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Peter would say he usually listened to Tony, and what he had to say. Especially when it came to being a superhero. But even sometimes Mr. Stark was wrong. What did Mr. Stark know about fighting evil flying bird guys anyway?
Peter had been watching a group of criminals that called themselves The Wingmen, which Peter thought was an absolutely stupid name. The group was a copycat of The Vulture and his henchmen, including selling alien technology to the general public, except there was one key difference in Peter's opinion. These men were complete morons, like their presence lowered the IQ of everyone within a 20-mile radius. But somehow the men had been able to avoid the attention of the authorities. Which was a miracle, considering how awful these men were at their job.
Peter had warned Mr. Stark about this group of men on more than one occasion, and always received the same answer; “kid, the authorities know, and they're dealing with them. Let them do their job, just watch over your little neighborhood.”.
This response always made Peter feel deflated. Peter knew if he was given the chance, he wouldn't mess this up. He had learned from The Vulture on what not to do. He felt like Mr. Stark really didn't know what Peter could truly do. That he still saw Peter as a kid, I mean I am a kid, but that’s not really the point, I am capable of doing something bigger than just sticking to Queens.
˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚
Peter had been patrolling for 2 hours, having not done much that was noteworthy. He had helped an older gentleman find a 7-Eleven and stopped a couple of teens from vandalizing a sign. And he was bored. He was about to call it a night when Karen spoke.
“Peter, there seems to be a hit on the Wingmen in downtown Queens.”
“Really?” Peter said, standing up from the apartment ledge he had been using to finish a street taco.
“Yes, Peter. There seems to be a deal happening in Flushing, approximately 10 minutes from you. Would you like for me to chart a course to them?”
“Yes please Karen,” Peter's hud screen lit up with the directions towards the dumbasses.
˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚
Peter landed on the roof of the neighboring parking garage. There was a group of men, some of whom Peter recognized as 2 of The Wingmen. But there were 2 men he didn't recognize, who Peter assumed were their customers.
Peter couldn't make out what the men were saying, “Karen, can you do the enhanced recognizance mode, I wanna know what they're saying.”
“Enhanced recognizance mode activated.”
“This gun is a goodie, can knock back anyone within a 10-foot radius,” the first man said, holding up a large gun. “It's one of our best guns.”
“Is it as good as Toomes shit?” the man, who Peter assumed was one of the buyers, asked.
“Even better than the stuff Toomes sold,” the other man, who Peter knew was the leader, replied.
“How do I know if what you're saying is true?” Peter tried to stifle a laugh because he knew these men were definitely not better than Toomes. Toomes may be a horrible person, who did horrible things, but he was at least good at his former job.
“What was that?” The buyer asked, looking around, one of the men just shrugged.
“Do you want to see this bad boy at work?” before the 2 buyers could answer, one of the men pointed the gun at them, blasting them with the ray, both of them flying back at least 10 feet before hitting the wall.
Peter aimed a web at the gun, and pulled it, catching it in his hands and breaking it in half easily, “that wasn't very nice of you guys. Kind of stupid to blast a potential buyer not gonna lie to ya.”
“No it wasn't,” the leader replied. Peter now noticed that the leader seemed to have a knockoff version of Toomes’ Vulture outfit.
“What the fuck,” the buyers got up. “The Spider kid is right, I ain't buying shit from you guys, fuck that shit.”
They both left, one limping, the impact injuring his leg.
“You made us lose a deal,” the leader growled at Peter.
“I'm pretty sure that is the complete opposite of what happened,” Peter rolled his eyes at the man, which he couldn't see. “I think the reason you're not getting a deal is cause you blasted your potential buyers, that’s on you.”
“You're going to pay for that,” the man, who Peter dubbed as the Budget Vulture, said. Pulling out a pocket knife from his pocket.
“Oh no, not the knife. You've figured out my biggest fear,” Peter webbed the knife from the man's hand, it was a shame he didn't notice the taser that the other man had.
“Not so talkative now are you little Spider,” the Budget Vulture said, grinning at Peter. That was the last thing Peter saw, as the darkness finally succumbed to him.
˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚
Peter was flying. He had always hated flying, so he was confused as to why he was flying. It always took at least 10 Xanax for him to even be willing to go flying, and he knew he definitely wasn't flying anytime soon, he would’ve (probably) remembered that.
It took all of his willpower to open his eyes, his head and ribs really hurt for some reason. When he looked down, the ground of the city was rushing by him, and he was really high up, and god did that make his stomach churn.
Peter looked up and could see he was being carried by the Budget Vulture, his arms outstretched like he was Jesus on the cross, flying over the city towards Brooklyn. And then he remembered the deal, the knife, and then the taser. He groaned, feeling so stupid for not seeing it before it was too late.
Peter tried wiggling as much as he could muster, earning an annoyed growl from Mr. Budget Vulture, “Stop moving insect.”
“Technically it's an arachnid.”
“Shut up arachnid, ” he spat out. They were now flying over an area of farmland.
“It's a popular misconception, if that makes you feel any better?”
“I said shut it.”
“No need to feel bad, everybody makes mistakes, everybody has those days as Hannah Montanna once said,” Peter probably should have kept his mouth shut, but he really didn't expect the Budget Vulture to drop him onto a farm shed from 100 feet. Peter fell through the roof, landing on top of a cupboard.
“You could've just said you weren't a fan of Hannah Montanna, no need to get violent,” Peter screamed at the Budget Vulture as he flew away. Everything hurt so badly, and all Peter felt like doing was sleeping, he closed his eyes, the stars being the last thing he saw.
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When he woke up, everything hurt. His head pounded with each pump of his heart. His ribs hurt where the taser had struck him, burning and aching. But they paled in comparison to his leg. Peter looked down and swallowed his saliva that was pooling in his mouth.
Fuck, that's not good. The ringing in his ears was finally settling, and he could hear Karen talking. “-eter you seem to be injured, shall I call Mr. Stark?”
“What-?” he rasped. “No, no I'm okay Karen, I've got it sorted.”
“Peter, my sensors have been damaged in the fall, but it seems as though you are injured, and the baby monitor protocol states that I need to call Mr. Stark if you are injured.” Peter was very thankful he had turned off the automatic calling of Mr. Stark whenever he got anything above a paper cut.
“It's ok Karen, just a cut, it'll heal in a minute.” the cut in question was actually Peter impaled with a cattle prod in his left thigh. He put all of his weight onto his right leg as he got up, lightly testing his left leg. Which, spoilers, could not take any of his weight. Shit, maybe this is a bit more serious than a cut.
Doing what he thought was best, he started to limp out of the shed, looking around to see where the nearest building was, so he could start swinging his way towards the only person he knew wouldn't freak out too much, by freak out he meant ground him into oblivion, which was Ned.
Peter hobbled out of the shed and looked around, “huh, I think this is where I had my 8th birthday party.”
˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚
Maybe, Mr. Stark was right? I probably should have left this to the professionals. Peter thought as he swung to Ned's house. His leg was throbbing whenever he moved it too quickly, or the wind was too harsh, or really anything made it throb uncontrollably.
Peter could see Ned's house quickly approaching, he was very thankful he could see that Ned's bedroom light was on, considering it was nearing midnight he for sure thought he would be waking his best friend up.
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Ned had just finished his biology homework, a subject he despised more than any other subject he took. He was finally able to start to do his nighttime skincare routine, something he found very therapeutic. He had grabbed his favorite sheet mask, because he knew he deserved it after completing that homework from hell, and put an episode of The Office on.
Everything was relaxing, and he felt great as he wound down.
And then he heard it, the tapping on his window that was a telltale sign Peter was there. And Peter being at his house at midnight was never a good thing. Except the one time Peter really needed to use the toilet, and couldn't hold it in until he got to his apartment. Ned was hoping Peter just really needed to pee.
“Ned,” Peter whispered, still tapping the window. With a sigh, Ned got up from his bed and opened the window. It was too dark for Ned to really see anything.
“What's wrong Peter?”
“Ned I really need your help,” Peter said, climbing through the window, hissing as the cattle prod briefly got caught on the window frame. “I got hurt, and I need your help pulling it out.
“Peter, I think we should call Mr. Stark?” Ned's eyes were wide from disbelief, the cattle prod was embedded into his thigh, blood leaking out the sides of it.
“Ned it's fine, help me remove it real quick,” Peter sat down on the chair next to Ned's desk.
“Are you sure? I don't know. This seems pretty serious.” this was not how Ned's night was supposed to go at all.
“Please?”
“Fine,” Ned removed the facemask and chucked it in the bin. There goes my plans for relaxation. Ned went into his bathroom and grabbed his first aid kit and handed it to Peter. Peter opened the case up, and grabbed some gauze, ready to apply pressure as soon as the offending object was removed.
“Thank you, on the count of three. One, two-” Peter wasn't able to finish counting before Ned ripped the cattle prod out from his thigh. “Holy cow that hurt.”
“Is really now the time to make puns?”
“It's always time to make-” Peter was cut off from finishing his sentence, before passing out and falling off of the chair and onto the ground.
“Peter? Dude?” Ned tried to shake him awake, to no avail. “Not cool man.”
˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚
When Peter woke up next, he felt like he was floating in the clouds. He noticed that everything felt so numb, much better than the agony his leg was in before. He also noticed that it was light out and he was in the medbay.
“Good morning sunshine, I’m glad you are able to grace us with your presence,” Mr Stark said, arms crossed while standing at the end of Peter's bed.
“No problem Misser Stark,” Peter smiled at the man, voice incredibly raspy.
“Before we begin, are you thirsty?” Peter nodded, not even realizing how thirsty he was until the man asked. Tony brought a cup of water over, bringing the straw to Peter's lips. “Small sips, don't need you getting sick from this.”
Peter took a few small sips, before Tony took away the cup. Eliciting a groan from Peter, “No fair, can I have some more?”
“No can do kid,” Peter pouted at Tony. “that’s not going to work on me don't really want to be dealing with vomit today.”
Peter really wasn't having it, “pretty, pretty please, with a cherry on top?”
“Peter, sorry kid but I can't,” Tony sighed. “Are you in any pain?”
“The pain of not getting any more water haunts me,” Peter said, feigning sadness.
“I’m serious Peter, are you in any real pain?” Tony was now regretting talking to the kid while he was doped up.
“I’m good Misser Stark,” Peter said, grinning at the man.
“Hungry?”
Peter didn't realize how hungry he was until Mr. Stark said something, his stomach responding to Tony's question, “Yes.”
“I'll get you some jello, or a popsicle if you're well-behaved.”
“I am always well-behaved Misser Stark,” Peter tried to sit up, groaning as he jostled his leg.
“Careful Peter,” Tony said, grabbing the remote for the hospital bed, and moving it to a higher sitting angle. “And what do you mean you're always well-behaved? There are about 3 rules that you broke last night alone, Cho really does have you on the good stuff if you think that.”
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“You're grounded for a month,” Aunt May said to Peter. He was finally lucid enough to talk to that afternoon.
“A month? What?”
“A month, you heard me, Peter. What you did was stupid.”
“Come on, that's so unfair, Mr. Stark help me out here, talk some sense into her please,” Peter was mad, and the insistent ache in his leg was not helping his temper at all.
“I agree with her Peter, a month is fair for all of the rules you broke last night.”
“Just because I didn't tell you about a little injury doesn't mean I should be punished for a whole month.”
“Peter, it wasn't just the injury, which wasn't little Peter, you broke several rules. You impaled your thigh, removed the cattle prod, and started to bleed out on Ned's floor. Kid, you broke your femur from the fall and had to have surgery to clean out the wound. That's not little, and you tried to fix it yourself, instead of getting an adult to help you out, that's what your Aunt and I are here for,” Tony didn't sound mad, he sounded sad.
“When you put it like that, it sounds bad,” Peter looked down at the sheets and started to pick at one of the loose threads. “But, like, I don't think a month is fair.”
“Peter, you also tampered with your suit to remove one of the protocols I set up to help you if you're injured. And you wouldn't be in this situation if you just listened to me about not going after those men.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Stark, but I just wanted to help people,” Peter was still pulling at the thread, feeling too ashamed to look up at his Aunt and mentor.
“I know sweetie,” Peter could feel his Aunt sit down on the bed. She grabbed his hand with one of hers, the other she used to push Peter's head up gently. “But honey, you can't help people if you get injured, or worse die. Sometimes the threats are too big for us to handle on our own, and that’s ok.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I just wanted to prove myself.”
“You don't have anything to prove honey, we know you're an amazing hero, but even the best heroes need help, and know their limits,” May wrapped her arms around Peter and hugged him.
“I won't do this again, I promise,” Peter said, finishing the hug with his Aunt.
“That's good, it's still a month kid,” Tony said.
“Damn it.”
“Language, or it'll be 2 months.”
“Sorry, Mr. Stark.”
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Peter had been released from medbay that night, with strict instructions to not walk on his leg for one week, which meant crutches. (Peter was 100% sure that the devil created crutches, cause not only did his leg hurt, but now his arms also hurt.).
He was also given a strong course of antibiotics to take for the following two weeks, as a precautionary measure against any potential threat of infection, as it turns out cattle prods aren't super hygienic, who knew? As well as pain medication to help ease the pain.
His grounding would mean no patrolling for a month. He was lucky that they didn't take his phone off him, like what Mr. Stark suggested. Ned was allowed over, but only for studying, and Peter's lab days on Thursdays were still going ahead. Which Peter was thankful for, otherwise he thought he might go mad from boredom.
Peter felt super guilty about what transpired the prior night at Neds, so he sent him a quick text message.
Peter: Hey man, sorry about last night, and bleeding on your carpet
Ned replied instantly, Peter was very thankful Ned was addicted to his phone.
Ned: its alg, you feeling better?
Peter: Yeah, I'm fine. Are you sure you’re alg?
Ned: yeah im alg, just dont do that again
Peter: yeah I promise
Ned: good, are you gonna be at school tomorrow?
Peter: yeah, but on crutches. I'm saying I sprained my ankle
Ned: ok
Ned: btw you owe me a new facemask, i wasted my fav one on you
Peter smiled as he read the text message, looking over at Aunt May, as she was driving to their apartment complex, and asked: “Hey, Aunt May?”
“What's up, honey? In pain?”
“No, no. umm- can you buy me some BroMask sheet masks please?”
“Whys that?”
“I kinda ruined Ned's self-care yesterday, so I kinda owe him some.”