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When Peter had wished for an adventurous weekend, he definitely hadn’t meant it in a way that included a building collapsing on him.
Everything happened awfully fast. One minute he and Tony were duelling a pair of rather stupid criminals in a broken-down office building at the edge of the city, which was fun, all considered. Nat was somewhere outside chasing a third guy that had managed to escape. The next moment one of the suspects fired a blast at Tony that was deflected by his armour and instead hit the ceiling, and then everything dissolved into noisiness and rubble.
When the dust had settled, the first thing Peter noticed was that his ear-piece was missing. Then he realized that he was buried chest-deep in a heap of rubble.
“Mr Stark?” he shouted as loud as he could, the dusty air making him cough. “Mr Stark, are you there?”
The response came late and somewhat slurred, but Peter attributed this to the blood still rushing in his ears.
"What happened, kid? You injured?“
"No, I’m okay, just pretty sore….” Peter was already making his way out of the mess, looking around for his mentor.
"So, Parker, to continue with our afternoon lesson of fight strategies,” Tony’s voice said from the far corner of the room, “this is a perfect example of what you should try to avoid. Don’t let a building drop on you…just don’t…” He broke off coughing.
"Mr Stark, are you alright?“ Peter asked, walking towards him as fast as he could, aware of the deep cracks in the floor that were growing with each of his steps.
"Don’t worry kid, just a scratch. Might’a hit my head, though. Believe it or not, I’m actually glad that I took you out for a Kindergarden trip today. I’m kinda stuck here, to be honest. Looks like Friday decided to break up with me today of all days. I’m completely out of charge. You don’t happen to have a working communication device, do you?”
“No, it got lost in the crash….”
Peter frowned as the Iron Man armour came into view, most of it buried under what looked like at least half of a story. He started to remove the pieces of debris and worriedly bit his cheek when he saw what was lying below. The suit had taken heavy hits. The faceplate was bent beyond repair, and when Tony tried to remove it while Peter was shifting the last pieces of rubble, he couldn’t help but realize that the older man’s fingers were trembling. When he had finally managed to get rid of the plate, Tony’s face came into view, heavily bruised and definitely a few shades paler than usually.
"Mr Stark, what happened? You really don’t look fine.“
Instead of a reply, Tony yanked the helmet from his sweaty curls with a curse, ripped something out of it and started to chew on it.
“You - you are eating your tech?” Peter asks incredulously. Was this a sign of concussion?
“Sure kid. You know, I’m about to turn into a cyborg so that we can contact the mothership to beam us up,” Tony said between trying to crash whatever was in his mouth with his teeth. Peter just stared at him.
“No, genius, I am trying to access the communicator to get us help.“
Something in his mouth gave and audible crack and he smiled, though it quickly turned into a grimace.
“Ah, here we have the little baby,” he said, spitting out a mess of wires and metal. He connected the pieces to some cables sticking from his suit, causing a few sparks to singe the hairs on his forearm.
“I knew you had some reserves stored somewhere, old friend…”, he said while absent-mindedly patting the armour.
It took only a few minutes and an admiring glance by Peter till the device came alive with static.
“-you can… me…Tony? Pet…“
It was extremely distorted, but it was Nat’s voice.
“Hey, Romanov, you good?”
“Stark? God, what took you so long?”
“Ya, got a little tech problem here. Where are the suspects?”
“Mine is straight on his way to jail. Can’t locate the others right now, but since they were in the building when it collapsed, I doubt they made it far.”
“One thing less to worry about… Listen, I’m running on some pretty volatile current right now, and I don’t know how much longer this thing’s gonna work. We’re trapped in the eighth floor, West side, the office with the largest window front – “
“Figured that, genius, I saw the building coming down on you. The problem is, it will take a butterfly coughing and the whole thing’s going to collapse for good. I’m not joking here. Just try to literally not move from your position or you might bring everything down. Nobody’s allowed to enter right now, but we’ll figure out a way to get you outta there. Just give us some time.” Then, after some more static: “The kid’s alright?”
“I’m good,” Peter cut in, “but Mr Stark is-“
“Okay dokey, we’ll make ourselved comfortable,” Tony cut him off “See you in a-“
“Hello? Stark, you there? Shit, I think I lost you-”
There was a loud crackle of static, and then no noise at all.
———-
"I’m never going to eat canned seafood ever again. What an awful feeling to be peeled out of a metal box.” Tony complained while trying in vain to remove the shoulder piece of his armour. He had been talking even more than usual, and Peter had been wondering what he was trying to distract him from. He kneeled down to help Tony with the armour when he noticed something wet soaking the fabric of his jeans. He looked down and nearly jumped at what he saw. There was blood on the ground, lots of it. He traced it back to its origin and discovered a metal shard, at least as long as his forearm, halfway concealed by the rubble, that had pierced deeply into Tony’s body just at the height of his hips. It must have come down with an incredible force, considering that it had managed to penetrate the armour.
“Mr Stark, there’s a hole in your side!” he gasped.
Tony tried and failed to act surprised. “Oh fuck, did it cut my armour? It’s gonna take a week to fix the circuits, dammit.” His voice was shaking, sweat beading his brow despite the coldness of the air.
“This is what you’re worried about right now? Your suit?”
“Can we at least pretend that my distraction tactics work on you?”
Peter just looked at him.
“No? Fine.” Tony sighed, clenching his jaw. “Then get this piece of metal out of here before it turns rusty.”
Peter bent closer to inspect the way the shard was pierced into Tony, but all he could see was blood, way too much of it. He could feel panic rising in his throat, the reality of it all crushing down on him. He had wanted real missions, adventures, but not this. He wanted to be an Avenger, and he did know that this involved seeing people get hurt. But it wasn’t supposed to be the people on his side, and definitely not the one person whose guidance he relied most on. He wasn’t made for this, for pulling a metal shard out of the man who had always seemed invulnerably to him - it was Mr Stark, after all, and he just couldn’t bleed out here in front of him -
“Pete, breathe. Just breathe, come on. You can do that, it’s not so hard, I promise.”
He tried, but he felt like the oxygen wasn’t reaching his brain. Black spots were appearing at the edge of his vision.
“Spiderman! Look at me!”
The sharpness of the voice pulled him out of it. He glanced at Tony’s brown eyes that were radiating confidence, but he couldn’t help to notice the pain set in the wrinkles around them. He realized that both of them were shaking. Iron Man needed help, what was he doing sitting here and panicking?
“I- I’m so sorry, I-“
"It’s alright kid. Happens to the best of us, believe me. Just calm down and then give me a hand here, will ya? I kinda think I really shouldn’t lose any more blood, or we’ll start attracting vampires….” he trailed off, face rigid from the pain he was trying not to let show.
“Okay.” Peter breathed. “Okay, what exactly should I do?”
“Just remove that damn thing. Try to do it in one go, if you can. If I pass out-“
"You’re gonna pass out?” his voice was an octave higher than usually.
“Of course I won’t do it intentionally, idiot. But if I do, just stem the blood flow, I don’t wanna end up like a god-damn Jack the Ripper victim…
Peter took a deep breathe. He tried to steady his hands, and then gripped the shard and pulled. The metal piece came out with a wet and ugly noise that nearly made Peter gag. Tony was desperately trying to keep blank expression on, but then his face screwed up in agony and he let out a whimper that turned into a gasp when the pain hit fully. The amount of blood flowing from the wound increased rapidly, and his eyes rolled back into his head.
“No, no, no,” Peter whispered frantically, “Stay here, Mr Stark, please.”
“Don’ worry,” Tony mumbled, his eyelids fluttering, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
———-
“Mr Stark?”
There was no reply. Tony was lying on the ground where Peter had tried to make him comfortable, his arm cradling the injured side that was now covered with a makeshift bandage from the button-down he’d been wearing above his T-shirt.
He looked like a wreck, and not only because he was drenched in blood and dust. Everything about him was radiating a deep-bone exhaustion, and he suddenly looked years older than usually, vulnerable and tired in a way Peter had never seen before. The dark shadows under his eyes were definitely not just a result of today’s unfortunate episode, but suggested that the last time Tony had gotten a full night’s sleep lay a long time back.
And Peter could understand why. Eyes shut tight against the pain, Tony’s pupils were moving frantically behind his eyelids, his lips forming unintelligible words that could only belong to a nightmare. Peter had tried to cover him with parts of the room’s original carpet, but Tony was still shivering hard, the blood loss taking its toll. He shifted a little and moaned quietly, something he would never allow himself in front of Peter in a less-delirious non-concussed state. Peter had been debating whether or not to wake him up, but he knew that Tony definitely wouldn’t want him to witness one of his PTSD dreams.
“Mr Stark?” He prompted again. Tony stirred.
“Yinsen? No, don’t…” His eyes were darting across the rooms, his whole body tense and ready to fight.
“No, it’s – it’s Peter. Who on earth is Yinsen?”
“Huh?” Tony’s confused gaze found the boy, settled on him. “Where…?”
“We’re trapped in a building, Mr Stark, part of it fell on top of you. You got hurt and I think you have a concussion, you’re pretty out of it.”
“Well, that explains why I feel like puking all the time…” His eyes drifted close.
“No, please, I’m not supposed to let you sleep!”
Tony glanced at Peter again, seeming a little more lucid this time.
“Who told you that?”
“You, last time I got hit by that guy in the bee costume.”
“Well, that was valid for you, boy, not for me.” Peter was happy to have him talking, even if it was nonsense.
“And why is that?”
“Because I say so.” Tony sighed. He started to inspect himself, pushing the makeshift-blanket aside and frowning at what he discovered beneath.
“You know you aren’t making sense, right?”
“You know that you are a smart-ass?”
Tony coughed, and a few spots of blood appeared on the bandage. Peter swallowed nervously. If help didn’t come soon…Then they heard a faint rumbling from the heap of debris piled up where the windows were supposed to be. Peter desperately wished for it to be someone who had come to rescue them, not a sign of the house going down for good.
He looked at Tony, who was now pulling himself up on the wall, apparently trying to stand. Once he had reached a sitting position, his face paled even further, and he sagged against the wall.
“Give me some privacy, kid”, he groaned, before suddenly turning to the side with a wince and heaving remainders of his breakfast onto the broken floor.
“God,” he gasped and wiped his mouth, but more came up, and he seemed about to lose his balance. Peter was there in an instant, supporting him while the man was retching miserably, one hand pressed to the injured side and his face grimacing from the pain.
“This… sucks…,” he managed when he was finally done, and Peter could only agree. Tony was shivering hard under his hands.
“Let’s get you lying down?”, he suggested, unsure of how to help.
“Just…give me a moment, kid.” Tony panted, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. He was still trying to get his nausea under control when the pile of debris at the other side of the room burst with a loud explosion that made both of them jump.
“What a glorious sight!” Nat shouted at them from the open door of a helicopter that was hovering outside what had once been a window. The afternoon sun that gleamed behind her gave her an otherworldly appearance. There was a cut on her cheek and her hair looked like she had just fallen out of her bed, but else she seemed unharmed.
“You definitely know how to make an entrance, Widow” Tony grinned weakly. “But we really need to work on your timing. What took you so long?”
“Told you, the building’s unstable as fuck. Took us ages to figure out how to blow a hole into it without everything collapsing immediately. Ok, no time for small-talk. I’m gonna throw these harnesses over to your side, they are meant to secure you in case you fall. You wear them and then you slowly walk over here, one by one. Is that clear?”
“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating?” Peter intermitted, scared at the thought of Tony having to walk unsupported. “I mean, there’s a few cracks in the floor, but it should be fine, right?”
“Pete, the ground you are standing on is literally being held by a single glass window front one floor below. Trust me if I tell you that you don’t want to try your luck.”
“Which luck is she talking about?” Tony mumbled, then looked at Peter who was already wearing the harness and had started to pull Tony upright.
The mere act of wearing the thing left Tony breathless and dizzy, Peter could tell from the way he was swaying lightly and clinging to him for support. He bit his lip in worry.
“Go slowly, ok?”, he told him, “Just try not to faint.”
Tony ignored him. “You go first, kid.”
“No, Mr Stark! You’re injured, you – “ Tony cut him off with a glance that managed to be intimidating despite the fact that he could barely keep himself upright.
“Peter, this is non-debatable. You can argue about this as long as you want, I’m not gonna change my mind. But time is kind of a critical factor right now, so please, just get moving.”
Peter gave the slumped figure a last concerned look, then proceeded to cross the room as fast as he could, willing his weight to actually equal that of a spider for once. He made it to the helicopter unharmed, but some of the cracks in the floor had started to spread, and he could practically feel the structure shaking.
“Mr Stark, your turn!”, he called as soon as Nat had pulled him into the vehicle. Tony didn’t acknowledge him, but started to drag himself into their direction, heavily leaning onto the wall for support.
“What’s wrong with him?” Nat asked when Tony stopped after a few steps and hunched over, gagging into the dirt.
Peter replied without turning his eyes away even for a second.
“He got hit by, like, half a floor or something. A metal shard cut open his whole side, and I think he’s got a concussion.” he informed her, trying not to let his voice shake.
“Oh.” Nat said, carefully taking in the man who was now upright again, moving towards them with painfully slow steps, and then “Looks pretty bad.”
Peter agreed silently. Tony had nearly made it, but he was swaying dangerously now, blood trickling down from his side and marking his walk over the ever-growing cracks in the floor. The way he was desperately trying to remain upright was agonizing to watch, and Peter didn’t even want to imagine how it must be feeling.
“Come on, Mr Stark, just a few more steps, you are nearly there!”
Tony looked at him for a second, panic written all over his face, and Peter’s spidey senses went into overload when a part of the floor broke away under his legs, causing him to collapse into a heap. It was enough to break the delicate balance of the building, and the whole thing seemed to give a moan when it started to crash down.
Peter saw it happening in as if in slow motion, and he had a split second to take a decision. Webbing himself to the ceiling of the helicopter, he swung out of its open door, Nat’s protest lost in the noise of the blood pounding in his ears. He caught Tony just when the rest of the floor under him carved in, grabbed him tight and maneuvered them back to the vehicle. Not a second too early, the whole building was coming down for good now. He landed hard, prompting a whimper from Tony, and just sat there for a few seconds while the helicopter gained speed, waiting for his adrenaline rush to die down.
“Dramatic last-second rescue,” Natasha smirked and pulled Peter up, “kind of reminds me of someone else… What did you teach him, Iron Man?” she teased while supporting Tony towards one of the helicopter’s seats.
But Tony was so out of it that he couldn’t even muster a grin, apparently having used up all his strength during the past few minutes. When she deposited him into a seat, he gagged weakly, not even bothering to lean forward, and brought up a slim stream of vomit that mixed with the blood on his shirt. His head rolled limply to the side, sweaty curls sticking to his forehead.
“Hold tight, Stark, it’s less than ten minutes to the hospital. Just don’t pass out on us yet”. Nat urged, already fiddling with a first-aid box she had taken from under the seat.
But Peter knew that wasn’t what was happening. He recognized the fear and fogginess in the older man’s eyes just before he shut them close, and he could feel that his breathing speed had doubled. He rested a hand on Tony’s shoulder, who flinched away.
“Mr Stark, it’s me, Peter. We’re save, we’re in a helicopter, it’s all good now.”
Peter’s fingers found Tony’s, squeezed them tight to make him understand that this was reality. He knew that in any situation other than this, it would be a clear overstepping of boundaries, but right now he didn’t care. Tony needed to know that he wasn’t alone in this world full of agony. Whatever the noise of the rotor blades and the movement of the helicopter were leading him to believe was happening, Peter was determined not to let him go through on his own.
He pressed his hand, and Tony didn’t pull it back. Instead, after a minute, his breathing slowed down, and he opened his eyes a tiny bit, taking in Peter, acknowledging his presence. And when he whispered, “Good job, Spiderman”, beneath all the panic and exhaustion and pain, Peter could glimpse a spark of gratefulness in the eyes of his mentor.