Hold Onto Me 'Cause I'm a Little Unsteady

Chapter Eighteen

Natasha arrives with the IV not long later, telling them that she's sending the rest of the team back to where Peter was found by Harley, hopefully to figure out who's done this and punish those who did wrong.

Peter, somehow, is able to sense exactly what's about to happen.

"Please-" he cuts himself off, hands twitching at his sides and eyes filling with tears once again. He's been crying intermittently, without anything setting him off. Just silent tears every half hour or so.

"It's okay, buddy. It's just a little pinch to keep you hydrated," Tony explains carefully. He continues untangling Peter's curls with one hand, the other taking Peter's hand in his to provide another source of comfort.

"No-" he stops again, lungs heaving emptily for air. "I don't want the drugs again. Please- Please. Don't- Don't-"

"It's okay, honey," Steve murmurs, pressing a soft kiss against Peter's forehead. "It's not drugs. It's just fluids to make sure you start getting better, alright?"

Peter shakes his head desperately, eyes squeezing shut and he pulls his hand away from Tony's, legs jerking at the sudden movement. He's chanting no under his breath, cut up by the occasional apologies thrown in as though he can't decide whether or not he really wants to disobey.

Natasha's face hardens, only broken by the pure hurt shining in her eyes.

She's watching Peter's movements and she looks guilty and scared and worried.

"Stop," she says, voice cold and forceful. Peter, as though he's a marionette whose strings got cut, he falls still and limp on the couch, glazed eyes finding a spot on the ceiling and staring unblinkingly. "Don't fight. It's fluids, not drugs."

"Yes, Sir," Peter whispers obediently. He's still crying, silent tears that curl down the sides of face and into his hair from the horizontal position, and the quieted sobs wrack his shoulders, barely a noise leaving him.

"Why'd- Why'd you do that?" Tony asks, voice barely above a whisper as he stares at his kid's limp body. "He was finally showing emotion, Nat- He was finally acting out-"

"We needed to get the IV in. It's most important to get him physically back to a decent health before we start working through the mental shit. We can't have him dying on dehydration, can we?" She sounds angry as she crosses the living room and inserts the needle into the crook of Peter's elbow – he barely flinches in response to the needle – but there's so much guilt behind her eyes that it's hard to stay angry at her.

"We should think about moving him soon," Steve says, swallowing visibly.

Natasha nods, glancing back to where the front door stays closed and heavy, blocking them off from the rest of the world.

"As soon as Peter's at least a little bit healthier, we'll get him on the quinjet and back to the compound so he can be checked over professionally. Hopefully being in a familiar place will help him get his bearings."

"In the meantime, I'll stay with him. You check on Harley. God knows what that kid is going through right now," Steve mutters, taking over the patterns of running his fingers through Peter's curls and gently brushing away his tears with his thumb.

Tony nods and stands, every joint in his body cracking at the movement. He leans down to kiss Steve's hair, wishing this were a time where he'd be happy to be spending so much time with his husband and children. Instead, he has to switch between kids who has so much emotional burdening that he's not even sure which is more important to check on.

"Knock knock," he calls out when he reaches the door.

"It's open."

The room is plain and boring, a little cramped with a twin bed taking up nearly half the room. Harley is lying across the length of the bed on his stomach, feet dangling off the end and face smushed against his pillow, muttered greeting muffled in the pillow.