SPIDERMAN | Shattered

Chapter Eight ~ Tony Stark

Tony had been waiting impatiently for Rhodey's call all day. He had to keep reminding himself that it was going to take a little longer than a day to supply the information he needed.

But he didn't want to see Peter.

Looking at Peter's delusional self had made him feel sick. But now that Peter was thinking a little more clearly, it almost made Tony uncomfortable to see Peter like he was now. Peter didn't trust him-that was obvious. And Peter's eyes never left him when Tony entered the room, making Tony even more uncomfortable. Tony tried to talk to Peter, sometimes questioning him. But Peter would just lay back on the pillow, eyes staring at the ceiling. Blocking Tony out or just ignoring him.

But Peter disliked Natasha the worst.

Peter couldn't stand it when Natasha was anywhere in sight. He would begin to tremble and seemed to have difficulty breathing. Sometimes even a full-blown panic attack transpired.

So Natasha was asked to perhaps avoid the medbay for the next week or two. Nat said she didn't mind, but Tony could see it bothered her-the fact that Peter was so nervous around her.

Yesterday evening, Bruce had said that Peter wasn't interested in any of the books Tony had brought from Peter's room. Tony just didn't understand that. Not even Star Wars exited Peter anymore. Peter knew what Star Wars was, but it was as though his passion for it had dried up.

So Tony was more anxious than ever.

"Tony?"

He looked up from his laptop, politely smiling at Steve, who had just entered the room.

"Nat said that the kitchen faucet is leaking pretty badly," Steve said, leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. "And Bruce said something about sending Peter from the medbay to his bedroom pretty soon-am I bothering you?"

Tony sighed. "I'll fix it this evening."

"What?"

"The faucet. I'm going to fix it."

"If I were you, I'd get someone who actually knows what they are doing, last-"

"I do know what I'm doing." Tony interrupted, holding up a hand.

"Do you? Because I don't recall the entire kitchen floor flooding on its own."

"That practically wasn't my fault."

"Ah." Steve smiled. "I was going to fix it myself. I was just wondering where a few of the tools were." He gestured towards the door. "Bruce is waiting. He sent me after you."

Tony nodded, rising to his feet, the chair sliding back. He left the room, Steve walking silently at his side. They walked towards the elevator, neither of them saying anything.

Finally, Steve opened his mouth, speaking softly. "Do you think that seeing his room-his stuff-will help Peter?"

"I don't know," Tony shook his head, speaking a little sharper than necessary for a simple answer. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "Sorry-Steve, I'm-"

"It's alright, Tony, I understand." Steve's tone held no grudge.

The elevator door slid open, and the two men stepped out, pausing in front of the elevator door.

"You know, what would really help me right now, is if Peter would give me information-anything- that I could use to find these people. But Bruce growls at me when I even mention it to Peter." Tony pulled out his phone, checking the time, before slipping the phone back into his pocket.

"Trauma is hard to talk about. I'm sure Bruce will let you ask Peter a few questions after Peter's mind is a little more...repaired."

Tony looked away. "I should go." He turned from Steve, heading down the hallway.

"Tony..."

"Tony stopped but didn't turn around. "Make it quick."

"Tony, you should spend a little less time holed up in your office, and a little more time out here with us."

Tony didn't say anything, just started walking, leaving Steve standing by the elevator door.

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Peter was lying on the bed, eyes closed, when Tony walked in. But Peter almost seemed to sense the presence of someone else in the room and opened his eyes, shrinking away from the door.

Tony thrust his hands into his pockets, turning to Bruce, who was packing a small bag of medical gear.

"Does he need a wheelchair?" Tony asked.

"I'm pretty sure he will be persistent to walk, but yes, we will bring one." Bruce gestured with a tilt of his head to a wheelchair backed against the wall.

"Is he in the right condition to walk?"

"He's healing at remarkable speed, Tony. For a little while, I believe he can walk. If he's stressing himself, we'll make him use the wheelchair." Bruce zipped up the bag and slung it over one shoulder. His eyes turned towards Peter, who had been watching them silently. "Peter, it's time to go."

Peter's eyes darted from Bruce to Tony, to the wheelchair.

"Can you get up, or do you need some help?" Bruce helped out a hand to help Peter up, but Peter flinched as though Bruce was about to strike him. Bruce lowered his hand.

Peter placed a hand on the bed, pushing himself to a sitting position.

"Are you going to walk, or would you prefer the wheelchair?" Tony asked.

Peter shook his head, and with a bit of effort, slowly swung his feet from the bed to the floor. He pressed his feet to the ground and let go of the bed, taking a cautious step forward. His right leg buckled, and Tony leaped forward, ready to steady Peter. Peter stepped backward, staring at the concern  in Tony's eyes.

Tony blinked, the concern replaced with mild embarrassment.

"I'm alright," Peter mumbled, his words barely audible. He took another step forward, his lips pressed together in pain as he struggled to steady himself.

"We should use the wheelchair," Ton told Bruce, rolling it away from the wall.

"He needs to get stronger," Bruce argued, his gaze shifting to Peter. "Only if you want to, Peter."

Peter studied the tile floor as they both stared at him. He rested his hand on the table, steadying his shaky legs. Taking a step forward, he let go of the table. He took a step, then another. Peter slowly inhaled. Slowly exhaled.

"Do you need Bruce or me to stand close so-"

"No." Peter shook his head, taking two more steps-steadier this time-towards the door.

"Tony, lead the way. I'll bring the wheelchair, I'm sure we'll need it." Bruce grabbed the wheelchair, and Tony opened the door, ushering the two others through the doorway.