The World Is Wide (But I Feel So Small)

Peter

NEW 2020 EDIT: THIS IS NOT STARKER.

It is around 3:15 a.m when Peter wakes up screaming.

His chest heaves as he sits up, ribs throbbing as his heart monitor beeps frantically in the empty room. The thin Hospital sheets are tangled around his legs, the fabric soaked with sweat and making the boy shiver.

The light from the moon is filtering into the room, the half open blinds tapping against the wall from the air conditioning. The flickering glow from the machines surrounding him casts eerie shadows on the cream walls and Peter can feel his panic beginning to rise.

He blinks, eyes red and glassy, bringing his knees up to his chest, and tucking his face into the small pocket formed by the motion as tears fall down his bruised cheeks. The silence of the room quickly becomes suffocating, and the young Stark gives a low moan as the memories flash behind his clenched shut eyes.

Dark, wet, scared, rough hands grabbing, hitting, bringing pain and fear and oh god no no nononononono get away get away, run run run, don't touch me, don't please please stop! why? Whywhywhywhy? The ground rises up, swallows him down down down down. . . head throbbing, eyes blinking open, harsh screams ringing through metal and damp hallways thick with crazy laughter Peter Peter Peter peterpeterpeterpeterpeterpet-

"-eter! Peter!" A voice suddenly says, too close, too close.

Hands suddenly grab his shoulders, the grip too tight to be his father, and Peter cries out on instinct, trying to vain to scoot back against the cool metal headboard behind him.

The person says his name again, the tone desperate and the fingers curling even tighter around his arms, shaking him and forcing him to squint against the bright light now falling into the room. He looks up, hiccuping with silent sobs and falls limp when he notices who it is.

"U-Uncle Happy?" He croaks, voice cracking.

His Godfather lets out a relieved breath, dark eyes glowing in the limited light as he lets go of the once struggling teenager. Running one hand through his hair, the normally grumpy man takes a step back, face weary as he keeps a sharp eye on his beaten Nephew.

"Jesus, kid, you scared me half to death." Reaching out once more, Happy sets one warm hand on Peter's still trembling shoulder, the weight comforting now that he has calmed down slightly. "I though somebody was fucking murdering you."

Peter feels his cheeks heat up, and he ducks his head, not meeting his Uncle's eyes as he blinks back more tears. With shaking hands, he fiddles with the wires connecting him to the many machines surrounding them, the rubber burning his sensitive skin.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

Happy humphs, his hand tightening slightly as he leans against the bed frame, the metal squeaking under his weight. For the first time, Peter notices the man is barefoot, his blue pajama pants getting ruffled in the breeze coming in from the window.

"Don't apologize, Pete. It isn't your fault." Hesitating slightly, he coughs before asking the next question, "Do-uh-do you wanna talk about it?"

Shaking his head, Peter picks at the invisible lint on his night shirt, feeling his mouth go dry as his Uncle continues to awkwardly pat his arm. The only sound for a few minutes is the relentless beeping of the Heart Monitor, the leftover bag of popcorn from the movie night reflecting the red glow. Ignoring the pain of his injuries, Peter shifts, tucking his legs even closer to his chest as he leans more comfortably against the headboard, shivering as the cold Hospital air settles on his skin.