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It took Peter several moments to realize that the groans he heard were coming from his own mouth. His head rolled from side to side, and the effort it took to open his eyes was bewildering. Confusion clouded his mind, and he stared in bewilderment at the blood-spattered airbag in front of him. A glance to his right made him tamp down on rising panic.. “MJ?” His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “MJ?”
No response. Thunder crashed, making him jump.
He looked in the rearview mirror and could barely see Ned in the darkness. The boy’s head rested on his chest, unmoving.
I’ve killed them. His breath came in gasps, and he fumbled with his seatbelt until he found the buckle. He didn’t realize that it had cut into his neck until it slid away, leaving something warm and wet soaking into his shirt. He pulled himself onto the center console with shaking arms and grabbed MJ’s shoulder, giving it a gentle shake. Still no response.
Climbing into the backseat with Ned gave him the same response.
His chin quivered, and he flopped against the seat’s back, pausing to think. Help. We need help. He opened the door and lost his balance, falling to the ground with a thud that knocked the air out of his lungs. Rain pelted his face, and he coughed, rolling onto his stomach. He gripped the open door to haul himself to his feet, then shut it to keep the rain outside. He leaned against the car, panting, fighting the urge to pass out.
A stabbing pain shot up his leg, and he cried out. He looked down and realized that the lower half of his jeans was a darker color than they should be from rain. He closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath, then took a toddling step forward, then another, until his feet slipped on the muddy incline of the ditch they’d collided with and slid out from underneath him. He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat at the pain in his leg. “C’mon, Peter Parker,” he muttered. “You’re Spider-Man. You can do this.” Crawling on all fours this time, he finally made his way back up the incline and onto the shoulder of the road, where he staggered to his feet and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Help!”
His voice was washed away by the sheet of rain that blocked all light from the moon.
Whoever had the bright idea to take a road trip across the country on summer break right after a nightmarish trip to Europe ought to be shot. He turned in a full circle, unable to see…anything. Peter Parker, I will personally set you in front of the firing squad myself.
He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, thankful that he’d at least had the presence of mind to grab it before leaving the car. He punched in a number from memory and waited as it rang. C’mon, Happy, pick up. Please pick up.
Voicemail. His heart sank.
He hung up and tried again, with the same results. He scrolled through his contacts and hovered over a name that he hadn’t heard about in months. The man probably didn’t even want to see him, but the thought of Ned and MJ laying injured in the car behind him made him press the button.
It rang once…twice…
“‘Ello?”
“Mr. Hawkeye?” Peter could’ve cried in relief. “Mr. Hawkeye, this is Peter Parker—or, I mean, Spider-Man—and I-I need help.”
******
“You good, Spider-Man?” Peter’s head whipped up at the words, and he was surprised to see Hawkeye standing in front of him, holding out a paper cup full of coffee. “I don’t know how you like your coffee, but every kid I know takes it as sweet as possible, so I put about thirteen packets of sugar and creamer in it.” Peter accepted it with muttered thanks.
Clint sank to the chair next to him and heaved a sigh. “Kid, why did you call me instead of an ambulance?”
Peter frowned. “Uh…I-I don’t know? I mean, I’m just so used to calling Mr. Stark when I’m in trouble, and he’s not here anymore, and Happy wasn’t answering his phone, and…” his voice trailed off and he stared at his lap. “An Avenger can’t exactly call an ambulance for help.”
“Your friends aren’t Avengers.” Clint’s voice was gentle. “But I guess old habits are hard to break.” He motioned to Peter’s leg. “How’d you manage to convince them not to put you in a hospital bed, too?”
Peter shrugged. “Rain washed the blood away. I said I had no injuries. I guess I’m a good liar.”
Clint grunted and leaned his head back against the wall with no comment, closing his eyes. “Wake me up in the morning. I gotta get back to the house before someone shows up and finds out I broke parole."
"P-parole, sir? I-I thought you were done with that?"
"I am. Technically. But my wife and kids won't let me leave the house. And they're off visiting her folks for the night." He didn't open his eyes."Try to get some sleep, kid."
Peter swallowed hard and rubbed his thumbs on the sides of the coffee cup absentmindedly, staring at the floor in front of him. Thunder rumbled, and a flash of lightning made him jump.
“Calm down, kid. It’s just a thunderstorm.”
Peter glanced at his companion, who hadn’t moved a muscle. “Yeah. Just a thunderstorm.”
“And your friends are gonna be fine. Relax.”
He pulled in a deep breath and held it, counted to ten, and released it. Ned and MJ are fine. You’re fine. They’re safe. You’re safe.
He set the coffee cup on the chair next to him and leaned his head back. It’s your fault, Peter Parker.