Chapter Text
The room’s white walls were lined with empty gray chairs. Two TV monitors hung at opposite sides of the room. They played the local news network, their volume playing at a dull hum.
Peter paced as doctors came in and out of the waiting room, almost in a sort of sick pattern. Each said something different to the 16 year old superhero, cutting him off with the small bit of information they were permitted to give him about Mr. Stark’s condition. After they would share the minuscule updates that Peter had to slowly piece together, they would say, “No, you can’t see him yet.” They must’ve caught on pretty quick to Peter’s singular question.
His head spun as he tried to keep the facts the doctors were telling him straight with the events that unfolded earlier in the day.
A blinding flash of light.
"The huge amount of energy-"
Ash immediately began to tear away at the enemies.
"His head was exposed -"
Thanos himself finally succumbed to ash.
"A skin graft -"
Mr. Stark’s face ran with blood and his armor was blackened on the right side leading to where the stones were embedded.
"I’m sorry -"
Mr. Stark stumbled forward, and Rhodey rushed and caught him before he could fall to the ground. His head fell back, and Rhodey ejected him from his armor before setting him on the ground.
Surgery didn't usually take this long, did it? What if Mr. Stark didn’t make it out of surgery? It would all be his fault. This is your fault, a small voice whispered. He should’ve done more. He shouldn’t have left Mr. Stark all by himself with Thanos. You could’ve stopped this. You had the glove. But you’re too weak to have been able to do your one job correctly. He shouldn’t have -
He flinched when Karen’s soft voice came on through his mask. “Peter, my monitors are showing an increased heart rate and a low oxygen in your blood. You’re having a panic attack. Take deep breaths.”
Peter’s hands started to drum against his suit almost by themselves. He needed something to ground himself before he continued to spiral. Mr. Stark needs me, he thought. I have to be strong for him. I can’t start to panic now.
“Karen? Can you count for me?”
On missions when everything suddenly became too much and he felt like his chest was collapsing in, he would ask her this same question and Karen would begin as she did now, softly counting “1, 2, 3, 4, 5…” and continue on until Peter told her to stop.
He focused on the numbers and tried to take deep breaths, ignoring a sharp pain in his right side, as he breathed in the pattern Karen had first told him to breathe in many missions ago. By the time Karen had passed 400, Peter’s breathing had gone back to normal and he felt himself calming back down.
“Thank you Karen. You can stop now.”
“You’re welcome Peter,” Karen’s soft voice replied.
Peter took a seat as he started feeling weak from exhaustion. The sharp pain was back, and he winced as he tried to position himself in a way where it wouldn’t hurt his side. He hadn’t had time to eat or sleep since the battle with Thanos, and even though he didn’t want to admit it, he needed those things after not having either since before he was turned to dust. Even though being gone for five years didn’t impact any of his food or sleep needs, he hadn’t slept since coming back, and being awake for a full day with no rest before he had vanished did.
“Peter,” Karen began softly, as she had been doing since the end of the battle. “You are extremely sleep deprived and your blood sugar levels are dangerously low. I also detect a broken rib on your right side. Why don’t you-“
“Karen I’m fine. I can’t be here for Mr. Stark if I’m asleep,” Peter said, repeating the same thing as he'd done multiple times previously.
“Then-”
“And I’m not leaving to get food either. What if he needs me and I’m gone?”
“According to Ms. Potts’ estimated time of arrival, she will be here in 53 minutes. She finished informing her parents on Mr. Stark’s conditions and said goodbye to her daughter not long ago. After she arrives, I must plead with you that you will get some food and discuss your injuries with her.”
“Thank you, Karen,” Peter whispered. It was crazy how Karen knew exactly what to say to reassure Peter he wasn’t going to be alone soon, without him having to ask for that.
“Karen, can you try calling May again? I don’t know why it’s not working.” He’d already tried to call his Aunt three other times, but he never had even made it to voicemail. It was like her number didn’t exist anymore.
Peter heard the dialing of the number before he heard the same message about how the number had been disconnected once again. Why hadn’t May tried looking for him yet? If she had disappeared like him, she would be back and worried about him, right? And if she didn’t, then why did she get a new phone number?
Peter’s blood went cold as he remembered his conversation with Pepper shortly before he had gotten in the car with Mr. Stark.
“Peter.” He looked up to see Pepper with tears running down her face, watching as her unconscious husband was lying on the ground with Dr. Strange leaning over him as he strained to help him.
“I’m sorry about Mr. Stark. I know he’ll be okay,” Peter said quietly, putting his mask down. He pushed down his inner voice screaming at him that he had never seen Mr. Stark that limp before. That wouldn’t help Pepper right now.
“I know,” Pepper said, sighing as she ran a hand over her head. “He’s come back from worse.”
“I mean he is the only regular person I know to have survived that much shrapnel in his chest,” Peter said, in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Pepper just looked down. “Peter, there's something that I need to tell you about May. She...she’s gone.”
“I was too, in case you forgot,” Peter said, with a half smile.
Before she could respond, Dr. Strange had walked over with a somber expression, his breathing loud and heavy. “I’m sorry. I did my best, but I could really only stop the internal bleeding. I can't do anything about all the burns he sustained or fix his broken bones. A normal hospital should be able to finish the job.”
“Thank you,” Pepper said looking up at him. “I know you did your best.”
He nodded at her, before walking towards Bruce where they began to talk in low voices. Pepper walked over to Rhodey, where he was waiting with her husband, who then helped her bring him over to a car that Happy was getting out of. Pepper must’ve called him as soon as the battle was over, knowing that it would be difficult getting her husband anywhere in his unconscious state.
“I need to go and check on Morgan,” Pepper said to Happy. Peter could easily hear thanks to his heightened senses. “A friend has been watching her back at the house, but I need her to know her dad is going to be okay and that she doesn’t need to be worried. Could you-”
“I can take him,” Peter interrupted. “If you get Happy to drive us, I can make sure he gets in okay. I’ll stay in the suit and everything.” This way he could make sure that Mr. Stark was okay. Mr. Stark had to be okay. He had to.
“Peter, that’s not a good idea, Pepper started with concern. “You don’t look well, and I need you to know that May-”
“I know, she was gone. I’ll just call her after I make sure Mr. Stark is okay,” Peter said, already sliding into the car’s backseat next to where Tony was propped up. He could worry about May later. Mr. Stark needed his full attention right now. Rhodey shut the other door, and Peter made a move to shut his as Happy was already in the car, turning it on, but Pepper stopped the door with her hand before dropping it back down by her side.
“Peter-” she started, but her protests were once again cut off by the teenager closing the door and sliding down the window.
“I promise that I’ll make sure he gets where he needs to go. You can trust me.”
Pepper opened her mouth to reply, but the car had already pulled away.
Peter was jerked out of his thoughts by Karen’s soft voice. “Peter, your heart rate is increasing and your oxygen levels are falling again.”
“K-Karen,” Peter shakily said. “I need you to find me the most recent records on May Parker.”
“The Queens Times newspaper has an article in the obituary section concerning her from March 12, 2022. Would you like me to read it to you?”
Peter felt tears flooding his eyes, but he had to hear this for himself. He took a deep breath, ignoring the pain that came with it. “Yes.”
“May Parker, aged 49, passed unexpectedly in her Queens apartment on March 11. She was born January 2, 1973, in Albany, New York. Described by her childhood friends as “kind” and “loving,” she met Ben Parker and moved to Queens with him. After her nephew Peter Parker’s parents died, she and Ben raised him, before her husband soon died unexpectedly. May went on to raise Peter by herself, her friends calling her “diligent” and “persevering” for working multiple jobs to support him. May struggled with depression after the disappearance and suspected passing of Peter. No funeral services will be held, as May wishes to join her husband’s ashes in the Atlantic Sea. In lieu of a service, donations can be made to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.”
“Peter?” Karen’s soft voice had been calling his name for the past few minutes, but he hadn’t noticed. “Peter, are you okay?”
May was gone. Not gone like he had been gone. Gone as in…as in dead. He felt suffocated as he struggled to find a way to answer Karen.
“I’m sorry about May,” Karen said softly. “Do I need to alert Ms. Potts?”
He let out a wrecked sob as quietly as he could as he choked out, “N-No, s-she tried t-to tell m-me but I wouldn’t l-listen.”
This is all your fault, the small voice said. She’s gone because of you. She thought you were dead. She killed herself because of you. This is all your fault.