Work Text:
Head Wound
It wasn't a big deal, or at least that’s what Peter was trying to tell himself as he held a wad of paper towels to his forehead and felt the blood rapidly soaking through them.
“I’ll kill him,” MJ said, fury spreading across her face like a shadow, the scariest part was that Peter believed her, he really did.
“No, no, no one is killing anyone,” Ned said, although it seemed to take a lot of effort for him to get the words out as he’d turned a strange ashen colour as the paper towels turned redder and a small rivulet of blood started to flow down Peter’s hand.
“Guys, come on, it’s fine, I’ll heal,” Peter mumbled as he swapped out the wad of sodden paper towels for fresh dry ones, “I always do, don’t I?”
“Well, yeah, but I don't know, I have never seen you bleed this much before,” MJ admitted.
“It’s a head wound,” Peter said with a shrug that he immediately regretted as it sent a spasm of pain through his head, “they usually bleed a lot, I think.”
“Maybe we should go to the nurse,” Ned suggested.
“And how will we explain it when the cut starts to close up in front of her?” Peter asked, “That’s not usually a thing that normal people do, and what if she tells others?”
“We’ll start a rumour that she’s drinking on the job,” MJ said.
“No way,” Peter said quickly, “we aren’t getting the nurse fired because she discovered my secret.”
“Well, we need to call someone,” Ned argued, “you’re already bleeding through that and you’ve just changed it.”
Peter groaned and rested his head back gently against the tiled wall of the bathroom, for once he was glad to be skipping class as there was very little risk that someone would enter and see the absolute bloodbath that the boy’s toilets had turned into.
MJ, who was sitting by the sinks, swinging her legs, cocked her head curiously, “what about Tony Stark?”
“What about him?” Peter asked, closing his eyes against the harsh lights on the ceiling that were beating down, unrelenting.
“Well, he knows your secret,” she said, “call him.”
“I’m not calling Mr. Stark at two o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon,” Peter stated, “he’s got to be busy in a meeting or something.”
“Come on, Peter, you’re practically his kid, I’m sure he’d come and get you,” Ned said.
“I’m not his kid,” Peter argued half-heartedly before swapping over his wad once more.
“It’s really deep,” MJ said with concern, “if you don't think of someone else to call, I’m phoning Tony Stark.”
“I can’t believe that's an actually valid threat,” Peter mumbled, “what is my life?”
“It’s wild, dude, that’s what it is,” Ned said, “how about May?”
“No, she’ll freak, especially if she finds out how I got hurt.”
“Wouldn't Mr. Stark?” Ned asked.
“Well, yeah, but that’s why we’re not calling him either.”
“I think you deserve to have someone other than us freaking out about this, Peter,” MJ said, looking rather concerned, for her that was.
“It’s fine.”
“Flash pushed you down a flight of concrete steps,” MJ said slowly, “you were knocked out and your head has been gushing blood for the last twenty minutes, none of that is fine in the slightest, he needs to face consequences.”
“He never will,” Peter said tiredly, “he has a rich dad who’ll pay ridiculous amounts of money to sweep any trouble under the rug,”
“You know who else can do that?” Ned asked, raising a brow at Peter.
“No, Ned, Mr. Stark will never find out about this, he thinks I’m Spider-Man, you know? A hero who isn’t afraid of anything and would never let a high school bully injure him in such a way.”
“Speaking of Spider-Man, how didn’t your senses catch what he was about to do?” MJ asked him.
“Uh, what?” Peter asked.
“You know, that tingle thing you get that warns you about danger.”
Peter flushed a brilliant red beneath the rivulets of dried blood and stuck on pieces of paper towel, how could he explain that he had noticed something was going to happen but it had been about to happen to her. When he’d seen that he’d purposefully put himself in the way so that he was the one sent careering down the steps.
He couldn’t possibly explain that to her, nor the fact that his only thought at the time had been, ‘oh god, not her’.
“I don’t know,” he lied, “maybe I’m just having an off day.”
“You must be if Flash of all people can get the drop on you.”
“Enough about all of that,” Ned interjected, “he’s still bleeding and we don’t actually have a plan yet.”
“We’re not calling Mr. Stark,” Peter said tiredly, fighting against the sheer exhaustion that was now coming at him in waves.
“Well,” MJ looked at him curiously, “you know, we could always just wait until he passes out from blood loss and then call Stark ourselves.”
“No way,” Ned argued, “I can barely string a sentence together in front of him, he’d hang up before I even explained what was happening.”
“I can also speak on the phone, you know?” MJ stated, rolling her eyes.
“Huh, yeah, I suppose you can,” Ned mumbled.
“No phonin’ Mis’er Star’,” Peter slurred out as dark edges threatened at his vision making him feel strangely as though he was having an out of body experience.
The last thing he heard was MJ’s voice, “alright, he’s pretty out of it, grab his phone.”
-
Peter woke up to the familiar smell of Mr. Stark’s famous chocolate chip pancakes wafting through the air like an aromatic alarm clock.
He tiredly forced himself into a sitting position, his head smarted at the movement and he lifted a hand to it automatically. Rather than hair though, his fingers came into contact with a stiff fabric.
“Huh?” He mumbled, looking around disoriented.
“Hey! Look who’s awake,” Mr. Stark’s voice was too loud, Peter instantly let out a groan before clutching his head with both hands, “oh, sorry kiddo.”
“Why am I here?” Peter asked as he took in the living room of Mr. Stark’s home, a stack of the famous pancakes on the coffee table before him.
“Well, your friends called me earlier,” Mr. Stark said, “They were really concerned, you see, something about you falling down some stairs, cracking your head open and then bleeding your way into unconsciousness.”
“Huh, they told you all of that?” Peter asked.
“Well, I didn’t give them much choice to be quite honest,” Mr. Stark said, “you looked like you were already dead, Kid, I needed answers quickly.”
“I’m sorry they bothered you,” Peter said quietly.
“I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could come to me earlier,” was all Mr. Stark said in response.
“What?”
“Kid, no matter what time it is or what day, if you need me you call me, there’s a reason I gave you my number you know.”
“But I-“
“And what’s more - you’re being bullied?”
“What? No!” Peter denied vehemently.
“Kid, they told me what happened, that some asshole called Flash - what a stupid name - pushed you down the stairs at school,” Mr. Stark said, “and I know you have a secret identity to protect but didn't your senses warn you about the incoming danger.”
“Well, yeah, but Mr. Stark he wasn't trying to push me down the stairs, he was trying to push MJ, I just made sure that he didn't,” Peter rambled.
“So you took the hit instead?” His mentor queried.
“I can heal,” Peter said with a shrug.
“Yeah, valiant and all that shit, but Kid, you weren't healing.”
“It was just a little deeper than my normal wounds.”
“Kid, listen, you needed thirty-eight stitches,” Mr. Stark said seriously, “That’s not nothing, I have my legal team in the building, we will nail that kid’s ass to the wall for this.”
“Mr. Stark, you can’t, his dad is super rich and will just pay for a new library or something to make sure nothing sticks.”
“Don’t you realise who you’re talking to?” Mr. Stark asked, “I can easily pay triple what Flash’s dad can pay. There is nothing that can stop me from getting you justice.”
“What if I don't want you to?”
“What if- what?” Mr. Stark looked as though he couldn't comprehend anything Peter was saying.
“I don't want you to nail his ass to the wall Mr. Stark,” Peter said.
“Kid, he could have killed you.”
“But he didn't.”
“But he could have, and what if he’d actually pushed your friend? What if he’d killed her?” Mr. Stark asked him, “what then, Pete? Would you go after him then?”
“Well, of course,” Peter stammered.
“So why does your wellbeing mean less than anyone else’s?” Mr. Stark asked him.
“I- it- look, Mr. Stark, I’m Spider-Man, I look out for the little guy,” Peter said, “I can handle this.”
“Well, what happens when you’re the little guy?”
“I- I don't know, I just don't want to get anyone in trouble.”
“Kid, you nearly bled to death on a bathroom floor, your friends were in a terrible state of worry when I got there and Cho was worried that we would have to send you to the Compound’s Medical Bay rather than keeping you here in the tower.”
“I- alright,” Peter said with a sigh, “but, please, don't destroy his life, just show him that consequences exist.”
“Alright, I can do that,” he said with a nod, “now, help yourself to pancakes, I have some calls to make.”