Requested by @KindraReynolds. Hope this is what you wanted!
Also thanks for all the requests!
It was red. Well, actually it was orange, where Peter was. He thought it was weird since of all the blood he felt draining from his body the place should be red. For a few seconds, he was there, the next few on a bed with doctors yelling around him. For a few seconds he was hit in the face with bright lights, the other somewhere orange, or nowhere, the boy didn't know. One moment of pain, the other peaceful remembrance of the battle, just now, the villains surrounding them, claws in one side of his torso, a bullet in his shoulder, then the orange place. That's how he kept shifting like somebody or himself couldn't decide whether to be dead or alive.
Tony shot one last look at his son, a device that helped him breathe, strapped to his face, his body was covered in burns and still bleeding scars. The man didn't want to leave, but he knew that Peter would want Harley to be here if – if – Tony didn't want to think about it. And Harley deserved to be here. That's why the man ordered the mask of his suit to come back, opened the door of the infirmary, and flew out through one of the windows in the corridor.
The flight to the apartment had never been this long. The man cussed air for being so thick, and his engines for being so week. He cussed the world, for breading such monsters, who would hurt his kid.
The apartment was on the top floor, but the window to the living room was always open. Both Tony and Peter chose to fashionably swing or fly through it. When he landed on the thick carpet, he didn't bother taking the suit off.
"Hi, Tony," Harley walked in the living room in trousers and a vest, crossing his arms and staring at Tony in fake anger, "Where is my Pete – pie. I allowed him to go if he would be back by midnight! Did you steal him from me, because you realized that our relationship is too dangerous, for you and our combined intellect is great enough to overpower you?" He spoke like a pirate from a kids show, "also, Peter if you're hiding behind the wall, for the seventieth time, that jump scare worked once! Never again!"
The boy turned to Tony, expecting at least a smile, but the man's serious expression didn't change, getting Harley worried: "Where is Peter?" he asked stretching every word.
"He – he on the mission, he got injured, and..."
"How bad?" the boy interrupted.
"They – they don't know if, if he's going to make it," at the end the adult's voice was a bare whisper.
For a few moments, the boy was processing, speechless. Then he turned at Tony: "You said he would be home by midnight!" his words were silent, he didn't know if he could stop the tears if he spoke any louder.
Tony didn't respond. Before he was so angry at everybody else. Now he understood that it was never the fault of anybody else, it was his fault all along. He was the one who asked Peter for help when he knew that this fight was more dangerous than many others.
They didn't say a word, Harley walked forward and Tony took the boy in his hands.
The weather was hot, the wind was brushing softly against Harley's skin. And he hated it. How did the world dare to be so beautiful on such an ugly day, when the one he loved was fighting for his life in pain. He heard faintly the laughter below them. How dare somebody laugh, when he needed to cry?
They landed and still didn't speak. The boy ran to the door, passed the avengers, waiting to be let in, and shot them open, rushed to Peter not caring about the protest from the doctors, who allowed family only. So Tony made the protest go quiet and watched from behind as the teen took his son's hand in both of his. Harley leaned forward whispering something to Peter or to the universe, or to somebody up there to here.
The sun was setting, shining in pink lights through the window coloring the three people who hadn't moved. The doctors no longer asked them to leave, they knew the pair would be staying until the boy was up. Soon the city lights exchanged the sun and Tony prayed to the stars they couldn't see, for Peter to be alright.
When the sun was just over the horizon the doctors announced that Peter was going to be alright, that he would wake up. The pair thanked the stars and the universe, and whoever was above, and the boy who had barely shed a tear was so relieved he cried. He was so relieved, he leaned forward and kissed him, begging for him to wake up.
It was no longer orange. Peter didn't know if that is good or bad. It was black, and he knew he was there, but his mind didn't seem to want to think about anything else, like the rest of the things that had happened were contraband. Sometimes a picture flew by, but nothing else. The boy seemed to be unable to worry or be sad. It was peaceful. Nothing hurt, it was like floating in the water, such a perfect temperature, you couldn't feel it around you.
And then he could. He could feel the air, the bed, the blanket, but most importantly he could feel a kiss on his lips. A kiss he would recognize anywhere. His eyes shot open blinded by the light above him.
"Look, who decided to come back to the land of the living," smirking said Harley.
Peter just shook his head: "How can I not? Look, what I have waiting for me," He pulled the other boy in for another kiss, ignoring the slight pain in his torso.
"Glad you're okey, Peter!" interrupted Nat. The boys instantly shot away from each other and looked at their company.
"Hi, guys!" Peter greeted, "um, so Harley – the avengers, avengers- Harley, my boyfriend."
"Cool!" cheered Harley.
"Cool, indeed!" added Clint.