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“Young Peter!”
The words float in through the haze of Peter’s consciousness, but he isn’t really able to identify what’s being said. His head hurts, and he can’t breathe, and that’s all that matters.
“Young Peter!”
It comes a little clearer this time, clear enough for him to realize he’s being addressed. He tries to turn his head toward the noise, but he finds he can’t move. Darkness surrounds him. Where is he?
“Young Peter!”
Suddenly the darkness is ripped away, and Peter lurches forward, gasping desperately for air. He hadn’t realized how little he’d been able to breath until whatever was holding him down was ripped away.
Thor kneels beside him, holding him upright. “Young Peter, are you alright?”
“Wha… what happened?” Peter glances around the scene, taking in sights he’s sure he should remember. Robots lie scattered across the streets, broken beyond repair. Was there a fight?
“There was an attack.” Thor explains, his eyes clouding with concern. “You were swinging when a building fell.”
Peter nodded, the pieces slowly falling together. A building fell on him. That explains why head hurts so much. Wow. This is the second time a building has fallen on him. He could’ve died down there. Could’ve died and not even realized he was dying.
He isn’t sure if it’s the hazy fog in his head or what, but he bursts into tears.
Someone clucks their tongue, and Peter glances up to see that it’s Loki.
“Young Peter, are you injured?” Thor leans in, inspecting Peter for an injuries that might be causing him to cry so severely.
“Children cry when they’re scared, brother.” Loki points out. “There's not much scarier than an entire building crashing on you.”
“Then we must get him to safety.” Thor leans in. “I’m am going to lift you now.”
Peter nods. He’s too miserable to move, in too much pain to walk on his own. He just wants to curl up in bed and not exist for a few hours, but being carried by Thor is a decent alternative.
Peter feels himself being placed into a car, sandwiched between two gods. He can only guess this is courtesy of Mr. Stark. He gladly pulls of his mask and buries his head in his knees.
Loki clucks his tongue again, and Peter glances up to see the god staring at him sympathetically. Eventually, Loki reaches out and runs his hand through Peter’s hair. Peter tries not to melt into the touch, but quickly finds he can’t help it. He’s past the point of sobbing, but his breath is still shaky and stuttering.
If he closes his eyes, he can still feel the weight of the debris pressing down on his chest, pushing the life out of him. His heart pounds, and that only makes him more upset. How could he not react? He had the suit this time, so if he’d just used his powers, he wouldn’t have need rescuing. Why was he such a loser?
Thor wraps an arm around his shoulders and squeezes. It’s just gentle enough to not aggravate his bruises but strong enough to be comforting. “You fought valiantly. You have much to be proud of.”
Loki takes his hand and rests his head against Peter’s. His touch is feather-light. “Indeed, little one.”
Peter lets his eyes drift shut, ignoring the way his headspace is insisting at him, and curls into the warmth of Thor and Loki. He’ll worry about his injuries and the possibility of a concussion later.
For now, he just needs sleep.