Work Text:
Dead On Your Feet (hidden injury/waking up disoriented)
***
Sounds.
A cacophony of sounds, all mixed together and twisted into something loud, garbled and unpleasant. Normally he’d be able to separate them from one another—down to the last chirping bird and the argument happening at the restaurant half a block over. Right now? A marching band might as well be playing directly into his ears.
Peter coughs once, blinking his eyes open. Everything’s fuzzy through his Spider-Man mask. He lets out a groan, stumbling to his feet even as his brain tries to play catch up. What in the world…? His head is throbbing, not in a concussed kind of way, but maybe more of a migraine headache.
He trips over something—a bag of garbage?—and nearly ends up back on the ground. His ribs protest the movement, and he’s vaguely aware of a stinging pain on his neck.
“Okay,” he mutters, using one hand to steady himself against a nearby dumpster while rubbing at his mask-covered face with the other, trying to regain his bearings. “That sucked.”
The disorientation finally begins to clear, like a fog lifting from his head. He curls one arm around his midsection and glances around the alley. There’s no one else around—thankfully.
He’s not sure how long he’s been out, but the sun is definitely getting ready to set.
Although his head is still pounding, Peter thinks he can make it back to his apartment. Without giving it much thought, he starts out, crawling onto the nearest roof to stay away from the crowds—he only almost falls once. As he goes, he tries to fit together the scattered puzzle pieces of his memories from the day. It’s all a little foggy, but he does remember waking up this morning with the same headache he’s still nursing now…he thought it would get better as the day went on, but evidently he was very wrong.
He also recalls going out to patrol for a few hours—probably not the smartest idea—and encountering a few hiccups thanks to his less-than-average form. It’s surprising how much a simple headache can throw everything off. He took more hits than usual. Yeah, the migraine definitely hadn’t helped him in his crime-stopping activities. Hence the bruised-maybe-broken ribs and whatever else is going on with him.
Peter shoots out a web, swinging over a busy street and rolling onto the roof of the next building. His ribs don’t appreciate the jolting movements, and he bites back a grunt of pain as he continues the journey toward home. All he wants to do is crawl into bed and go to sleep. A good nap is all he needs and he’ll be good as new.
Finally, finally, he makes it to his window and slips through into the apartment. Leia mews a greeting.
“Hey, girl,” Peter says to the cat, his own voice gravelly as it pulses in his ears. He gives her a quick pat. “Long day. Sorry I’m late.”
She huffs, stretching before moving over to the door and glancing back at Peter expectantly.
“You wanna go out?” he asks, glancing longingly at his bed as he passes it. His cat likes to explore the area outside of the apartment every now and then—sometimes she even brings back a mouse or a small rat as a gift. Peter really just needs to install a cat door.
She lets out another long meow, and Peter opens the door for her. She prances out, tail swishing.
“Have a good time,” he calls, rolling his eyes and turning back toward his bed. He knows that he probably ought to shower first, considering he just spent an indeterminate amount of time crashed out behind a dumpster. Hey, when you’re injured and can’t walk in a straight line—much less swing—you do what you gotta do.
But…his head feels like it might explode at any second, and a little dirt never hurt anybody. So Peter simply tugs off his mask, tumbles into bed, and goes to sleep.
***
A loud knock at the door startles Peter out of his deep slumber. He jerks upright, letting out a pained hiss when his ribs remind him that he’s still injured.
The knock comes again. “Peter?” a voice calls from behind the door. “Dad said you didn’t answer any of his texts. Are you ready to go?”
Crap. Peter’s eyes widen as realization dawns on him. Lila!
The Bartons are currently in New York for a short vacation, and Clint had planned to take Peter and the two older kids out for dinner and a movie. Tonight.
Another knock. “Peter? You home?” It’s Cooper who speaks this time.
Peter’s on the verge of panic now, because he completely forgot and why today of all days? He leaps out of bed, ignoring the throbbing that’s slowly returning to his head.
“Hey, Leia’s out here,” he hears Cooper say. “Is the door unlocked?”
Panic wells up faster in Peter’s chest, and he bolts toward the door. “Wait, wait, just a sec—” His words are cut off when the door opens—the door he stupidly forgot to lock earlier after he let the cat out.
Leia darts in first, shooting an offended glare in Peter’s direction as she makes a beeline for her water bowl. And Lila and Cooper are standing in the doorway. Staring at Peter. Who is in his Spider-Man suit—sans the mask.
Absolute silence sits in the air. The two Barton kids stare at Peter, and he stares back, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he fumbles for anything to say to fix this.
Then Lila throws her head back and laughs. “I should’ve guessed it.”
Cooper’s eyes are wide with disbelief. “You—Peter, you’re Spider-Man?”
“What? No. This…this is just—it’s just a costume. Lots of people like to dress up like Spider-Man.” He tries to play it off, but he knows they’re too smart to fall for that.
Lila just snorts. “Right,” she says, drawing out the word. “Oh my gosh—everything makes sense now.”
Peter groans, knowing that there’s no going back. He ushers the two of them inside and closes the door, lest any of his shady neighbors poke their heads out into the hall. “You can’t—you can’t tell anyone,” he says, fast. “Seriously.” He’s trying not to freak out but it isn’t totally working. He’s been so careful about keeping his identity close to his chest since…since everything happened.
“Of course not,” Cooper reassures. “We wouldn’t do that.”
And they wouldn't, Peter knows they wouldn't. Still, the flashbacks are hitting him hard. He remembers what happened to the people he loved who knew he was Spider-Man last time… he can't risk that again. And yeah, it’s Clint’s kids—he tries to reassure himself that they won’t get into trouble because their dad is literally Hawkeye and he can protect them. Plus, they live halfway across the country. No one’s going to hurt them.
Peter forces himself to take a deep breath. His headache is back; he can feel it pulsing in his skull. It’s fine, it’s fine. “So, um, on that note…who’s hungry?”
"I have so many questions," Cooper says, ignoring Peter's half-hearted question.
Lila stares at Peter again, gaze scrutinizing, and he can feel her analyzing him. "You're hurt."
He blinks. "No, I'm fine."
She lifts her eyebrows, exchanging a glance with Cooper. "You're bleeding, Peter." She taps her fingers against her own neck, concern blossoming in her expression.
Am I? Peter frowns, mimicking Lila by reaching up and gently pressing his fingers just below his jaw. Only a little bit of sticky red comes back, the blood having dried somewhat. “Huh,” is all he says.
“Coop, go get Dad,” Lila says to her brother, readily taking charge of the situation.
“No, guys, seriously, it’s fine,” Peter says, holding up a hand to stop Cooper. “I just need to change and—”
“Peter—”
His head continues to pound. “It’s not a big deal, okay? This happens all the time. It’s just a little cut—I’ll clean it up real quick and we can go. I don’t want to mess up our plans.”
Lila shrugs. “Who cares?”
“You’re more important,” Cooper adds, his hand still on the doorknob.
Warmed by the comment but undeterred, Peter grabs a change of clothes from his dresser, trying to avoid moving too stiffly in order to avoid any additional suspicion. “Two minutes,” he tells them, turning toward the bathroom.
He manages to get changed without too much trouble, but by the time he’s finished, his head and his ribs are both protesting loudly, and he feels a lot woozier than when he first woke up.
Cooper notices, too, wincing as Peter exits the bathroom. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look a little pale.”
“No, yeah, totally fine.” Everything is just perfect. He takes about two steps before he gets lightheaded, and one more before a sharp pain in his head betrays him, sending him to his knees.
He must black out or something—because next thing he knows, Clint is there in front of him, hands wrapped around Peter’s biceps as he pulls him to his feet and shuffles him over to the couch. “Hey, bud—what’s going on, huh? And don’t lie to me.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re dead on your feet is what you are,” Lila deadpans from somewhere nearby—but there’s clear worry in her voice.
Peter groans, settling back against the couch cushions. “Just—had a really bad headache all day. Like…like a migraine, I guess. S’happened once or twice before.”
“All day?” Clint asks.
“Yeah.”
Cooper butts in. “And you still went out as Spider-Man?”
“Of course he did,” Lila says, exasperated. “Boys are stupid.”
If he wasn’t feeling like he might pass out at any given moment, Peter would laugh at the look on Clint’s face. The older man’s eyes dart from Peter to Cooper and back again. “Since when do they know?”
“Since five minutes ago.” Lila appears next to her dad, a glass of water and a damp washcloth in her hands. She hands Peter the water. “And I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner.”
Peter takes a sip of the cool liquid and grunts. “It’s loud,” he complains. The enhanced senses don’t help these types of headaches, either—everything is amplified, which means that even the smallest noises can send tiny knives stabbing at his head.
“Sorry,” all three of the Bartons whisper at once.
“It’s fine,” Peter says for the millionth time. “I just need to sleep.”
“Let me check you out first.” Clint crouches in front of him, frowning as his eyes pass over the cut along Peter’s jaw. “You hurt anywhere else? Don’t hide anything from me,” he adds sternly.
Peter sighs. “My ribs are bruised. Maybe broken.”
“Geez, kid.” Clint’s voice is equal parts sympathetic and disappointed.
Peter zones out a bit as Clint checks him over. The cold compress Lila gave him for his forehead is helping dull the pounding in his head, but he could use another nap. He lets his eyes fall shut, mumbling, “Sorry I ruined our night.” He had been looking forward to it, too. Of all the days to have a migraine and end up injured, why this one?
Cooper’s awed whisper fills the air. “I just found out you’re Spider-Man. Nothing can ruin my night.”
Peter snorts, eyes still closed.
Clint chuckles at the comment before throwing in his own agreement. “You didn’t ruin anything, buddy. You’re gonna take a nice little nap, and then if you feel up to it, we’ll order pizza or something and watch a movie here.”
That sounds…amazing. “Okay,” Peter agrees, too tired to argue or add anything else. There was a time not so long ago when he would’ve been hard-pressed to accept help or even be okay with the possibility of inconveniencing anyone. But the Bartons are family now, and all Peter can do is be thankful that they’re here to help him when he needs it. It’s…nice, not having to worry about taking care of all this alone.
“And we will be having a talk later about hiding injuries,” Clint adds as a warning.
Peter can’t even be mad about it.