The air felt thick, to the point where it was almost strangling. The pitter patter of rain pelting the roof sounded through the silent apartment, and Peter vaguely wondered if there was a hole in the ceiling above him. His face was wet, but he was so focused on his aunt's pale face to think much of it. The room was cold, it was never below sixty five degrees in the apartment during the winter, May always made sure of that. Peter couldn't thermoregulate, something she'd picked up once, but that was a story for another time. He let his eyes roam around the room, eventually finding the source of the cold. May's bedroom window was shattered, and Peter knew how it broke, but it seemed his brain wasn't wanting to work at the moment, perhaps he hit his head? Maybe that's why everything was so blurry …, and wet.
The room smelt different then the usual lavender scent that would typically emanate from May's room. It now smelt like blood, bitter, metallic …, "FRESH." The smell was a complete contrast to the usually comforting room, but no place was supposed to smell like blood, right? Peter's hands were sticky where they pressed down on his aunt's side, and when he looked down he could see thick scarlet streaming past his fingers. His stomach lurched at the sight, and he had to swallow thickly to push back down the bitter taste that filled his mouth. More rain water dripped down his nose and cheeks, and he glanced up to the ceiling, trying to find the culprit that was dripping water down his face, but he saw nothing, not a single crack. He wiped the sleeve of his sweatshirt across his face, and found that the water was leaking from his eyes, not the ceiling.
Peter shifted his hand back over the bloody hole, and a sharp spike of pain raced through his forearm, he winced, then suddenly had an urge to look up. Across the room, a tall man laid unconscious against the wall, webs binding his arms and legs together to prohibit any movement. A long gash raced from the corner of his left eyebrow to the right side of his hairline, making his dark locks shine with crimson droplets. The man had a split lip, and Peter faintly remembered causing it. The blood dribbled down his chin, and stained his white button up. A mutilated golf club laid beside him, dried blood speckling the deformed section. A gun was a few feet away from him, just out of reach, and Peter saw red at the sight of it. He shook his head quickly, taking in a shaky breath as he squeezed his eyes shut. It would do him no good to look at the man who hurt his aunt.
A loud boom sounded down the hall from the living room. The noise brung no reaction from Peter, usually his hands would be flying to his ears in an instant, but he was too much in a daze to do much of anything besides press down on the bleeding wound. He heard multiple pairs of footsteps coming running down the hall, and people calling him and May, but he didn't have the strength to answer.
Then Tony was at the door, and it felt like reality hit him with a ton of bricks. Everything was so painfully clear. He could hear the, "TapTapTap," of the rain hitting the windowsill, and the honking of cars far below in the city streets. He could hear the sound of multiple people's hearts beating quickly, and the steady stream of blood seeping past his fingers and down the man's face. He could smell gasoline, and a hotdog joint a few blocks away. He could smell a mixture of different colognes combined, and the sickly sweet smell of fresh blood, his "aunts" blood. He could feel the stream of tears cascading down his face, and he could feel the flow of blood in between his fingers with an impossible amount of specificity. He could feel the broken bone in his right arm grinding nauseatingly against the other half, and the way his stomach churned at the sensation. He could feel the texture of his clothes rubbing against his clammy skin, and he could feel multiple pairs of eyes staring in horror.
Peter stared blankly at Tony for a moment, the tears never letting up. The man stared back at him in shock, and Peter's hands began to shake. "I couldn't save her, Tony," he breathed, promptly turning and vomiting onto the floor. The smell hit him hard along with the blood, and the stupid hotdogs, causing another gag to let up more bile, mixed with a sob that choked off his air.
Tony rushed over to him as Bruce and Dr. Cho made their way over to his aunt, Steve, Natasha, Clint, and Rhodey collecting the man whilst that was happening. Tony stepped out of his suit, kneeling by Peter's side as he ran a comforting hand up along his spine. He carefully removed Peter's hand away from May's side once he finished gagging, but Peter instantly fought back, trying to return his hand to its previous position.
"No! She's she's g'gonna bleed out, Mr. Stark, stop," he nearly choked, unable to tear his eyes away from May's lifeless ones. Tony responded by locking his arms around him, and cradling Peter's head against his chest beside the arc reactor.
"It's okay, kid, Bruce and Helen have her, she's gonna be okay."
'But how do you know? She …, she's losing so much blood, Tony, and I didn't save her, oh, god, I couldn't save her, it should've been me," Peter cried, burying his face into the soft material of his mentor's shirt. It smelt like Tony, it had a hint of the man's expensive cologne, and the faint scent of motor oil, a comforting mixture of smells that always followed the man.
"You know May wouldn't have let you get hurt, she would never let you sacrifice yourself for her, none of us would," Tony murmured softly, but it had just enough power to get his point across.
Peter let out a heart wrenching sob into the man's chest as he clutched the back of Tony's shirt, trembling relentlessly. "I'm sorry, I'm …, I …, god, I'm so sorry," Peter blubbered, his tears soaking into his mentors probably really expensive t-shirt, but Tony didn't seem to mind, gently rocking him as he hid him from the world, shushing him quietly.
The last thing Peter remembered before passing out was May's body leaving his side, and Tony's comforting voice in his ear.
The first thing Peter woke up to was the feel of gentle fingers carding through his hair. It was familiar, calming. Another hand gently held his left hand by his side, the hand felt the same as the other. The hands were calloused, worn from years of working manually, but despite the rough skin, their touch was comforting and warm, so invitingly recognizable.
The next thing Peter was aware of was the distinct smell of bleach and antiseptic, a very strong, and very familiar smell, alerting him to where he was, but his mind was still a little fuzzy with sleep to give much of a reaction. The next thing he noticed was the cold, a chill that always circled the med bay, Peter constantly found himself wondering if the doctors did that on purpose, but why? He let out a faint shiver on his next slow intake of breath, but it must have been noticeable enough to alert the person by his bedside. The hands briefly retreated to tug the blanket around his waist up to his chin, and to carefully tuck the scratchy material around him securely.
The pressure of the blanket around his body brought Peter's attention to two spots on either of his arms, on his right forearm, which was across his chest, was a weight, starting from the bottom of his fingers, and going all the way up to his elbow, and it was itchy. On his left bicep, something cold was wrapped around it, and it was steadily gaining more pressure. Peter swore he knew what it was, but his mind felt like molasses.
The hand returned to its previous motion of going through his hair, but it eventually slid down to cup the side of his face, rubbing a thumb across his cheekbone. And that's when his last sense came to him. The sound of a heart monitor beeped from somewhere to his right, and some quiet shuffling sounded from across the room, along with clicks from a keyboard. If he focused hard enough, there was also the sound of two heartbeats, and two people's breaths. The person closest to him cleared their throat quietly, and began to speak in a soft, familiar tone. "You awake, kiddo?" The voice asked, and Peter instantly pinned it to Tony.
He took in another slow, deep breath, and tiredly cracked open his eyes, thankful the lights were dimmed. He rolled his head sluggishly to the side, and blinked at his mentor drowsily. "Mr. Stark?" He whispered hoarsely, leaning into the man's touch.
Tony looked tired. He had puffy bags under his eyes, and he was slightly hunched, but he still smiled at him warmly. "Yeah, kid, it's me, how are you feeling?" Peter was honestly surprised that he didn't call him out for calling him Mr. Stark, and that thought brought a fragment of a memory into his mind.
"I couldn't save her, Tony," he remembered saying, and from that memory more flooded in. Once again, water began to pour down his cheeks, dripping down his temples, and erasing the slight smile from his mentor's face.
"I …, I couldn't, oh, god, please no," Peter choked, trying to hide his face behind his hand. "I didn't save her, Mr. Stark, he was too fast, and I …, and he …, i didn't have m'my suit on and …."
Tony stopped him with a soft grip on his forearm, and he let out a hoarse sob, whimpering pathetically. "Kid," Tony breathed, wiping away the tears with his thumb. "She's okay, it's not your fault." He sighed, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, clasping Peter's left hand in his, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles reassuringly. "She just got out of surgery, and Brucy said she's gonna be okay, ask him yourself."
Peter sniffled wetly, his breaths hitching whilst he looked to the other person in the room as they made their way over to him. "Tony's right, Peter, May's doing well. We removed the problem, cleaned the wound, and stitched her up, nothing vital was hit, so the process was quick and easy, she's going to be okay," Bruce said as he walked over to Peter's bedside and removed the blood pressure cuff from his arm when it deflated.
Peter sobbed in relief, and squeezed Tony's hand, the tension in his shoulders almost fully dissipated. "Thank you …, thank you so much," he gasped, almost hysterically as he squeezed his bloodshot eyes closed, slightly shaking his head as more tears flooded his face, but rather from sorrow they were from relief.
"You don't need to thank me, Peter, I'm just doing my job," Bruce said kindly, squeezing Peter's ankle reassuringly as Tony brushed more tears from his face.
Peter sniffled, and heaved in a few unsteady breaths, shaking his head slightly at Bruce's words. "I know, but this means a lot to m'me, I don't …." He paused, mulling over his words before speaking. "I'I don't know what I'd do without her, so thank you, Dr. Banner, thank you," he managed without breaking.
Bruce smiled grimly, and rubbed Peter's shoulder. "Of course, anytime," he said as he swiped his notepad off his desk. "Your aunt should be waking up in about two hours, and will be ready to be seen in three, so when the time comes you can go see her."
Peter smiled slightly at those words, and used his left hand to wipe at his eyes. "Thank you," he said quietly, his eyelids starting to droop.
Tony snorted, and rolled his eyes as he pushed Peter's curls out of his face. "Alright, kiddo, I think it's time for you to slip back under that black, fluffy blanket that I like to call sleep." Peter frowned half heartedly at his mentor, but he really didn't need any more prompting, because within five minutes he was out like a light, breathing deeply, his hand still interlaced with Tony's.
And just like Bruce promised, when the three hour mark was up, Tony helped Peter to May's room, and both Parker's immediately embraced, and many tears were shed, along with words of fear for each other. And late that night, May, Peter, and Tony kicked back in the hospital room with an extra large container of popcorn, and binge watched "Lord of the Rings" until they couldn't stay awake any longer.
….
A/N: ……… Y'know …, I really don't know why I'm so mean to Peter ………
