Chapter Five: Awake

The monitor continued to beep steadily. The room was simple enough but cramped, desperately designed to come off as akin to someone's bedroom but failing miserably. Pale blue sheets and curtains with imprints of green teddy bears. Tidy, pristine institutional floors with the overwhelming eggshell white walls and that unexplainable disturbing smell that is in every hospital. The window looked out on the hospital garden, where there really wasn't anything to see but leafless shrubs and trees.

The gadgets and equipment continued on with their buzzing and clicking, playing their own symphony of sounds. The television was on, playing a soap opera Tony forgot the name of, with no sound. He looked at his son. A pale figure swathed with blankets and attached to an IV, laying on the bed, as unresponsive as he'd been when he'd been brought in two days ago. They'd become off the oxygen mask a while ago. He looked so small, so young, so... unprotected. Tony swallowed. Someone knocked and entered before waiting for an answer.

It was Happy. He was holding a brown paper bag and a coffee. Upon seeing Tony's look of disapproval, he sighed. "You gotta eat, boss. We don't want the kid waking up and seeing you all meat and bones. You know he has a huge guilt complex."

Tony knew he was right. And he hated it. He hesitatingly accepted the coffee. He wrapped his hands around it, warmth seeping through his calloused skin. He swallowed again, more thickly this time, and stared at the motionless boy on the bed. The day the FBI agent had told him that there were almost zero chances where Peter could be found alive was one of the worst periods of his entire life. How to describe the grief of child-loss? Its losing your breath but somehow, your heart doesn't stop beating, it leaves a heartache that can never heal and could not be repaired by words.

Every day, no matter what he tried to do, he lost a little piece of his mind, he was breathing and dying at the same time. His grief had no side to push through, no way to escape. It was something to endure and live with, not a task where one could move on. He couldn't move on. Had that been a good thing?

"When he wakes up," the engineer started, "what should I say to him?"

Fuck, he was so useless. Think, Tony, think! His brain was screaming at him.

"You tell him you love him... And you missed him so much it hurts."

"There! How hard could it be to think up of something like that? Aren't you supposed to be some kind of genius?" His conscience mocked.

Except that those words weren't enough. Weren't enough for a child who had gone through God knows what. He'd seen the medical report. It had made him want to gag. Multiple lacerations, burns, abrasions, signs of malnutrition, excess drug consumption, collapsing lungs, a few broken bones, hypothermia... The doctors said he'd heal with time. Emotionally, Tony didn't think so. Would he even remember him?

"Drink the coffee," Happy urged and rose from the armchair. "I saw a vending machine in the corner. Do you want me to get you something?"

"No. Thank you, Harold." The man gave him a curt nod and exited the room as swiftly as he had entered.

Tony sat in relative silence, staring at the cooling dark liquid in his hands. Time had seemed nonexistent ever since Pepper got the call. Dakota had cancelled all his appointments. All that mattered to him were two words. Peter. Alive. And when he'd seen him for the first time in five months, he'd burst into tears shamelessly. He stood up and sat on the edge of the bed. Uncomfortable but it would do.

"Hey, buddy," he whispered and kissed the clammy forehead, holding a small hand in his. "You've lost weight. They weren't feeding you well—were they? I suppose not. There's bags under your eyes. Your lips are chaffed too. The doctor said you'll be fine, though. Her name is Lee Wyatt."

The boy didn't respond. Tony wasn't expecting him to.

"You've —" his breath caught in his throat, "you've been on my mind ever since you went missing, Pete. God, I've missed you so much. So much. I missed your lame puns and those stupid tees. Those cheesy one liners and—" Tony realized he was crying now, and he rested his face against his son's.

"I even miss the disgusting sandwich you used to love. Kid, I love you so much. More than anything. I'm sorry for not searching harder. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His phone started ringing. He wiped his tears and angrily pressed 'ignore'. Nothing else was important.

"Please come back to me..." He laid his head in his free hand, releasing a shaking breath.

"You're a fox on the run..." The sentence was barely audible but Tony heard it. He snapped his head up. Peter was blearily staring at him.

-Line Break-

The last nurse exited the room with the promise of finding Wyatt ASAP. It was just the two of them now. Tony, holding his son's hand, Peter focusing on their entwined fingers. His eyebrows were scrunched up in concentration, as if mulling over why his hand was being held so tightly. Tony loosened his grip.

"Where am I?" The boy's voice was dry.

"In the hospital, buddy." It took the engineer all his strength to stop himself from breaking down in tears there and then.

"The hospital," Peter murmured, his eyes roaming all over the room in confusion. He licked his lips. Just then Wyatt entered, all beaming smiles and bright eyes.

"Good morning Peter! I'm Doctor Wyatt." She walked around the bed and readjusted the IV. "How do you feel? You've been asleep for quite some time."

A beat of silence.

"My legs hurt."

"You-" Tony caught his breath, "You've been running for a long time."

Peter looked at him, wide brown orbs trying to make a sense of it all. Tony brushed a stray lock behind his son's ear.

"Why? Why was I running?"

"You were missing, Peter. Don't you remember?" Wyatt questioned softly.

Peter turned his gaze back to his father. "Who are you?"

And Tony's heart shattered into a million pieces.

A/N: First off, I'm SO VERY SORRY for not updating earlier. I'm not in a very good place right now. That plus writer's block. I DO know where this story is going, but all aspiring writers out there know what it's like to know the plot and lack words to express it. I promise I'll try harder. R&R. Flames are appreciated but keep them moderate.