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Peter’s ears were ringing and he couldn’t see. Or maybe he just had his eyes closed. He wasn’t sure, couldn’t even focus past the pain in his head… and the rest of his body, mostly the left side. But was it really the left? Maybe it was the right? His chest hurt too, every breath was a challenge. Even the slightest movement brought fresh spikes of agony, so Peter stayed still, as still as he could.
There was something he was forgetting, something he was missing. He’d been swinging through the air, right? He’d been swinging, feeling weightless and confident as he always did, but then something happened… to his web? It was all fuzzy.
Past the ringing, Peter thought he could hear a voice, or rather voices. Plural. More than one. They felt close, but weird, didn’t sound human. All crackly and… staticky.
But then one of the voices came through clearer than the rest.
"Get the kid out of here!"
Peter knew that voice, it was a nice voice, a comforting one. It was Mr. Stark's voice. He sounded worried, maybe panicked. Was he hurt too? Peter's mind was spinning.
Then there were hands on him, under his head, gripping his arms, moving him. Peter heard a whine and realised it was his own. The pain that had faded into a dull ache now flared, bringing tears to his eyes and he whimpered again despite himself.
Were the Avengers here? Peter thought, memories slowly returning as he fought to ignore the pain. He’d been on a mission with them! Did they lose? Was it his fault?
“Remember, kid,” Mr. Stark had told him, clapping a hand on Peter’s shoulder and looking serious. “You’re to hang back, yeah? No flinging yourself heroically into the action, I can’t let you get hurt.”
Peter had nodded, although staying back and just rounding up any stragglers didn’t sound entirely appealing. “You got it, Mr. Stark. No heroic flinging.” He’d said, trying to look serious but failing as a small grin found its way onto his face.
“Exactly, you’ve got it, now remember that,” Mr. Stark had grinned, ruffling Peter’s hair then and leaving to suit up.
It had been the first time Peter was allowed to join the Avengers - minus Thor and Bruce - on a mission, and he’d been ridiculously excited. His first proper mission! It was his chance to prove himself, his chance to show he was capable of more than just rounding up the occasional thug and giving people directions.
The mission itself had been pretty straight forward. They’d gotten a tip about a group manufacturing those nasty alien weapons, and after some recon and investigating, they’d gotten a solid location. Now they just had to attack, round up all the people involved and ensure the weapons are all taken care of. Easy enough.
“Peter? Can you hear me?” Someone said, wrenching Peter out of his thoughts. He felt fingers slip under his mask, pulling it away gently, but urgently, and risked opening his eyes.
His vision was blurry - with tears, probably - but he could make out some red shapes, that he then figured out was hair. Natasha’s hair. Her face then came into focus. She looked worried, but was trying to hide it.
Peter had been doing okay. He’d hung back just like he’d been told to do, and was busy webbing up any stragglers that tried to run off. It’d all been going according to plan until one of the bad guys ran out with one of the alien weapons gripped tightly in his hands.
Doing what he usually did, Peter had swung away just as the man shot at him. The blast had missed him, but seared through his web instead, leaving Peter hurtling at a wall.
“..hurts,” Peter managed to choke out, his voice quiet and strained. Natasha nodded, glancing around with a frown.
“I know it does, can you tell me where it hurts the most?” She asked, and Peter squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake his head.
“I don’- I don’ know,” he mumbled, feeling tears trickle down the sides of his face. “Ev’rywhere.”
He was sure Natasha said something else, well, her mouth moved again so he just assumed, but he couldn’t make out any words over the sudden familiar roar of the thrusters. It was loud. Too loud. Peter didn’t remember the suit ever being like that.
The suit. The Iron Man Suit.
There were some quick, heavy footsteps, then someone dropped to their knees on Peter’s other side, and he felt relief wash over him.
The suit’s helmet pulled back to reveal Mr. Stark’s face, creased with worry.
Mr. Stark was here. That meant it was gonna be okay. Mr. Stark could fix it. He could fix anything.
“Pete, hey kiddo,” he said gently, cupping Peter’s cheek with a metal hand. “How are you doing, bud?” Natasha was saying something, but Peter didn’t bother listening. Mr. Stark listened instead so Peter figured it wasn’t that important for him to hear anyway.
“‘M tired, sir,” He said, stumbling over his words. And he wasn’t lying. He was so tired. The pain hadn’t lessened and Peter felt like he was suffocating. He just wanted to close his eyes, fall asleep and wake up when everything was better. Mr. Stark would make it better.
“I know, kid,” The man said, looking more serious now, “But you gotta stay awake, alright? Can’t sleep just yet.”
Peter whined despite himself. He didn’t want to whine like a child, but he couldn’t help it. He felt smaller now than he ever had before, Mr. Stark would understand, right?
“But- hurts,” he whispered, more tears gathering in his eyes and making it even harder to see. The blurry shapes danced in his vision, mingling with the dark spots that had started to flicker in. “Can’t breathe.”
“Just try for me, okay?” Mr. Stark said, and Peter nodded slightly, sniffling and doing his best to hold his tears back. He would try. He would ignore the pain and stay awake. Because that’s what Mr. Stark needed him to do, and he didn’t want to let him down.
Peter’s resolve crumbled as soon as they tried to move him. Pain shot up his left side and he cried out before he could even try to stop it. A sob left him and he tried to suck in air, but it was impossible. He couldn’t do it.
He could hear Mr. Stark above him, whispering words of comfort, reassurances. Those words were the last thing Peter heard before his consciousness slipped away.
For a while, everything was quiet. The occasional ache here and there threatened to pull Peter out of this comfortable darkness he’d found himself in, but it all passed eventually, leaving him to drift in the silence.
The first thing Peter properly felt was warmth. It was nice, comforting, and he tried to move, snuggle into it a bit more, but was met with pain instead. Nowhere near as bad as before, but pain nonetheless.
His brow furrowed, and he opened his eyes, blinking against the dim light in the… med bay. He was in the med bay. With a bit of effort, he managed to sit up, clutching at his side when his ribs gave a slight stab of pain. It was manageable.
What
wasn’t
manageable was the nausea bubbling inside him. He glanced around and spotted the door leading to the bathroom, and, not wanting to throw up on the bed, he forced himself out of it.
He had to keep his weight on his right leg, with the left one being wrapped in a cast. His left arm was in a sling, so he used his right one to lean against the wall as he quickly - but relatively carefully - hopped to the bathroom.
And that’s where Mr. Stark found him, slouched on the floor in front of the bowl and heaving. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, crouching down beside Peter and putting a hand on his back, rubbing in circles gently.
After a few minutes, Peter was done, and he raised his head weakly as Mr. Stark used a wet towel to wash his flushed face.
“Feeling better?” He asked, and Peter nodded slightly.
“Think so,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”
Peter managed to stand and Mr. Stark helped him out of the bathroom, getting him settled back in the bed. He stacked the pillows behind Peter’s back so he could sit a bit more comfortably, then pulled a chair over and got seated himself.
“Glad to see you’re awake, kid. Gave us all a bit of a fright.” Mr. Stark said, reaching out and ruffling Peter’s hair carefully, a small smile on his face.
Peter smiled too, albeit his smile was a bit more sheepish. “Sorry, sir,” he said quietly. “Didn’t mean to though, that guy had one of those weird alien guns! And I dodged it, but my web didn’t. So it’s the web’s fault.”
He wasn’t sure why he was trying to shift the blame from himself. After all, he hadn’t actually messed up, right? He couldn’t have known that his webs wouldn’t hold.
Maybe he just didn’t want Mr. Stark to be disappointed in him, or think that he couldn’t handle himself. Peter didn’t want this mission with the Avengers to be his last.
To his surprise, Mr. Stark chuckled.
“You can relax, kid,” he said, shifting in his seat and grabbing a water bottle that he then handed over to Peter. The boy took it, relieved that he wasn’t in any trouble. “We should do something about the web though, huh? We could probably figure out a way to make it stronger, don’t you think?”
Peter nodded, sipping some of the water carefully. “Yeah! If we shift the concentrations about, I think it could work.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do!” Mr. Stark said. “But first, you need to get better. Can’t exactly work in the lab when your arm’s in a sling, kid. Get some rest.”
Peter didn’t want to rest, exactly, but he couldn’t lie that he was feeling tired, probably thanks to his healing factor, he reckoned.
He shut the bottle, then handed it to Mr. Stark as he settled into the pillows, turning on to his right side and getting cozy.
He watched Mr. Stark pull his phone out and begin tapping away, but soon, his eyes slipped shut and Peter drifted off into a comfortable sleep, faintly feeling fingers carding through his hair.