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Peter needed to brush up on his bullet proof fiber skills—he was long overdue for integrating the material into his costume.
He sucked in a breath, holding his side as he limped along with his arm over Captain America’s shoulder. Three bullets had gone clean through his thigh, shoulder, and hip respectively, while one was still suck somewhere near his ribcage and fighting his healing factor.
“Hang in there,” the Captain said. “We’re almost there.”
“I’m cool,” Peter said. He threw a web over his shoulder and smacking one of the enemy mercenaries in the face. Peter hoped it was the one that got a shot in, because it was the last of his webbing and he was out of cartridges. “I’m better than those guys’ll be when reinforcements get here.”
Captain America snorted and kept dragging Peter forward. Black Widow and Hawkeye ran alongside them, while Iron Man and Falcon covered them from the air. Only the sheer numbers kept the team of heroes from fighting and taking them out.
“Duck!”
Iron Man yelled over their heads, his speaker on loud to compensate for their broken comm equipment. The mercenaries had some machine that short circuited their system and they’d been forced to gather back together.
The Captain dove, pushing Peter’s head lower as a missile soared over them. Iron Man’s own guns answered it and The Captain dragged Peter back to his feet.
“Keep moving,” he said. “We’re almost there.”
Peter nodded and forced his legs to keep moving despite the burning pain of his wounds. His healing factor was not fast enough and he needed time to dig out the stuck bullet before it became a permanent fixture.
As the group reached the clearing, they were faced with a new wave of mercenaries waiting.
“Looks like we’re fighting,” The Captain said. “You good?”
“I’ll manage,” Peter said, pushing off the Captain’s shoulder. He put up his fists and huffed. “Let’s do this.”
“Good man.” The Captain said. He held up his shield and shouted, “Let’s go, Avengers!”
The group split up, crashing into each and every enemy that dared to get close. Wave after wave of hired men rushed in with guns and knifes. Peter dodged as many bullets as possible thanks to his spider-sense, but the odd one nicked him here or there from the sheer number.
They certainly knew how to fight enhanced individuals: Numbers.
The group successfully split up the Heroes and Peter ended up closer to the woods as he worked his way through fighter after fighter, blood soaking into his costume and wounds screaming.
Peter punched a man in the face, dropping the last one that had been in his area before he turned around to see how the others were doing—they weren’t there.
“What?”
“Avengers broke through!” someone yelled ahead of Peter, closer to where the others had been fighting. “Go, go, go!”
The rest of the men in the area ran forward, going for cars and following the other Hero group.
They left Peter behind.
Everyone had left Peter behind.
The Avengers had abandoned him to stand alone in a field near enemy territory, with only the woods at his back.
With the last of the mercenaries chasing after everyone else, Peter only heard his own breath and the wind rustling dead leaves on the ground.
He hugged himself, gently touching his bullet wounds one after another to see which were still bleeding and which had closed. He scratched at his chest where the entry point for the bullet still in his ribs had long closed.
“Don’t I even deserve a goodbye?” Peter asked the empty air. He walked a few steps back and pressed his back into a tree. He slid down it and exhaled, exhausted. “They didn’t forget me, did they?”
Peter wasn’t an Avenger, but he’d been asked to help out with their mission.
They’d needed him to help break open a vault or something, since Hulk was out of the country.
He’d done his job.
They got the vial of whatever it was—Peter hadn’t been “in the know” for the exact details of what they were retrieving—and made a run for it.
The Captain had helped Peter when he’d been shot.
“Because I was right next to him,” Peter mumbled under his breath. He stretched out one leg and pulled his other knee up to rest his arm on it. “They’re sure not here now.”
Not even Iron Man.
They’d left him.
He was alone.
With nothing but aching bullet wounds and wind in the trees.