~Iron Family~

You Owe Me Some Candy

The ringing in his ears had wound down to silence so thick you could cut and serve a slice.

Peter couldn't hear the people around him, but he could sense their presence. It was a little creepy, honestly.

He didn't have any sense of the time, but people came and went. People he cared about were constantly around him, though they shifted in and out as if they took turns. Names had no meaning--siblings, mother, aunt and uncles came and went.

He even sensed his best friend come in often. His best friend told him all sorts of things, but he couldn't tell what about. Probably stuff about legos, Star Wars, and the latest news at school. The other friend that was a girl tagged along with his best friend two or three times--the girl who always made him laugh, the girl who made his heart pound and his face flush. She never had much to say, although she'd taken his hand, squeezed it, then quickly dropped it, as if scared someone would notice.

 Another friend came in once--she didn't say much either, but something buzzed under the surface as if she were radioing in to him.

In the night, he was alone except for his father.

His father always made sure Peter was never by himself. He could tell he talked to him, told him stories and joked, but he couldn't hear any of it. That didn't matter, though. It was his presence that mattered.

In the morning, his father left when the doctor came to check on him. As Peter's sense of touch slowly returned, he could feel the doctor's steady hands carefully changing his bandages and checking his wounds.

Sometimes his mother changed the bandages instead. She came in during the later morning with his siblings, who stayed with him for a few hours. Her hands were more gentle as she raised his limp shoulders forward to pull the bandages loose. A few times, she washed him down with a warm rag. She always tenderly kissed his forehead before she left, taking his siblings with her.

During the day, it was either his father, mother, aunt, or his uncles. He was never by himself, and he was thankful for that.

He didn't know how long this routine lasted. It felt like forever.

***

Very slowly, what felt like hour by hour, sound slowly wormed its way back into his ears.

Everything still sounded like it was underwater, and was so garbled that it didn't even sound English. Sound was there, though--difficult to make out, but there all the same.

"I'm gonna read a story now!" he heard his sister shout. "You've ... taking too long!"

"Was not," his brother countered. Peter could feel his little sister curled up as close as she could get to him without messing with his injuries or the machines.

"Once ... time," his sister began. "There ... princess named ... Daisy lived ... castle ... rooms, big library, and a huuuge ballroom!" He could sense his sister stretching out her arms for effect and he wished he could laugh.

Why wasn't anything working right?

He could barely make out the faint sound of his father click-clacking away at his laptop keys from the foot of the bed. He stopped typing and sighed.

"Morgan, don't ... like that," he scolded. "You'll hit some ... of equipment."

'She's fine,' Peter wanted to say. 'She has great storytelling skills! Exaggerated arm movements come with the territory!'

"...hungry," his brother whined.

"When are you not?" his sister huffed.

"You're always hungry ... too many fishy crackers, and you know it." He couldn't tell if that had been his dad or his brother.

"Fine, I'll ... and find us some lunch," his grumpy-uncle, who was sitting across the room, said with a groan. Peter could hear his footsteps receding and then his dad ordered his siblings to go help him. The typing resumed.

Peter realized for the first time since the battle (whenever that had been), he was 'aware' and was alone with his father. His father must've not known Peter was apparently trapped in his unconscious body, because he started singing a rock song. He was really bad.

Peter wished again that he could laugh, but he could sense his body remaining still and useless, like a hunk of rock. His dad sighed and clicked some more things on his computer before snapping it closed.

"Peter, don't ... critique my singing skills. Can't even go ... without singing AC/DC."

His hearing must've faded out again, because he missed the sound of the doors opening as a new pair of feet started marching down the walkway.

"Bruce ... going?"

"Oh, it's ... all right," a new voice said. This was his uncle, he presumed--one of the many. This was the doctor one that had always geeked out with him and put band-aids on his cuts, the one that healed him whenever he did stupid stuff with his siblings. "Didn't ... forget, did you?"

"Pepper changed them ... last night."

"Mm. I'll ... go ahead and do them now."

Peter was suddenly very startled as he was aware of freezing, gloved hands touching his bare chest where it had been wrapped in bandages a moment before, warm and tender. It seemed to shock him so much he fizzled back into a world of silence, of only being able to sense people.

***

It continued like this. For what he presumed were a few hours, Peter's sense of hearing and touch would return somewhat, and then it would slip away again. He noticed that his doctor-uncle or his dad called these his 'spikes.' He thought it was a very clever nickname for them, seeing as the pain level spiked as well.

"Peter?" he heard his mother's sing-song voice one morning. "Good morning, hon. Just coming in to change your bandages. Harley and Morgan are with me."

"I ate all your Christmas candy!" Morgan announced gleefully. Pepper gasped and gently scolded her.

"Glad you finally showed up," his dad snorted, snapping his laptop closed. There had been less and less of his hearing fading out, to the point where he could hear everything sharp and clear now during his spikes. "I was getting bored."

"Well, now you can go get your coffee," Pepper sighed from across the room. Peter could hear her getting into a cabinet, shuffling around and probably searching for bandages.

"Thanks, Pep." Peter heard him smack a kiss on her cheek before getting up.

"Wait, Daddy!" Morgan called. "You've gotta tell Petey good morning! Don't forget."

Peter could imagine her sticking out her little pouty lip and crossing her arms over her chest. Mr. Stark groaned and his footsteps got closer.

"Good morning, bud," his father sighed, leaning down and kissing Peter's forehead.

A flow of warmth bled from the spot, bringing him a sense of comfort and security. His fingers and toes started tingling.

He took a sudden deep breath in through his nose, feeling his chest rise and fall extremely painfully. His fingers curled as he tried to grasp something real, something that really existed, something that wasn't just sounds or senses. His dad grabbed it and gave it a squeeze.

"Peter?" His dad snapped to alert and his mom rushed over, siblings not far behind.

Peter tried to call out, but he only managed to part his lips. He could already feel himself slipping away, the spike fading out.

This was getting annoying.

He was supposed to have superpowers! The quick-healing! Why wasn't it able to let him wake up? It was as if there were an invisible barrier keeping him from the outside world. Maybe it'd been that stupid space knife.

Oh, well. There were worse places to be trapped.