The key to your heart (Peter x Harley)

3. Frustration

Peter POV.

While the guy they call "my Uncle Bruce Banner" talks to me, I stare at the shining floor. I'm trying to resist every urge not to punch him and the man that I call Dad.

I angrily look at the two legs covered by white sheets.
I can't dance anymore. Or go on patrol. Heck, even walking.

I look up at Bruce with pleading eyes: "But don't I have accelerated healing? Can't I be fixed?"
He shakes his head sadly.
"I'm sorry Pete, there's no way for us to save them. You'll be able to sit and that's as far as your legs will go. I'm so sorry."

With a sigh, I let myself fall back into the pillow, defeated. Pain shoots through my hips, making me tear up.

"Get out. Both. I'm tired. I want to sleep." I groan.

"Pete plea-

"I said get out." I snap, turning my back towards both.
After they left, I layed still, eyes wide open and staring at the wall.

==========
"Peter, it's been 6 weeks, we're going to try a weelchair now." Bruce says, wheeling in the monstrosity. Behind him is Dad, with his fucking pitiful smile.

I scowl at the thing, no fucking way in hell am I going into that.
It's parked next to my bed and put onto the brakes.

"Try getting into it, remember that your arms need to do the heavy work now." Bruce advises.

I glare at him, unamused. "Not a chance, Sir." My voice is cold. Bruce looks at me funny: "Why not? You can move around that way."
Sarcastically, I slap my weak legs, anger surging at the lack of feeling that I get in response.

I let out a dry laugh. "I've already accepted that not happening."
Dad looks at me with a pained look: "Kid, please just try it, I know it is hard-

"You don't know what this feels like, okay? I'll never fucking walk again, everything I ever did evolved around my legs. Everything is gone. So don't try to put yourself in my shoes. FUCK THAT! WON'T NEED THOSE TOO HUH?!" I practically scream.

Dad looks like a kicked puppy.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. But please, just try it." He pleads.
I sigh, scooting over to the edge.

Bruce sighs: "Okay, you need to make sure it's on the breaks before you get in. Now grab the sides, lower your hips into it and then swing in your legs."
I do as he says, frustrated with my weak body, beads of sweat form on my forehead, but, I'm in.

Tony grabs the bars on the back, wheeling me towards the door, IV rattling on the side.
"You ready to go see everyone?" He asks cautiously. I sigh deeply and nod.

============
The moment I heard the soft chatter of all the Avengers die down, I already regretted being born.

They all looked at me akwardly, with the same dumb smiles.
Wanda and Thor are both crying, earning shocked looks from Sam and Clint. Natasha is consoling Wanda, trying to hide her own eyes from me.
Loki and Bucky just look at me with an unreadable face, out of all of the Avengers, they don't give me pathetic stares, they just look happy to see me. Which I gratefully acknowledge with a tiny smile.

"Hey everyone, are we interrupting?" I say.
"Of course not child, I am pleased to see you up." Loki says with a smile, placing down his book. He and Bucky come up to me. Bucky places a hand on my shoulder and gives me a warm smile. "Indeed, it's good that you're back. Right guys?"
Bucky says, shooting them all a persuading glare.

Sam coughs: "So uhm.. how you doin'?"
I look down at the chair, then back up. "Well, not too great." I say with a painful smile.
Looking at all those people that are supposed to be my family, I suddenly have enough.

"Fuck this. Nobody died, stop giving me pathetic stares." I growl.
Gripping the wheels of my wheelchair with white knuckles, I wheel towards my room, or more like zigzagging.

I angrily struggle my way into the room, making my way towards my empty and dusty bed. Everything feels foreign. Parking next to the bed I push myself up only to have the wheelchair shoot away from under me, leaving me to crash onto the carpet. I curl up, gripping the duvet that fell down in my tumble. Tears leak from my eyes onto the carpet as I let out a frustrated sob.

I can hear everyone gasp at the crashing sound and Dad starting to run towards the room. He sees me on the floor and scoops me up, placing me on the bed. His big brown eyes look at me in concern, wiping away my tears.

"Dad what do I do? I'm fucking useless." I whisper with a choked voice.
Dad looks at me with a sad smile: "You can still do piano right?"

I shake my head: "I can't press the pedals and my fingers can barely move."
He smiles: "How about teaching? I know a boy that could use your help?"
I wipe my eyes, sniffling: "Who?"

"An old friend. Harley Keener."