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"Evening, boys," Peter said, grinning as the three men nearly jump out of their skin. Since when was the pesky little spider watching them? Peter had been enjoying himself, kicking his legs as he sat on the edge of the metal rail of the fire escape of the neighboring building. These guys had chosen the perfect location for a sketchy and probably highly illegal get-together. A damp alleyway on the outskirts of the city, the place reeking of garbage and probably a years worth of crud. He wondered if they'd gotten the inspiration from a movie.
"Keep your nose out of this, spider," he practically spat, "and we won't hurt you too bad."
"Tempting offer, honestly the best one I've had yet tonight. Probably right behind the guy that offered to give me $50 to not web him up for robbing the bank a few blocks south. Now it's not like I couldn't use the money, crimefighting pays like a bitch y'know, but the point was to stop the guy, and that wasn't gonna happen if I let him run loose, even if I was $50 dollars rich, so-"
"Oh my god, do you ever shut up???" Another one of the men snarled. "I swear, one more word out of your mouth and I'm gonna lose it."
Peter considered that. Rampaging lunatic set out to kill him for talking and probably being 20 minutes past curfew but having a lot more fun, or webbing these guys up fast and getting to studying for his Chemistry exam tomorrow. Hard choice.
"Welllllll...." Peter began.
"That's it." The man whipped a gun from beneath his jacket and started firing at Spider-man, not caring what happened to the kid. Peter dodged the bullets (God bless his Spidey-sense), looking like he was performing some sort of complicated waltz. On the wall. By himself.
Peter jumped down, swinging in front of Burglar #2 grabbing his arm and pointing it up right before it could fire into his face. He kicked the man back, trying as hard as he could to not seriously injure him. The thug flew into the side of a nearby dumpster, leaving quite the dent in the side. He fell with a thud and didn't move after that.
"Mr. Criminal, sir???" Peter ran to him, suddenly more concerned with this man's safety than his own. Peter only allowed himself to take a breath when he noticed the steady rising and falling of the injured criminal's chest.
There was an abrupt and violent yank at Peter's throat, forcing him backward a few feet.
The man grunted as Peter struggled against his hold, but Burglar #3 made quick work of the boy, kicking him repeatedly in the chest until he was doubled over, wheezing. He was gasping for air, clawing at his throat to get rid of whatever was chocking him. He finally dislodged himself from the fierce grip of Burglar #1, only to realize the chocker of thorns he was now adorned with, shredding into his skin.
"What the hell is thi-"
That's the moment his world turned inside out. Peter had never felt pain like this before in his life. Burning every inch of his body, making it impossible to lift a finger, let alone, defend himself. He collapsed to the ground, seizing harder and harder as moments passed. He was going to die. His body was melting, he was begging for mercy. The sweet release of death, anything. Just make it stop.
And it did. How long had it been going? Days? Years? Seconds? Peter didn't know. Pain rocketed throw every inch of his body, he had never felt so weak.
The line of blood running from Peter's nose and down to the side of his face told him he was on his back. He attempted to crack open his eyes. Was it suddenly becoming night or was that just his vision fading?
Tony's face appeared in his line of view, a solemn look on his face. "Hey, buddy, try and keep your eyes open for me, can you do that?"
If Peter could have nodded, he would have. Anything for Mr. Stark.
But it was less than a minute later that his eyes began to slip closed again. Tony tapped his cheek insistently until he opened his eyes again. "Hey, woah, bud, stay with me. This is gonna hurt like a bitch but you gotta be strong for me. I'm gonna get you back to the Tower."
But the pain never came. Just some nice, cool air, and then black.
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Beep. Beep. Beep. Fsshh.
Peter woke to the sound of the monotonous chirp of a heart monitor. His chest rose and fell without him trying.
He attempts to crack his eyes open, grateful for the dim room and soft lighting. Peter feels like he's floating. He recognized the medical wing from the plenty of prior nights he had spent there, whether it was a rough night of patrol or straight up bleeding out and about to die, Peter probably had the largest medical file in existence.
He tries to turn his head, the simple movement now an impossible task. Tony sat slumped back in a nearby chair, deep worry marks on his forehead and large bag under his eyes, making Peter wonder just how many hours of sleep Mr. Stark had lost over him. He appeared to be sleeping now, but this rest was anything but peaceful.
Peter felt this disgusting wiggling sensation inside of his arm, so his first instinct was to rip it out. It felt like he was moving in slow motion, it's like his arm was made of lead, barely able to move it. When he couldn't reach his other arm, he tried to lift his hand to his face to tug the breathing tub from his nose. Tony heard the boy beginning to rouse and he was awake and at his bedside in moments.
"Woah, buddy, don't do that, it's keeping you stable for now," Tony said gently, moving the boy's arm back to his side. At that, Peter began to hyperventilate. What was going on? Why couldn't he feel Mr. Stark move his arm?? Why couldn't he feel the sheets against his skin as he shifted slightly??? What was happening to him????
"Peter!" Tony grabbed Peter's shoulders, only causing the poor boy's panic to worsen. He. Couldn't. Breathe.
His thoughts were spiraling
spiraling
spiraling
A million miles per second
Air
Please
Numb
Air
Air
Breathe
A needle entered his skin.
Then everything faded to black once more.
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Peter aroused once again, this time Tony was watching him with caring and worried eyes. He was next to Peter's bed, holding his hand? Peter couldn't feel it, but there Mr. Stark was. Holding his hand. Since when did he get there? And since when was Peter in this hospital? Something about an alleyway, a dumpster maybe? His brain was too foggy to understand anything, and he was tired. His eyelids drooped closed once again, without his permission, and he drifted of into a restless slumber.
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Peter came around for the final time soon after, Mr. Stark was gone, but Dr. Cho was with him.
"St'rk" He gurgled, his voice sounding inhuman and raspy, barely audible.
Dr. Cho shushed him. "You're only going to hurt your throat further. You'er going to be okay, I'm going to make sure of it Peter."
He nodded, well maybe he didn't, he couldn't be sure, the world was spinning too hard for him to be able to distinguish which were his movements. Then came that awful feeling, his mouth went sour, filling with saliva, and his throat began burning a hell of a lot more, but in a much different way. He turned his head to the side as much as he could, and vomited (thank God for cho keeping hi propped up while he slept, otherwise he'd have hurled all over himself).
Dr Cho had expected this, already having placed trash cans on both sides of his bed and a warm, wet towel ready for the aching spider-boy. She cleaned off his mouth, wiping away all the sweat, tears, and snot that came with the experience.
Peter began tapping uselessly at the bed sheets, asking for something. Thankfully, Dr. Cho knew morse code, as well as many things like braille and ASL, to be able to assist her patients in any way possible.
W-R-I-T-E-?
Cho hurried to find something he could write with, finally settling for the back of an envelope and a nearby pen.
Peter was at least able to make his clumsy fingers function just enough to grip the pen and scrawl across the paper in messy writing:
what happen? why cant feel pen? why cant feel hands?
Silent tears began slipping down Peter's cheeks, fearing the doctor's answer. She read the note, covering her mouth with a trembling hand, turning away, pretending to be busy, as to not show the boy just how much his words had affected her. After a moment spent composing herself, she turned back with his file, unable to tell him in fear of breaking down in front of him.
Peter was handed a stack of paper, stapled together, which he realized was the notes from his current visit.
Peter B. Parker
Clearance: Tier I
Diagnosis:
Third-degree burns, spanning from clavicle to axis of the neck.
Permanent peripheral neurologic injury, inflicted by electrocution.
Bruising along right ribs 7-9, and fracture in left rib 7.
32 stitches required along throat, from multiple cuts.
Etc, etc, etc
First, Peter's hand darted to his throat, but he couldn't find any signs of the 32 stitches that were supposedly there.
Then Peter lifted an eyebrow at the "neurologic injury". He tapped it, looking to Cho for explanations. Engineering was his specialty, not medical.
She averted her eyes, finally working up the courage to tell the teenager. "It's severe nerve damage. It um- it means you-you can't... feel." She couldn't look back. She couldn't bear seeing the look on Peter's facing, being the reason he would never be the same.
But Peter wasn't anything. He wasn't angry, he wasn't sad, he wasn't anything at all. All he could do was stare. Stare out into space. Plead with the galaxy that this was some sort of cruel dream, and that he would wake up soon. But no, all he could do was stare and become as numb as his body now was.
Cho tried to explain to him what that meant and how she was so, so sorry, but Peter was no longer listening. He was gone, he was off in another world, one where no accident occurred, where he didn't need stitches or burn treatment. One where he was okay. Where he didn't have to worry about not being hugged again.
And because his neck was what was injured, most of his body would now be numb like this. Permanently.
And he sat there, in his own little world. For hours. He knew Cho had left, saving her tears for later, when she was away from Peter. He was aware that Mr. Stark had come in at some point, talking in a soft voice, but Peter heard none of it. Bits and pieces, but nothing that mattered. May came at some point too, smiling through misty eyes, promising him the best Thai he's ever had and the greatest Star Wars binge ever, so many sweets included that he'd be sick by the end. Ned and MJ came in some time later, making similar promises. He payed them no mind. What did it matter?
Pepper and Mr Stark came in trying to get him to eat several times, to no avail, so they eventually had to resort to hooking him up to a feeding tube. Days passed, maybe even a week, and Peter had barely moved. He began to noticed that he could feel it when his feet and legs shifted under the covers, but nothing above that. He'd never know what holding someone's hand would feel like again.
After about two weeks of recovery, Peter started physical therapy. He wasn't particularly interested, what was the point? So, his legs worked. Yay. He supposed that was something to celebrate, but it was such a regular human function that he didn't want to be happy that he still got to use it. But, begrudgingly, he complied with Mr. Stark's wishes and visited the physical therapist they kept in Stark Tower or on a hotline at all times.
Peter's healing factor helped him recover much faster, making him regain his ability to walk in about a week of four hour therapy sessions per day. At that point, Cho announced that Peter was allowed to move out of the medbay and into one of Stark's guest rooms. Peter appreciated this greatly, relishing in the greater amount of freedom he now possessed.
But Peter's detachment from his body didn't stop as Mr. Stark came to escort him to his new room, or as he talked about all the movies he would watch with Peter and all the ice cream they would eat, and not even as they reached his room.
No, the reality of his situation only set in when Tony had left. Peter looked around. Soft silk sheets he'd once loved staying in. Warm tap water to wash his hands in. The fluffiest pajamas in existence. But none of that meant anything anymore. He couldn't experience it.
Silent tears began rolling down his face. But he couldn't fucking feel them.
He finally broke. He grabbed a lamp off the nearby desk and threw it at the wall. He ripped the sheets off the bed, tearing at them, wanting to scream. He slammed his arm fully into the desk, cracking it in half. Nothing. No pain. He picked up the bedside table and threw it at the wall. It splintered to pieces. He finally managed to pick up the bed in his weakened state, throwing it at the same wall. The wall was left with dents and holes, but it wasn't enough. He hobbled over to the dresser, ribbing each of the drawers out individually, throwing them as hard as he could. He slit his hand open on the sharp edges, but he didn't notice and kept going. He moved into the bathroom, throwing everything off the counter in one fell swoop. He looked at himself. Aggressive scars and remanence of charred skin decorated his neck. He was deathly pale, dark rings around his eyes, and his look was distant and unfocused. He hated it. He slammed his fist into the mirror over and over, fracturing his reflection into millions of pieces, not stopping until it was destroyed.
Something red adorned the shards of glass. Blood? He looked down at his hands, and they were bleeding profusely. And he hadn't noticed. He grabbed scissors from the room over. He raked them across his arms and stomach, wanting to feel. He was sobbing violently now.
Having heard all of the destruction from downstairs, Tony cam rushing into the room, taking note of the state of the room and then the state of his kid. Holding scissors. Bloody, bloody scissors.
"Oh my god, Peter," Mr. Stark knelt in from of him. Peter continued to sob, clutching tightly to the man. "Peter." he whispered again, finally understanding why he had done what he did. He held the boy in his arms, not caring for the state of the room or his blood drenched clothes, only wanting his child to be okay.
"I mess-sed u-up, M-ster Sta-ark," Peter said, hiccuping between and during words.
"Hey, it's okay Underoos. I love you and I want you to be okay, kid. Anything for you," Tony murmured into the boys hair, placing a gentle kiss on the top of his head. He began to play with the boys hair, and the boy almost began crying harder. "Want me to stop?" Tony asked.
"N-no please d-dont. I- I can feel you."
Tony wanted to cry too. The boy could feel Tony running his fingers through his curls. "Okay, kid"
And they stayed there. Tony held him for another ten minutes, before he suggested that they get Peter's cuts cleaned up. Peter apologized extensively about the state of his room and all the money it would cost to fix it, and how bad of a house guest he was, and Tony couldn't help but smile seeing the teen more like himself than he had been in almost a month. Tony helped clean up Peter's cuts, getting them disinfected, putting medicine on them, and covering the ones that weren't too deep with band-aids. Cho fixed him up with a few stitched for the bigger and deeper ones, but thankfully there weren't too many of those. Peter changed into a nice new pair of pajamas and met Tony upstairs to eat icecream and watch old movies. He rested in Tony's lap, humming as Tony played with his hair.
Over time, they learned what was and wasn't good for Peter, and he even made his was back to Midtown High, apologizing to his friends for how he had treated them when he was in medbay. Ned and MJ both just gave him incredulous looks, probably thinking something like, Bro you were dying, we don't blame you for being a little out of it. They made plans to have their Star Wars binge that night (Thankfully the next day was the weekend), all agreeing to bring their own snacks.
That was the best time of his life. They ate a ton of junk food at Ned's house, throwing things at the TV for the characters being dumb, laughing when annoying characters got killed (*cough cough* Jar Jar Binks), and so on until they'd finished the whole series (the next night). Peter walked MJ home, where they caught up on all of the things he had missed. And that wasn't even the best part. He found out there was another thing he could feel. MJ kissing him. Just outside of her place, she grabbed his collar and pulled him into a kiss. His first reaction was to tense up, but he slowly relaxed, and all too soon, it was over. She was waving bye as she stepped inside.
Peter swore he practically skipped all the way home.