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“Almost got it,” Peter breathed, his fingers slick with blood as he dug the tweezers into the wound in his side, fishing for the bullet that hadn’t gone clean through.
Tony didn’t know. Karen had insisted that he call Tony or go to a hospital, and it wasn’t that he lied to her, but he might have misled her. Peter convinced her that he would go straight home—implying he would tell his aunt. Which he sort of did. He did go home. She just wasn’t there. Karen didn’t need to know that, though.
With his suit puddled on the floor, he stood in a pair of boxers, blood soaking the waistband of the right side. To say it hurt would be an understatement. The wound burned, nerves raw and exposed. The tip of the tweezers scraped the edge of metal, and Peter gritted his teeth, plunging them in a little deeper. The pain sucked any breath he had left out of him. Spots danced in his vision as he felt around for the bullet. Finally, the tweezers grabbed it, and he was able to pull it free.
Panting, he looked down at his side. Blood painted his skin, but the bleeding was already slowing. With a shaky hand, he dropped the bullet on the counter and tossed the tweezers in the sink. He grabbed some gauze and pressed it to his side. The bullet looked intact, so he hoped there weren’t any pieces left behind.
It wasn’t that he wanted to hide his injury from Tony, but he had no intention of telling him either. He just knew that the man would blow it out of proportion. Anytime Peter got hurt, he’d panic and helicopter around him for weeks after. Peter just needed a break, and he knew Tony was busy with work. The last thing he needed was Peter distracting him.
May wasn’t due home until morning, she was working a double at the hospital, and he didn’t have school as it was vacation week. With any luck, he’d be able to heal up in the next day or so. Lifting the gauze, he rechecked the wound and saw it had stopped bleeding, but it probably needed a few stitches. He pinched the skin around the hole, watching it come together. Yeah, probably at least one or two.
The blood on his fingers had dried, leaving them tacky. He turned, kicking his suit out of the way, and washed his hands. The water was stained pink as it spiraled down the drain. With his hands clean, he dug through his emergency kit for a needle and thread. It was a bag he’d put together himself. Nothing professional. Just supplies he’d collected where he could. The needle and thread had come from May’s sewing kit.
It took him a few tries to thread the needle, and then he sucked in a breath, bracing himself for the pain. The first poke of the needle was always the worst. He dragged the thread through one side and then the other, tying off the first stitch. He was halfway there—one more to go.
He started the next stitch but had to pause as the pain overcame him. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing through his mouth. Once his hands stopped shaking, he stuck the needle in and made the last stitch. Snipping the thread, he leaned back against the counter and collected himself. He just needed a shower, and then he could lay down.
After cleaning up his mess, he went to his room and got a change of clothes and then took a shower. He stuffed his suit in a bag and hid it in his bedroom. He’d need to try to clean it up and fix the hole before Tony saw it.
Laying down pulled on the stitches, but he was able to curl up on his left side and keep the tension off them. With any luck, he’d be able to snip them out in the next day or two.
When Peter awoke the following day, his side was burning. Carefully, he touched the wound through his shirt and cringed. It was tender, and he could feel the heat radiating off the area. He rolled onto his back and lifted his shirt, appraising the wound. It was angry looking, the skin around it puffy and red, and it looked like yellow pus was seeping from between the stitches.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth, hissing as he touched it lightly again. The stitches were digging into his flesh because of the swelling. He dropped his head back onto the pillow with a sigh. This wasn’t good, not good at all.
He grabbed his phone from his nightstand and checked the time. It was just after eight. May was home, but he didn’t know if he dared to explain what had happened and how he’d stitched himself up. No, he couldn’t tell her. She’d kill him, then bring him back to kill him again.
His phone chirped, and he glanced down to see a message from Tony. Happy will pick you up in twenty. Be ready.
His brow furrowed as he tried to figure out why Tony would be sending Happy, then he remembered it was Friday, and he was due to go to the compound for training. Tony wanted to work with him on some basics of hand to hand. He’d said that it was important not to rely solely on his spidey sense to bail him out of trouble.
There was no way he was going to be able to hide this from Tony, not if they were training. He didn’t know what he was going to do to get out of it. He wracked his brain for a lie.
Grabbing his phone, he typed out a reply. Can we reschedule? I’m feeling kinda tired. Might be coming down with something.
It was a weak excuse, but he wanted to stay close to the truth. He was feeling tired, which was probably directly related to the infected wound on his side.
A second later, Tony replied. Since when do you get sick?
Peter chewed his lip, staring at his phone like he could force this conversation to end. Since now?
Nice try, kid. Happy will be there in a minute. Talk soon.
Peter dropped his phone beside him and groaned. What was he going to do?
Every few minutes, Peter would catch Happy eyeing him in the mirror, making Peter shift under his gaze. His side burned, but he kept his hands away from it, keeping them in his lap instead. Licking his lips, he swallowed, feeling a little nauseous. Happy’s eye caught him again, and Peter tried to smile, but it probably came out more like a grimace. A line appeared between the man’s brows.
“There’s something wrong with you.” Happy’s voice was flat. “You’re twitchy and pale and look about ready to hurl all over the backseat. What gives, kid?”
A bump jostled his side, and he bit back a yelp. “I’m not—I’m fine, Happy, really.”
“Mmhm,” he hummed. “Aim for the floor if you’re gonna puke. Better yet, yell and I’ll pull over.”
“I’ll be fine. Just didn’t get enough sleep or something.”
“It’s cute you think me or Tony would believe that. Sit tight, kid, we’ll be there in a few, then you can explain to Tony why you look ready to pass out.” Peter saw him pick up his phone just as the partition slid into place.
He slumped back into his seat, a hand going to his side. He was so screwed.
Instead of dropping him off out front, Happy pulled the car around into the garage. Tony was waiting by the elevator, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses resting on his nose.
Getting out of the car was easier said than done. It pulled on his inflamed side, making him clumsy and slow. Something that he doubted Tony missed. A slight shiver passed through him as he approached his mentor, goosebumps chasing each other up his arms. His skin was damp with a fine sheen of sweat, and he wondered if it was hot or if he had a fever started.
His stomach twisted as he faced Tony’s scrutinizing glare. The man’s head tilted to the side, and then he pulled his glasses off, dangling them between his fingers as he narrowed his eyes. Tony turned to Happy, who was at Peter’s side.
“Thanks for the heads up, Hap. I think I can take it from here.”
Happy nodded. “Sure thing, boss.”
Happy patted Peter on the shoulder and then went back to the car. Peter turned his attention back to Tony, who was still eyeing him. Peter shifted his weight to his left foot. It pulled his side just the tiniest bit, and his mouth twitched. Tony’s eyes narrowed a little more.
“Anything you want to share with the class, Peter?”
Peter knew he should just confess and get it over with, but he didn’t want Tony to be mad, and Peter knew that he had every right to be. He felt guilty for not telling him right away and tricking his AI into going along with him, but he was already in so deep. He didn’t know how to end the lie now that it was started. His hand twitched toward the bullet wound, but he stopped himself from reaching for it.
“No—I mean, nothing important.”
Tony pursed his lips. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
Tony nodded. “Yep, you say it’s nothing. I’ll believe you. Let’s hit the gym—since nothing’s wrong to stop you.”
“Right, yeah—the gym. Yeah, let’s hit the gym.” Peter swallowed, his side burning. Another shiver passed through him, making his shoulders quake. Tony raised a brow but didn’t say anything. Peter followed him to the gym, regretting his decision to get out of bed.
When he got to the gym, Tony grabbed the tape and started wrapping his knuckles, while Peter’s brow beaded with sweat. Tony waved him onto the mats, and Peter approached him, body rigid with pain. The room was starting to wobble, and Peter didn’t know how much longer he could keep the act up.
“Get your hands up, bend your knees,” Tony said as he bounced on his toes. “We’re gonna work on defense, unless there’s something I should know?”
Peter frowned, flexing his fingers. He shook his head. “Everything’s fine.”
Tony hummed. “Okay, I’m not holding back. Get ready.”
He didn’t even have a chance to think, Tony was coming at him, and Peter’s spidey sense wasn’t going off because he didn’t see Tony as a danger. He dodged, stepping out of the way, twisting to the side as he did. It took all his strength not to cry out as the stitches pulled hard. He panted, not from exertion, but from pain.
Tony bounced back, his fists held in front of him. “Do we really have to do this, Peter?”
“Do what?”
“You know what.” Tony dropped his hands, waving one at him. “I could check with Karen, but I’d rather hear it from you.”
Peter’s heart beat a little faster, and the guilt felt like it could swallow him whole. “It’s nothing.”
“Uh-huh, and I might believe that if it weren’t for your colorful history of hiding injuries. So spill, kid, what’s going on? I honestly thought you’d fess up before we got to sparring. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Tony started unwrapping his hands as Peter chewed his lip. The man tossed the wadded up wrappings off to the side and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at Peter expectantly. Peter met his gaze, holding it for a second before he sighed, dropping his shoulders and looking down at Tony’s feet.
“It’s—it’s not that big of a deal, but you’re gonna be mad.”
“I doubt I’ll be unless you tried to play operation on yourself, in which case, I’ll be a little pissed. You should know better than that.”
Peter’s mouth twisted, and he kept his gaze down. “Oh, so, um, you’ll probably mad then.”
“Peter.” Tony’s voice was firm, demanding his attention. Peter looked up. “Kid, what happened?”
He shrugged. “So, I might have been a little shot.”
“A little shot?” Tony repeated. “I’m not sure how you can be a little shot, but quantifiers aside, are you okay? When did this happen?”
“Yesterday, um, and I’m—no, I’m not okay. I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I tried to fix it. I didn’t want to worry you, but I think I messed up. I got the bullet out, but—” Peter pressed his lips together, lifting a shaky hand to grab his shirt and pull it up, exposing his side. He closed his eyes, so he didn’t have to see Tony’s reaction, but he still heard him suck in a breath.
“Jesus, kid, I don’t need to be that kind of doctor to know that’s infected.” He opened his eyes to see Tony crouched in front of him, hand hovering over the wound. It looked so much worse than before. The redness had spread from the injury. “We need to get you to medbay and have a doctor check you over.”
Peter frowned. “You’re not mad?”
Tony sighed, shaking his head. “I’m tired—tired of you thinking you need to hide things from me, I don’t get it, kid, but I’m not mad. At least not that mad. We’ll see what the doctor says first.”
Peter nodded. “Sorry.”
“I know, Pete. Come on, let’s get you looked at.”
“Did you hear the doctor? You’re extremely lucky. A real needle and thread, Peter?” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. He dropped his hand, turning back to Peter. “Promise me you won’t pull something like this again.”
Peter shifted against the pillows that were propping him up. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“Did it occur to you that you have internal organs?”
“I said I was sorry.”
Tony put his hands on his hips. “You’re lucky we caught this before you became septic. How long were you planning on hiding this? You could have died!”
“I thought you weren’t that mad.”
“I changed my mind after I heard you had a perforated bowel and stitched it up yourself like you were in Home Ec class.”
Peter looked down at his hands. “Are you gonna tell May?”
Tony sucked in a breath. “I’ll keep this between us if you promise never to pull such a stupid stunt again. Christ, Peter, how did you get this past your AI?”
Peter shrugged. “I asked her nicely—told her I would tell May.”
Tony shook his head. “I’ll be looking into her coding. In the meantime, you’re on bed rest for the next day or two, so get comfy. I’ll call May and tell her you’re staying.”
“I’m really sorry.” And he was. He felt terrible for lying. It was eating him up.
Tony softened. “Yeah, I know, kiddo, I know. I’m going to call May and get your room ready.”
Tony went into the hall, and Peter sank back into the pillows. His side didn’t hurt anymore. The doctor had operated and cleaned it out. An IV dripped antibiotics into his system to fight the infection. He felt stupid for hiding it from Tony. In the end, he still found out, and it only caused Peter even more pain.
As he started to drift off to sleep, he heard footsteps approaching, and blinked tiredly. Tony was beside the bed.
“May says she loves you, and I got your room ready.” Tony ran his fingers through Peter’s hair, brushing his bangs out of his face. Peter blinked at him, making a small smile come to Tony’s face. “Don’t think those Bambi eyes are going to keep you from getting another lecture. I have at least two more planned.”
Peter groaned, closing his eyes, turning his head into Tony’s hand. He could handle another lecture, as long as he got some sleep first.