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Peter stared at his phone, the bright screen burning his eyes against his darkroom.
Today wasn’t good, far from it, actually. 19-year-old Peter Parker had been thrown around, quite literally, by Doc Ock. Doc Ock was relatively new to Spider-Man's list of villains, new to terrorizing New York. But no matter how new a villain was, damage was damage. Terrorizing was, in fact, terrorizing. No matter how old or new a villain was, they were very real. So was the pain that came with them, and the fear they brought to Peter's chest when he thought of his friends and family being in danger because of them.
Doc Ock's tentacles really did a number on Peter, he at least had many broken bones, maybe internal bleeding. He really hoped that wasn’t the case, though, because that would suck. Karen had been damaged in the fight, so she couldn’t tell him what to do, or what was wrong. She couldn’t even call someone for him, whether he wanted her to or not. Peter inhaled sharply as he shifted to sit up against his headboard, hissing as the cool metal hit an open wound. “ Fuck,” he muttered harshly, looking up to his ceiling briefly before his eyes returned to his phone.
Tony Stark
Emergency Contact
+1-(332)-XXX-XXXX
Call History:
...
Peter rolled his eyes, irrational anger and shame taking form in his mind. Tony had been dead for four years, he wasn’t sure why he even had his number still. It was so stupid, wasn’t it? It was just a painful reminder that he was dead, that he couldn’t call him, that he would never answer even if did. So why did he transfer it over when he got a new phone last year? No idea, Peter couldn’t answer that question.
His index finger hovered over the call button, for just a moment, a brief moment before a surge of anger and frustration came over him. He threw his phone across the room, tears forming in Peter's eyes. Life sucked. He hadn’t been this badly hurt in a while, maybe during his fights with Mysterio? He hadn’t remembered those hurting this bad, though. The only thing that came close to this was Toomes and that fucking building. The thoughts of those two were enough to make the tears spill, and all he wanted to do was call Tony. Tony would be able to help him. God, he knew he needed help. Medical attention, like real medical attention. Not just May's insane medicine cabinet and his own shaky hands, but Dr. Cho, Medbay kind of medical attention.
But after Thanos, Peter hadn’t really been around the Avengers or their fancy compound that Tony designed. Their fancy, private hospital Tony funded and paid for. His hands moved, covering his face, pushing his hair away from his bloody and dirt-covered face.
The movement caused a blinding pain in his side and shoulder, ‘I should call Pepper— Or Colonel Rhodes—‘ A rational thought briefly made its way through the pain, through the anger and shame before being shut down by an emotional wreck of a 19-year-old.
“They could help, maybe,” Peter whispered to himself, looking at his phone, which had fallen onto his desk after hitting the wall. “Maybe.”
They don’t care about you anymore. He hit his head against his headboard, trying to rid himself of that, knowing that Pepper had gotten too busy for him. Knowing that without Tony, he really only had three people in his life. Knowing that Pepper wasn’t one of those three, knowing that Rhodey may try but he wasn’t either.
Thinking about missing his night with Morgan upset him more than he already was. It was consistent, unlike most of his life. Every Saturday, 11 p.m. to 2 a.m., at Morgan Starks window. Every Saturday, building Legos and talking about random stuff with his 9-year-old kind of-ish sister. The last consistent thing in his life was a 9-year-old girl. The daughter of his dead mentor/father-figure, said mentor/father figure actually being the last consistent thing in his life. Life was funny, Peter laughed, humorless. Ow . Tony would find this funny in a fucked up way, his thoughts continued. He webbed his phone, bringing it back to him. The screen cracked, but it worked fine. Thank god.
When he opened his phone, he was still on Tony’s contact.
Last Call: 3:52 A.M., 05/19/18.
Peter stared as his mind suddenly went stagnant. Unsure whether this was caused by blood loss, his head injury, or emotional distress, he allowed himself to welcome the calm, the stillness that had suddenly overcome him.
Stagnant.
He swallowed, exiting out of Tony’s contact and scrolling through the shortlist on his phone. He stopped, pausing before clicking on the only other person he could think to call. Peter hesitated, at the last second, finger hovering over the “ Call” button. God, he felt like a child. He felt like he did after Uncle Ben died.
Alone and young. Helpless, even. No one who cared could help him; the people who would still try, he didn’t want to burden them. He didn’t want to burden them by being Tony's abandoned charity case, the orphan from Queens that he saw something in.
He wanted Peter to be better. Peter didn’t feel much better right now, he didn’t feel like he was doing better, he couldn’t ask for fucking help. How am I supposed to fill his shoes, and then some? How am I supposed to make Tony Stark proud when he’s not even here? Peter asked himself, closing his eyes. Against better judgment, he finally pressed the call button. He listened as it rang, and rang, and rang, until finally-- “Peter? Why’re you calling me at 2 am?”
Happy.
Peter released a shuddered breath he didn’t know he was holding, tears immediately forming at the sound of his voice, a small smile tugging at his lips. He sounded good, voice laced with sleep and a little groggy, but good. Maybe that was the blood loss and loneliness talking because Happy never sounded truly good.
“Uh, Happy, I--” He cut himself off with an involuntary whimper as he shifted to sit up in his bed, ribs aching. “Shit, kid, what’s going on?” Now he heard rustling through the phone, Happy’s voice now filled with concern.
Unsteady breathing.
“Peter?”
He swallowed, suddenly tasting pennies in his mouth. “I need you to pick me up,” He felt the tears fall, once more, and again he felt like a helpless child. “I got hurt pretty bad, Happy. I don’t know--”
“--Okay, I’m coming, Peter. Don’t worry, okay? Where are you at?”
“May’s, I’m at the apartment.” He swallowed again, blinking furiously. “I lost him, I don’t know how I let this happen again but I lost him and I don’t know what to do,” The words were fast, barely coherent to Happy’s ears. “Stay on the phone with me, kid. I’m coming as fast as I can. Karen, what’s the damage?” Peter, trying to stay awake, focused on his breathing, focused on the sound of Happy’s voice, desperately trying to obey his orders.
“Hello Mr. Hogan, I regret to inform you that I was damaged in Peter’s fight against ‘Doc Ock’, and cannot get a read on his status. But from the information I was able to obtain before being damaged, I believe Peter requires immediate medical attention.”
He heard Happy curse under his breath, he also heard the sound of a blinker. “Happy, I can fix Karen, don’t worry.” He attempted to joke, knowing full well Happy’s reaction was because of Karen’s assessment. “I know she’s your favorite, out of all of ‘em,” He coughed a little, which sent rattles of pain through his body at the movement.
“Okay Pete, hang on tight. I’m close, you hear me?”
Peter couldn’t help the tears, out of sadness or happiness-- he wasn’t completely sure. “Yes sir, I hear you.” Tonight has been rough.
He saw black spots in his vision, his own thoughts sound distant. Mind foggy. “Mr. Stark, I don’t think—“ No, wrong. “—sorry, Happy. I mean Happy, fuck,” he cursed. “God this is so stupid, I don’t— my mouth tastes like metal, I can’t see straight anymore. I should’ve called sooner, Happy. I feel so stupid this is so stupid.” Peter said breathlessly, not even sure what was coming out of his mouth anymore.
“You’re not stupid, kid. You’re hurt, and I… I’m coming. I should’ve come a long time ago, Pete. But don’t worry, I’m on my way now. I’ll be there before you know it,” Happy continued, most likely trying to keep Peter's attention, an attempt at keeping him awake and alert.
Peter hummed in response, closing his eyes. If he tried hard enough, really concentrated, he could hear Tony’s voice when Happy spoke. He could feel Tony’s arms wrap around him, inhaling the smell of that overpriced cologne and the metal of the Iron Man suit that has always denied had a smell.
If he tried really, really hard he could feel uncle Ben holding his hand as they crossed the busy streets of New York City.
He could feel safety and security, a plush comfort wrapped tightly around him. A luxury he had not had since Ben had passed. A luxury that he briefly touched when Tony came into his life but ripped away seconds before he could fully hold onto it, never holding on so tight that it hurt his hands.
“Happy?” Peter spoke softly, the pain in his chest growing. Happy stopped his rambling, giving Peter his full attention with a simple, “Yeah, kid?”
“I really miss him.”
“I know, I know, Pete.”
“No, no-- I don’t think anyone knows, Happy. If you knew, if any of you knew or understood, you would’ve been here. I’ve been completely alone. Everyone just left me no one even asked me how I was doing after he died, after Mr. Stark died and I’ve been fighting all these bad guys by myself and I know those fights are on the news, and no one even calls to ask if I-I’m hurt--” Peter was heavily crying now, coughing and sniffling. He went on ranting, all his pent-up emotions finally spilling out of him. “Mr. Stark was so proactive, y’know? And it was so annoying, but it’s j-just gone now--” He coughed, his ribs aching from the action “--it’s like he just let me go with no fucking safety net and I don’t know what to do, Happy-- I’m f-- I’m fucking dying over here, and if I hadn’t called you I don’t think there’s m-more than three people who would’ve noticed.”
“Peter, Peter, I am so, so, sorry, kid. I am so sorry, we should’ve been there for you. I should’ve been there for you.
But you listen to me, and you listen well, Parker. You have made much more of an impact than just three lives, okay? We are going to talk more about this when you get all fixed up, but for now, I’m coming to get you. And I will always be here, to get you out of trouble, to help you. You know why, Peter? Because I care.”
Peter was nodding, he couldn’t bring himself to speak. His throat was tight, and hoarse from crying, his lungs felt like they were covered in needles. “Okay, Happy.”
“Dr. Cho is gonna get you all fixed up, you hear me? She’s already all set up and ready to go. So just hang on, kid.”
“I’m so fucking stupid, Happy. I am so, so, stupid.”
“You’re not stupid, Peter. We are, we’re the dumb ones to think that you’re just… automatically okay. I’m gonna fix this, all of it. Don’t worry anymore, because I’m back now. And I’m staying.”
Peter gasped for breath, his lungs working against him. He forced himself to relax, slumping against his bedframe.
“You’re on your way?” He asked, breathy, weak.
“Yes, Pete, I’m pulling up right now.”
He nodded, “Good.”