temples, resigned. "Just...if he's not feeling completely well tomorrow, have him stay home from school. It's always easier to beat a cold by resting in the early stages than to fight it off after doing too much. And I want constant updates about him, Tony."
"You'll have them," Mister Carbonell promised.
May gave Peter a tight hug. "I know you'll be fine, but remember that I can come home at a moment's notice if you need me."
"I know, but I won't." Peter gave her an honest smile. "Go and have fun learning about how to take care of sick people, and by the time you get back, I won't be one anymore."
Aunt May laughed at him, kissed his forehead, and, with a stern glance at Mister Carbonell, finally left.
Peter immediately sank down on the couch and leaned his head back. "Thanks for helping me," he said. Exhaustion started pouring into him and he realized how hard he'd been trying to keep feeling sick at bay.
"Yeah, still not sure it was the best idea I've ever had, but it's where we're at, so we'll deal." Mister Carbonell moved to perch beside Peter on the couch. "How are you feeling, really?"
"Pretty tired. I don't think I can come down to the workshop today. I'm sorry." It hurt to admit.
"Nah, don't worry about it." Mister Carbonell glanced at his phone, then leaned back. "Okay. So, colds need rest and fluids and useful food like soup, right?"
"Right."
"Then that's our whole plan for today. May was serious about you not going to school if you're not okay, so I vote we just plan on you skipping either way. Then, worst case, you're actually sick and rest; best case, you're fine and we catch up in the shop. 'Kay?"
Peter nodded, fighting the effort it took even to think straight. "Okay."
Mister Carbonell was looking at him and Peter was too tired to figure out the expression on his face. "How about you take a nap now, and when you wake up we can watch one of your movies or something?"
That sounded like a great idea to Peter, who was feeling more out of it than he'd realized. So he just slumped sideways to dump his head on a pillow. He felt Mister Carbonell stand up and tug his legs to straighten him out on the couch. Then he felt a blanket being tucked around him.
"See you on the flip side, Underoos."
"You dun...hafta stay," Peter said, mostly asleep.
"I never do anything I don't want to do, mini me," Mister Carbonell assured him. "Sleep. I gotcha, kid."
-==OOO==-
What in the actual hell am I going to do now?
Tony looked down at Peter asleep on the couch and felt the kind of trepidation most people probably felt looking into a nuclear warhead.
Hell, those were easy.
But a sick kid?
He'd known before he came up here today that Peter was sick. JARVIS monitored the kid through his phone and his watch still, and while neither were as good at scanning as the version in Tony's apartment, they didn't miss a ravaging virus. JARVIS had also affirmed that Peter hadn't said a word about it to May — which is why Tony let Peter talk to him before just outing the kid and his viral load to her.
But when Peter looked up, all stubborn and intent on doing something good for May, well, Tony caved. And now he had to live with it.
"Okay," he said to himself. With a glance at the kid, Tony moved out of the living room and into May's bedroom. It was kind of an invasion of privacy right off the bat, but he needed privacy, too, and he wasn't going to root around in her drawers or anything weird like that so he figured it was probably okay.
"J," he said, "watch the kid and let me know if he starts waking up."
"Of course, sir," JARVIS spoke from his phone. "At the moment, his watch indicates that he is deeply asleep."
"Great. Okay. Call Bruce for me, will ya?"
Tony perched on the window ledge since he thought it might be pushing it to sit on May's bed without permission while he waited for Bruce to answer.
"Tony? Everything okay?"
"No. I mean, sure, but I'm not an expert and I do have doctorates but not in medicine, so I'm phoning a friend before I miss out on the million dollar prize."
There was a pause. "Tony," Bruce said, slowly and very deliberately, "are you hurt?"
"No, nothing like that. Peter's sick and I don't know what to do."
"Ah." That sounded like Bruce understood a lot more from what Tony said than he expected. "Yeah, I'm thinking you're not exactly used to looking after somebody with a cold, are you?"
"Uh, the last time Pepper had a cold, I hired her a nurse and went to China for a week."
Bruce snorted. "Okay. So you know the basics, right? Soup, fluids, rest?"
"Yeah, I got that part. But how do you do...the rest of it?"
"The rest of what?"
Tony was getting impatient. "There's a thing with a washcloth on the forehead. Right? That's a thing? Or, um, feeding a fever and starving a cold, which, by the way, that sounds like terrible advice. The kid's already scrawny enough so starving him can't be right. What about blankets? Is there an upper limit where too many will make him, I dunno, get extra fevery and burn out some brain cells?"
"Tony." Bruce was trying not to laugh and Tony was not enjoying it. "Calm down. JARVIS just sent me Peter's vitals from what he can read. The kid is going to be fine. Every kid in the world comes down with colds sometimes."
"Every kid in the world isn't…" Tony stopped. He'd almost said 'mine' and switched instead to, "asthmatic. Isn't that some kind of risk?"
"Yes, it is," Bruce said, still practically humming with amusement. "Okay, listen. If you're really worried, get a better scanner on him. JARVIS knows what to look for if this cold starts turning into something more serious like pneumonia. I'll check in periodically and let you know if I see anything concerning."
"I can do that," Tony said, calming down. "I'll just grab one of JARVIS's nodules from my place and hide it on the terrible ceiling fan that May never uses and now should continue to never use because of the bricks of dust up there."
"Great." Bruce was quiet for a moment. "Tony, look. This won't be the first time Peter's gotten sick and probably not the last, either. What he needs...what all kids need when they're sick...is to feel safe. Sit with him when you can, but don't hover. Keep him drinking fluids and let him eat whatever and whenever he wants as long as it's vaguely nutritional. And just...keep him company."
Tony felt himself frowning. "You think I'd leave him on his own?"
"I think," Bruce said softly, "that being sick is always scary, no matter how old or young you are, and he'll get better faster if he's not alone to do it."
"There's a dig in there," Tony said suddenly. "Like, you're talking about me here somehow. I don't remember asking you to consult on me, Banner."
Bruce chuckled. "Fine. Fluids, rest, whatever food he's up to eating, and keep him out of the cold. Otherwise, wash your hands a lot and don't share cups or anything."
"That's too gross to even respond to," Tony told him firmly.
"I know JARVIS will be watching the readings," Bruce continued, "so if he gets concerned, have him let me know. I can always make a house call."
"Yeah, that's not happening," Tony said, refusing to think about this cold turning bad enough to warrant Bruce's actual presence. Then, because he felt he owed Bruce one for all this, he said, "Thanks. I'm not good at...this."
"Well," Bruce said, "I'm not sure what all you mean by 'this' exactly, but you're getting pretty good at something over in Queens. I'm just glad I can actually help."
Tony was glad, too, even if he hung up rather than admitting it.
Even after the time it took for Tony to check on Peter, run down seven flights of stairs for one of JARVIS's nodules, run back up the stairs, install the nodule, and order a stockpile of canned soup enough to feed ten sick kids, Peter was still out. Tony tried to tinker on his tablet for a while, but he just kept swiping back to JARVIS's much-more-useful scans.
Tony didn't like that the kid was off his baseline, but at least he wasn't getting worse.
Finally Peter stirred, sighing and coughing slightly.
"Hey, kid," Tony said, trying not to lean over too eagerly. "Hungry yet?"
"Actually, yeah." Peter sat up but pulled his blanket up with him, folding it into something shaped vaguely like a burrito. "Food would be good."
Simple, direct instructions I can handle. Food, fluids, rest. Let's do this. "Okay. I'm going to order some wonton soup for you from that one good place and then we're going to watch one of your movies, okay? Pick me a good one."
And was it the fifth time he'd watched Return of the Jedi with Peter? Yes, yes it was. Was it still worth it to sit through it with the kid? Also yes.
—==OOO==-
In the morning, Peter did indeed feel worse, and Mister Carbonell called him in sick to the school. Or, texted Aunt May and she called him into school. He was too tired to really care how it happened.
Although Peter tried to tell the man several times that he did not need anyone to sit with him all day while he alternately dozed and watched movies, Mister Carbonell assured him he had nothing better to do than hang out. Peter learned the night before that Mister Carbonell had a huge gap of knowledge when it came to the best movies, so he continued to educate his friend on classics like The Fifth Element and The Neverending Story.
Which did lead to a reciting of quotes like, "Leeloo Dallas multipass" and "I am a meat popsicle" all day, and this never failed to make Peter laugh — especially when Mister Carbonell said them so perfectly. They ordered dinner, and Mister Carbonell even told the delivery person dropping off the pizza and wings "Chicken good," and Peter just about choked himself laughing.
The coughing fit that followed was totally worth it.
After eating, though, Peter felt the familiar twinge of a headache that came with having a fever.
"I don't think I can watch any more movies," he said. "It hurts to look at the screen."
"That is, like, a death sentence. Dead of boredom. You'll be missed." Mister Carbonell actually shut off the TV and lowered the lights in the room, too, before he returned to Peter's side on the couch. "So, what do we do now?"
"Sometimes May would tell me stories from growing up, or read to me. Or I can just sleep," Peter said, blinking his eyes open momentarily. "It should pass pretty fast."
Mister Carbonell stared at him for a while. "I'm not reading you chemistry books while you're sick. With my luck, your fever brain will come up with a horrifying new chemical and we'll have a disaster on our hands."
Peter laughed. "No. Can't be anything I haven't read before. I'll...miss parts."
"Fine. Gimme whatever book you're currently rereading and I can pick up from where you left off."
"It's on my dresser," Peter said. "I'm a little more than halfway through The Last Unicorn."
"Never heard of it."
Peter grinned and started to explain while Mister Carbonell went to go get it. "You'll like it. It's one of the best fantasy books ever written. Like, ever. It's about a unicorn who realizes she is the last one in the world. So she goes on a journey to find her people. Along the way she makes friends with a magician who is the worst at his job named Schmendrick and a girl named Molly who ran away from home to hang out with a Robin-Hood wannabe."
"Doesn't sound terrible."
"When I left off, they had reached the kingdom of King Haggard, who everyone thinks knows where the unicorns went. The Red Bull is about to attack."
"Well, lay back and let's see how good your unicorn book is," Mister Carbonell said, taking a seat in the chair near Peter. He ran a hand over Peter's curls for a moment, then settled back.
"You should know," he said, "I've literally never done this before."
"Thank you," Peter said, shutting his eyes. "I know other people listen to audiobooks and sometimes I do, too, but it's always better with a real person."
"Guess I'll take your word for it. Here we go."
Mister Carbonell started to read.
-==OOO==-
Tony had to admit, continuous repetition of Star Wars aside, the kid had good taste. Where was this book when Tony was growing up looking for a way to be himself in a world that saw him as something else? Where was the unicorn with her strangeness holding her apart when he was a kid as alone as she?
Also, this author had a downright perfect sense of humor and made excellent use of anachronism. Tony found himself laughing along with Peter at multiple points. He vowed to go back and read it from the start as soon as the kid was asleep.
As the band of intrepid and highly outmatched heroes began to prepare for their final confrontation with the Red Bull, however, Tony was startled by the sudden change that came over the character of Lir. He'd been affable but silly, reminding Tony a bit of Steve Rogers if Rogers was really bad at talking to women. But with the risk of the Lady Amalthea returning to her unicorn body, he seemed to wake up into a different kind of person.
And, at the same time, Lady Amalthea had lost herself in her human body and no longer wanted the things the unicorn had wanted. And Tony ached for that, for her quest, for her people who might never be saved. That this light that was bright and powerful had been cowed by the world all for trying to stay alive while doing the right thing.
But Lir spoke. He spoke of what it meant to be a hero, that "things must happen when it is time for them to happen," and Tony felt almost as if he were listening rather than reading the words to Peter.
"I never looked at you without seeing the sweetness of the way the world goes together, or without sorrow for its spoiling. I became a hero to serve you, and all that is like you."
And Tony felt tears in his eyes, and he had to put the book down and stop. He had to because his thoughts were full of Peter and Pepper, May and Rhodey and Bruce, Cap and Romanoff and Barton, and holes in the sky and a city worth saving at the cost of everything. His thoughts were of the terrified, unseeing brown eyes of a boy trapped under weighted bags alone in a darkened back room, and he mentally superimposed that face over the memory of an even younger version standing at the Stark Expo facing down a HammerBot.
He realized belatedly that Peter was asleep.
Tony's heart was pounding and his hands were shaking as he set the book aside and scooted his chair closer to the couch.
Peter's skin was a little flushed, but his face was lax in heavy sleep and he wasn't wheezing or shivering or sweating. Tony reached over and rested his hand on the boy's forehead.
"I became a hero to serve you, and all that is like you," he repeated.
He remembered the little trophy Pepper had made for him right after Afghanistan — "Proof that Tony Stark has a heart." She had always seen him more clearly than he saw himself, after all. She saw what no one else did, what he refused to acknowledge before she held it up in front of him and demanded he recognize it.
And then the Battle of New York had changed him, made him raw and unstable and afraid. Even loving Pepper hadn't been enough to undo the scars of that experience. The fight against Killian had given him back his confidence, but not his center. Not the same heart from before.
Tony realized that even he hadn't known what lived in the root of that heart, what beat behind the arc reactor or the suit. He had saved the world, fought the bad guys, gone after terrorists, stood up for peace against maniacs. He hadn't done it for fame, or glory; he had done it first for rage and revenge, and then because it was his purpose. His mission. He had been granted life and he would give it back.
And now with his hand on the head of Peter Parker, he knew he could never be the same Iron Man he had been.
He would be a better one.
Not just stronger, for he had something more to fight to protect. But better. The hero Peter would want him to be. The hero Peter deserved him to be.
Tony sat quietly listening to Peter breathe in and out for a long time. Finally, he settled back in the chair and picked up the book again. He paged back to the beginning. The end of a journey doesn't mean anything without the beginning, and Tony already knew he needed to see this one's start. He needed it, because that would tell him how his own battle against the Red Bull that was his deepest fear would end.
And by the time he caught up to where he had left off, he had shifted so he could read with one hand anchored on Peter's shoulder, and the book nearly gave him tears a second time as he thought about Lir and the unicorn and looked at the boy who had become more than he dared put into words. But Schmendrick the magician gave him the language to understand what he had been feeling all along.
"I did not know that I was so empty, to be so full."
